CLAIRE
The interrogation - because that was what it was, no matter what anyone said - took about an hour. One by one, Eve, Claire, and Shane told Hannah where they'd been and what they'd done, hour by hour, since they'd last seen Naomi sitting here in the parlor.
Hannah had made notes, but her face had remained impassive; she didn't give any hints about what she thought about the whole thing, none at all. She asked more questions of Eve than she did of Shane or Claire, and after she'd left, Eve collapsed on the sofa, buried her face in her hands, and said, "They think I did it."
"No, they don't," Michael said. He sat beside her and put his arm around her. "It's just that you - you were pretty angry about her."
"They suspect all of us," Shane said. His voice was flat, his expression so tense that his jaw looked sharp. "Us in particular, I mean. But after us, everybody else with a pulse. Maybe that's why - " He shut his mouth with a snap, eyes widening, and Claire bit her lip. He'd almost blurted it out.
As it was, Michael said, "Why what?"
"Why they're nervous," Claire put in quickly. Probably too quickly. "About the wedding, I mean."
Michael stared at her, and she suddenly knew he knew she was lying. Her pulse was too fast, for one thing. He'd once told her that he could tell when she was lying, and even if he'd been kidding her, he had an instinct for these things. A killer instinct. "Something's going on with you two, and don't tell me I'm imagining it," he said. "First Shane shows up choked half to death - "
"Dude, it's not that bad!"
" - and now this. You know something. You're hiding something."
Even Eve was looking at Claire now, not quite ready to believe but obviously wondering. "She wouldn't do that," she told Michael. "Would you, CB?"
"She's not hiding anything," Shane said. That was a relief, because Shane was a much better liar. "She's just worried. The vamps are acting weird. Trust me, being worried is a survival instinct right about now. Go on, tell me I'm wrong, Mikey."
Michael was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. "I can't," he admitted. "Something's going on there, too. What, I don't know; they don't exactly keep me in the loop. But whatever it is, they're closing ranks." He fidgeted with the end of Eve's satin belt. "I'm worried, guys. I'm worried about you. I'm worried about us."
Shane sat down in the armchair Michael had vacated, but he mirrored his best friend's posture almost exactly - elbows on knees, leaning forward. Intense. "Okay, I need to know something. Seriously."
Michael raised his eyebrows and nodded.
"I need to know you're going to stand with us if it comes to a fight. Me and Claire and Eve. I need you to say it, right now, because my feeling is that this is going to go real bad, real fast. I can't be worrying about whether or not you've got our backs."
Michael stood up. It was a vampire move, sudden and shocking, and in the blink of an eye, he was looming over Shane, and he had Shane's T-shirt bunched in his fist, lifting him half out of the chair. "You've got to be fucking kidding me, Shane! Have I ever not had your back? I had your back when you tried to kill me. I had your back when you were locked in a cage. I've had your back every single time. What do I have to do to make you believe I'm on your side, be an asshole like your dad? Well, I can do that. Maybe if I punch you a few times, you'll be convinced."
He let Shane drop back down in his chair, and walked out, back stiff. Furious.
Shane sat, stunned, hands clutching at the armrests. He exchanged a look with Eve, and they both stood up at once. "No," Shane said. "I did it. Let me fix it."
He went off after Michael. Eve chewed her lip and said, "Well, we're either going to see half the house destroyed, or their bromance is going to go all the way." She gave a shaky laugh, one that was dangerously close to hysteria. "God. What is happening? Claire - "
Claire hugged her. It was instinctive, and it was the right thing to do; Eve's tension slowly relaxed, and she hugged her back, fiercely. "It's going to be okay," Claire said, very quietly. "I don't know how, but it will. Just - trust me. Please. Because Michael's right - there are things I can't tell you, but it wouldn't help if you knew them. You have to trust me."
Eve pulled back, looked at her, and said, simply, "I always have."
It was odd, Claire thought, how it was the boys who were full of drama about this, while Eve, the acknowledged Drama Empress of Morganville, was the calmest.
The house didn't come apart, although they heard raised voices from upstairs, and a few thumps. Finally, Shane appeared at the parlor doorway and said, "We're okay."
Eve lifted her chin and said frostily, "Well, of course we are. You're the only one who doubted it. As always."
Ouch. Yet, Claire thought, Shane really had that one coming.
And he acknowledged it with a nod. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?" he asked. Eve looked at the clock in the corner, made a panicked squeaking sound, and dashed past him, robe fluttering.
"Shouldn't you?" Claire asked.
"I'm showered," he said. "Taking my stuff to change. I'm not decorating crap in fancy clothes. And I'm not admitting to decorating at all, by the way."
She had to laugh. "Yeah," she said. "I kind of knew that."
Shane had been granted the keys to Eve's hearse for the day, to transport all the stuff, so the rest of the morning was occupied with loading, unloading, checking in with the guards at Founder's Square, setting up the tables in the big, empty ballroom (which still, to Claire's eyes, had a funeral parlor elegance, but that was mostly because of all her bad experiences), putting on tablecloths, streamers, flowers. . . .
It was a lot of work, and Shane had been right: wearing regular jeans and shirts helped, because it would have been twice as bad in formal wear.
By the time the (human) blood bank attendants arrived with their punch bowls, coolers, and cups (crystal, because vampires didn't drink out of plastic if they could help it), the tables were decorated in black cloth and silver streamers, and Shane had, at great personal risk, hung the Eve-required disco ball from the majestic crystal chandelier looming over the room. The dj - one of Eve's friends, apparently, although Claire had never met her - arrived with her own table, her computer, and a massive sound system that she assembled near the open area designated as the dance floor.
Claire put the centerpieces on the tables and checked the time.
Just barely enough.
She grabbed Shane and dragged him off from playing with the remote that turned the disco ball's motor on and off. "Get dressed," she said, and pressed the hanger with his clothes on it into his hands. "We have to be ready to greet people!"
"Yeah, that'll be super fun!" he said, with utterly fake enthusiasm.
