by Rachel Caine
She flipped her hair back over her shoulders, picked up her latte, and walked away. Guys’ heads turned as she passed, with Gina and Jennifer in a flying-V formation behind her.
“Huh,’” Eve said as she wiped down the machines with maybe a little bit more force than was necessary. “She doesn’t usually back down that easily.’”
“Maybe she’s got class.’”
Eve snorted. “Trust me,’” she said. “That girl’s got no class at all.’”
“How weird is it that we have our own personal cop limo service?’” Eve asked. She and Claire were standing on the sidewalk in front of the UC, and the campus looked mostly deserted—it was seven o’clock, and the sky had darkened to a deep twilight. There were even a few premature stars out already. The sun had just gone down, and there was still a fiery orange and yellow glow on the western horizon. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a car. I can drive.’”
“I don’t think they’ll keep it up,’” Claire offered. “I mean, it’s just a special thing. Until they catch—whoever killed that girl.’”
Eve sighed and didn’t answer. A blue car turned and cruised around the circular drive, pulling to a halt in front of them. Joe Hess was driving, and Travis Lowe got out and opened the back door with a dumb-looking overdone bow. It was kind of cute, actually. Claire climbed in and slid over, and Eve got in next to her.
“Hello, girls,’” Hess said, and turned to look back at them. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed like he hadn’t slept at all. “Thanks for the coffee.’”
Claire and Eve looked at each other. “Sorry,’” Eve said. “I always smell like coffee; it’s the perfume of the barista. I didn’t actually bring any for you. But if you want, I’ll go back and—’”
“No way,’” Lowe said as he got into the shotgun seat. “Dark already. Let’s get you gals home. Joe and me, we’ll grab some later.’”
“Thank you,’” Claire said. “For the ride.’”
Neither of the cops answered. Detective Hess drove the other half of the circle, turned out onto the campus main drag, and within two blocks was off campus and into the dark Morganville night. Most shops were tightly closed already. As they passed Common Grounds, Claire and Eve both looked. It was full, of course, an oasis of light in the dark, empty street. No sign of Oliver. No sign of Shane’s dad, either, which made Claire’s conscience twinge hard. I need to tell Shane. Soon. She didn’t see how blabbing it to Eve would help, except to make Eve even more worried. And from the pensive way Eve was staring out into the dark, there was enough of that going on already.
They were only one block from the house when a sleek black car—with tail fins, like a shark—pulled in front of them and, with shocking speed, turned sideways. Hess jammed on the brakes, and the sound of screeching tires was like a banshee’s wail. He didn’t hit the other car…quite. Claire thumped back against the vinyl upholstery, panting from shock, and exchanged a wide-eyed look with Eve.
In the front seat, Hess and Lowe were doing the same things. Only with a full helping of grim, and a side of tense.
“What’s happening?’” Eve asked, and leaned forward. “Detectives?’”
“You stay here,’” Hess said, and popped his door. “Trav. Stay with them.’”
“Joe—’”
“I’ll be fine.’” He got out, slammed the door, and walked toward the other car. A dark-tinted window rolled down, and in the glare of the headlights, Claire saw a dead-pale face she recognized.
“Hans,’” she whispered. The vampire detective. She looked at Detective Lowe, and saw something strange; he had his gun out, held in his lap. And a cross in his left hand. “Right? It’s Hans.’”
“You girls stay put,’” Lowe said. His eyes didn’t move from the scene playing out in front of him. “Just a routine check.’”
Claire didn’t know much about police procedure, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t routine for one cop to block another one off in the road, right? Not even here.
And it wasn’t routine procedure for a detective to have his gun out, either.
Whatever conversation Hess was having, it wasn’t making him happy. It was also short. He shook his head a couple of times and then finally nodded.
As he walked back to the car, Claire had a real bad feeling. His expression was too serious and too angry for it to be good news. Shane. Oh God, maybe it’s about Shane—something’s happened to Shane….
Hess opened the back door—Claire’s side—and leaned in. “Girls,’” he said. “You’re going to have to come with me.’”
