Midnight Alley tmv-3

by Rachel Caine

  Claire wondered if he really, deep down, still agreed.

  Eve dialed and put the phone to her ear. For a tense few seconds nothing happened, and then Claire saw relief melt the tension out of Eve's face and body. "Michael! Where the hell are you?" Pause. "Where?" Pause. "Oh. Okay. I need to tell you — " Pause. "You know." Pause. "Yeah, we'll — talk later."

  Eve folded the phone and handed it back. Shane slipped it in his pocket again, eyebrows up and signaling questions.

  "He's okay," she said. Her eyes had gone dark and narrow.

  "And?"

  "And nothing. He's fine. End of story."

  "Bullshit," Shane said, and tugged her down to sit next to him on the curb. "Spill it, Eve. Now."

  Claire sat too, on Eve's other side. The curb felt cold and hard, but the good thing was that the patrol car blocked Fenton's view of them. He was talking to the occupants of another car, vampire-tinted, who had pulled up behind the cruiser.

  "He was downtown," she said. "At the Elder's Council. They pulled him in there early this morning."

  "Who did?"

  "The Big Three." Oliver, Amelie and the mayor, Richard and Monica's dad. "Amelie just got word about Sam. But Michael's not hurt or anything." An unspoken for now was at the end of that. Eve was worried. She bent her head closer to Shane's, lowered her voice even further, and said, "You didn't have anything to do with what happened to Sam, right?"

  "Jesus, Eve!"

  "I'm only asking because — "

  "I know why you're asking," he whispered back fiercely. "Hell no. If was going to go after some vampire, it wouldn't have been Sam. I'd be staking somebody like Oliver, make it worth my time. Speaking of Oliver, he'd be my number one suspect."

  "Vampires don't kill their own."

  "He arranged for Brandon to die," Claire offered. "I think Oliver's capable of anything. And he'd love to see Amelie even more isolated." She swallowed hard. "She told me once that Sam was safer if she didn't keep him close. I guess she was right."

  "Doesn't matter. Oliver keeps his hands clean, no matter what. Some broke-ass human is going to burn for this, and you know it," Shane said. "And it happened in front of our house, and nobody's forgotten what happened with my dad. You don't think we're being set up?"

  Crap. Shane was right. The fact that Michael was safe was good, but it was also a double-edged sword; it meant that Michael had been gone when Sam had been attacked.

  And Michael was the only one of them whose word might be worth anything to the vampires.

  Sure enough, Fenton came back around the cruiser and stared at the three of them for a few seconds, then said, "You're being taken in for questioning. All three of you. Get in the back seat."

  Shane didn't move. "I'm not going anywhere."

  The policeman sighed and leaned against the quarter panel. "Son, you've got a lot of attitude, and I respect that. But you'd better catch a clue right now, because either you get in my car, or you get in their car." He pointed toward the silent dark sedan, the one with vampires inside. "And I promise you, that won't end so well. You get me?"

  Shane nodded, stood, and gave Eve a hand up.

  Claire stayed seated. She pulled up the sleeve on her left arm. The bracelet glittered and glimmered in the morning light, and she held it up for Fenton's clear view.

  His eyes widened. "Is that ...?"

  "I want to see my Patron," Claire said. "Please."

  He went off to talk on his radio, then came back and jerked his head at Shane and Eve. "In the back seat," he said. "You're going to the station. You, kid ..." He nodded toward the other sedan. "They'll take you to Amelie."

  Claire swallowed hard and exchanged a look with Shane, then Eve. That hadn't been her plan. She wanted them all to stay together. How could she keep them safe if they got separated?

  "Don't," Shane said. "Come with us."

  Truthfully, that was starting to sound like a better idea. The vampires weren't going to be happy, and her shiny gold bracelet didn't exempt her from suspicion. Amelie could still order her hurt, or killed.

  "Okay," Claire said. Shane looked massively relieved as he ducked his head and entered the back seat of the cruiser. Eve followed him in.

  The cop slammed the door after Eve, before Claire could get in the patrol car.

  "Hey!" Shane yelled, and hit the car window. He and Eve were both trying to get out, but the doors weren't opening.

