by Rachel Caine
Not reassuring.
And right on cue, Kim was there to articulate all that terror in her head. “She’s going to kill them all,” Kim said. “And you and me, we’re the ones to blame for that. If Shane’s still there, she’ll go all Red Queen on him, too. Off with his head. Talk about poetic justice.”
That was exactly what Claire was afraid of, and what she was afraid to put into words. Trust Kim to blurt it out, make her worst fears real. Amelie didn’t confirm or deny any of it. She looked toward Mr. Martin, who took Kim’s hand in his and said, “Enough.” He sounded quiet and not especially threatening, but Kim shivered. Claire felt it. “Be quiet, now. Enjoy your hours of freedom.”
“You call this freedom? I’m trapped in a town car with a bunch of fanged prison guards. Oh, and her.” Kim bumped shoulders with Claire, not too gently. “The Team Vampire mascot.”
“I actually am going to punch you,” Claire said.
“Yeah, I am absolutely terrified, Danvers. Without Shane around to fight your battles, do you think you can take me?”
Claire turned and stared Kim full in the face. “Yes,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I can.”
She meant every word of it, and Kim must have decided to back off—or Mr. Martin’s presence decided it for her. They lapsed into a heavy silence as the limousine drove and drove and drove…and, finally, to Claire’s simultaneous relief and terror, began to slow down.
Claire took out her phone. Amelie gave her a sharp look. “I’m only calling Eve. I want her to know I didn’t just disappear. Like Michael and Shane. You know how she is.”
Amelie looked bemused and nodded. “Do not tell her where we are.”
“I don’t actually know where we are.” Claire dialed. Eve picked up on the first ring.
“Hello?” Her voice was tense and madly uncontrolled. “Michael?”
“No, it’s Claire—”
The yell blasted out of the cell phone loud enough to echo around the inside of the car. Claire yanked it away from her ear, and she could still hear very clearly what Eve was shouting. “What the hell are you doing? Where are you? You can’t just run off and leave me and not even leave a note. My God, you’re as bad as the boys. How do I know the vamps haven’t dragged you off and snacked on your—?”
“Eve,” Claire said, yelling into the phone. “Eve! Shut up! I’m with Amelie!”
Silence, and then much lower in volume, “Oh. Sorry.”
Claire put the phone back to her ear. Next to her, Kim was smirking again. Claire sincerely wanted to put her shoe through that smile, but again didn’t. She took a deep breath. “We may have found out where the fights are being held. I’ll call you if Michael’s here, okay?”
“Okay,” Eve said. “Uh, you’re being careful, right?”
“Sure.” She glanced around at the heavily fanged contingent. “Safe as houses.”
“I’ve been in some pretty shaky houses.”
“I’ll be fine. Call you later.”
The car had come to a complete stop now. Amelie looked out through the heavily tinted windows. “There’s very little cover out there,” she said. “Move quickly. When we stop, get out and go directly to the shade. We may not have time for protective clothing. I assume all of you can handle the sun for a limited period.”
Her guards murmured affirmations; then sunlight lanced in, bright and harsh, as the vampire guard threw open the door. He was out and moving fast, followed by the second guard. Mr. Martin practically yanked Kim’s arm out of its socket dragging her from the car, and somehow, although she started moving as quickly as she could, Claire was the last one out of the limousine. Amelie was just ahead of her, though.
It was a good thing they were toward the back.
Claire was never sure exactly how it happened until much later. Right then, it was impressions: a big, empty desert area. A flapping, rusting tin barn, apparently abandoned, with a thick area of shade under a leaning awning that probably was used to park cars or something. The vampire guards in their black suits heading for it at top speed, with Mr. Martin slowed down by a foot-dragging Kim, and Amelie holding back, probably to stay closer to Claire.
And then the explosion.
It hit her as a hard, hot shove, and then she was down and rolling across the sand, and then the massive roar rattled in her ears and she saw the plume of fire and smoke, and finally, finally she realized that the building they’d been headed toward, the one Kim had led them to, had just blown up.
