by Rachel Caine
“You’d just scare them,’” Claire said. “They know me. Besides, I’m not exactly threatening.’”
“Not until they get to know you,’” Hess said. “Stay out of the alley.’”
She paused, her hand on the door. “Why?’”
“Vampire lives at the end of it. Crazy old bastard. He doesn’t come out of there, and neither does anybody who wanders in. So just stay out.’”
She nodded and ducked out into the dark. Outside, the Morganville shadows had a character all their own. A neighborhood that had been a little shabby in the daytime was transformed into a freak-show park at night, gilded by cold silver moonlight. The shadows looked like holes in the world; they were so black. Claire looked at the house, and felt its presence. It was like the Glass House, all right. It had some kind of living soul, only where the Glass House seemed mildly interested in the creatures scuttling around inside of it, this place…she wasn’t sure it even liked what was going on.
She shuddered, opened the picket gate, and hurried up to knock on the door. She kept knocking, frantic, until a voice shouted through the wood, “Who the hell’s that?’”
“Claire! Claire Danvers, I was here, you remember? You gave me some lemonade?’” No answer. “Please, ma’am, please let me in. I need to use your bathroom!’”
“You what? Girl, you better step off my gramma’s porch!’”
“Please!’” Claire knew she sounded desperate, but then…she was desperate. Not to mention just one step shy of crazy. “Please, ma’am, don’t leave me out here in the dark!’”
That was only a little bit of acting, frankly, because the dark kept getting heavier and closer around her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the alley, the crazy vampire hiding at the end like some giant tarantula waiting to jump—
She nearly screamed as the door was suddenly opened, and a hand closed around her arm.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get in!’” snapped Lisa. She looked irritated, tired, and rumpled; Claire had clearly rattled her right out of bed. She was wearing pink satin pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers, which didn’t make her look any less pissed off. She yanked, Claire stumbled forward across the threshold, and Lisa slammed and multiply locked the door behind her.
Then she turned, crossed her arms, and frowned at Claire. It was a formidable frown, but the pink pj’s and bunny slippers undermined it.
“What the hell are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?’” Lisa demanded. Claire took a deep breath, opened her mouth…and didn’t have to say anything.
Because Gramma was standing in the hallway entrance, and with her was Amelie.
The contrast couldn’t have been more striking. Amelie looked every inch the glorious, perfect ice queen, from her carefully braided and coiled hair to her unlined face to the sleek white dress she wore—she’d changed from the black suit she’d worn to the Elders’ Council building. She looked like one of those Greek statues made out of marble. Next to her, Gramma seemed ancient, exhausted, and breakable.
“The visitor is here for me,’” Amelie said calmly. “I’ve been expecting her. I do thank you, Katherine, for your kindness.’”
Who’s Katherine? Claire looked around, and realized after a few seconds that it had to be Gramma. Funny, she couldn’t imagine Gramma ever having had a first name, or being young; Lisa looked kind of thrown by it, too.
“And I appreciate your vigilance, Lisa, but your caution is unnecessary,’” Amelie continued. “Please return to your—’” For a second, Amelie hesitated, and Claire couldn’t imagine why until she saw that the vampire’s gaze was fixed on the sight of Lisa’s bunny shoes. It was only a second, a little crack in the marble, but Amelie’s eyes widened just a bit, and her mouth curved. She has a sense of humor. That, more than anything else, made Claire feel lost. How could vampires have a sense of humor? How exactly was that fair?
Amelie recovered her poise. “You may return to your sleep,’” she said, and bowed her head gracefully to Lisa and her gramma. “Claire. If you would attend me.’”
She didn’t wait to see if Claire would, or explain what “attend me’” meant; she just turned and glided down the hallway. Claire exchanged a look with Lisa—this time, Lisa looked worried, not angry—and hurried after Amelie’s retreating figure.
