Last Breath tmv-11

by Rachel Caine

  Somehow, Amelie’s influence made this a refuge not just on the physical level but on this level, too.

  She was safe, as long as she stayed here.

  Not only that, but she could actually see herself, like a very faint transparent image, and when she tried sitting down on the couch, she actually felt gravity.

  It was as close to real as she’d been all day, it seemed, and she curled up on velvet she could almost feel, and closed her eyes.

  Michael will be back, she told herself. Soon. And Myrnin will be with him.

  She was going to get out of this.

  She had to get out of this.

  Claire didn’t sleep, exactly, but the stillness and soft peace of the room made her . . . drift. When she heard the snap of the lock on the door, though, she came bolt upright on the couch in terror.

  Hiram had a way in.

  Only . . . he didn’t. It wasn’t Hiram at all. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Shane was standing there in the room, saying, “Claire?” He sounded anxious. “Claire, are you here?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  His head snapped around, and his eyes widened. He heard me. No, he sees me!

  “Claire,” Shane said, and the relief in his voice was intense. He hesitated for a second, then pointed at her. “Don’t move.” He clumped down the stairs and yelled, “I found her! She’s in here!”

  “Okay!” Eve yelled back. “Um, do you want me to come up, or—?”

  “No,” he said. “Not right now.”

  “I’m taking a shower, then.”

  Eve, Claire thought with a smile, always showered when she was nervous and worried. She was probably very worried about Michael.

  Shane closed the door to the hall and said, “There goes the hot water.” He walked back up the steps and looked at the couch, at her. “I can see you,” he said.

  “Really? I’m solid?” She looked down at herself. She wasn’t, really, at least to her own eyes. More like a genuine ghost—there, not there.

  Shane reached out slowly and touched her arm, and where he touched . . . where he touched, it felt real. Looked real. “Yeah,” he said. It sounded very soft, and not very steady. “Solid.” He sat down on the couch and, before she could even think about moving, grabbed her and hugged her close. Where he touched her, where her body pressed against his, everything felt right again, as if he was anchoring her back into the world. He kissed her, and it was just exactly right, all the sensations, all the tastes, the warm velvety feel of his lips . . . so amazing.

  She didn’t exactly know how it had happened, but he was stretched out on the couch, and she was lying on top of him, and it was so delicious and sweet and wonderful. His fingers stroked through her hair, and it swept down to brush his face.

  “You make me real,” she said, in wonder. “It’s you.”

  He didn’t say anything. Not with words. It was all just a blur after that, beautiful and strange and perfect, and she didn’t want to let go of him, not ever.

  But when she finally opened her eyes again and looked, she realized that there was something wrong. Shane was asleep next to her, curled tight against her, but he was . . . faded. The colors of his skin, his hair, they were pale now. Almost as black-and-white as they had been downstairs, out of this room.

  And she was brighter. More vivid.

  She’d taken it from him.

  Claire stood up and backed away from the couch. Shane mumbled and reached for her, but she stayed where she was, at arm’s length. “I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s—the room, it’s Amelie’s room; it’s doing something to us. . . .”

  “It’s making you real,” he said. “It’s okay.”

  “No, no, it’s not. You’re fading, Shane. And I can’t do this.”

  She looked real now, and felt real, but not at this cost. Not ever.

  “Claire . . .” Shane tried to get up, but he was weak, and he almost fell. He sank back on the couch, looking pale. “Whoa. Dizzy.”

  “You have to go,” she said. “You have to leave me here. I’ll be okay until Myrnin comes. Please, Shane. You can’t stay.”

  “I’ll go,” he said. “But only if you give me one last kiss.”

  She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help herself, either. He stood up, braced himself, and walked toward her. She backed away, but the wall behind her stopped her; if she went beyond it, Hiram was there, waiting.

  Shane kissed her. It was hot and lovely and full of promises, and then he stepped back, smiling.

  But he looked even more faded.