Claire sat up, staring. The tin building was collapsing in on itself, burning, sagging—a wreck. The awning, the one where the guards had been headed, was utterly gone, destroyed. Flames and smoke hissed straight up in a black-and-red column, and the wind caught it and blew it out in a plume that drifted west. There were pieces of wrecked metal and junk everywhere, still falling like flaming rain, and Claire covered her head as a thick piece of sharp-edged siding slammed down into the ground a few feet away.
Amelie lay on her side about ten feet closer to the explosion site. Claire got to her feet, weaved around a little, and shook off the lingering dizziness.
Amelie moved before she reached her—a twitch at first, and then she rose to a standing position in one unnaturally fast, smooth motion. There was blood running down her face. More cars were pulling up now, black and heavily tinted. Oliver got out of the first one, dressed in a heavy coat and hat, took one look at the burning building, and then moved in a blur. He reached Amelie, and when he paused, his hands were on her shoulders. He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and mopped up the blood; the cut had already closed. Claire saw the look on his face for a few seconds, and then it smoothed out into a cynical neutrality.
“Functional?” he asked her. She nodded. He let go, then stripped off his coat and hat and put them on her. “Get to the car. You should not be here.”
“You think I will run from cowards who try to kill me from a distance?” Amelie laughed, and it sounded wild and strange to Claire’s blast-deadened ears. “You are my second in command, not my bodyguard.”
“Your bodyguards are indisposed,” he said. “And at least one is not coming back. I can see parts of him in several places. Don’t be foolish. Be safe.”
Kim and Mr. Martin were getting up now. Kim was holding her arm like it hurt, and she was covered in ashes.
Amelie focused in on her with narrowing eyes. Oliver’s head turned, too. Claire couldn’t see his expression, but she saw the tension gathering in his shoulders.
“How very odd,” Amelie said. “She begs for a day off and leads us here. To our deaths, presumably.” She gestured to Mr. Martin. “Bring her here. Now.”
Kim clearly didn’t want to come; she was staggering all over the place, but Claire didn’t think she was dazed. Just worried about her chances. “Wow,” Kim said. “That was intense.” Her lips curled into a vicious little smile. “Guess we got the right address after all.”
Amelie didn’t seem to move quickly, but suddenly she had hold of Kim and was pulling her very, very close. Amelie’s eyes had gone an intense, scary white that Claire had seen only once or twice. Kim stopped smiling and began to look very worried.
“Someone tipped them off,” Amelie almost whispered. “And you, my dear Kim, are the most likely suspect. Convince me you didn’t do this.”
“Why would I?” Kim shot back. “I’ve got everything to lose. You’d kill me if I did that!”
“Yes. I would. I still might. Explain how this could have happened, if you didn’t betray me.”
Kim hesitated, licked her pale lips, and then said, “They could have been watching for any trace activity. Didn’t even have to be a live person; it could have been a program. A trip wire. Once it knew I’d found the address, it could have sounded an alert. They’d clear out once they knew they’d been found.”
“And the bombs? Surely that is not now a common home-defense mechanism.”
“I have no idea, except maybe they planned it in case you showed up looking. Would
I have been heading for the building if I’d known they were there? My arm is practically broken! It hurts!”
“Yet you still breathe,” Amelie said. “For now.” Her white eyes were fading back to gray, though, and Claire knew Kim’s moment of fatal danger was passing. That was almost too bad. “Very well. I will accept that this is not due to your will, except that you were negligent. Negligence is enough.” She looked at Mr. Martin, standing with his arms folded behind Kim. “Take her back. Now.”
“No!” Kim blurted, but Amelie pushed her roughly toward the other vampire. “No, please! I didn’t do anything, I didn’t! You need me!”
“Why?” Amelie shot back. “You’ve performed the only task for which you were fit. You’ve proven yourself unworthy by your conduct and your words and your callous behavior. I am returning you to your cell, where you will live out your days in silence and solitude. No more films, Kim. No more books. No more soft living. You will be fed, but no one will speak to you, no one will acknowledge your existence. You will live as a ghost until you are one. Because in the end, I do not believe that you are innocent. I think you knew about the trip wire, as you call it; I believe you triggered it, knowing that they would run. I believe you didn’t know about the bombs; you are far too fixed on your own self-preservation to be that daring. But I saw your smile. We all did. You knew.”
