by Rachel Caine
“I do,” Amelie said. Her face was back to a blank mask that gave away nothing of how she felt about it. “I have never told you what to do, and I will not now. But by the laws of this town, if you place these humans under your Protection, you owe them certain duties. You know that.”
Another shrug, and Theo held out his hands to show he was helpless. “Family comes first,” he said. “I have always told you so.”
“Some of us,” Amelie said, “are not so fortunate in our choice of families.”
She turned away from Theo without waiting for his response—if he’d been intending to give one—and without so much as a pause, slammed her fist into a glass-fronted wall box labeled EMERGENCY USE ONLY three steps to the right. It shattered in a loud clatter, and Amelie shook shards of glass from her skin.
She reached into the box and took out . . . Claire blinked. “Is that a paintball gun?”
Amelie handed it to Hannah, who handled it like a professional. “It fires pellets loaded with silver powder,” she said. “Very dangerous to us. Be careful where you aim.”
“Always am,” Hannah said. “Extra magazines?”
Amelie retrieved them from the case and handed them over. Claire noticed that she protected herself even from a casual touch, with a fold of fabric over her fingers. “There are ten shots per magazine,” she said. “There is one already loaded, and six more here.”
“Well,” Hannah said, “any problem I can’t solve with seventy shots is probably going to kill us, anyway.”
“Claire,” Amelie said, and handed over a small, sealed vial. “Silver powder, packed under pressure. It will explode on impact, so be very careful with it. If you throw it, there is a wide dispersal through the air. It can hurt your friends as much as your enemies.”
There were real uses for silver powder, like coating parts in computers; Claire supposed it wasn’t exactly restricted, but she was surprised the vampires were progressive enough to lay in a supply. Amelie raised pale eyebrows at her.
“You’ve been expecting this,” Claire said.
“Not in detail. But I’ve learned through my life that such preparations are never wasted, in the end. Sometime, somewhere, life always comes to a fight, and peace always comes to an end.”
Theo said, very quietly, “Amen.”
4
They left the museum by way of a side door. It was risky to go out into the night, but since the only other way to exit the museum was to go back into the darkness, nobody argued about the choice.
“Careful,” Amelie told them in a very soft voice that hardly reached past the shadows. “I have gathered my forces. My father is doing the same. There will be patrols, especially here.”
The flames hadn’t reached Founder’s Square, which was where they came out—the heart of vamp territory. It didn’t look like the calm, orderly place Claire remembered, though; the lights were all out, and the shops and restaurants that bordered it were closed and empty.
It looked afraid.
The only place she could see movement was on the marble steps of the Elders’ Council building, where Bishop’s welcome feast had been held. Gérard hissed a warning, and they all froze, silent and still in the dark. Hannah’s grip on Claire’s arm felt like an iron band.
There were three vampires standing there, scanning the area.
Lookouts.
“Go,” Amelie said in a whisper so small it was like a ghost. “Move, but be careful.”
They reached the edge of the shadows by the corner of the building, but just as Claire was starting to relax a little, Amelie, Gérard, and the other vampires moved in a blur, scattering in all directions.
This left Claire flat-footed for one horrible second, before Hannah tackled her facedown on the grass. Claire gasped, got a mouthful of crunchy dirt and bitter chlorophyll, and fought to get her breath. Hannah’s heavy weight held her down, and the older woman braced her elbows on Claire’s back.
She’s firing the pistol, Claire thought, and tried to raise her head to see where Hannah was shooting.
“Head down!” Hannah snarled, and shoved Claire down with one hand while she continued to fire with the other. From the screams in the dark, she was hitting something. “Get up! Run!”
Claire wasn’t quick enough to suit either the marines or the vampires, and before she knew it, she was being half pulled, half dragged at a dead run through the night. It was all a confusing blur of shadows, dark buildings, pale faces, and the surly orange glow of flames in the distance.
“What is it?” she screamed.