"Just go already!"
He kissed her, quickly, and disappeared into the men's bathroom. Claire took her own dress and shoes into the women's room, which was really nice but - again - more or less funeral-homey, with all the subdued velvet and gilt. Dressed, she examined herself critically in the mirror. It was a nice, flattering dress of white trimmed in red, and the shoes (Eve had found them) were awesome. Claire finger-fluffed her shoulder-length hair - more red now than brown, thanks again to Eve - and headed out for the ballroom. Shane, of course, was already there, slouching on a straight-backed chair. He stood up when she walked in.
"You're beautiful," he said, very spontaneously, which warmed her all over.
"You're pretty fantastic, too," she said, and meant it. He'd put on dark pants and a dark turtleneck that almost hid all the bruises, and a really nice jacket. He looked . . . adult.
The dj started up with a song, testing the volume levels, and it broke the moment completely. In fact, it almost shattered the chandelier, considering the loudness. The dj dialed it back, but not before Claire's ears were ringing as if she'd been in a club. "Wow," she said. "This is going to rock. Probably in all the wrong ways."
And that prediction was way, way too correct.
First to show were friends from high school - nobody Claire knew, but Shane greeted them with easy familiarity. There were about ten of them, and they arrived in a pack, probably for safety; the girls seemed too boring-normal to be friends of Eve's, so Claire assumed these were Michael's circle. Some had brought gifts, and Claire pointed them to the table set up to deposit those.
Miranda, the skinny teen psychic, arrived dramatically alone, wearing a peculiar, mismatched skirt and top that were too big for her. She was (technically) Eve's friend, although she was younger and still in high school; as always, she seemed to be walking in a dream state, not really noticing where she was or who was around her. Eve liked to be thought of as strange; Miranda was the real deal. Nothing like creepy future predictions to put a chill on fun.
But she was an odd little thing, and Claire felt bad for her. She seemed to be always on her own.
"Hey, Mir," she greeted her, and handed her a white carnation.
Miranda looked at it as if she couldn't quite figure out what it was for. "Is it food?" she asked.
Shane mouthed, over Miranda's head, Please say yes, but Claire scowled at him and said, "No, it's just pretty." Miranda nodded wisely and tucked it behind her ear, with the long stem sticking back at a dangerous angle for anyone behind her. "Uh - there's food over there, and punch. Don't cut the cake, though. That's for Eve and Michael."
"Okay," Miranda said. She got a couple of steps into the room, then turned and looked back at Claire. "It's too bad you wore white. But maybe it will wash out."
Oh crap. If only Miranda had a sense of humor, Claire would have been sure she was just messing with her, but knowing that the girl had never joked, she thought of several interpretations and none of them was good. The best Claire could think of was that she'd get punch spilled on her.
Unfortunately, the best-case scenario never seemed to arrive.
"Easy," Shane said. "Sometimes she's wrong." He knew what Claire was thinking, because (she assumed) he was thinking it, too.
"Not often." And never on important things, although Claire truthfully couldn't judge whether that had been, in Miranda's mind, important. Difficult to say. She had a chaos-theory view of life, so what was important to normal people wasn't necessarily the same thing to her. And sometimes the most minuscule things were the most urgent.
Claire didn't have time to brood about it, because just then the first vampires arrived, cold and icily polite. Claire handed carnations to the ladies, who accepted them with disdainful grace as they glided in, heading straight for the plasma refreshments. Next came a group of cautious-looking townies, dressed in ill-fitting fancy dresses and suits, all prominently wearing their bracelets of Protection. These weren't the rebel underground; these were the humans with a vested stake (no pun intended) in the status quo, and they had a certain beaten look to them that made Claire's heart ache. She'd tried to use her influence with Amelie - such as it was - to make things better for them, but she couldn't counteract lifetimes of oppression in a couple of years.
"Claire," Shane said quietly. When she looked around, there was a vampire standing right in front of her, wearing an elaborate black satin coat with enormous long tails that reached to his heels, a red brocade vest, a ruffled white shirt....
Myrnin.
He looked deeply worried and very uncomfortable. "My dear girl, I really feel I need to - "
"Go away," she said. Not loudly, but she meant it. "Don't talk to me. Not ever again."
"But - "
She pushed him back, hard. "Never!" She didn't shout it, although she felt like screaming it; the fury that boiled up inside her made her shake and see red. "Don't you ever come near me or Shane again!"
He couldn't have looked more heartbroken, but she didn't care. She didn't. Her eyes filled with tears, but she made herself believe that they were tears of anger, not sadness. Not disappointment.
Myrnin bowed from the waist, old-fashioned and very correct, and said, "As you wish, Claire." Then he turned toward Shane and gave another bow, not quite as deep. "I regret the necessity of my actions." He didn't wait for Shane to say anything, not that Shane would have, anyway; he was busy watching Claire as she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes.
Myrnin walked away. He looked . . . small, somehow. And defeated, although he tried to keep his head upright. And even though she was angry - she was - it still hurt to see him like that. And deep down, she felt lost thinking that she'd never see him again. Never roll her eyes at his insane leaps of conversation. Never see those stupid bunny slippers again.
He did it. Not me.
Then why was it so awful?
She couldn't dwell on it, because more people were arriving, a lot more, and she had all she could do forcing smiles and saying polite things and handing out carnations to the ladies. This influx was a mixture of townies and a few wary, tense people she was sure were in Morganville but not of it - the resistance, maybe, come to scope out the situation. Shane recognized a few, and she saw him exchange some quick words with a couple.
There was a brief lull in arrivals, and Claire caught her breath and checked her carnation supply - getting low. Then again, the ballroom was now teeming with people - more than a hundred, for sure. Quite a crowd, in this town.
More vampires this time, at least twenty of them. One of the women accepted a flower with a charming, graceful smile; another lifted her chin and glided right by, refusing to even acknowledge Claire's existence.
So much fun.
