by Rachel Caine
She hugged him and whispered, “We’ll get through this. We will.”
He took in a deep, shaking breath, and relaxed against her.
SIXTEEN
In the end, the score was seventeen vampires captured; Vassily was one of them, which surprised Claire, until she heard that Frank had locked down his funds transfers, and Vassily had spent way too much time trying to get his money. He’d always been about the profits. By the time he’d finally given up, it had been too late for him to avoid the roadblocks set up at the exits out of Morganville. He ended up on his knees in front of Amelie, while Oliver stood there with the sword in his hands. Vassily begged and generally excused himself, but Amelie wasn’t amused. At all.
Claire got to leave before any actual beheadings started. Later, she heard that of the seventeen, four were judged most guilty, including Vassily. Nobody said what had been done to them, but really, nobody had to. She just assumed.
Shane got a special hearing in front of Amelie and Oliver in closed session, with Mayor Richard Morrell as an official council member. Claire wasn’t allowed in. Neither was Myrnin, not that Myrnin would have bothered to show up, anyway. Claire sat in the waiting room with Eve and Michael and Amelie’s assistant, Bizzie O’Meara, waiting for some word.
The doors finally opened, and Amelie and Oliver came out and walked straight past them, ignoring the waiting trio. Richard followed, looking like he had a headache and the town had just run out of aspirin, but he didn’t look angry or upset. That was good.
Shane followed him. He wasn’t in handcuffs, at least, and when he spotted Claire, he said, “Don’t look so worried. I’m on probation.”
“What kind of probation?” She held out her hand, and he took it with his left; his right was still bandaged tightly, and it must have hurt, because he didn’t move it much.
“The kind where you don’t do anything stupid or bad things happen,” Shane said. “Everybody agrees that Glory screwed with my head. Not everybody agrees that it’s all better now. So I have to prove that I’m not going to go pick fights with vampires anymore.”
“Jeez, Shane. You’ve done that since you were twelve,” Eve said. “That’s going to be a tough habit to break.”
“You know what I mean.” Shane’s dark eyes met Claire’s for a second. “They’re right about it. I still feel…you know, angry. Uncomfortable. I guess it’ll take some time.”
Michael stood up. “You’re okay with me?”
“As okay as I ever am. I wish you weren’t…what you are. But you’re always my bro.” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Gloriana couldn’t have made me do what I did, you know. Not without it being part of me, all twisted up with who I am, how I was raised, what my dad was like. I’ve always hated vampires. Blamed them. It’s hard for me to look at you and not think about all that. I’m trying. That’s all I can do.”
Michael held out his hand, his left, and Shane took it, then hugged him.
“That’s all you can do,” Michael agreed. “You’re my brother.”
“Some brother.”
“Brothers fight.” Michael shrugged and let go. “Just remember, I could have taken you if I’d wanted to.”
“Dream on, fang boy. Dream on.”
While they were talking—if taunting was a conversation—Claire spotted Amelie loitering in the hallway, speaking with Oliver in low tones. She headed that way. “Ma’am?” she said. “Could I ask you something?”
“I trust it’s not a favor. I am not feeling very generous just now.” Amelie looked tired and peeved and—like Richard—in need of a very big aspirin. “Well? Declare it.”
“I…got a call from a recruiter. At MIT.”
“MIT,” Amelie repeated. “What is this MIT?”
“Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It’s…the fantastic school I wanted to attend. They’ve accepted me. It’s very important, and they…said they’d take me.”
Amelie’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “When?”
“At the beginning of next year.”
Silence. Claire held her tongue, waiting; Amelie was thinking, but she was also testing her. Wanting her to babble nervously. Well, she wasn’t going to. She wasn’t going to show any weakness. Instead, she mimicked Amelie’s stillness, her direct stare.
Amelie smiled. It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it definitely happened. She nodded slightly and said, “And the question is, do you want to go to this MIT?”
“It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life,” Claire said. “It’s always been my dream.”
Amelie didn’t fail to notice the past tense in her verbs. “Wanted,” she repeated. “Been.”