“Patrols.” Hannah kept on firing behind them. She wasn’t firing wildly, not at all; it seemed like she took a second or two between every shot, choosing her target. Most of the shots seemed to hit, from the shouts and snarls and screams. “Amelie! We need an exit, now!”
Amelie looked back at them, a pale flash of face in the dark, and nodded.
They charged up the steps of another building on Founder’s Square. Claire didn’t have time to get more than a vague impression of it—some kind of official building, with columns in front and big stone lions snarling on the stairs—before their little party came to a halt at the top of the stairs, in front of a closed white door with no knob.
Gérard started to throw himself against it. Amelie stopped him with an outstretched hand. “It will do no good,” she said. “It can’t be opened by force. Let me.”
The other vampire, facing away and down the steps, said, “Don’t think we have time for sweet talk, ma’am. What you want us to do?” He had a drawling Texas accent, the first one Claire had heard from any vampire. She’d never heard him speak at all before.
He winked at her, which was even more of a shock. Until that moment, he hadn’t even looked at her like a real person.
“A moment,” Amelie murmured.
The Texan nodded behind them. “Don’t think we’ve got one, ma’am.”
There were shadows converging in the dark at the foot of the steps—the patrol that Hannah had been shooting at. There were at least twenty of them. In the lead was Ysandre, the beautiful vampire Claire hated maybe more than she hated any other vampire in the entire world. She was Bishop’s girl through and through—Amelie’s vampire sister, if they thought in those kinds of terms.
Claire hated Ysandre for Shane’s sake. She was glad the vamp was here, and not attacking Shane’s Bloodmobile—one, because she wasn’t so sure Shane could resist the evil witch, and two, she wanted to stake Ysandre herself.
Personally.
“No,” Hannah said, when Claire took a step out from behind her. “Are you crazy? Get back!”
Hannah fired over her shoulder. It was at the outer extreme of the paintball gun’s range, but the pellet hit one of the vampires—not Ysandre, Claire was disappointed to see—right in the chest. Silver dust puffed up in a lethal mist, and the close formation scattered. Ysandre might have had a few burns, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.
The vampire Hannah had shot in the chest toppled over and hit the marble stairs, smoking and flailing.
Amelie slammed her palm flat against the door and closed her eyes, and deep inside the barrier something groaned and shifted with a scrape of metal. “Inside,” Amelie murmured, still wicked controlled, and Claire spun and followed the three vampires across the threshold. Hannah backed in after, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut.
“No locks,” she said.
Amelie reached over and pushed Hannah’s gun hand into an at-rest position at her side. “None necessary. They won’t get in.” She sounded sure of it, but from the look Hannah continued to give the door—as if she wished she could weld it shut with the force of her stare—she wasn’t so certain. “This way. We’ll take the stairs.”
It was a library, full of books. Some—on this floor—were new, or at least newish, with colorful spines and crisp titles that Claire could read even in the low light. She slowed down a little, blinking. “You guys have vampire stories in here?” None of the vampires an
swered. Amelie veered to the right, through the two-story-tall shelves, and headed for a set of sweeping marble steps at the end. The books got older, the paper more yellow. Claire caught sight of a sign that read FOLKLORE, CA. 1870-1945, ENGLISH, and then another that identified a German section. Then French. Then script that might have been Chinese.
So many books, and from what she could tell, every single one of them had to do in some way with vampires. Was it history or fiction to them?
Claire didn’t really have time to work it out. They were taking the stairs, moving around the curve up to the second level. Claire’s legs burned all along the calf muscles, and her breathing was getting raspy from the constant movement and adrenaline. Hannah flashed her a quick, sympathetic smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Consider it basic training. Can you keep up?”
Claire gave her a gasping nod.
More books here, old and crumbling, and the air tasted like dry leather and ancient paper. Toward the back of the room, there were things that looked like wine racks, the fancy X-shaped kind people put in cellars, only these held rolls of paper, each neatly tied with ribbon. They were scrolls, probably very old ones. Claire hoped they’d go that direction, but no, Amelie was turning them down another book aisle, toward a blank white wall.
