by Rachel Caine
“Do you forgive me?” he asked her. His eyes were warm and steady, and he had a little, tentative hint of a smile.
“No,” she said. It made her sick to have to hurt him like this…but it was also right. It was necessary. “I want to, I really do, but you didn’t trust me, Shane. You didn’t believe me when I needed it. And that hurt me, Shane. It really did. It’s going to take a little time and a lot of work for me to forgive you for that.”
The breath went out of him as if she’d punched him, and his eyes widened. He’d just assumed she’d forgive him, she realized; she’d done that so many times before without any thought or hesitation that she’d made him think it was automatic.
But it wasn’t. Not this time. Much as she wanted things to go back to normal, she needed him to understand that he’d hurt her.
From the look on his face, he did.
In the next second, he dropped his gaze and took a deep breath. “I know,” he said. “I deserve it. If we get out of here, I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”
“Take the rope off the bars,” she said, and reached forward to tip his chin up and kiss him, very lightly. She wanted to fall into his arms, but it wasn’t the time, and it wasn’t the message she wanted to send him. “And be ready for anything.”
“Always.” The cocky grin he flashed her was almost right. Almost. But there was a scared, tentative look in his eyes, and she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, We could die here, right now, and not be right with each other.
But she couldn’t help that. She needed him to understand what he’d done to her, and to himself.
It was the toughest thing in the world, but she turned away from him. Myrnin was still belting out an endless chorus of whatever obnoxious song he was performing; no one was paying attention, but it was annoying enough that they were likely not paying much attention to her and Shane. When she tapped him on the shoulder, he coughed and broke off to say, “Are the two of you quite done with your sweet nothings? Because I might vomit.”
“That would be perfect,” Claire said. “It’s been just a great day so far.” She reached up, grabbed his pointed chin, and turned it to show him the bent bars at the rear of the cage. His eyebrows went sharply up. “Maybe you should rest a minute.”
“Perhaps I should,” he agreed. “Your shirt is torn. And you’re wearing a lovely perfume, by the way.”
“It’s blood,” she said. “Thanks. That’s ever so comforting.”
Myrnin crawled to the back of the cage, coming close to Shane as he did so. The two of them exchanged a look that made the hair rise on the back of Claire’s neck; they were like two tigers sizing each other up, with Myrnin then leaning past her boyfriend to inspect the state of the bars. He made a soft hmmm sound and nodded, then—to Claire’s surprise—pulled Shane close and gave him an utterly unexpected kiss on the cheek.
“Hey!” Shane said, and tried to wriggle free, but then he paused, because Myrnin was whispering to him. Shane’s gaze darted for Claire’s, then quickly away, and when Myrnin finished, Shane nodded. When Myrnin let him go, Shane moved back—way back.
Claire mouthed, What the hell? But Shane just shook his head and looked away. Whatever Myrnin had just said to him, it was…disturbing.
Myrnin didn’t pause for questions. He crawled over to where Amelie was still lying very still, and pulled her into his lap as he kneeled. “My poor, lovely lady,” he said, and gently eased her fallen white-gold hair back from her ivory face. “Would you rather die in fire, or in glory? Dead is dead, of course. But I feel you should choose, now.”
Amelie hadn’t moved at all. It was possible that something had gone wrong; maybe a splinter had broken off in her heart, freezing her in place, or something else had happened. A wooden stake wouldn’t kill her, but it would paralyze her. And they needed her, Claire thought. Too many vampires. Even if the trick worked to loosen the bars, even if they could break them free…
“Something’s happening out there,” Shane said. “Heads up.”
Naomi was moving forward at last, stilling the confused babble of the assembled vampires in the square. She was every bit a queen in her silver and black, and her voice was warm, sweet, and compelling; she didn’t need to bite people to convince them, Claire thought. She was persuasive enough without it. She’d only bothered to control the key players, and only for as long as she needed them. She was cold, but smart.
And now, she said, “My friends, I come before you in sorrow and pain to tell you that Amelie, our Founder, has lost the right to rule.”