“I should go. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if I don’t go now, they won’t take me; they’ve got way too many people, good people, trying to get in.”
“So,” Amelie said. “What do you think you should do?”
“Ask you for permission to leave Morganville,” Claire said. “Permanently, maybe.”
Amelie considered that for a few seconds. “And do you believe that you, of all people, need my permission to leave? You know Morganville’s secrets. You can leave more easily than anyone, except possibly Myrnin. I’m quite sure you’ve identified many ways to slip away undetected.”
She had, of course, and Amelie knew it; Claire didn’t confirm or deny any of that. She just waited. Funny, she thought. A year ago, I would have been shaking. Now she didn’t feel afraid at all. Amelie could kill her if she wanted. She’d always had that power. There was no point in fearing it.
Claire suddenly remembered Miranda facing Gina, knowing she was going to get hit, but also knowing that sometimes a little pain and blood was better than the alternative.
“I won’t order you to do anything, Claire,” Amelie said then. “It would be a useless exercise. You will do as you wish, and I will do as I must. Let’s hope that our wishes don’t conflict too badly. Shall we?”
She walked away. She didn’t even ask the question.
What are you going to do?
But Claire already knew. She turned back to her friends, and Shane gravitated toward her without even consciously heading in her direction.
“Can we go home?” she asked.
“Seems like a decent plan,” Shane said. “I’m on community service four nights a week. But not tonight. I guess she wanted to give me a break.” He held up his right hand. “Already got one, though.”
Eve groaned and kicked him. “You are so lucky I’m too tired to murder you right now. I am not putting up with your humor.”
“I am,” Claire said. She smiled. It felt like something had actually been lifted right off her shoulders. She was going to go home and make a call that was going to change her life, maybe forever. But not for the worse.
“What are you smiling about?” he asked her.
“I’m not going to MIT,” she said, and kissed him. He was surprised, but he kissed her back sweetly, then warmly.
“Of course you are,” he told her. “As soon as Amelie lets you, you’re going. You promised me you would.”
She looked up at him and her euphoria faded a little. She had promised him that. But now the moment was here, and she didn’t want it.
Her cell phone rang, shattering the moment, and Claire gritted her teeth and looked at the caller ID. Of course it was Myrnin, at exactly the wrong time.
She hit the button and said, “Hello, Myrnin.” Shane took a step back and looked away. So that hadn’t gone away, either, that feeling of jealousy. Of betrayal, even though she hadn’t betrayed him at all. This was going to take time. Could she pick a worse time to run off to MIT? No. No, she couldn’t do it—that was final.
Myrnin sounded agitated. Not a real surprise. “They’ve forgotten my delivery again,” he said. “I’m completely out of O positive. Stop in and get my cooler, please.”
“Now? I’m on my way—”
“Now, or I won’t answer for my unpleasant behavior later.” Myrnin hung up on her without waiting f
or a reply. Not that there was anything she could say other than Yes, of course I’ll pick up your blood before you go eat someone.
“Side trip?” Shane asked.
“I can go on my own. You guys go home.”
“Nope. I’m going with you,” Shane said, and hesitated. “I ought to apologize to him, too. I mean, what I said—”
“You didn’t say it to him.”
“Kind of still need to tell him I’m sorry. He did save our lives.”
She wasn’t happy with that; Myrnin didn’t like Shane dropping in, and then there was the Frank problem. But Frank would have to be crazy to manifest himself with Shane there. Right?
So Shane walked with her to the blood bank, picked up the cooler, and carried it all the way back to the alley and down the steps, into Myrnin’s lab.
Same old crazy place. Myrnin was standing stiffly in one place, hands behind him, just behind one of the lab tables. He was wearing that white coat over his Hawaiian shirt, looking like the world’s least reliable scientist ever.
“Hey,” Claire said. “We brought it.” Myrnin didn’t move and didn’t speak. She frowned. “Are you feeling all right?”
He twitched slightly, blinked, and said, in a flat voice, “Hungry. Just leave it there.”