Amelie opened the bathroom door and stepped through into the same study Claire had visited before, only now it was night, and a fire was roaring in the enormous hearth to warm the chilly room. The walls were thick stone, and looked very old. The tapestries looked old, too—faded, tattered, but still keeping a sense of magnificence, somehow. The place looked way spookier by firelight. If there were electric lights, they weren’t on. Not even the books crowding the shelves made the place warm.
Amelie crossed to a chair near the hearth and gracefully motioned Claire to one across from her. “You may sit,’” she said. “But be warned, Claire, what I expect you want from me is not in my power to grant.’”
Claire settled carefully, not daring to relax. “You know why I’m here.’”
“I’d be a fool if I thought it was any reason other than young Shane,’” Amelie said, and smiled very sadly. “I can recognize loyalty when I see it. It shines strongly from you both, which is one reason I have trusted you so much on insignificant acquaintance.’” She lost her smile, and her pale eyes turned to frost again. “And that is why I cannot forgive what Shane has done. He broke faith with me, Claire, and that is intolerable. Morganville is founded on trust. Without it, we have nothing but despair and death.’”
“But he didn’t do anything!’” Claire knew she sounded like a whiny little girl, but she didn’t know what else to do. It was that or cry, and she didn’t want to cry. She had the feeling she’d be doing plenty of that, no matter what. “He didn’t kill Brandon. He tried to save him. You can’t punish him for being in the wrong place!’”
“We have no one’s word of that save Shane’s. And make no mistake, child, I know why Shane returned to Morganville in the first place. It is regrettable that his sister was so brutally and unnecessarily killed; we tried to make amends with his family, as is custom. We even allowed them to leave Morganville, which you understand is not common, in hopes that Shane and his parents might heal their grief in less…difficult surroundings. But it was not possible. And his mother broke through the block surrounding her memories.’”
Claire shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was too big, and too high up; her toes barely touched the ground. She gripped the arms firmly, tried to remind herself that she was strong and courageous, that she had to be, for Shane. “Did you kill her? Shane’s mother?’” she asked, as bluntly as she could. It still sounded timid, but at least she’d gotten the question out.
For a second she thought Amelie wasn’t going to answer her, but then the vampire looked away, toward the fire. Her eyes looked orange in its glow, with dots of reflective yellow in the center. She shrugged, a gesture so small, Claire barely even saw it. “I have not lifted a hand against a human in hundreds of years, little Claire. But that is not what you ask, is it? Am I responsible for his mother’s death? In a larger sense, I am responsible for anything that is done in Morganville, or even beyond its borders if it relates to vampires. But I think you ask if I gave an explicit order.’”
Claire nodded. Her neck felt stiff, and her hands would have been shaking if they hadn’t been grabbing the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles cracked.
“Yes,’” Amelie said, and turned her head back to meet Claire’s eyes. She looked cool, merciless, and absolutely without conscience. “Of course I did. Shane’s mother was one of the rare cases who, by focusing on a single event in their past, are able to overcome the psychic block that is placed on them when they depart this place. She remembered her daughter’s death, and from that, she remembered other things. Dangerous things. As soon as we became aware this was happening, it was brought to my attention, and I gave the order to kill her. It was to be done quickly and without p
ain, and it was a mercy, Claire. Shane’s mother had been in so much pain for so long, do you understand? She was damaged, and some damages cannot be healed.’”
“Nothing heals if you’re dead,’” Claire whispered. She remembered Shane on the couch, blurting out all the horror of his life, and she wanted to throw up on Amelie’s perfect lap. “You can’t do things like that. You aren’t God!’”
“For the safety of all who live here? Yes, Claire, I can. I must. I am sorry my decisions do not meet with your approval, but nevertheless, they are mine, and the consequences are also mine. Shane is a consequence. My agents warned me at the time that they believed the boy might have been tainted by his mother, that his block was slipping, but I chose not to expand the tragedy by killing a boy who might not have been a threat.’” Amelie shrugged again. “Not all of my decisions are cruel, you see. But the ones which are not are usually wrong. Had I killed Shane then, and his father, as well, we would not now be facing this…bloody and painful farce.’”