No one doubted what was going on, Claire thought, but a number of vampires out in the crowd began to voice their objections. It wasn’t a lot of them, but it was enough to make it clear Naomi wasn’t a popular choice.
She held up a hand in a sharp, angry gesture. “Our laws are clear: the strongest rules. My sister was strong; the past is littered with those who stood against her, and lost. Her strength carried us here, to this town, to a place where we can finally begin to regain our rightful glory. But don’t be mistaken: she hesitated. She corrupted herself by compromising with humans, with their laws and morals, until she forgot what it was to be a proper vampire.”
There were more shouts of protest, louder now. That might not have been what Naomi expected, Claire thought; there was a growing tension in her shoulders, and the hand she still held raised seemed to shiver, just a little. “There will be no debate on this! My sister became weak and foolish, and she was brought down by treachery. Not mine, but the treachery of a lover she trusted. She is not fit any longer to rule. Fear not; I will burn the traitor with her, and we will start newborn.”
This time, no one shouted. There was an eerie silence. Claire honestly couldn’t tell whether Naomi had won them over, or whether something else was happening—something that didn’t bode well for the would-be queen. Vampires weren’t that easy to read, especially not in large groups.
The humans in their pen had gone very quiet and still—even Monica. Frail little Gramma Day was standing very tall, hardly leaning on her cane at all. But there was someone new standing near them, almost invisible behind Monica’s tall, long-legged form…another human, not a vampire.
Jenna? What the hell was the ghost hunter doing here? Trying to get a story? Was she insane?
No. She was holding hands with someone else; a small, slight form that Claire spotted as Flora Ramos shifted to one side.
Jenna had hold of Miranda’s hand.
Miranda shouldn’t be solid. But she was, very solid, though clinging to Jenna’s hand as if to a lifeline in a stormy ocean. Maybe Jenna’s psychic ability was feeding Miranda’s own power and holding her steady in her nighttime form outside the Glass House, but from the strained, scared looks on their faces, it wasn’t easy.
What the hell were they doing?
Naomi hadn’t seen them, or if she had, she didn’t care. She was busy trying to charm her new subjects.
“Tomorrow marks our new age, and I will lead you into it,” she continued. “You have been robbed of your rights for so long, my friends—subjected to indignities, to the constant complaints and restrictions of those who are rightfully our property. And that is over. As a token of this, I give you the first blood of Morganville. It is yours to take, as is your right as the rulers of not only this place, but all the world.” She extended her white hand to point at the people held off to the side—twenty people, including Monica.
The vampires looked in that direction. None of them moved, and then Jason sauntered out of the crowd, and said, “About damn time somebody did the right thing.”
He grabbed Monica and dragged her out of the fenced-in area.
She shrieked and hit him, hard enough to make him stagger back a bit, and Claire lunged forward and yanked the wooden crossbow bolt all the way out of Oliver’s chest. She threw it hard through the bars of the cage and yelled, “Monica, catch!”
Monica leaned over backward as Jason tried to drag her closer, and saw the bolt tumblin
g end over end through the air. In a move that was shockingly graceful—and probably couldn’t have been repeated if she’d really thought about it—Monica grabbed it and jammed it not into Jason’s heart, but between his teeth. “Bite that!” she yelled, and kicked her way free. Her shoes, Claire realized, had silver caps on the stiletto tips. She yanked them off and held them ready. “Anybody else want some?”
Jason spit the bolt out, looking furious and embarrassed, and when he tried to grab her, she planted the heel of her shoe into his hand. It burned.
“We have to move, right now,” Myrnin said. “She creates a nice distraction, but it won’t last.”
“It doesn’t need to,” Amelie said. She pulled the last inch of wood free from her chest and smiled up at him. “I find that I choose glory, my dear Myrnin.”
“Most excellent,” he said. “Claire has loosened the bars, and—”
Shane held up his bleeding hand.
“And Shane helped,” Myrnin amended grudgingly. “But I believe we should go now. Naomi is losing the respect of her peers. It will not go well for her. She will burn us out of sheer desperation.”