"I believe that's for me," said a low, cool voice, and Claire jerked her attention back front and center just as Amelie plucked the carnation from her hand. "Do forgive Mathilde. She's not been the same since the French Revolution."
"You came," Claire blurted.
Amelie raised a single eyebrow in a sharp curve. "Why would I not? I was invited. It's only polite to attend."
"I thought you weren't in favor of - this."
"It would be hypocritical of me to say that it pleases me. But it suits my purposes to be here." Amelie nodded her good-byes and started to move on.
Claire took in a breath and asked, "Did you order Myrnin to kill Shane?"
Amelie stood there silently with the white carnation turning in her cool, long fingers, then turned and took Oliver's offered elbow as he entered the room, looking very much not himself in a suit that was almost as beautiful as what Michael was wearing. "Ah. There you are. Shall we proceed?"
"I suppose we must," he said. He didn't seem happy about it.
Claire said, "Wait! You didn't answer - "
Amelie turned back to Claire just for a moment, and said, "What I do for this town, I do without regard to my own feelings, much less yours. Is that clear?" Her voice was cold, low, and very clear, and then she was gone, the queen walking off to greet her subjects.
So, it hadn't really been Myrnin's choice. No wonder he was so wounded; he'd been ordered, and he'd obeyed, and Claire had dumped the blame on him (well, he was to blame - he could have refused!), but Amelie was definitely the puppet master pulling his strings. As hurtful as Myrnin's betrayal was, it didn't scare her nearly as much now.
Amelie had told her long ago that she would do anything, sacrifice anyone, for the safety of Morganville, but it still felt like betrayal.
Eve peeked around the door and gestured at Claire, who moved closer. "Is everybody here?" she asked. She looked terrified and excited all at once. "Is it ready?"
"Ready," Claire said. "Everyone's waiting on you."
Eve took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and whispered something to herself, then disappeared behind the edge of the door again. Thirty seconds later, she swept in on Michael's arm.
Claire thought that she had never seen them look better, especially together; Eve's dramatic long red dress clung to her figure and made her look even taller, while Michael had put on a really great suit. His blond hair blazed in the light, and was the perfect counterpoint to Eve's black.
They looked at each other, and Eve smiled a slow, delighted smile that Michael echoed.
Claire stepped forward and pinned on Eve's corsage, and then the two swept on into the crowd, full of people murmuring and whispering. Everyone watched them, and Claire moved back to grip Shane's hand tightly. It was Eve and Michael's party, but somehow, it felt like a test.
Nobody spoke to them directly as they made their way across the room, until Myrnin stepped into their path. He was silent for a few seconds, then reached for Eve's hand. He raised it to his lips and bent over it, and Claire could hear him say, even where she stood by the door, "Congratulations to you both, my dear. May your happiness last forever."
"I'll drink to that!" someone said, and a number of people laughed, and the spell was broken. People mixed and mingled. More came up to shake Michael's hand and offer Eve a hug or a smile.
It was going to be all right.
"Uh-oh," Shane said. He jerked his chin toward the far edge of the crowd. "She's not joining in." By she he meant Amelie, who stood in regal isolation with Oliver. They were talking together, ignoring what was going on in the center of the room. It looked intense. "I don't like the look of that."
"She practically admitted she ordered - " Claire didn't dare say more, not in a room full of vampire ears, so she touched the soft fabric of his turtleneck, and he nodded. "I don't know if we can count on her help."
"I never have," he said. "Or anybody else's, except yours, Eve's, and . . ." He hesitated, but he smiled and finished anyway. "Michael's. Safer that way, CB. You get wrapped up in the politics of this town and you get dragged under."
Richard Morrell arrived late, and he brought his sister. Monica Morrell took the very last carnation Claire had, made a face, and handed it to her brother. "Cheap," she said. "I should have known they wouldn't have orchids, but I expected something better than that." As if Claire weren't standing right there. "Ugh, I'll bet they don't even have an open bar."
"How exactly would that matter to you, since you can't drink legally?" Richard asked. He sounded worn-out and sharp, and Monica fell into a pout. She wore a low-cut, thigh-high shimmering blue dress that emphasized her long legs, and had probably cost more than Claire had saved for her college fund. "You wanted to come, and you promised you'd be civil. If you're not, you go home. No arguments."
"Oh, try not to sound so much like Mom - you don't have the ovaries," Monica said. She threw Claire a nasty smile as she strode past them, tossing the carnation to the floor and crushing it beneath her fancy stiletto-heeled shoes. "Isn't there supposed to be dancing? Knowing Eve, it'll probably be that crappy death metal and emo ballads, but I came to dance."
"Shut up and put the gift on the table, Monica," Richard said. He handed her a nicely wrapped box, which she held at arm's length as if it held live cockroaches. Claire pointed her to the gift table, already loaded up with presents. Monica stalked over and dropped it on the pile, then turned a dazzling smile and hair-flip on the nearest man.
"God," Richard sighed. "I'd apologize, but you know by now that you can't expect anything else out of her."
"In a weird sort of way, it's comforting," Shane said. "Nice to know some things never change. Plagues, death, taxes, Monica."
"I guess we can stop playing greeters," Claire said. "I'm all out of flowers." She picked up the one Monica had trampled and tossed it back in the box, which she shoved under a handy table. "I need punch."
"May I escort you to get it?" Richard asked, and offered her his arm. She blinked and looked at Shane, who shrugged.
"I'd be honored," she said.
It felt weird, being led around by the mayor.... People talked to him freely, and gave her odd looks; she was well aware of Shane moving along behind them, and wondered if she should have done this, after all. Morganville was a gossip hotbed. Next thing, she'd probably find out she'd dumped her boyfriend for Richard, which was so not going to happen; Richard was nice enough, but not when compared with Shane. Besides, that meant getting Monica as a relative. Terrifying.
Richard steered her to the punch, released her, and went off to talk to constituents; Claire filled two cups and handed one to Shane, who took a long drink, then winced and touched his throat.
"Hurts?"