  Fenton grabbed her by the arm and hustled her over to the other sedan, opened the door, and put her in the back seat before she could protest. Claire heard the faint click of locks engaging, and sat very still, trying to see through the gloom.

  One of the vampires flicked on the overhead light. Oh crap. It was two of her not-favorite people. The woman was pale as snow, with white-blonde hair and eyes of palest silver. Gretchen. Her partner, Hans, was a hard man made of angles, with graying short hair, and a stony expression.

  "I wish we'd gotten the boy instead," Gretchen said, clearly disappointed. Her voice was low-pitched, throaty, with a heavy foreign accent. Not quite German, but not quite anything else, either. An old accent, Claire thought. "He was so rude to us when last we spoke. And surely his father deserves a lesson, even if the boy does not."

  "Amelie says just bring this one," Hans said, and put the car in gear. He looked at Claire in the rear view mirror. "Seatbelt, please."

  She had trouble wrapping her head around that — why did he care? — but she clicked the safety restraint shut and sat back. Like the ride in Sam's car the day before, she couldn't see a thing outside the windows except a faint gray dot where the sun was rising.

  "Where are you taking me?" she asked. Gretchen laughed. Claire caught the flash of fangs, but Gretchen didn't really need them to be scary. Not at all.

  "To the Elder's Council," she said. "You remember it, Claire. You had such a good time there when last we visited."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  There was Morganville — the dry, dusty, run-down town that was all most people ever saw — and then there was Founder's Square, a little piece of Europe where people with a pulse weren't welcome. Claire had been inside once, and it wasn't a fond memory; no matter how cute the little cafes were, or how nice the shops, she could only see the center of the square, with its cage where they'd locked up Shane.

  Where they'd been meaning to burn him alive as punishment for something he hadn't even done.

  Somehow, Claire had expected to be parked in the same place as last time —outside of the square, at the police checkpoint — but of course that wasn't possible, was it? A few of the older vampires might be able to stand the sun, but they wouldn't willingly stroll around in it. Morganville was built for the convenience of vampires, not humans, and when Claire's door opened, and Gretchen impatiently gestured for her to get out, they were in an underground parking garage. It was full of cars, all nice ones, with darkened windows. Like a Beverly Hills mall or something.

  There were armed guards. One of them started toward them as Gretchen pulled Claire out of the car, but Hans flashed him a badge, and the other guy — vampire, presumably — backed off.

  "Let's go," Hans said. "Your Patron is waiting."

  Gretchen chuckled. Not a happy sound. Claire stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up as the two vampires set off at a brisk walk, Gretchen's iron-hard grip on her upper arm setting in with bruising force. She was short of breath by the time they got to a long double flight of stairs, which the vampires took at a jog. At the top of the stairs was some kind of fire door, with a code panel. Claire didn't dare try to sneak a look at what Hans entered; knowing the vampires' paranoia, it wouldn't do her any good. The machines were probably calibrated to exclude anybody with a heartbeat.

  Which made her wonder: was Myrnin behind the town's security, too? Was that something else she was supposed to learn? It could really come in handy if she could persuade him to show her ...

  She was obsessing on technicals to avoid feeling the terror, but as soon as the door
lock released she had nothing else to focus on except fear, and it washed over her in a sticky, cold wave. Gretchen seemed to sense it. She looked down at Claire with those cool, mirror-gray eyes, and smiled. "Worried, little one?" she asked sweetly. "Worried for yourself, or for your friends?"

  "Worried for Sam," Claire said. Gretchen lost her smile, and for just an instant, she seemed honestly off balance and surprised. "Is he alive?"

  "Alive?" Gretchen's armor slid firmly back in place, and she raised a slender arched eyebrow. "He may yet be saved, if that is what you mean. I suppose your friend Shane will have to try again."

  "Shane didn't do anything!"

  This time, Gretchen's smile got positively cruel. "Perhaps not," she said. "Perhaps not yet. But be patient. He will. It's in his nature, as much as killing is in ours."

  Claire had to save her breath, because they were walking again, big strides across thick maroon carpet. Claire's first impression of the Elder's Council building had been that it was a funeral home; it still felt like that to her, all hushed and quiet and elegant. They'd had roses in the last time, when the vampire they'd thought Shane killed had been lying in state. She didn't see any flowers this time.