Amelie nodded and rolled to a crouch. She studied the bars at the back of the cage, made a fist, and hit with surgical precision at the point at the top of one of the bars where the weld was weakest.
It snapped.
Her hand was burned in a bright red stripe, but she ignored it, grabbed the loose metal, and bent it in toward them with shocking strength. It, too, snapped cleanly off at the base.
“Hannah!” Shane was yelling behind them. “Hannah, no!”
Claire glanced back and saw that Hannah—probably still following Naomi’s implanted instructions—was reaching for a button that almost certainly would turn the cage into a fry basket. Underneath them, the gas jets sputtered into pale blue flame.
“Out!” Claire screamed. “Get out now!”
Amelie had hit the second bar twice without breaking it, and Myrnin joined her, kicking it with his bare foot between her blows. About three seconds later, the whole thing bent and then snapped completely free.
It wasn’t a huge opening, but it was enough.
Amelie lunged out, and Myrnin after her. Shane went next and held out his hand for Claire.
But Oliver wasn’t moving.
“Leave him!” Shane yelled. Hannah’s hand was hovering over the button, shaking, as if she were trying desperately to fight for their lives, and losing. “Claire, come on, now!”
She couldn’t, because Oliver opened his eyes and began to move.
Claire broke loose from Shane’s grasp and lunged for the vampire.
Oliver opened his eyes as she started dragging him, and he reached out to grab the bars and hold himself in place. “No,” he said. “I have to—I have to pay for what I did.”
“Not like this,” Claire said. “Come on!”
But he wouldn’t let go. The idiot wouldn’t let go….
She saw Naomi’s head turn; she saw her take in the fact that her prisoners were getting loose, and she glared sharply at Hannah—
Who lost the internal battle, and hit the button that turned on the gas burners.
“Let go!” Claire shrieked as the flames shot up. She rolled for the hole in the cage bars and felt Shane yank her free into his arms. Her shirt was burning. He slapped the flames out.
Amelie reached past them, grabbed Oliver’s burning form, and yanked him out with all her strength. The bar he’d been holding snapped in half, but he slid free.
Still on fire.
Amelie stared down at him for a bare second with true horror written on her face, then threw herself down on him, smothering the fire with her body and her hands. He was scorched and smoldering, but alive.
Oliver’s burned hands moved, caressing her shoulders, and he whispered, “Forgive me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Hush.”
“Stop me before I hurt you again.”
“I will.” She sat up as he closed his hands around her neck, and she drove the wooden arrow that she’d pulled from her own chest into his heart. Oliver went limp.
But Michael and Hannah had just rounded the corner, armed and ready to kill, and there was nothing but Naomi’s will in their expressions now.
They were puppets—deadly puppets.
Amelie didn’t seem to know, or care. Myrnin grabbed Hannah, avoiding the silver-edged knife as she expertly sliced it at him, and tried to throw her off-balance. “Don’t hurt her!” Claire cried. “It’s not her fault!”
Michael was still coming. Shane let go of her and faced off with him. “Not gonna happen, bro,” he said. Michael bared fangs at him, and Shane held up the stake in his hand. “Not in this lifetime. I already had a vamp kiss me today. Not going all the way—”
But the banter wasn’t slowing Michael down, and before Claire could take a breath, Michael had rushed forward, grabbed Shane’s arm, and was relentlessly bending it back until the stake rattled on the granite slab. It rolled toward the cage and caught on fire from the inferno raging inside.
At that moment, Claire saw Miranda and Jenna step into view behind them, and Jenna let go of Miranda…and the air turned darkly electric with the rush of whispers.
Even Michael paused. There was something terrifying in that sound, something wrong.
Claire blinked, because she could see shadows now in the glare of the fire—shadows that moved on their own. Human-formed, they rushed forward past Miranda. Some piled onto Hannah, and although Claire could hardly see them, they must have had an effect, because Hannah staggered and stopped trying to stab the hell out of Myrnin. He let go and backed away, and she swatted at the whirl of shadows around her, movements growing more and more frantic and erratic.
And weak.
And then she went to her knees, and fell.