  “Go,” she whispered. “Go now, Shane. Please. I love you, and you have to go.”

  He picked up his jeans and stepped into them, grabbed his shirt, and threw it on as well. “I’m not losing you,” he said. “I’m telling you that. I’m not.”

  She smiled at him, and watched him go.

  Then she stretched out on the velvet couch, in the ghost of his warmth, and just for a while, she closed her eyes and dreamed.

  FOURTEEN

  MICHAEL

  The thing most people forget, when they start talking about being a vampire, is that it’s lonely. It’s supposed to be lonely. Vampires are predators. They’re more like tigers roaming territories than they are wolves, who hunt together in a cooperative group. Tigers don’t form packs. They’re alone, and they’re supposed to be.

  Morganville had always felt forced and artificial to me when I was a breathing human, but now . . . now I realized how forced and artificial it was on the night side of the equation, too. Having so many vampires pressed this close together, and close to their natural prey, and then hemming it all in with rules and social behaviors . . . I don’t think any of the humans, not even the ones who were closest to us, suspected how hard that really was.

  I’d adjusted better than most because I’d started out my supernatural life as a ghost, trapped in my own house. I’d become a vampire only out of necessity, because it was the only way to regain my freedom—even a part of it. And by that time, I’d gotten used to having the heartbeats and lives of my friends around me.

  I’d adjusted to Eve being so close, so alive, so willing. Mostly, at least.

  But it wasn’t easy. It was never, ever that. Still, I’d thought I’d known what I was getting into. I’d thought that all this was a stable, manageable existence. Morganville, where the vamps had forced themselves to be civilized.

  But when I got to Founder’s Square, I began to realize that it was all bullshit.

  All of it.

  There were vampires present—always were—and they were shutting down their stores. Many of these had been open all night, catering to hard-core adventurous people with pulses, and those without, but every building I saw was shuttered. The vampires were locking doors, clearing out valuables and cash, and getting ready for the orderly shutdown of our entire town.

  I stopped a vampire I knew slightly—Breana—and said, “No humans around?”

  She gave me a look, as if I were mentally handicapped. “No,” she said. “Of course not. They’re confined to their homes until we’re gone.” She reached up and grabbed a metal accordion gate and pulled it down in a shriek of cranky metal. It banged in place on the pavement, shedding flakes of orange rust, and she secured it in place with a thick padlock. “Do you have your seat assignment? No? Go to Amelie’s office. Her assistant is giving out passes. You’ll need one for the evacuation.” Breana pocketed the keys and walked away carrying a metal case, probably containing all of the most valuable items from her jewelry store. Vampires tended to travel light, and invest in tangible wealth, something easily traded.

  The lights in her store went out, but I could still read the sign she’d put up in the window.

  CKLOSED PERMANENTKLY.

  I headed for Amelie’s office. I’d told Shane I’d bring Myrnin back, but I knew this was going to be a test . . . a big one. A test of exactly where I stood in Morganville, and with Amelie, and it was going to take every ounce of inherite
d respect that I got from being the grandson of Samuel Glass, and the last child of one of the first human families in town, to even get her to open the door.

  My chances of being able to actually bring Myrnin home with me? Small. So were my chances of being able to leave myself. But I had to try, for Shane, and for all of us. We needed Claire. I hadn’t realized how much she held us all together until I’d seen her lying there, still and pale . . . until she was gone, and I felt everything we had collapsing. Shane couldn’t make it, not without hope.

  Claire was his hope. I guess in a way she was mine, too, and Eve’s; she was the one who was always quietly going about the business of getting things done, even when the rest of us thought the things were impossible.

  And that got her killed, some part of my brain insisted on telling me. I didn’t even know why someone had wanted her dead; Shane and Eve had pieces of the puzzle, but not enough.

  I needed to know that even more than I needed to get Myrnin.