“The hell?’” Lowe barked. “I thought we were taking them home.’”
“Change of plans,’” Hess said. He was trying not to look angry, or worried, but Claire could still see it in his eyes. “You’re wanted downtown, girls. I’ll come with you. Trav, I need you to take the car in.’”
The two men exchanged a long look, and then Lowe let out a slow breath. “Right,’” he said. “Sure. You look after them.’”
“You know I will.’”
Claire got out of the car, feeling more exposed and vulnerable even than usual. Hess was right there, big and comforting, but still…she saw Hans’s eyes on her, and it made her feel cold.
His partner, Gretchen, got out of the passenger side and came around to open the back door. “In,’” she snapped. Claire swallowed hard and moved forward, but Eve got there first, sliding inside and all the way across. Hess followed Claire. When Gretchen slammed the door, the three of them barely fit in the backseat.
“You all keep your mouths shut until you’re asked to speak,’” Hans said, and put the car in gear as Gretchen got back in. He turned the big car with a squeal of warm rubber and accelerated fast down the street.
They passed 716 Lot Street. All the lights were on, and the door was open, and someone was standing in the doorway, watching them roar by. It was too quick to tell whether it was Shane or Michael, but Claire hoped it was Shane.
She hoped that if something happened, she at least had gotten to see him before the end.
“I thought we were going to the police station,’” Eve whispered as the car took some turns and wound through the confusing maze of streets.
“We’re not?’” Claire whispered back.
“Passed it back there. I guess we’re going somewhere else.’” Eve sounded flat-out scared, and when Claire reached over, she found Eve’s hand was cold and shaking. They held on to each other as the car made more turns, and then slowed for some kind of barricade. “Oh God. We’re going to the square.’”
“The square?’”
“Founder’s Square. It’s, like, vamptown this time of night.’” Eve swallowed and gripped Claire’s hand more tightly. “I’m trying to think of any way this could be a good thing.’”
“Hush,’” Detective Hess said quietly. “You’re okay. Trust me.’”
Claire did. She just didn’t trust the two vampire detectives sitting in the front seat, who were obviously more in charge.
The barricade lifted. Hans drove them through, brought the big car to a stop in an unlit parking lot, and turned to look at them. Claire first, then Eve. Hess, last of all.
Gretchen turned, too. She was smiling.
“Something we want you to see,’” Hans said. Gretchen exited the car and opened the back door on Eve’s side. “Out.’”
They clambered out into the cooling night air. The moon was up, casting a sickly yellow glow that didn’t illuminate much. The dark seemed very deep, even though there was still some indigo lining the horizon. Not even really full night yet…
A cold, strong hand closed over Claire’s upper arm. She squeaked breathlessly, and heard Eve making a sound of surprise, too. Gretchen had somehow gotten between them, holding them both by the arms.
Hans threw a look at Detective Hess. “Stay with the car,’” he said.
“I’m coming with the girls.’”
“You’re taking orders like a good little neutral,’” Hans
said. “Unless you want to lose that status for both you and your partner. This isn’t some minor incident. This has the attention of the Elders. If the girls don’t cause trouble, they’ll come back unharmed, but you stay here.’”
Gretchen said, “No, Hans. Let him come. It’ll be good for him to attend.’”
Hans frowned at her, then shrugged. “Fine. But get in the way, Hess, and you’re meat.’”
Gretchen hustled the girls forward.
“What’s going on?’” Eve asked. Neither of the vampires answered. Claire turned her head and saw that Hess was behind them, but somehow, that didn’t give her all that much comfort. Gretchen frog-marched them around the corner of a blank-faced brick building, and into…
A park.
Claire blinked, surprised, because this was actually very…nice. Green grass, big shady trees rustling in the darkness. There were lights, too, strung through the tree branches and shining on flowers and bushes and walking paths.
The area that bordered the park was more alive than anything she’d seen yet in Morganville. Where the stores bordering the campus were run-down and dingy, the ones facing the square were shining, polished, beautifully maintained. Beautiful in an old-world kind of way, all stone and marble and pillars. There were gargoyles, too, built onto the roofs as drain spouts.