He nodded. "Burns," he said. "Somebody spiked the punch, FYI. Maybe you should stick to water - that tastes like Ever-clear."
"Ugh." Claire put her punch down, untasted, and went for bottled water instead. Safer, anyway; she hadn't forgotten Miranda's words about her dress. Her throat was dry, and the water tasted cool and sweet. She nibbled a bell-shaped cookie and eyed the cake, which looked considerably better than it had when the bakers had shoved it on Eve as professional work; she was, in fact, kind of proud of it. "Should we do something about the punch?"
"Don't take all the fun out of things," Shane said. "Besides, I'm not lugging that all the way to the kitchen." He was right - the punch bowl was enormous, and full. Not much that could be done about it.
She was still worrying about it when a fight broke out, somewhere near the middle of the room.
Where Michael and Eve were.
The first warning was a shout of alarm, then a woman's scream, and the crowd between Claire and whatever was happening closed ranks. Shane, who was taller, gazed in that direction and said, "Crap."
"What?"
"Stay here!"
He took off, shoving his way through the crowd.
No way was she staying behind. Where he went, she went. Claire squirmed through the close-packed bodies of humans (on this side of the room) and suddenly was in the open area, which held Eve, Michael, the newly arrived Shane, and two men.
The two men - part of that not-quite-townie crew Claire had wondered about earlier - had ganged up on Michael. The fight was already over; one was down flat on his back, and Eve's sharp high heel was planted in the center of his chest, holding him down (although he looked unconscious, and not likely to give anybody trouble). As Claire arrived and skidded to a halt, the second man that Michael was fighting stabbed in with a stake aimed at Michael's heart.
Michael easily slapped it out of his hand and shoved him backward. His attacker tripped over the downed body of his partner, and Michael loomed over him, beautiful as an avenging angel, practically glowing in the lights. His fangs were down.
"Don't you ever raise a hand to Eve again!" he said, and bent down to grab the man's tie. With a single, effortless yank, Michael raised him back to his feet and shook him like a rag doll. "Don't you even look at her!"
Shane yelled, "Behind you!" and threw himself into a full tackle, just as a woman lunged out of the onlookers with another stake aiming for Michael's back. He knocked her down, and the stake went flying. Shane bounced back upright and grabbed up the length of sharpened wood. "Hey! Sorry, lady, but nobody's staking anybody at this party! I hung a disco ball for this!"
Michael looked over at him.
"Yo," Shane said, and nodded toward the man Michael was dangling. "He's turning kinda purple. I think you made the point."
Michael dropped him. His fangs disappeared, and he held out his hand to Eve. She left her own fallen attacker and took it.
Claire left the safety of the crowd and went to join Shane. The four of them, surrounded.
"Anybody got anything to say now?" Shane said. "Any crap about mixed marriages? The floor's open; say your piece!"
The vampires, Claire realized, hadn't come rushing to Michael's defense. In fact, they were standing in a clump next to the blood supply, sipping from crystal cups, looking utterly uninvolved. She looked around for Oliver and Amelie and Myrnin. Myrnin was sitting down at a table, running his fingernails slowly over the cloth, shredding it into fluff.
Amelie and Oliver were still standing at the edge of the crowd, watching.
"All right." A woman pushed through the crowd - a townie. Claire recognized her. The older clerk who'd refused to wait on Eve at the party supply store. She looked even stiffer and less fun today, in her boxy pastel blue dress and lacquered hair. "I'll say something. I know you invited us here, and I think that was brave, but you know this is wrong. He's one of them. No offense to them, but we keep ourselves to ourselves. Always have."
"As much as I hate to stand in agreement, she's correct," drawled a well-dressed vampire, who sipped at his blood with perfect calm. "A master doesn't marry the livestock. That's simply perverse."
Monica Morrell pushed her way through the crowd, teetering on heels that were even higher and thinner than Eve's. "Hey! Who are you calling livestock, freak?" Her brother grabbed her by the shoulder to haul her back, but she shook him off. "I am not your cow."
"I wasn't talking to you," the vampire said, and brushed imaginary dirt from his wine red velvet lapel. "You seem to have forgotten your place. And if you won't be a cow, perhaps being a pig is more acceptable."
That woke dry, sharp laughter from the vampire contingent, like the clatter of breaking crystal.
"Pig?" Monica yelped, and tried to twist free of Richard. "Let go. That asshole called me a pig! I'm not a nobody like her, you know!" She jerked her chin at Eve. "I'm a Morrell!"
"Excuse me, then," the vampire said. "You are therefore a prize pig."
Monica lurched forward on those high heels, scooped up the fallen knife from the floor, and stood next to Eve. A few steps away, but approximately next, anyway. "I have a Protector!" she snapped. "Hello? Protect me already!"
"From what?" Oliver's voice echoed through the ballroom. "Insults? I'm not obliged to defend your dignity. Provided you have any. Stop this, all of you." He didn't have to push through the crowd; people got out of the way for him.
Amelie, Claire noticed, did not come with him. She stayed where she was, remote and cold.
"Enough of this. Look at you, squabbling like spoiled children," Oliver said. He leveled a finger at the vampire in the dark red coat. "You will be respectful. And you - " The finger turned to point at Monica. "You will learn to hold your tongue."
"Like a good little pet?" she asked acidly. "Oink."
"If you don't want my Protection, feel free to take off the bracelet," Oliver said, and stared at her with fierce eyes. "Go ahead, Monica. See how it feels to be naked in the cold."
Claire thought for a second she would actually do it. Monica lifted her wrist and ran a finger over the silver bracelet she wore, the one with Oliver's sigil on it....
. . . And then she stepped back, head bowed. Richard pushed her behind him.
"Better," Oliver said. He pointed at the vampire again. "More from you, Jean?" He gave it the French pronunciation, Zhon. Jean shrugged and sipped his blood. "Now. We are going to behave like civilized individuals." He snapped his fingers and pointed at the two men on the ground. Two of Amelie's ever-present bodyguards walked through the hole he'd made in the crowd, gathered them up, and dragged them off. "I do hope nobody else here has any other surprises planned, because if you so much as think about harming one another, I will oblige them. This is neutral ground. Violators will be gruesomely and violently shown the error of their ways. Clear?"