“Because he’d be dead!’” Claire felt tears sting hard in her eyes and at the back of her throat. “Please. Please don’t let this happen. You can find out the truth, can’t you? You have powers. You can tell that Shane didn’t kill Brandon….’”
Amelie said nothing. She turned back toward the fire.
Claire watched her miserably for a few seconds, and felt tears break free to run down her cheeks. They felt ice-cold in the overly warm room. “You can tell,’” she repeated. “Why won’t you even try? Is it just because you’re angry at him?’”
“Don’t be infantile,’” Amelie said distantly. “I do nothing out of anger. I am too old to fall into the trap of emotion. What I do, I do for expedience, and for the sake of the future.’”
“Shane is the future! He’s my future! And he’s innocent!’”
“I know all that,’” Amelie said. “And it does not matter.’”
Claire stopped, stunned. Her mouth was open, and she tasted woodsmoke on her tongue until she closed it and swallowed. “What?’”
“I know Shane is innocent of the crime of which he is accused,’” Amelie said. “And yes, I could countermand Oliver. But I will not.’”
“Why?’” It burst out of Claire like a scream, but it was really just a whimper, all the fight kicked out of it.
“I have no reason to explain myself. Suffice to say that I have chosen to place Shane in that cage for a purpose. He may live, or he may die. That is no longer in my hands, and you may save both your breath and your hopes; I shall not stand up dramatically at the last moment as they light the pyres, and save your lover. Should it come to that, Claire, you must be prepared for the harsh reality that the world is not a fair or just place, and all your wishing cannot make it so.’” Amelie sighed, very lightly. “A lesson I learned long, long ago, when the oceans were young, and sand was still rock. I am old, child. Older than you can possibly understand. Old enough that I play with lives like counters in a game. I wish this was not so, but damn me if I can change what I am. What the world is.’”
Claire said nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, so she just cried, silently and hopelessly, until Amelie pulled a white silken handkerchief from her sleeve and gracefully held it out to her. Claire dabbed at her face with it, honked her nose, and hesitated with the silken square clutched in her hand. She’d grown up with disposable tissues; she’d never actually held a handkerchief before. Not one like this, all beautiful embroidery and monogramming. You didn’t throw these away, right?
Amelie’s lips curved into that distant smile. “Wash it and return it to me someday,’” she said. “But go now. I grow tired, and you will not change my mind. Go.’”
Claire slid off the chair and stood up, turned, and gasped. There were two of Amelie’s bodyguards standing right there, and she hadn’t even known they were behind her the whole time. If she’d tried anything…
“Go to sleep, Claire,’” Amelie said. “Let things be. We shall see how the cards fall in our game.’”
“It’s not a game: It’s Shane’s life,’” Claire shot back. “And I’m not sleeping.’”
Amelie shrugged and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Then go about your quest,’” she said. “But do not come back to me, little Claire. I will not be so well-disposed to you again.’”
Claire didn’t look back, but she knew the bodyguards followed her all the way to the door.
“Was there not something else you wanted to tell me?’” Amelie asked, just before she went out. Claire glanced back; the vampire was still staring into the fire. “Did you not have another request?’”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.’”
Amelie sighed. “Someone asked you for a favor.’”
Michael. Claire swallowed hard. “Michael wants to talk to you.’”
Amelie nodded. Her expression didn’t change.
“What do I tell him?’” Claire asked.
“That is entirely your affair. Tell him the truth—that you did not care enough to deliver his message.’” Amelie waved a hand without even looking toward her. “Go.’”
Lisa was sitting in the living room, frowning, arms folded, when Claire came back down the hall. She still looked fierce, never mind the bunny slippers, as she stood up to open the locks on the front door. Warrior princess on vacation, Claire thought. She guessed you grew up tough in Morganville, especially if you lived in a house Amelie could visit any time she felt like it.
“Bad news,’” Lisa said. “Right?’”
