Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(85)

“Not unless the postal service is starting night runs,” Michael said. “I’ll get it.” The unspoken implication of that was that if it was something bad, he’d at least have a decent shot at fighting it. He went down the hall and opened the door. Beyond it, the sunset was burning the horizon a bright orange, but it wasn’t quite evening yet.

“Who is it?” Claire asked, and craned to look.

“Can’t tell,” Eve said. “Oh, wait—it’s—” She didn’t finish the sentence. She broke free and raced down the hall.

Claire, instantly scared and imagining all kinds of mayhem, pelted after her. She almost immediately skidded to a halt in the suddenly crowded hallway; Shane had somehow managed to cut in front of both her and Eve. Being shortest sucked; she couldn’t see over Eve’s shoulder, never mind Shane’s broad back.

But she heard a frantic, female voice say, “Close it—please close it, fast!”

Miranda’s voice. But Mir was gone—disappeared out in the darkness. Dissolved into mist.

And now, apparently, she was back.

And, from the sound of it, very, very scared.

Eve turned, ran into Claire, and shooed her backward; Claire took several steps down the hall, and the party spilled out after her and into the living area. Between Shane and Michael came—yes!—Miranda, but a different one than before. This Miranda was translucently pale as a glass copy of herself, and she seemed terrified.

Everybody was trying to talk at once, except her. Ghost-Girl leaned up against a handy wall (why didn’t she fall through?) and closed her eyes as if she were exhausted (could ghosts even get tired?). Eve finally got the upper hand, conversationally speaking. “What happened to you? Where did you go?”

“Away,” Miranda said faintly. “So tired. Need energy.” But the fact she was visible at all, before sunset, was odd and impressive. “I feel better here.” She was looking better, too—already taking on a bit more form and substance. It wasn’t a real body, but it had faint traces of color in it now. “They were after me. I had to keep running, find a safe place.”

“Who was?” Shane asked. She’d just said the magic words to make him really pay attention. “Vamps? Why would vamps want a ghost?”

“She’s not a ghost all the time,” Michael said. “Remember, when she has a body, it comes complete with blood. Just like mine did. And since she can’t be killed…”

“Oh, right,” Eve said faintly, and her eyes widened. “They could keep her and keep, ah, draining her dry….”

“Not the vampires,” Miranda said. “I can handle the vampires. It’s the rest of them. They won’t leave me alone. They keep—” She was interrupted by another doorbell chime, followed by knocking. “Don’t!” she said, and grabbed at Michael’s sleeve, but her hand swiped through him. “Don’t answer it yet—not yet!”

“It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m just going to look. Relax. You’re safe now.” He pointed to Shane. “Stay with them.”

“You suck!” Shane called after him as Michael went back to the door. Underneath, though, he was taking it seriously. Miranda wasn’t the most reliable source of information, but Shane never underestimated a warning. “If it’s Jason out there, no problem. If it’s somebody worse, I don’t know if Michael can hold his own.”

“Then we’ll handle it if it gets by him,” Claire said, and surprisingly, she meant it. Between the four of them, nothing was going to overwhelm them. Not like it used to.

She thought that right up until the freaking ghost-army arrived.

The first indication she had that something was very, very wrong was Michael’s outcry; he wasn’t that kind of boy, generally, much less that kind of vampire. It was surprise, and definite worry—the kind of cry you made when you found a spider on a doorknob, or a snake in the toilet. A that-shouldn’t-happen kind of sound.

Claire exchanged a look with Shane, and Miranda said, wearily, “I’m sorry I brought them here, but it was the only place I could think of that might keep them out. Maybe…maybe the house won’t let them in.”

But it turned out that the house did.

The first ghost to drift past—no, through—Michael was an old man, no one Claire recognized. He was just barely a visible shape, more a trick of the eyes than an actual presence; she saw him better in her peripheral vision than straight on. He walked down their hallway in a zombielike state, staring straight ahead. Shane backed up, but then stood his ground and tried to wave the phantom off. It ignored him and flowed around him like smoke over glass, and Shane shuddered and moved away, fast. “Okay, that was—unpleasant.”

And there were more. Lots more. Some were just shadows, ominous and strange; some were almost-visible people. Claire only caught a glimpse of them because Michael let only a couple of them inside before he stepped back and slammed and locked the door…and that, surprisingly, worked. No more came inside.

But the ones already in were bad enough. One was an almost-visible man, but Claire couldn’t make out his face as he moved toward them, until suddenly a trick of the light and shadows came together and showed her it was Richard Morrell, Monica’s dead brother. She gasped and grabbed Eve’s arm, and Eve nodded as she bit her lip. Richard slowed and looked at them, and Claire saw his mouth open and close, but he couldn’t seem to speak. After a few seconds, he flowed on, heading for…