Nobody said a word. Not even Eve, which was surprising.
And then Amelie walked forward, moving through the parted crowd like an iceberg through dark seas - gleaming with cutting edges.
Oliver turned as she approached behind him, and Claire saw the look on his face. The dread, quickly stamped out into an even, expressionless mask.
"The Founder will speak," he said, and stepped back to give her the floor.
"I come today at the request of two Morganville residents," Amelie said. She stood in the very center of the room, facing Michael and Eve, who still had their hands clasped tightly together. "I come to deliver judgment on whether this planned union may proceed."
"But - ," Eve whispered. "But I thought - "
Amelie stopped her cold. "I have heard the pleas of human residents to allow you to proceed. I have listened to others who insisted you be stopped. My own people are likewise divided, and equally persuasive." Her silver eyes glittered like frozen coins. "I come to tell you what will be done in the best interests of Morganville, and my will rules here. Not Oliver's, not yours. Mine." Her eyes were turning white now, and Claire felt power stirring in the room, like currents of wild electricity. "And I say that this is not the time. Not for this."
"Wait," Michael said. "Wait! You can't - "
"I can," Amelie said softly. "And I will. And I must. No wedding will take place, not between human and vampire. Not until I am willing to let it be so." Her eyes were pure white now, and Claire felt the crushing pulse of power. It wasn't directed at her, she realized, or at Eve, or any human.... It was a vampire power, directed at the vamps in the room.
Who were falling to their knees now. Some willingly, some grudgingly. Some stayed on their feet for a while, but eventually, they caved, too.
Leaving only Oliver, swaying and resisting her . . . and Michael, who was holding on to Eve for support.
"No," Michael said, through tightly gritted teeth. "No, this is my life. Mine."
"Your life has always been mine, bloodchild." Amelie extended her hand toward him, and closed her fist. "Submit."
Michael screamed, and his eyes turned white. So did his face, dead white, dead. Claire took an involuntary step toward him, horrified, but Shane did more than that.
He stepped up to Michael's side and put his arm under Michael's, supporting his weight.
"You'll thank me later, bro," he said, and turned his gaze on Amelie. "Step off. Now."
Her fangs were out. Amelie had never looked more alien to Claire, or more beautiful, or horribly dangerous. She was terrifying, and the other humans of Morganville were backing off now, heading for the door. The vampires were pinned in place.
Claire moved in to help brace Michael. Her head felt black with the buzzing power around her, and she knew it must be killing Michael; the color was gone out of him now. He could have been made out of marble, and it was scary, so very scary to touch his ice-cold skin....
Eve let go of Michael, leaving Claire and Shane to support him, and walked in front of Amelie.
She took off the pin that was on her red dress and threw it at her. "Go to hell and take that with you!" She shouted it right in Amelie's face. Eve was an exotic blaze of color against Amelie's white fury.
And then she slapped the Founder in the face.
Amelie took a step backward, stunned, and the crush of power in the room faltered.
Oliver lunged out and grabbed Eve by the waist, slinging her out of the way as Amelie went for her. He grabbed the Founder and wrapped her in his arms, then yelled at Claire, "Get them out! Now! Go home, and hurry! Do it now!"
Amelie's fury jumped into the other vampires, and one by one, they shot to their feet, hissing. One threw a crystal glass of blood at Eve, but got Claire instead, splattering her white dress.
She looked down at the mess with a startled gasp, and thought, Damn, Miranda was right. Again.
"Ahh . . . maybe we should be going," Shane said. "Ditch the shoes, Eve. We'll be running now."
"I love these shoes!"
"More than your circulatory system?"
Eve silently kicked off the stilettos and backed up. Shane and Claire got Michael moving, weakly at least, and headed for the door. Eve acted as rearguard, not that she had anything to fight with other than the shoes she'd grabbed up.
The vampire in the red velvet coat headed for her, fangs out. She got the stiletto heel up, ready to strike, but something grabbed him in midleap and slammed him up, straight into the chandelier. Crystal shattered, and the disco ball spun wildly, throwing drunken sparkles over the room.
At the far end of the room, the fleeing dj hit a button on her system, and thundering techno music started up, shivering the air and thumping beats into Claire's body like kicks. Way too loud.
Myrnin, who'd intercepted the attacking vamp, turned and looked at them.
At Claire.
His lips shaped words, but Claire couldn't hear them. He made a shooing motion and smiled at her, one of those fragile and half-crazy things, and her heart just broke all over again.
She shook her head, and Eve slammed the ballroom door, cutting off the rush of vampires heading their way. She jammed a chair under the handle.
They ran for the elevator. Shane punched the button about sixteen times before the doors opened, and he dragged Michael inside as Claire held it for Eve. "They're breaking out!" Eve gasped. "That chair's not going to hold!"
"Close close close!" Shane yelled at the buttons, punching the one for the garage. Claire heard wood splintering, and then a crash as the ballroom door shattered off its hinges.
One vampire appeared in front of the elevator - a vampire with shoulder-length dark hair and ridiculously long tails on his black brocade coat.
Myrnin, again.
"I'm sorry," he said, and turned to face a horde of oncoming attackers. "I'll buy you time. Oh, nice party, by the way!"
The doors closed before Claire could thank him, and the elevator lurched and started inching its way slowly down.
"Michael?" Shane shook him, still holding him upright with an arm under his shoulders. "Hey, man, you with us?"
Michael nodded. He looked better. Not good, but not as statue-pale now. His eyes were fading back to blue again, slowly. "You had my back." He sounded surprised.
"Always," Shane said. "Thought you knew that."
Eve put her arms around his neck and kissed him, on the lips. Shane did a funny little wiggle, trying to squirm away while not dumping Michael on his ass, but she kept it brief. "Sorry, but I had to do that," she said. "You rock."