  Getting in to see the Founder normally was no big deal for me; I had that Glass family season pass, after all. But today, I could see it wasn’t going to be easy, or fast. There were a lot of vampires in the hallway, all with fierce, tense body language that spoke more than snarls and bared teeth of the need to enforce their territorial boundaries. Jamming this many this close together was a bad idea.

  There was no way I could force my way through. There were maybe thirty vampires filling the space, and every single one of them was at least a hundred years older than I was. They also weren’t nearly as inclined to patience, since they’d probably survived centuries by virtue of being rich and powerful and ruthless.

  It took an hour for the line to move forward until I could actually see the open door of the Founder’s office. The hallway was a long one, with deep carpets and glossy portraits on the walls, but just now I swore I could smell desperation in the air.

  Two vampires ahead of me in the line got into a shouting match over which of them had been closer to some forgotten throne or other. I didn’t care. I was imagining Eve and Shane back at the house, and what might happen if Claire’s killer came back for more.

  I grabbed one of the two—the taller one, dressed in an antique business suit—and propelled him inside. “Sorry,” I said to the surprised shorter one. “This goes faster if you don’t measure your family trees. Just shut up.”

  He gave me a classic Don’t you know who I am? stare, and was on the verge of opening his mouth to tell me—not that I cared at all—when all of a sudden the Founder herself was standing in the doorway facing the two of us.

  Amelie didn’t look like the Founder I’d grown up with. She’d always seemed icy and perfect and royal, and although I’d seen her show emotion from time to time, I’d never thought of her as weak.

  Now she looked . . . fragile. And tense enough to shatter. And she’d lost the careful edge of distance.

  She gave the other vampire a look that utterly silenced him, and pointed at me. “Come with me,” she said, and vanished. I squeezed by Prince Whatever of Who Cares before he could protest how he’d been slighted, and saw the other, taller Prince Whatever taking a sheet of paper from the hands of Amelie’s assistant, Bizzie. It had a number bold-printed at the top.

  “Now,” Bizzie was telling him, “this is your seat assignment and car number. You’ll carry only what you see on the sheet. Nothing else. You may not take pets, either animal or human. No personal snacks will be allowed. . . .”

  I didn’t hear the rest, because Amelie had walked into her private office, and I had to follow quickly.

  “Shut the door,” she said as I hesitated. I did, and heard a lock automatically engage. “Sit.”

  “I came to get Myrnin,” I said. “I need him.”

  She didn’t even glance my way as she walked to the windows and looked out on the evening. There were fewer lights than usual. Even the moon was dark, hidden behind the clouds. A few fitful drops of rain rattled the glass like machine gun bullets, driven by a gust of wind.

  “You can’t have him,” she said. “I’ve put him to work on important things. Critical things.”

  “Amelie—”

  “Don’t,” she said, very quietly. “Don’t presume on my friendship toward your family, or my personal fondness for your grandfather, or even for you. Sentimentality has weighed us down here, made us complacent and stupid. No more.”

  “Amelie, what happened? Just tell me. Explain.”

  “I’m no longer explaining myself, Michael.” She turned, and there was something about her face, her eyes, her body language, that made me take a long step back. “I allowed you to see me so I could make this abundantly clear. You cannot choose to remain with the girl you love. You cannot choose to stay with your friends. That time is past, for all of us. You will take your evacuation instructions and wait downstairs, or I will order my guards to take you to a room and lock you up.”

  I’d expected—well, a lot of things, but I’d never actually imagined she’d go this far.

  “What killed Claire?” I asked. Not who killed her—I was already realizing that was irrelevant.

  “The inevitable,” she said. “She knew too much, it appears, more than he could afford. And if he dared act so openly, then even the preparations I’ve made will not save all of us. Some will be lost. Some will be foolish, and make themselves ready victims. But not you, Michael. You’ve been foolish enough already, coming here alone.”

  “I’m not going to leave Eve behind,” I said. “I love her. I’m not just going to—”

  She turned away from me toward the outer door. I hadn’t heard anything, but she must have; she pressed a button on her desk, and the lock clicked over.