No, not quite blank. It had a small painting on the wall, in a fussy gilt frame. Some bland-looking nature scene . . . and then, as Amelie stared at it, the painting changed.
It grew darker, as though clouds had come across the meadow and the drowsy sheep in the picture.
And then it was dark, just a dark canvas, then some pinpricks of light, like candle flames through smoke. . . .
And then Claire saw Myrnin.
He was in chains, silver-colored chains, kneeling on the floor, and his head was down. He was still wearing the blousy white pantaloons of his Pierrot costume, but no shirt. The wet points of his damp hair clung to his face and his marble-pale shoulders.
Amelie nodded sharply, and put a hand against the wall to the left of the picture, pressing what looked like a nail, and part of the wall swung out silently on oiled hinges.
Hidden doors: vampires sure seemed to love them.
There was darkness on the other side. “Oh, hell no,” Claire heard Hannah mutter. “Not again.”
Amelie sent her a glance, and there was a whisper of amusement in the look. “It’s a different darkness,” she said. “And the dangers are very different, from this point on. Things may change quickly. You will have to adapt.”
Then she stepped through, and the vampires followed, and it was just Claire and Hannah.
Claire held out her hand. Hannah took it, still shaking her head, and the dark closed around them like a damp velvet curtain.
There was the hiss of a match dragging, and a flare of light from the corner. Amelie, her face turned ivory by the licking flame, set the match to a candle and left the light burning as she flicked on a small flashlight and played it around the room. Boxes. It was some kind of storeroom, dusty and disused. “All right,” she said. “Gérard, if you please.”
He swung another door open a crack, nodded, and widened it enough to slip through.
Another hallway. Claire was getting tired of hallways, and they were all starting to look the same. Where were they now, anyway? It looked like some kind of hotel, with polished heavy doors marked with brass plates, only instead of numbers, each door had one of the vampire markings, like the symbol on Claire’s bracelet. Each vampire had one; at least she thought they did. So these would be—what? Rooms? Vaults? Claire thought she heard something behind one of the doors—muffled sounds, thumping, scratching. They didn’t stop, though—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, really.
Amelie brought them to a halt at the T-intersection of the hall. It was deserted in every direction, and disorienting, too; Claire couldn’t tell one hallway from another. Maybe we should drop crumbs, she thought. Or M&M’s. Or blood.
“Myrnin is in a room on this hall,” Amelie said. “It is quite obviously a trap, and quite obviously meant for me. I will stay behind and ensure your escape route. Claire.” Her pale eyes fixed on Claire with merciless intensity. “Whatever else happens, you must bring Myrnin out safely. Do you understand? Do not let Bishop have him.”
She meant, Everybody else is expendable. That made Claire feel sick, and she couldn’t help but look at Hannah, and even at the two vampires. Gérard shrugged, so slightly she thought it might have been her imagination.
“We are soldiers,” Gérard said. “Yes?”
Hannah smiled. “Damn straight.”
“Excellent. You will follow my orders.”
Hannah saluted him, with just a little trace of irony. “Yes sir, squad leader, sir.”
Gérard turned his attention to Claire. “You will stay behind us. Do you understand?”
She nodded. She felt cold and hot at the same time, and a little sick, and the wooden stake in her hand didn’t seem like a heck of a lot, considering. But she didn’t have any time for second thoughts, because Gérard had turned and was already heading down the hall, his wing man flanking him, and Hannah was beckoning Claire to follow.
Amelie’s cool fingers brushed her shoulder. “Careful.”
Claire nodded and went to rescue a crazy vampire from an evil one.
The door shattered under Gérard’s kick. That wasn’t an exaggeration; except for the wood around the door hinges, the rest of it broke into hand-sized pieces and splinters. Before that rain of wreckage hit the floor, Gérard was inside, moving to the left while his colleague went right. Hannah stepped in and swept the room from one side to the other, holding her air pistol ready to fire, then nodded sharply to Claire.