"Yeah, well, you don't have to brand me with lipstick," Shane said, and wiped it off. "My girl's standing right there."
"Your girl doesn't mind," Claire said. She was still scared, but somehow also elated. Free. Reborn. "I'd kiss you, too, if I was closer."
"I wouldn't," Michael said. "I don't love you that way."
"That's not what you said last time."
"Ass." Michael almost smiled, but it faded as the movement of the cabin stopped with a jerk. "We're here. Stay alert; we're not clear yet."
Claire got out, watching the angles, but the garage seemed deserted. She gestured for the others to hustle after her, which they did, quickly. Shane had the keys to the hearse, which he tossed to her, and Claire quickly unlocked the back. They loaded Michael and Eve inside, in the vampire-shaded area, and got in the front. "Lock it," Shane said. Claire nodded and hit the control, just as a white-faced vampire popped up at her window and tried the door. She shrieked and jumped, but got control and jammed the hearse into gear. Too fast, too fast . . . the thing was like a luxury liner, and she had to make several fast back-and-forth moves to rock it free of obstructions. The vampire jumped on top, and punched fingernails through the roof.
"Go go go!" Shane yelled, and Claire finally had a clear lane. She jammed the gas down, and the hearse roared up the ramp, around the curve, and out into full sun.
The vampire on top hung on for a moment, and then the claws disappeared. She heard him tumbling across the length of the roof, and saw him drop off, land on his feet, and dash for the shade as he left a trail of greasy smoke behind. Claire whooped and pumped her fist, and Shane bumped knuckles with her.
"Combat-driving merit badge," he said. "With bonus vampire clusters. Now all you have to do is get us home."
"No." Eve slid back the divider between the front and the rear, and leaned in. "Michael and I decided. Take us to the church."
"What?" Claire and Shane blurted it out at the same time, in perfect chorus.
"They'll stop us if they can. We have to do this now if we're going to do it," Eve said. "We're getting married. Right now."
Claire almost drove off the road. "But - wait, now? Like, right now?"
"You're not serious," Shane said. "You can't do it now."
"Why not?"
"You're wearing red," Shane said.
"I have blood on my dress," Claire put in.
"You, Shaggy, shut up," Eve said, giving Shane a scornful look. "Claire, cold water in the bathroom. There. Fixed." She slammed the portal shut.
Claire drove on in silence for a moment, and then said, "So."
"So," Shane repeated. "Yeah."
She took the right turn, toward the church.
Nobody was in the church. Nobody. Not Father Joe, not a parishioner, not a cleaning crew. It was deserted, and Claire knocked on the office door and found it empty, too. Nobody in the vesting chamber. She walked out into the main chapel and held up her hands in helpless surrender, as Eve put on her high heels, balancing on first one foot, then the other.
"You're kidding," Eve said. "He's gone?"
"He was at the party," Shane put in. He was sitting with Michael on a pew. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea right now, Eve. Oliver said - "
"I know what Oliver said. Damn if I am taking another order from another vampire in this town, ever!" Eve finished strapping on the heels and stood there looking tall and strong. "We'll wait."
Shane looked at Michael doubtfully. "I don't know, man - "
"We wait," Michael said. "She's right. Look, if you want to take Claire home - "
"No," Shane said. "I'm not leaving you two here alone. We stick together."
"I'm still not kissing you," Michael said.
"Tease."
Michael started to retort, but the hollow boom of the church door cut him off. He and Shane both came to their feet - Michael faster - and Claire looked around for something antivampire she could improvise, but none of it was necessary, because striding into the chapel was Father Joe, red hair blazing in the multicolored light from the rose window overhead. He slowed when he saw them, then sighed and came forward toward where they were waiting.
Eve opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand. "No," he said. "I have a good idea why you're here. And the answer is no."
"What? You can't just say no!" Eve said. "Why would you say that?"
Father Joe stopped and turned as he reached the steps to the altar, and instead of being a harried young man, he seemed to change into a grave, composed person with no doubts about what he was about to do. He held up both hands for calm, and Eve subsided, not very willingly.
"You don't have the Founder's permission," he said. "Without the Founder's signature on the marriage license, no marriages conducted inside this church are legal in the eyes of the town. You won't accomplish what you're trying to do, and from what I saw back in that ballroom, you will never get her permission. You'll be lucky to escape a jail sentence, Eve."
"She could change her mind," Claire said.
"She won't. You shamed her, you publicly defied her, and Eve slapped her. As Amelie, she might forgive, and she might quietly shift her opinions. You called her out as the Founder of Morganville, and the Founder can't let it pass, whatever her personal feelings might be. Whatever you do here, it doesn't matter beyond that door. Not to the Founder."
There was a heavy silence, as Eve and Michael looked at each other. He came to stand next to her, and their fingers slowly intertwined.
Michael looked at Father Joe and said, "Would you do it anyway?"
Father Joe cocked his head to one side, watching the two of them, and clasped his hands in front of him. A slow smile warmed his serious expression, and he said, "In the eyes of God, do you come before the altar to be married?"
"Yes, Father," he said.
Father Joe turned his focus to Eve. "And you?"
"Yes, Father. More than anything."
"I see you have witnesses," he said. Claire and Shane moved to stand near them, and Claire realized that she was short of breath now, and trembling. She could see that Eve was shaking, too. Michael squeezed her hand a little and smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Do you have the ring?"
Eve looked at Michael with panic, and he seemed blank, too, until Shane said, "Can you use her engagement ring? I mean, just for the ceremony?"
"I can," Father Joe agreed. "Generally people prefer double-ring ceremonies these days, but a single one will work just as well. Now, I ask again: are you sure of what you're about to do? Marriage is not a state to be entered into lightly."
"We're sure," Michael said. "Please. Go ahead."
The chapel door boomed shut at the other end.
