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rushing of cars came closer, became louder than the wind through the bare branches of trees.
    Then he rounded the hill, saw what lay past it, and breathed in sharply: a school. The sign at the front of the drive proclaimed it D ARBY G LEN HIGH SCHOOL .
    Skye’s school. Lorenzo was pursuing her after all.
    Balthazar began running as fast as he could—faster than most humans would be able to match, but if he was seen, to hell with it. Skye was in danger, and it was late enough in the afternoon that she’d almost certainly have left school by now.
    Was it possible she’d taken the bus, as she had this morning while he watched from a distance? He hoped so. For now he kept running, kept following Lorenzo’s scent along what appeared to be a main road, busy with traffic. Even if Lorenzo had been unable to find Skye, Balthazar was dead set on capturing him now.
    But as he ran, he began to detect Skye’s scent as well.
    Balthazar had a sudden vision of Skye crumpled and bloody like the fox he’d found in the snow, and the mere image sickened him. His inhuman speed wasn’t fast enough.
    Lorenzo’s path took him off the main road, away from Skye, which didn’t encourage Balthazar at all. Lorenzo would have quit following Skye only to get ahead of her, to stand between her and the safety of home. Balthazar hesitated for only a moment, deciding—then followed Skye’s path. As badly as he wanted to catch Lorenzo, Skye’s safety was more important.
    Finally, as Balthazar ran around another curve of the road he saw her—alive, well, upright—but staring ahead, at Lorenzo, who stood in her path and closer to her than Balthazar was to either of them.
    â€œSkye!” he shouted, but an eighteen-wheeler roared by at that moment, its engine drowning out his voice. Skye started running, not into the road or back toward Balthazar, but slightly up the hill toward a building, a gas station from the looks of it—
    â€”but one that looked long deserted, with a dusty, faded sign that proclaimed gasoline was for sale at ninety-seven cents a gallon. Not good. A public space would’ve given her some protection, but an abandoned building wasn’t shelter. It was a trap.
    Lorenzo dashed after her, his eyes only for his prey. Balthazar pursued them both, anger and battle heat flooding through him. He gave way to those emotions so seldom, and yet they felt almost as hot and real as being alive.
    The door had probably been pried open by vandals years ago. Balthazar ran inside just after them; old, rusty bells on the handle jingled. Skye, against the back wall with nowhere else to run, saw him and shouted, “Balthazar!”
    Whirling around, Lorenzo saw him; his smile had a curiously glazed quality, as though he were drunk or drugged. “You’re still protecting her,” he said. “You can’t for long.”
    â€œWon’t have to for long.” Balthazar grabbed the nearest thing at hand—the end of some abandoned metal shelves, where snacks or motor oil had once been—and shoved it forward hard. The other end of the shelf slammed into Lorenzo’s side, sending the vampire staggering back.
    Skye turned toward Balthazar, but he gestured toward the door. “Get out of this place! Get back out to the road!”
    She didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate, just ran through the door like he’d said. Thank God she had some sense.
    Balthazar rushed toward Lorenzo, but he was already up, and the punch he aimed at the guy’s face only swung through air. Lorenzo shoved him back, growling, “You do want to keep her for yourself. Admit it.”
    That didn’t merit an answer. Balthazar glanced around the old gas station, with its moldy drop ceiling and dusty walls. There were few potential weapons, and no wood to fashion a stake. The old freezer doors still had their glass, though, and while it would make for a messy beheading, he’d