Kim’s face lost color, so much so that she almost looked like that ghost Amelie was talking about. “No,” she said. “You can’t do this. You can’t prove anything.”
“I am the Founder,” Amelie said. “And I don’t need to prove anything.” She nodded to Mr. Martin. “Take her. I don’t wish to look on her face again.”
Kim’s eyes met Claire’s stare. “Help me!” she shouted. “Don’t just stand there, bitch! I’m human! I’m one of you!”
Claire shrugged. “You’re not anything of mine. You knew,” she said, “and you didn’t care.”
Kim looked shocked for a flash of a second, and then she bared her teeth in a white, feral grin. “Yeah? Well, you know what else I don’t care about? Whether Shane was in that building or not. I hope he’s dead. I hope he died thinking about you and wondering why you didn’t find him.”
Shane.
She hadn’t thought about it at all; she’d just assumed…but he could be in there.
He could be burning.
Claire didn’t even think about it. She started to run for the building, which was still belching red flame and black smoke high into the air.
“No,” Oliver said, and caught her around the waist, swinging her off the ground. “Not the time for your gallant suicide attempt, Claire.”
“He could be in there!”
“Yes,” Oliver agreed. “And if he is, you can’t help him. Now just—”
That was when someone shot Mr. Martin in the back.
Claire didn’t know what had happened; she heard a crack and saw him lose his grip on Kim and pitch forward. Kim didn’t hesitate. She broke and ran.
Oliver dropped Claire and jumped for Amelie, taking her down flat. Claire staggered, off balance, and went down, too, which probably saved her life. She heard the crackle of guns—more than one—being fired, and staying down seemed like a good idea all of a sudden. Mr. Martin was lying near her, but he wasn’t moving. His eyes were open, and as she looked at him, she saw him blinking.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Bullet in the spine. It will take a few moments,” he said. “Where is she?”
Claire carefully raised her head. “Escaping.”
Kim was running for the cover of the wreckage—not away from the guns firing at them, but toward them. And they seemed to be deliberately missing her, too. Claire finally spotted a dusty, tan-camouflage jeep parked between two sand dunes. There were two men with rifles using it as a firing platform, and Kim was heading for it, fast. One of Oliver’s men went dashing after her and almost made it before a bullet sent him spinning and crashing to the dust.
Kim jumped in the jeep, and it revved its engine and spewed up sand as it raced away. One last shot echoed in the dry air, and then they were gone.
“Get off!” Amelie barked, and Oliver rolled away from her and smoothly to his feet. He offered his hand, but she got up without needing it, looking bone-sharp and very, very angry. She glanced at Claire and Mr. Martin, then out toward where Kim and her rescuers had disappeared. “I misjudged,” she said. “Kim didn’t make a mistake. She’s part of this. Somehow, she is part of it. I should have snapped the little animal’s neck long before this, but I was too merciful. Too conscious of responsibility.” She glanced down at Claire, but there was no sense of recognition in her eyes; she was too angry. “Get up, unless you’re too badly injured to stand.”
Oliver didn’t even bother to look down at Claire. Or Mr. Martin, for that matter. It was like they no longer even existed. “They’re bold,” he said. “And daring. That could have gone very badly for them.”
“Yet it didn’t,” Amelie said. “It appears we have a war on our hands, Oliver.”
He smiled. It was a lovely, almost charming smile, and that made Claire feel a little sick. “Finally,” he said. “No more diplomacy, my lady. No more half measures. Give me rein and I’ll bring you your enemies with their heads decorating my pikes. All your enemies. Humans and vampires.”
This was out of control, going too fast. Kim gone, Shane, Michael…Bishop and Gloriana, the fights, Vassily…it was all a big, messy, bloody ball of confusion, and now Oliver was going to wade in and devastate everything.