“Here?” Shane asked, and when Myrnin didn’t reply, shrugged and dropped it. “Okay. There’s your fast-food delivery. We’re going now.”
“I thought you wanted to apologize,” Claire whispered. Shane’s jaw looked tight and set, and he sent her a quick, unreadable look.
“I did,” he said. “But now I don’t. It’s just about maxed me out, not punching him. So let’s go, okay? I don’t want to feel like this. Not anymore.”
“Wait,” said a new voice. Female. Myrnin snapped his head around toward it, and Claire blinked as she saw Kim—Kim?—step out of the shadows and walk toward them. “I knew you’d come with her. Hi, Shane.”
Shane blinked, clearly as confused as Claire felt. “Uh, hi?” He looked at Claire. “Where did she come from?”
Oh. She hadn’t had a chance to explain—Kim, the escape, all that. She’d figured Kim would have run for the borders of town, not come here. Why would she?
“Myrnin, what’s she doing here?” Claire asked. She knew she sounded a little on edge, but it was very weird of him to have guests. Especially guests that Amelie wanted to arrest.
“She’s doing exactly as she pleases,” Myrnin said, and turned slightly so they could see the silver chains wrapped around his arms, from elbows down to wrists. Some of it was covered up by cloth, but not all. Where it touched his flesh, it was burning him. “I’d very much prefer it if you’d take these off.”
“How did she—?”
“She posed as my delivery person,” he said. “I was focused on signing for the blood. Really not my fault, Claire.”
Kim was still coming toward them—no, toward Shane. Her eyes were focused on him with weird fascination. “You don’t look so good,” she said. “I heard Bishop almost killed you.”
“One of us is still standing,” Shane said, and held out a hand to fend her off when she got too close. “Hang on. We are not hugging.”
“Oh, we will,” Kim said. “You and me, Shane. It’s always been the two of us. All we need to do is get rid of the interference.”
Shane’s eyes widened, and he looked from Kim to Claire. “No—”
An arrow hissed across the room, a blur of wood and metal, and Shane shoved Claire out of the way. The arrow plunged into his shoulder, and she felt the warm spatter of Shane’s blood across her face.
He spun away from her and fell.
Who was shooting? Claire tried to get to shelter, but another shot came her way, ricocheting off the wall, and brought her to a quick, skidding halt.
Kim was smiling, and now it had turned bitter and cruel. “I don’t come without friends,” she said. “Boys?”
There had been two men in the jeep that had rescued her in the desert, Claire realized, and now she saw them, dressed in camouflage, blending into the shadows. Both had crossbows.
“Friends,” Claire said. “You don’t have friends, Kim. You stab your friends in the back—”
“Just shoot her,” Kim said. One of the men aimed and fired again, but Claire managed to duck. The arrow tugged at her hair. She hid behind one of the lab tables.
Kim rolled her eyes. “Wow, you guys are terrible. You can’t shoot her?”
They had all pretty much forgotten about Myrnin, but suddenly, there was a sound of metal snapping. Kim looked over at him, startled. “Weak link,” he said. “How appropriate.” He ignored Kim and flashed across the lab in a zigzag pattern, then veered into one corner. The camouflaged man there cried out, then went quiet. The other one tried to shoot at Myrnin, but it didn’t go so well, either.
Myrnin was heading for Kim when she picked up a crossbow lying on a table nearby and shot him point-blank in the chest.
He staggered backward, muttered, “Not again,” and then went down, wood through his heart. Not enough to kill him. Just enough to immobilize him.
Kim dropped the crossbow.
“Stop,” Shane said. His voice sounded ragged and anguished, and as Claire looked, she saw him getting to his feet. “Just stop. What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry you got hurt. They weren’t aiming for you,” Kim said. “I don’t want to kill you, Shane. I spent a lot of time thinking about this. How to get it right.”
Kim sounded earnest and very crazy. Claire didn’t know who she was more afraid for—Shane, wounded, with blood running down his fingers to pool around his feet, or the vampire lying completely still nearby.