Myrnin was just as she’d seen him in the picture—kneeling in the center of the room, anchored by tight-stretched silvery chains. The chains were double-strength, and threaded through massive steel bolts on the stone floor.
He was shaking all over, and where the chains touched him, he had welts and burns.
Gérard swore softly under his breath and fiercely kicked the eyebolts in the floor. They bent, but didn’t break.
Myrnin finally raised his head, and beneath the mass of sweaty dark hair, Claire saw wild dark eyes, and a smile that made her stomach twist.
“I knew you’d come,” he whispered. “You fools. Where is she? Where’s Amelie?”
“Behind us,” Claire said.
“Fools.”
“Nice way to talk to your rescuers,” Hannah said. She was nervous, Claire could see it, though the woman controlled it very well. “Gérard? I don’t like this. It’s too easy.”
“I know.” He crouched down and looked at the chains. “Silver coated. I can’t break them.”
“What about the bolts in the floor?” Claire asked. In answer, Gérard grabbed the edge of the metal plate and twisted. The steel bent like aluminum foil, and, with a ripping shriek, tore free of the stones. Myrnin wavered as part of his restraints fell loose, and Gérard waved his partner to work on the other two plates while he focused on the second in front.
“Too easy, too easy,” Hannah kept on muttering. “What’s the point of doing this if Bishop is just going to let him go?”
The eyebolts were all ripped loose, and Gérard grabbed Myrnin’s arm and helped him to his feet.
Myrnin’s eyes sheeted over with blazing ruby, and he shook Gérard off and went straight for Hannah.
Hannah saw him coming and put the gun between them, but before she could fire, Gérard’s partner knocked her hand out of line, and the shot went wild, impacting on the stone at the other side of the room. Silver flakes drifted on the air, igniting tiny burns where they landed on the vampires’ skin. The two bodyguards backed off.
Myrnin grabbed Hannah by the neck.
“No!” Claire screamed, and ducked under Gérard’s restraining hand. She raised her wooden stake.
Myrnin turned his head and grinned at her with wicked vampire fangs flashing. “I thought you were here to sa
ve me, Claire, not kill me,” he purred, and whipped back toward his prey. Hannah was fumbling with her gun, trying to get it back into position. He stripped it away from her with contemptuous ease.
“I am here to save you,” Claire said, and before she could think what she was doing, she buried the stake in Myrnin’s back, on the left side, right where she thought his heart would be.
He made a surprised sound, like a cough, and pitched forward into Hannah. His hand slid away from her throat, clutching blindly at her clothes, and then he fell limply to the floor.
Dead, apparently.
Gérard and his partner looked at Claire as if they’d never seen her before, and then Gérard roared, “What do you think you’re—”
“Pick him up,” Claire said. “We can take the stake out later. He’s old. He’ll survive.”
That sounded cold, and scary, and she hoped it was true. Amelie had survived, after all, and she knew Myrnin was as old, or maybe even older. From the look he gave her, Gérard was reassessing everything he’d thought about the cute, fragile little human he’d been nursemaiding. Too bad. Claire thought one of her strengths was that everybody always underestimated her.
She was cool on the outside, shaking on the inside, because although it was the only way to keep Myrnin calm right now without tranquilizers, or without letting him rip Hannah’s throat out, she’d just killed her boss.
That didn’t seem like a really good career move.
Amelie will help, she thought a bit desperately, and Gérard slung Myrnin over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and then they were running, moving fast again back down the hall to where Amelie had stayed to secure their escape.
Gérard came to a fast halt, and Hannah and Claire almost skidded into him. “What?” Hannah whispered, and looked past the two vampires in the lead.
Amelie was at the corner ahead of them, but ten feet past her was Mr. Bishop.
They were standing motionless, facing each other. Amelie looked fragile and delicate, compared to her father in his bishop’s robes. He looked ancient and angry, and the fire in his eyes was like something out of the story of Joan of Arc.