It looked like pictures Claire had seen of old European towns, only…nicer.
Every business facing the square was open. Two outdoor restaurants were serving, and the smell of roasting meats and fresh bread made Claire’s mouth water. All she’d really had for the day was coffee, and that was long gone.
And then she remembered what Eve had said. If downtown at night was vamptown, why the restaurants?
She knew when they passed close to one of them. There were groups dining, mixed vampire and human; the vampires had plates of food and were eating just as enthusiastically as the humans. “You eat!’” Claire blurted, astonished. Gretchen glanced at her with those cold, alien eyes.
“Of course,’” she said. “It provides us no nutrition, but the taste is still attractive. Why? You’ll find that poisons will do you no good, if you’re searching for a way to kill us.’”
Claire hadn’t even thought that far, actually. She was just…weirdly intrigued.
The stores they passed were incredible. Jewelers, with displays of gems and gold. Book dealers carrying ancient volumes as well as new best sellers. Clothing stores, lots of them, with tasteful and expensive styles. It was like a rich neighborhood from a major city, like Dallas or Houston or Austin, had been transplanted directly in.
Weird.
And all the shoppers were vampires. In fact, there were lots of them around, more than Claire had ever imagined lived in Morganville; the more she saw, the more scared she felt. They were staring at her and Eve like the girls were cows on the way to the slaughterhouse, and she felt horribly alone. I want to go home. I swear, if you let me get out of this, I’ll move back with Mom and Dad. I’ll never leave again….
Gretchen steered them toward a black marble building with gold lettering at the top. ELDERS’ COUNCIL, it said.
“It’s okay,’” Hess said quietly from behind them. “You’ll be okay, girls. Just cooperate. If they ask questions, tell the truth.’”
Claire barely felt her feet on the polished black marble steps. It was a little like moving in a dream, helpless and numb, but Gretchen’s grip on her arm was all too real. And painful. Ouch. Bruises later.
Hans opened the big polished door, and they went inside.
Of all the things Claire expected to see, she somehow hadn’t expected a television set, but there one was, tuned to a twenty-four-hour news channel showing flickering pictures of a war—bombs exploding, soldiers shooting. And standing in front of it, arms folded, was Oliver. He wasn’t wearing his hippie-dippie Coffee Shop Guy clothes; he was wearing a suit, black, tailored, and sharp as a knife. His graying hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and he was wearing a tie. No, not a tie, exactly. Kind of like a scarf, with a diamond pin through it to hold it in place. Maybe it had been fashionable when Oliver was younger.
“Some things never change,’” he said, staring at the television. “People continue to kill over the stupidest possible excuses. And they call us monsters.’”
On the last word, his gaze snapped to Claire, and she shivered. Oliver had nice eyes, but somehow, they scared her even more than Gretchen’s ice-cold ones. Maybe it was because she still wanted to like him, no matter what he’d done. He killed Michael! she reminded herself. Well, he’d mostly killed him, anyway.
“Hello,’” Oliver said to her, and nodded. He moved his stare to Eve. “Eve. We’ve missed you at the shop.’”
“B—’” Eve swallowed what she’d been about to say, which Claire was ninety-nine percent sure was Bite me. “Thanks.’” Which for Eve was amazingly cautious. If anybody had been shocked and angry about Oliver turning out vampire, it had been Eve.
Oliver nodded and walked across the large, empty room—empty except for the silently playing television and thick plush maroon carpet—and opened a set of double doors. He wasn’t the doorman; he walked on through and into the next room. Gretchen pushed Claire and Eve forward. The carpet was squishy soft under Claire’s feet, and she caught the scent of fading flowers. Roses. Lots of roses.
It hit her full force when they entered the next room, which was a big circular place with burgundy velvet curtains all around, with pillars in between. A low-key chandelier cast a medium-bright glow. Same carpet, but this room had furniture—chairs laid out in neat rows, in three sections with aisles between.
It took Claire a second to realize that she was walking into a funeral parlor. When she did, she stopped, and stumbled as Gretchen continued to drag her relentlessly onward, past the rows of empty folding chairs, all the way to the front, where Oliver was standing near another velvet curtain.
