Daylighters (The Morganville Vampires #15)(60)

“Yes,” Myrnin whispered. “I hear you.”

“I’m not doing this for you,” Fallon said. “Despite what you did to me, killing me, dragging me through hell to make me a blood-drinking demon. I’m not doing this to hurt you, Myrnin. I’m doing it to help.” Maybe he believed it, but Claire could see his face through the gap, and what she saw in him was cruel. It was angry. And it was personal. “I’m saving you for last, dear blood-father. I’m going to make you the last living vampire in all the world, before I unmake you.”

“I saved you,” Myrnin said. “You know I did. You were dying.”

“I was in God’s arms, and you ripped me out of heaven. Did you think I’d ever forget? Or forgive?” Fallon pushed Myrnin, and next to him, Jesse tried to stir. He grabbed her red braid and forced her head up at a painful angle. “Who’s this? A friend of yours?”

“Leave her,” Myrnin said, and clumsily slapped toward Fallon. He fell short. “Please—”

“This one,” Fallon said, and dragged Jesse out onto the tile. “Take her for the cure.”

“No!” It was just a whisper from Myrnin, but it was full of anguish and horror, and Claire tried to think what she could do to stop it. Maybe she’ll make it, Claire thought. Maybe Jesse could be—What? Saved? Jesse liked who she was. She was a good person. She used her strength to help others.

She didn’t need saving.

I have to do something.

She didn’t get the chance, because Oliver lurched to his feet and said raggedly, “Take me.”

Fallon turned slowly to look at him. “Excuse me?”

“I. Volunteer. To take. Your cure.” Oliver said it with precision, biting the words off in clean, sharp, cutting edges. “You need a volunteer. A symbol. Who better than me?”

“It’s not like you, Oliver, all this self-sacrifice,” Fallon said, but he shrugged. “You’d be useful, if you survive. You likely won’t, you know.”

“Then you’ll have your way, and I won’t have to look upon you again. We both win.”

Fallon gestured, and the cops handcuffed him and took him away. Claire found herself wondering how they deactivated the collars. They must have, since they didn’t remove it before removing him . . . but she also knew that problem was just a way for her brain to throw up an emotional shield to keep her panic at bay.

They were taking Michael, and Eve, and Oliver, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it. The enormity of it crashed in on her then, and panic pressed down. Her lungs were burning, and she risked taking in a single, quick, trembling breath.

Fallon saw the movement.

His eyes widened, and he gestured at one of his black-jacketed Daylighter guards, who crossed the atrium, bent, and grabbed her by the arm.

Claire was ready.

She came straight up, launching herself at him with all the fury that had been building up inside her since she saw how Fallon treated Eve and Michael, and the top of her skull collided so hard with his nose that she saw stars. He let go of her and reeled back, and she charged forward, suddenly and icily calm, sliding into that empty space Shane had taught her to occupy when her life was on the line. She went low, dodging the man’s wild one-fisted swing as he held his gushing nose with the other hand, and whirled like a dancer to come up inside his defense and smash another elbow right into the damage she’d already done. He screamed—a high-pitched scream that sounded as much surprised as pained—and went down hard on his back. He writhed to get to what looked like some kind of Taser, but Claire got to it first, yanked it free, and found the switch to turn it on. She shocked him, and left him bleeding and shaking on the floor as she went after Fallon.

He was holding a gun. Claire skidded to a halt, eyes widening, and took her finger off the trigger for the Taser. The menacing, comforting crackling sound stopped.

“Put that down,” Fallon said. He sounded calm, and gently amused. “You Glass House children are vicious when roused, aren’t you? And for what, defense of vampires? Little girl, you really don’t have the slightest idea what you’re protecting, do you? What they are? What they do?”

“I know what you are,” she said. “I’ve seen what you do. That’s enough.”

“When you fight your enemies, you must become them, or become worse. It’s how wars are won, little girl, though I wouldn’t expect you to understand that at your age.” He’d seemed so careful and correct before, but now all she could see was the arrogance underneath all that—the pure, nauseating fanaticism. “You can’t fight evil with peace and love.”

“I thought you were a religious man,” she shot back. “I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what Jesus said to do.”

“Jesus was crucified, and I don’t intend to suffer the same.” He gestured with the gun. “I won’t warn you again. Drop that toy.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? I thought you were all about protecting humans.”

“You’re only technically human if you collaborate with the enemy.”

She found she was smiling. No idea why, really; it wasn’t a moment for smiling, but then again, it wasn’t happiness driving the expression on her face. It probably wasn’t a very nice look for her. “And thus begins the war,” she said softly. She understood now what Jesse had meant by that. “You’re willing to kill innocent people to save them. Sounds like a real crusade now, doesn’t it?”