Did it show that much? “Right,’” Claire said, and wiped at her eyes again with the handkerchief. She shoved it in her pocket and sniffled miserably. “But I’m not giving up.’”
“Good,’” Lisa said. “Now, when I open this door, you’re gonna want to hurry. Go straight to the car out there. Don’t look left or right.’”
“Why? Is there something—?’”
“Morganville rules, Claire. Learn them, live them, survive them. Now go!’” Lisa yanked open the door, put a hand flat on Claire’s back, and propelled her out onto the porch. A second later, Lisa slammed the door, and Claire heard the rattle of the locks being turned. She got her balance, jumped down the steps, and hustled down the dark path and through the picket gate, and yanked open the passenger door of the car. She scrambled in and hit the lock, and then relaxed.
“I’m okay,’” she said, and turned to Detective Hess.
He wasn’t there.
The driver’s seat was empty. The keys were still in the ignition, the engine was idling, and the radio was playing softly. But the car was completely empty, except for her.
“Oh God,’” Claire whispered. “Oh God oh God oh God.’” Because she could drive the car, but that would mean stranding Detective Hess, if he’d gone off doing police things. Stranding him without his partner to help him. She’d seen enough cop shows to know that wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he’d just gone off to talk to somebody and was coming right back…or maybe he’d been snatched out of the car by some hungry vamp. But didn’t Hess have some kind of special Protection?
She had no idea what to do.
While she was thinking about it, she heard voices. Not loud, but a steady stream of conversation. It sounded like Detective Hess, and he wasn’t far away. Claire cautiously rolled down the window and listened hard; she couldn’t make out any words, but there were definitely voices.
Claire unlocked her door and eased it open, straining to catch the words, but they were just sound, no meaning. She hesitated, then slipped out of the car, eased the door shut, and hurried toward the sound of the voices. Yes, that was Detective Hess; she recognized his voice. No question about it.
She didn’t even realize where she was going—she was so intent on listening—until she realized how dark it was, and the words weren’t getting any clearer, and she wasn’t at all sure now that was Detective Hess’s voice after all.
And she was halfway down an alley with tall, rough bo
ard fence on both sides, trapping her.
She’d gone into the alley. Why the hell had she done that? Hess had warned her. Gramma had warned her. And she hadn’t listened!
Claire tried to turn around, she really tried, but then the whispers came again, and yes, for sure that was Detective Hess, there was no safety back there in the car, the car was a trap waiting to spring, and if she could just get to the end of the alley she’d be safe, Detective Hess would keep her safe, and she’d be—
“Claire.’”
It was a cold, clear voice, falling on her like ice down her back, and it shocked her right out of the trance she’d fallen into. Claire looked up. On the second story of Gramma’s house, bordering the alley, a slender white figure stood in the window, staring down.
Amelie.
“Go back,’” she said, and then the window was empty, curtains blowing in the wind.
Claire gasped, turned, and ran as fast as she could out of the alley. She could feel it at her back, pulling at her—it, whatever it was, it wasn’t a vampire as she understood vamps in Morganville; it was something else, something worse. Trapdoor spider, that was how Gramma and Lisa had described it. Panic whited out its song in her head, and she made it—somehow—to the end of the alley and burst out into the street.
Detective Hess was standing at the car, looking straight at the alleyway. Gun drawn and held at his side. He visibly relaxed at the sight of her, came around, and hustled her to the passenger side of the car. “That was dumb,’” he said. “And you’re lucky.’”
“I thought I heard you,’” she said faintly. Hess raised his eyebrows.
“Like I said. Dumb.’” He shut the door on her, came around, and put the car in gear.
“Where’d you go?’”
He didn’t answer. Claire looked back. There was something in the shadows in the alley, but she couldn’t tell what it was.
Just that its eyes reflected the light.
It was coming up on deep night, when most sensible people were fast asleep in their beds with their doors bolted and windows securely locked, and Claire was knocking on the door of Common Grounds. It had a CLOSED sign in the window, but the lights were on in the back.