  Gretchen led her down a hallway and through thick double doors, into the round entry hall. There were four armed vampire guards in the room, and Gretchen and Hans had to stop and show ID, and surrender their weapons. Claire got searched — quick, competent pats from cold hands that made her shiver.

  And then the doors opened, and she was pulled into a big round room with a high ceiling, chandeliers like falls of ice, and dim, expensive paintings on the walls. She hadn't imagined the smell of roses. In the center of the room stood a massive round conference table, surrounded by chairs, and in the center was a vase filled with red, red blooms.

  Nobody was at the table. Instead, a group of at least ten was standing at the other side of the room, looking down.

  Some of them turned to look, and Claire's gaze fixed irresistibly on Oliver. She hadn't seen him since he'd threatened her life, trying to lure Shane out of hiding, and as he stood up now she had a flash of that again, how icy and hard his hands had been around her throat. How scared she'd been.

  Oliver snarled, low in his throat but loud enough to be heard, and his eyes were like a wolf's. Not human at all.

  "I see you brought the criminal for punishment," he said, and moved toward them.

  Gretchen looked at Hans, and then shoved Claire behind her. "Stop," she said. Oliver did, mostly in surprise. "The girl asked to come, to see her Patron. We have no proof she is guilty."

  "If she lives in that house, then she's guilty," Oliver said. "You surprise me, Gretchen. When did you begin taking the side of the breathers?"

  She laughed, but it had a bright, false sound to it. She said something in a language that Claire didn't recognize, and Oliver spat something back, and Hans put a big hand on Claire's shoulder.

  "She's our responsibility," he said. "And she's Amelie's property. Nothing to do with you, Oliver. Move."

  Oliver, smiling, raised his hands and backed away. Hans moved Claire forward, past him, and she felt his stare on the back of her neck, as real as knives.

  The circle of people parted as Hans approached. It was mostly (Claire guessed) vampires; they didn't wear tags or anything, but most of them had the same cool pale skin, the same whip-snake quickness when they moved. In fact, the only two humans — breathers? — she saw were Mayor Morrell, looking miserably uncomfortable as he stood near the edge of the group, and his son Richard. Richard's uniform was damp in places, and it took Claire a few seconds to realize that it was wet with blood.

  Sam's blood.

  Sam was lying on his back on the carpet, with his head cradled in Amelie's lap. The elder vampire was kneeling, and her hands were stroking gently through Sam's bright copper hair. He looked pale and dead, and the stake was still in his chest.

  Amelie's eyes were closed, but opened as Hans pushed Claire toward her. For a long second the older vampire didn't seem to recognize Claire at all, and then weariness flashed through her expression, and she looked down at Sam, her fingers trailing across his cheek.

  "Claire, assist me," she said, as if they were continuing a conversation Claire hadn't even been in on. "Give her room, please."

  Hans let go, and Claire felt a wild urge to run, run out of this room, get Shane and just go, anywhere but here. There was something too big to understand in Amelie's eyes, something she didn't want to know. She started to take a step back, but Amelie's hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist and pulled, and Claire fell to her knees on the other side of Sam's body.

  He looked dead.

  Really, really dead.

  "When I tell you, take hold of the wood and pull," Amelie said, her voice low and steady. "Not until I tell you."

  "But — I'm not very strong — " Why wasn't she asking Richard? Asking one of the vampires? Oliver, even?

  "You are strong enough. When I tell you, Claire." Amelie closed her eyes again, and Claire scrubbed her damp palms nervously over her blue jeans. The wooden stake in Sam's chest was round, polished wood, like a spike, and she couldn't tell how deep it was in his body. Was it in his heart? Wouldn't that kill him, once and for all? She remembered they'd talked about other vampires who'd gotten staked, and they'd died ...

  Amelie's expression suddenly twisted in pain, and she said, "Now, Claire!"

  Claire didn't even think. She fastened her hands around the stake and pulled, one massive yank, and for a terrifying second she thought it wouldn't work, but then she felt it sliding free, scraping against bone as it went.