  Myrnin walked in.

  He looked . . . well, different. Sane, for one thing. The pupils of his eyes were wide and dilated, and I wondered if she’d drugged him, or he’d done it himself. Either could have been true. He closed the door without being asked and stood there, hands clasped behind his back, like a schoolboy reporting to the teacher. “It’s done,” he said. “Frank has been programmed with all the necessary sequences. He’ll initiate it and shut himself down once it’s confirmed. Then the countdown will start. It’s all set to begin at dusk tomorrow.”

  Dusk tomorrow. I’d been told that all Morganville human residents had to be present in Founder’s Square. “Countdown for what?” I asked. If Myrnin had set Frank to some kind of suicide mode, it was dire. Really dire.

  Amelie and Myrnin both ignored me. “I will need you to help me trace Oliver’s last movements,” she said. “I realize there is no way to track Magnus directly, but we know that Oliver vanished within a short window of time. Perhaps there are clues to be seen, even now.”

  Myrnin frowned at her and rocked uncomfortably back and forth. “You mean to go after him? It’s—not wise.”

  “I don’t intend to stage a rescue,” she said. “I can’t. Oliver’s lost, as are the rest. But if we know where the draug are gathering those they’ve taken, we can isolate it. Perhaps we can contain them and buy ourselves some time.”

  “Unlikely. You know how easily they could—”

  “I know,” she interrupted, and waved him off. “No more talk. Go.”

  Myrnin put a hand to his chest and bowed, just a little. As he did, he shot a look at me. This one was knife sharp. Amelie turned her back toward the window, and as Myrnin straightened, he mouthed one word to me.

  Follow.

  I let him leave, and heard the click of the lock engage behind him. Amelie waited, as silent as the grave, until I said, “You say I don’t have a choice, but I do. I can either cooperate or get dragged along. Right?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I regret that they are the only options I can offer. Leave the humans behind now, Michael; tomorrow it will only be harder. Do you understand?”

  “You can really do it that easily. Just . . . end things.”

  “Yes,” she said. She sounded tired now, and sad. “Unfortunately, I can.
And I will. And so will you. So which is it? Go downstairs voluntarily, or under a guard, to a locked room? You can’t leave. That much is absolutely guaranteed.”

  “Then I’ll go on my own,” I said. “But this isn’t over. Trust me.”

  She didn’t bother to point out to me how useless that was to say. She just pressed the button on her desk, and waved me off. I had no doubt that she had people watching me, ready to pounce, but Myrnin had been definite.

  And that meant Myrnin had a plan. A crazy plan, sure, but right now, I’d take anything at all.

  I walked out of the outer office and into the hallway, then looked right. Nothing showing that direction. It was entirely blank and bland.

  To the left was a solid block of vampires, all impatiently waiting their turns at Bizzie’s desk.

  And beyond them, I saw Myrnin standing at the end of the hall. He waited until I’d caught sight of him, then took off in the opposite direction from the elevators.

  I shoved past the waiting vamps, most of whom shot me poisonous looks or flashed fangs. I managed not to get bitten somehow. When I achieved relatively free space, I moved faster. Myrnin hadn’t been dawdling, and while I didn’t dare run, I couldn’t exactly stroll.

  I looked back. Two of Amelie’s best and brightest goons had come out of a doorway only about fifteen feet behind me, and they were falling in on my trail. I turned the corner, heading the exact wrong way, and knew they’d be on me in seconds.

  I ran, hard, and the walls blurred around me. I couldn’t see Myrnin ahead, just more endless hallway....

  . . . And then something tripped me, and I was falling.

  Only a hand grabbed me out of the air by the arm and yanked, and in the next microsecond a door slammed, and I was on the floor being held down with a cold hand pressed over my mouth.

  Myrnin. I rolled my eyes to look around, and from what I could dimly see, I thought we were in some kind of janitorial closet. It was tiny, cramped, and stank of cleaning products.