“Sir,’” Joe Hess said, coming out from behind Claire and Eve. “I’m Detective Hess.’”
Oliver nodded. “I know you.’”
“Shouldn’t there be others present here for this?’” The tension in Hess’s voice, and his body, warned Claire that Oliver’s interrogating them on his own was a very bad thing.
“There are others present, Detective Hess,’” said a light, cool voice from the far corner of the room, which Claire could have sworn was empty one second before. She gasped and looked, and there was Amelie, standing there as if she’d been carved in stone before the building came up around her. And her bodyguards—or servants—were standing in a group near her. She’d brought four of them. Claire wondered if that was a signal of how much trouble she and Eve were in.
“There is a third coming,’” Amelie said, and settled herself in a chair as if it were a golden throne. She was wearing black, like Oliver, but her attire was a long elegant suede skirt suit, with a severe white shirt under the tailored jacket. She crossed her legs, which were pale and perfect, and folded her hands in her lap.
Oliver wasn’t looking happy. “Who are we waiting for?’” he asked.
“You know the laws, Oliver, even if you choose to find ways to cheat them,’” Amelie said. “We are waiting for Mr. Morrell.’”
They didn’t have to wait long; in a matter of less than a minute, Claire heard voices coming from the anteroom outside, and a jingle of keys. She’d never seen the man who walked in, flanked by two uniformed cops, but she knew one of the cops: Richard Morrell, Monica’s brother. So the portly, balding man with the smug expression was probably her dad.
The mayor of Morganville.
He was dressed in a suit, too—blue, pin-striped, with wide lapels. Kind of pimpish, really, and the pants were a little too long. He had too many rings on his fingers, all in gold, and he was smiling.
“Oliver,’” he said cheerfully. The smile vanished fast when he spotted Amelie sitting so quietly off to the side, with her entourage. His face composed itself into something a whole lot more…respectfu
l. “Founder.’”
“Mayor.’” She nodded to him. “Good. We can begin.’”
Gretchen let go of Claire’s arm. She winced at the returning flow of blood to her tingling hand, and rubbed at the place where Gretchen had been gripping her. Yeah, that was going to be a bruise. Definitely. She risked a look at Eve, who was doing the same thing. Eve looked dead scared.
Oliver reached over and pulled a hidden cord, and the burgundy velvet curtain behind him opened.
There was a body lying on the marble slab, surrounded by rich red roses, bunches of them in floor vases. The corpse looked blue white, rubbery, and utterly, horribly dead. Claire felt a cloud creep over her, heard a buzzing in her ears, and nearly collapsed, but somehow she managed not to faint.
“Oh my God,’” Eve whispered, and brought both hands to her mouth.
“It’s Brandon,’” Claire said, and looked at Oliver. “It’s Brandon, right?’” Because that cold, white face didn’t look human anymore, and she couldn’t match it up to the living person—vampire—she’d feared. The one who’d threatened her, chased her home, nearly killed her and Eve…
Oliver nodded. He pulled back the velvet covering Brandon from the neck down, revealing black open wounds. Some of them still smoked. Claire caught the smell of cooking meat, and this time, her knees buckled. Detective Hess caught her arm and steadied her.
“He was tortured,’” Oliver said. He sounded neutral—disinterested, even. “It took a long time. Someone very much enjoyed this. Almost as if there was a…personal agenda at work.’”
Mayor Morrell motioned his son forward. Richard wasn’t nearly the psycho his sister was. In fact, Claire kind of liked him, as much as she could like anybody from his family who worked for vampires. He seemed almost fair.
Richard examined the wounds in Brandon’s body. He actually touched them, which made Claire throw up in her head, if not actually through her mouth. “Looks like some kind of weapon straight to the heart. Probably a stake,’” Richard said, and looked up at his father. “Whoever did this was serious. This wasn’t just random; this was done slowly. I don’t know what they wanted out of him, but whatever it was, they probably got it. I can see shadows of wounds that closed over before he died. That’s hours, at least.’”