Amelie should have said no. Instead, she looked levelly at Oliver, folded her hands in front of her in a formal kind of way, and said, “So be it. War. Bring me their heads.”
“Wait,” Claire said, and scrambled to her feet. “Wait, you can’t. You can’t kill everybody. I told you, Gloriana was using some kind of—”
“Glamour, yes, so you said,” Amelie interrupted. “But you see, I no longer care. They’ve tried to assassinate me, and attacked and killed my own. There are times when mercy and measured justice is not appropriate. And this is one of those times.”
Oliver inclined his head, turned on his heel, and stalked away, moving quickly in the sun. He was starting to turn a bright, sunburned red, but he was grinning viciously.
Mr. Martin. Claire looked down and saw that he, too, was burning, turning an alarming lobster shade. She found a piece of tin that was still mostly intact and dragged it over to shade him. He smiled at her gratefully and a little painfully. “I’ll be on my feet in another minute,” he said. “Amelie, I’m sorry. I should have stopped her.”
Amelie gave him a distant look. “Yes,” she said. “But I will overlook it. You are a valuable asset.” She walked away, Oliver’s black coat rippling in the wind, looking like a child dressing up as an old movie detective, but there was nothing soft about her. Small, but very deadly, like a snake. She called back, “Come away, Claire. There’s nothing more for you to do here. I will require you elsewhere.”
Claire looked down at Mr. Martin. He returned the look and shrugged a little. “She’s very angry,” he said. “You’d do well to obey promptly.”
“Will you be okay if I leave?”
His smile faded. He seemed honestly puzzled. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I just do, I guess.” Claire ignored Amelie and turned slowly toward the burning wreckage of the building and started to move. She was far enough from Oliver and Amelie at the moment, and their attention wasn’t on her.
Shane.
Claire started to run. She heard someone shouting behind her, but she didn’t stop. She sped up, leaping over a bent piece of metal, then dodging a piece of burning timber.
“Oh, just let her go,” Oliver said. Claire was afraid he’d be after her, but, in fact, he hadn’t left Amelie’s side. “She has a right to see for herself.”
She arrived alone at a ruin of metal. The building had collapsed in on itself where it hadn�
�t blown out in shreds. One part was sticking up at a strange, awkward angle where the supports were still standing. Claire ran for that, hearing the wreckage creak and shudder under the whipping wind.
She didn’t think about the danger until she was inside, hearing the deep groans of metal shifting overhead. This place was going to come down, all the way down.
But first, she had to find out. She had to find him.
“Shane!” She screamed it, but her ears were still ringing from the blast, and it came out oddly muffled. Maybe he couldn’t hear her, either. Maybe that was why she didn’t hear anything back. “Shane, answer me!”
She almost tripped over the stairway that led down from the cracked concrete floor. It had probably been covered up before, or had some kind of railing around it, but now it was just a dark, open space in the floor. A ray of sunshine pierced the shattered roof and shone down the steps, all the way to the bottom.
She followed.
Down there, the light didn’t go far, but enough that she could make out a few things. The steel bars of a giant cage, for one thing. And the bleacher seats. She’d seen this room before, on the video. Shane had been here, fighting.
Claire edged forward, trying to see if there was anyone here, anyone at all. It looked empty.
She tripped over a piece of fallen metal and went down. She caught herself on the palms of her hands, but they skidded damply over the concrete, and she had to fight not to do a face-plant.
“Shane!” Her voice echoed back wildly from metal and concrete, and she could hear the grief and fear in it. “Shane, please answer me!”
No sound at all, except for the continued crashes and groans of the wreckage overhead. She edged back into the sunlight.
There was blood on her hands, bright and red. And on her pants where she’d fallen on her knees.
Fresh blood.
Claire screamed.
THIRTEEN
It was like CSI: Vampire, only without sunglasses.
The vampires brought lights, although they probably could have gotten along without them. It didn’t take long for them to clear the potentially dangerous wreckage from overhead and get down into the basement, where Claire sat huddled at the foot of the steps. She was still staring at the drying blood on her hands when Oliver stepped down carefully, watching her as he did so.