  Sam's whole body arched, like he'd been shocked with one of those heart machines, and the circle of vampires moved back. Amelie kept hold of him, her fingers white as bone where they pressed on the sides of his head. Her eyes flew open, and they were pure blazing silver.

  Claire scrambled backward, clutching the stake in both hands. Someone plucked it out of her grip — Richard Morrell, looking grim and tired. He put it into a plastic bag and zipped it shut.

  Evidence.

  Sam went limp again. The wound in his chest was bleeding a steady slow trickle, and Amelie took off her jacket — white silk — and folded it into a pad to press it against the flow. Nobody spoke, not even Amelie. Claire sat there feeling helpless, watching Sam. He wasn't moving, not at all.

  He still looked dead.

  "Samuel," Amelie said, and her voice was low and quiet and warm. She bent closer to him. "Samuel. Come back to me."

  His eyes opened, and they were all pupil. Scary owl eyes. Claire bit her lip and thought again about running, but Hans and Gretchen were at her back and she knew she didn't have a chance, anyway.

  Sam blinked, and his pupils began to shrink slowly to a more normal size. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

  "Breathe in," Amelie said, in that same quiet, warm tone. "I'm here, Samuel. I won't leave you." She stroked fingers gently over his forehead, and he blinked again and slowly focused on her.

  It was like there was nobody else in all the world, just the two of them. Amelie was wrong, Claire thought. It isn't just that Sam loves her. She loves him just as much.

  Sam looked from Amelie to the circle of people, searching it for someone. When he didn't find the right one, he looked at Amelie again. His lips formed a name. Michael.

  "Michael is safe," Amelie said. "Hans. Fetch him here."

  Hans nodded and left, walking quickly. Michael. Claire realized with a jolt that she'd forgotten he'd be here, forgotten all about him in the shock of all that had happened. Sam was, at least, looking better with every passing second, but Amelie continued to press the makeshift bandage to the wound in his chest.

  Sam's hand crept up, clumsy and slow, to cover hers, and for a long few seconds they looked at each other silently, and then Amelie nodded and let go.

  Sam held the bandage in place and, with Amelie's help, pulled himself to a sitting position. She helped him lean again
st the wall.

  "Can you tell us what happened?" she asked him. Sam nodded, and Claire looked up to see Richard Morrell crouching down, notebook and pen at the ready.

  Sam's voice, when it finally came, was soft and thin, and it was clearly an effort for him to speak at all. "Went to see Michael," he said.

  "But Michael was here, with us," Amelie said. "We summoned him during the night."

  Sam's hand — the one not occupied holding the jacket to his chest — rose and fell, helplessly. "Sensed he wasn't home, so I backed out of the drive. Someone pulled open the car door — taser, couldn't fight back. Staked me while I was down."

  "Who?" Richard asked. Sam's eyes closed briefly, then opened.

  "Didn't see. Human. Heard the heartbeat." He swallowed. "Thirsty."

  "You must heal first," Amelie said. "A few more moments. Is there anything at all you can tell us about this human who attacked you?"

  Sam's eyes opened again, with an effort. "He called me Michael."

  Michael arrived just in time to hear that last part. He looked at Claire, wide-eyed, then crouched down beside Sam. "Who did? The one who did this?"

  Sam shook his head. "I don't know who. Male, that's all I know. He used your name. I think he thought I was you." Sam's lips curled in the pale ghost of a smile. "Guess he didn't see the hair before he staked me."

  The article in the newspaper. Captain Obvious. Somebody had decided to take out the newest vampire in town, and it was sheer luck that they'd gotten Sam instead. It could have been Michael lying in the street.

  And from the look on Michael's face, he was thinking the exact same thing.

  ###

  Amelie was agitated. It wasn't really obvious, but Claire had seen her enough to know the difference. She moved more swiftly, and there was something less calm than usual in her eyes. Claire shivered a little when Amelie summoned her into a side room. It was small and empty, probably some kind of meeting room. Amelie didn't come alone; a tall blond vampire guy followed along and stood with his back to the door, a flesh-and-blood deadbolt. No getting out quickly, or at all, really.