The same was happening to Michael, a storm of ghost-fury around him, and as Shane backed away, Claire saw one of the shadows break loose from the angry swarm and come toward her boyfriend.
The small figure took on shape and a glassy kind of reality as it approached him.
“Lyss,” Shane whispered, “thank you.”
She held out her hand; just for a moment, Shane took it. Claire saw the power that ran between them, a burst that exploded like a star in Alyssa’s shadow-body and gave her, just for a few seconds, reality.
“I love you,” Alyssa said, still holding on. “I just had to tell you it wasn’t your fault.”
Then she let go and faded into starlight.
Gone.
Shane staggered backward, and Claire caught him. His heart was beating fast, and he felt cold despite the inferno-like temperature of the gas jets nearby.
Michael was down now, and the ghost-swarm buzzed on for a few seconds before Miranda—called them back? That was what it looked like, Claire thought. The ghosts gathered like a cloak around her, crowding and whispering, and Miranda shuddered and turned very, very pale, almost translucent.
Jenna grabbed her hand, and she stabilized again.
“Bring them,” Amelie said, pointing to Hannah and Michael. She stared at Jenna and Miranda for a moment, as if trying to decide what to do with them, then inclined her head just a tiny bit. It was a bow of recognition, if not approval.
“What are we going to do?” Shane asked as he bent to grab Michael under the arms. Michael moaned, but he didn’t move much on his own.
“Now,” Amelie said with all of hell in her eyes, “we’ll find out who plays this game better.”
She was a mess, Claire thought—dress torn, smudged now with soot and blood from Oliver’s scorched body, hair in a tangle around her face. But she’d never looked more savage, or more like a queen, than when she walked out from behind the cage and faced Naomi.
The whole crowd froze, a mass of a hundred or more vampires, all deciding what to do; the humans panicking in their sacrificial corral; Jason and Monica, locked in a fashionista battle stance. Nobody moved.
Not even N
aomi, who looked utterly cool and perfect. But her smile looked stark and—just for a moment—false.
“It’s fitting,” she said then, “that you die at the hands of your successor. Try to do it with dignity, Amelie.”
“I always loved you,” Amelie said. “It’s a pity you were never worthy of it.” Her eyes flared bright silver white, and she nodded toward Claire, who was standing nearest. “Bring them.”
Claire guessed she meant Michael and Hannah, and she gestured. Myrnin carried Hannah over, and Shane dragged Michael.
Naomi laughed. “This is your army, dear sister? Pathetic.”
“Is it?” Amelie extended her hand toward Michael Glass. “I’ll have my fledgling back now.”
Whatever hold Naomi was keeping over him, it broke with an almost audible twist; Michael grabbed his head, and for a few seconds he looked as if he might collapse—but he pulled himself upright, wiped blood from his nose, and walked past Naomi to stand next to Amelie. Next to Shane, too. His eyes flashed over Claire, as well, and she read the horror and sorrow in them. Oh, Michael.
“And you, too, Hannah.” Amelie moved her pointing finger to Hannah Moses. “I free you. Join your people.”
Myrnin let her down, and Hannah blinked, staggered, and whipped her head around to glare at Naomi. The blind fury in her eyes was terrifying…but then she backed off from the vampires, and she went to where Monica was holding Jason at bay with her silver-capped shoe.
Hannah said, “Put those back on. This works better.” And she handed Monica the silver knife.
“What about you?” Monica asked as Jason took a big step away.
Hannah shrugged. “If he wants to come at me, he’ll find I don’t need anything else. Not for the likes of him.”
Jason backed all the way to the first rank of vampires behind him.
They shoved him forward, into no-man’s-land.
“Now,” Amelie said to Naomi, in the hiss of the burning torches and the roar of fire in the empty cage, “tell me again how you plan to rule in my town, Sister. Tell me how you will command the obedience of all these gathered here. Show me.”
Naomi didn’t lack for guts, Claire thought. She turned to the assembled vampires of Morganville, raised her hands, and said, “You know what Amelie offers. I will give you freedom. I will give you glory. I will give you back the world that you deserve. All you need to do is take one step forward, just one, and you will be free!”