“You are crazy,” Shane said, and meant it. “If you’re expecting me to love you—”
“You do love me.” Kim sounded utterly sure of it. “It’s just that she’s in the way.”
“Trust me, that’s not it.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want me?”
“Pretty much.”
Kim pulled a gun out of her pants pocket, and she aimed it right at Shane. He didn’t flinch. Maybe he was just too tired.
“How about now?” she asked. “Do you want me now?”
Shane sighed. “About as much as cancer. So shoot me already.”
She was going to—Claire could see it in her eyes—but then Frank Collins flickered into view just a foot away from Kim’s face.
She shrieked in terror. Even crazy people could do that when a ghost with the vicious face of Shane’s father showed up in their moment of triumph.
“Not my son,” Frank said. “You’re not hurting my son.”
Shane’s eyes snapped open. “Dad?” He sounded dazed and disbelieving, but he could see it, too—the flat, black-and-white image of his father, translucent and standing between Shane and his would-be killer.
Kim fired, but the shot went wild, missing Shane by at least a foot. Claire gasped and ran as fast as she could through the maze of books, discarded clothing, and glass beakers. She vaulted over a chair and landed next to an open cabinet where Myrnin kept all kinds of things that were too dangerous to handle.
Including a set of silver stakes that Eve had made for Claire, and that Myrnin had confiscated and put in the cabinet for safekeeping.
Claire grabbed one and threw it desperately, just as Kim tried to aim again. It didn’t kill her, but it did hit her solidly in the head, snapping her skull sideways, and she staggered and went down to one knee.
Frank Collins turned to Claire and yelled, “Handcuffs, second shelf! Hurry up, dammit!”
She found them. They were silver, but they’d work just fine. She got to Kim just as the girl was climbing to her knees, and knocked her down to put the restraints on her. Kim yelled and kicked and cursed, but Claire held her down. She wanted to bang Kim’s stupid head into the floor, but didn’t dare, because she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop. She was shaking all over with rage.
She looked up and saw Shane staring at them
with an empty, horrified expression on his face. She couldn’t think why for a second—it couldn’t be Myrnin; he didn’t care about that. He wasn’t worried about Kim, surely……
And then the adrenaline haze faded, and it hit Claire with a sickening thud what he was looking at.
His father.
Frank Collins.
The black-and-white ghost of a man he thought was safely, and even heroically, dead.
“Hello, son,” Frank said. His voice sounded gentle but inhuman as it whispered out of the radio and phone speakers all over the lab. “Sorry you have to learn about it like this. I never meant it to be this way. I never wanted you to know.”
Shane had an arrow in his shoulder, but it seemed like he’d forgotten all about it, because this hurt so, so much worse. He took a step forward, then another, then seemed to just…collapse. Claire did bang Kim’s head into the floor then, just once, enough to make her stop struggling for a minute, and then she went to her boyfriend’s side.
Frank Collins stayed where he was, a safe distance away. “Don’t take the bolt out,” he said. “Best to do that at the hospital. Could have nicked an artery.”
“You’re dead,” Shane said. “You’re dead.”
“I still am,” Frank agreed. “It’s just a picture, son. I’m not really here.”
“Yes, you are.” Shane’s throat worked as if he was trying to swallow a huge, unchewable chunk of shock and sorrow. “He did this. Myrnin brought you back. For his machine.”
“Don’t blame Myrnin. It was either me or Claire. I’d rather it was me.”
Shane shook his head. He wasn’t looking at his dad anymore, or at Claire, or at anything but the bloodstained fabric of his blue jeans. His face was pale from shock, his eyes very wide.
“Shane…I’m calling the ambulance,” she said. “You’re going to be okay. It’s all—”
“It’s not,” he said, and met her eyes. She flinched. “You knew. You knew. And you didn’t tell me.”
“I told her not to,” Frank said.
Shane ignored him. “You knew,” he said as if his heart was breaking. He pitched over on his side and closed his eyes. “You knew, Claire.”