Claire turned, blinking back tears that were threatening to form, and saw that a whole lot of people had appeared in the back of the church. Some were throwing back hoods and taking off hats, but not the one in front, dressed in cool white, with her pale hair worn up, like a crown. She hadn't bothered with sun protection.
Amelie walked down the church's aisle toward them, and behind her followed Oliver, Myrnin, and a half dozen other vampires. More than they could fight. More than anyone could fight.
Father Joe froze, watching them. Michael and Eve turned to look, too, and then Michael said, "Go ahead, Father. We're ready."
"No one will be married here today," Amelie's cool voice said, ringing out with authority. "You serve here at my sufferance, Father. I do not wish to disrespect the church, or your autonomy, but I have made my pronouncement, and these two have no permission. Now, please go. I have things to discuss with these four."
He hesitated, looking at the two standing in front of him, and then bowed his head. "I'm sorry. She won't hurt you, not here. The church is neutral ground. You're safe inside."
"Wait - " Eve reached out for him, but he stepped back, went up the steps, and knelt down to pray at the altar. Eve shut her eyes and swayed, and only Michael's arm around her kept her on her feet.
They all turned to face the vampires.
Amelie continued toward them, but made a silent gesture that caused almost all those following her to stop and take seats in the pews. Only Oliver and Myrnin stayed with her the rest of the way.
Four to three, but not exactly even odds. Michael could hold his own, maybe, but Claire knew the rest of them had the chance of a rabbit caught in a wolves' den.
Amelie let a cold moment pass before she said, "You're simply intent on defying my wishes, apparently."
"We want to get married. That's not anyone else's business," Michael said. He sounded angry, dangerously so. "Why are you doing this to us?"
"I'm trying to keep the peace," she said. "And the peace will not be kept this way. You have many years to take this step; a few more will not matter if your love is as strong as you claim. However, a few more years may make all the difference in achieving a lasting peace in Morganville."
"You've had about a hundred years to try to make that happen, and it hasn't," Eve said. "What makes you think another couple of years will change anything?"
Amelie studied her with a remote, cold intensity that made Claire shudder. "I have only been physically struck by two others before. Neither of them still live, and both were vampires. I suggest you allow me some time to consider how I feel about you."
"Amelie," Claire said, drawing the vampire's attention; she immediately wished she hadn't. There was something tight and furious inside there, completely unlike the Amelie she normally saw. "I know Eve's sorry about that. But you shamed her, right in front of half the town. In front of people she knows and has to face every day. All she wanted was to be with the one she loved. You know how that feels."
Something flickered in Amelie's gray eyes. Surprise, and hurt, and almost immediately anger. She didn't like being reminded of the love she'd lost, or that the four humans standing in front of her had once seen her at her most vulnerable as she mourned.
"Sam wouldn't want this," Claire said. It was the last, and only, card she could play. "Sam would want you to let them be together." Sam Glass had been Michael's grandfather, a vampire Claire had known only a little, but he'd been the kindest, most caring one of them all.
And now he was gone, and Amelie - Amelie still hurt inside.
The problem was, pain could sometimes make people turn cold and savage.
Like now, Claire realized, as the icy silence deepened. When Amelie spoke again, it was in a fatally quiet voice. "Do not invoke Samuel to me," she said. "We waited."
"You waited until your chance was gone to be happy," Claire said, even though every instinct screamed at her to shut up. "Do you want the same thing for Eve and Michael? Really?"
Amelie said nothing this time, just stared at her. It was possible - remotely - that she was thinking it over.
Oliver cleared his throat and said, "We don't have time for your drama, children. We have things to attend to. Urgently." That last was directly at Amelie, Claire realized, not toward them at all, and Amelie stirred and glanced at him, then nodded. "Myrnin's going to escort the four of you home. He'll take the portal from there."
"No!" Claire blurted, but Amelie was already turning and walking away, and so was Oliver. Her opinion didn't matter, clearly. She looked mutely at Shane, who shook his head and shrugged.
"I'll be on my best behavior," Myrnin said. He looked cautious and hurt, which made her angrier; what right did he have to feel wounded in all this? He'd totally betrayed her trust. She was not going to feel guilty about taking that to heart. "Shall we?"
Amelie's entourage filed in behind her, and the doors boomed shut again behind them. At the altar, Father Joe crossed himself and walked down again to join them.
"Way to stand up, Father," Michael said.
"I can't be in the business of martyrdom," the priest said. "Not now, and not here. I have a duty to my parishioners, and I'm not denying you the sacrament of marriage; I'm merely postponing it. Come back in a week, bring your witnesses and rings, and I will do exactly as you wish. But not today. You need to go home with your escort." He inclined his head to Myrnin, who bowed back. All of a sudden, Father Joe's stiff posture relaxed, and he held out his hand to Michael, who reluctantly took it. "I'm sorry about this. I know how hard the two of you have worked to overcome the barriers between you. I won't be another; I promise that. Give me one week, and I will give you what you want."
"I'm holding you to it," Michael said. "We'll be back."
"I will see you then. Go in peace. I'll be praying for you all."
He walked up the steps and through a door near the altar.
They all looked at one another, and then Myrnin said cheerfully, "Shall I drive?"
"No," they said as one, and walked out toward the hearse.
After letting Myrnin in the house, it turned out to be almost impossible to get rid of him.
Partly it was because of what happened when they did let him in, or tried to. Michael and Eve went in first, then Shane, and Claire last, with Myrnin right behind her - and without any conscious direction from her at all, the front door tried to slam right on his face.
Claire hadn't even touched it.
"My," Myrnin said, slamming his hand against it and, despite vampire strength, being driven back a few inches before he got his balance and pushed it open. "This is interesting." He stepped over the threshold, and the door banged shut behind him with unnecessary force. Glass rattled in the overhead fixture, and the windows of the parlor. The temperature of the house dropped fast into refrigerator territory, and Claire saw her breath fog the cold air of the hallway. Eve yelped from where she was in the living room, and said, "Damn, the AC is broken! It's like a morgue in here!"
"It wasn't a second ago," Shane said. He was standing at the end of the hallway, looking back at Claire, and Myrnin. His eyebrows were raised. "Claire?"
"I'm fine," she said. Myrnin had forgotten all about her. He was pressing his hands against the wood paneling, looking fascinated.
"I can actually feel it resisting me!" he said. "How marvelous. I know it can do such things, but to really have it directed at me - it must draw power from the very air. That's the cause for the temperature change, I would imagine. Claire, are you doing this?"
"No," she snapped, and walked away. She probably was, on some level; the house had grown really attuned to her moods, and she could not have wanted Myrnin gone more - well, maybe she could have, because if it had really been an emergency, the house could have thrown him completely out. It was just trying to strongly discourage him.
"I honestly think this house has accumulated more power than the other Founder Houses over the years," Myrnin said. "It's a side effect of the portals, you know, and the alchemical processes we used to lay the foundations, but this is the only house that has been continuously occupied since it was built. Even the Day House remained empty for several years at the turn of the last century, after that unfortunate business with the Langers . . . Well. In any case, this house has attained something like an independent consciousness. A soul, if you will. It's fascinating!"
It was, a little, and normally Claire would have been jumping right in, talking about the physics and alchemical theories that made something like that possible, but right now, she just wanted him out. Badly. "Isn't there something you have to do somewhere else?" she said. "Because you got us home. Fine. Now go away."
Eve had come back to stand next to Shane, eyes wide. She'd shed the high heels, but she still looked like an exotic ghost from the early 1920s, even in bright red. "Wow," she said. "I didn't even know you could put that tone in your voice, Claire. You haven't forgotten, this is Myrnin, right? As in, your boss? As in, the guy who just covered our asses at the party?"
"Thank you, Eve," he said, and gave her a very warm smile. "I was happy to do it." The smile became more tentative when he directed it at Claire. "I do apologize for any wrongs I have done you. Truly, I do. It was - not my first choice, believe me." He nodded at Shane. "And that goes for you as well."
"Wrongs?" Eve asked, mystified. "What wrongs? What - "
And then she caught sight of the bruise around the collar of Shane's turtleneck. It was now one hell of a bruise - dark purple, red, blue at the edges. Almost black in the center. God. You could see the actual outlines of Myrnin's fingers. Claire saw Eve's mind working, and then said, "You did it. Shane said he'd been in a fight, but it was you. That's why she's so angry."
Myrnin looked even more kicked-puppy sad. "I am sorry for my actions. As I said. I can't remove bruises, but happily he is recovering fully."
Now Michael was in on it, too. "Wait a minute - what? Myrnin choked you?"
"Dude, it's over. Done."
"He tried to kill you!"
"If I'd really tried," Myrnin said helpfully, "I'm sure I would have succeeded."
The crazy thing was he actually thought that would be it. That Claire would forget about it - and if he'd come after her, she realized, she probably would have done just that. She had forgiven him for all kinds of crazy stuff before.
But this was a cold, calculated attack on Shane, and he'd gotten her to tell him where to find him.
No. Not this.
Myrnin was happily babbling on, oblivious to the mood of the four of them - and the house, whose internal temperature was falling so fast Eve was shuddering in her thin red dress. "The thing is, this house, this house! It's developing, you see. It's growing stronger. I've always suspected that there was something special here - obviously, it saved you once, Michael - and now it seems to be reacting quite strongly. . . ."
Michael took off his coat and put it around Eve's shoulders, hugging her close. The four of them were aware now of what Myrnin had done. And united in their anger.
And something changed.
Myrnin's cheerful blather ended in a yelp as the hallway floor literally rolled under his feet, a clatter of boards, and sent him reeling forward, toward Shane, Eve, and Michael, who quickly got out of the way. Claire braced herself against the wall, but she could tell this attack wasn't directed at her, or her friends.
Only at Myrnin, who board-surfed the ripple in the floor, fighting to stay upright, until it ended in a sudden upward rise that snapped him into the air, flinging him -
Toward the wall where Myrnin's mystical portal lay hidden.
It took time to open the thing - well, normally - but Myrnin had powers that Claire would never possess in that area, and by the time his outstretched arms reached the wall, the wall melted into a swirl of black, and Myrnin fell straight through it.
Gone, except for his shouted plea of "Claire, please listen - "
And then the portal snapped shut, the dark mist faded, and it was just a wall, again.
Claire walked over and put her hand over the surface. Paint, plaster, boards. Nothing magical about it, at least not that she could detect. "House," she said. She rarely addressed it directly; none of them liked to acknowledge that they were living inside something that had actual consciousness, because that made their privacy iffy, at best. "I need you to keep him out. Lock this portal. Don't let him inside through the doors, either."
She felt an odd, deep throb rise up through her feet, and out through the palm of her hand, and although she couldn't really detect a change, she knew it was done.
Myrnin was locked out.
Her cell phone rang. Claire pulled it from her coat pocket and looked at the screen, which showed a picture of Myrnin's bunny slippers. She thumbed the connection open and said, "Don't try coming through again."
"Claire, listen to me. I need to speak to you privately. There's something very odd going on, and I need your input to understand exactly what - "
"I quit," she said. "I thought we were clear on that."
"The house. Listen to me, the house could be your salvation, in an emergency. I need you all to stay in that house as much as you possibly can. Claire - "
She hung up on him. Myrnin would never tell her what was going on, not in any way that made sense; neither would Amelie, obviously. And Oliver seemed to have come down firmly on the opposite side, too.
She couldn't trust any of them. Not anymore.
Shane put his arms around her. "Sorry," he said. "I know this hurts."
"You're the one with the bruises," she said, and turned around to hug him back. "And you're the one I care about."
Michael cleared his throat. "Sorry to break the mood, but can we please talk about what the hell is going on?"
Claire took in a deep breath. "I guess we should."
Because no matter what Amelie wanted, Claire couldn't protect her friends if they didn't know.