Текст книги "Lord of Misrule"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

The keys were missing. So were a few other things—significant things.

With a sinking feeling, Claire pulled open the half-broken drawer where she’d kept the bag with all the tranquilizer stuff, and Myrnin’s drug supplies.

Gone. Only a scrape in the dust to indicate where it had been.

That meant that if– when—Myrnin turned violent, she wouldn’t have her trusty dart gun to help her. Nor would she have even her trusty injectable pen, so cool, that she’d loaded up for emergencies, because it had been in the bag with the drugs. She’d lost the other supplies she’d had with her.

But even worse, she didn’t have any medicine for him, other than the couple of small vials she had with her in her pockets.

In summary: so very screwed.

“Enough,” Amelie said, and turned to her bodyguard. “I know this isn’t easy, but if you would?”

He gave her a polite sort of nod, stepped forward, and took the lock in his hand.

His hand burst into flame.

“Oh my God!” Claire blurted, and clapped her hands over her mouth, because the vampire guy wasn’t letting go. His face was contorted with pain, but he held on, somehow, and jerked and twisted the silver-plated lock until, with a scream of metal, it ripped loose. The hasp came with it, right off the door.

He dropped it to the floor. His hand kept burning. Claire grabbed the first thing that came to hand—some kind of ratty old shirt Myrnin had left thrown on the floor—and patted out the fire. The smell of burned flesh made her dry heave, and so did the sight of what was left of his hand. He didn’t scream. She almost did it for him.

“A trap,” Amelie said. “From my father. Gérard, are you able to continue?”

He nodded as he wrapped the shirt around the ruin of his hand. He was sweating fine pink beads—blood, Claire realized, as a trickle of it ran down his pale face. She realized that as she was standing there right in front of him, frozen in place, and his eyes flashed red.

“Move,” he growled at her. “Stay behind us.” And then, after a brief pause, he said, “Thank you.”

Hannah took her by the arm and pulled her to the spot in the back, out of vampire-grabbing range. “He needs feeding,” she said in an undertone. “Gérard’s not a bad guy, but you don’t want to make yourself too available for snack attacks. Remember, we’re vending machines with legs.”

Claire nodded. Amelie put her fingers in the hole left by the broken lock and pulled the door open . . . on darkness.

Hannah said nothing. She didn’t let go of Claire’s arm.

For a long moment, nothing happened, and then the darkness flickered. Shifted. Things came and went in the shadows, and Claire knew that Amelie was shuffling destinations, trying to find the one she wanted. It seemed to take a very long time, and then Amelie took a sudden step back. “Now,” she said, and her two bodyguards charged forward into what looked like complete darkness and were gone. Amelie glanced back at Hannah and Claire, and her black pupils were expanding fast, covering all the gray iris of her eyes, preparing for the dark.

“Don’t leave my side,” she said. “This will be dangerous.”

3

Amelie grabbed Claire’s other arm, and before Claire could so much as grab a breath, she was being pulled through the portal. There was a brief wave of chill, and a feeling that was a little like being pushed from all sides, and then she was stumbling into utter, complete blackness. Her other senses went into overdrive. The air smelled stale and heavy, and felt cold and damp, like a cave. Amelie’s icy grip on one arm was going to leave bruises, and Hannah Moses’s warmer touch on the other seemed light by contrast, although Claire knew it wasn’t.

Claire could hear herself and Hannah breathing, but there was no sound at all from the vampires. When Claire tried to speak, Amelie’s ice-cold hand covered her mouth. She nodded convulsively, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as Amelie—she hoped it was still Amelie, anyway—pulled her forward into the dark.

The smells changed from time to time—a whiff of nasty, rotten something, then something else that smelled weirdly like grapes? Her imagination conjured up a dead man surrounded by broken bottles of wine, and Claire couldn’t stop it there; the dead man was moving, squirming toward her, and any second now he’d touch her and she’d scream. . . .

It’s just your imagination; stop it.

She swallowed and tried to tamp down the panic. It wasn’t helping. Shane wouldn’t panic. Shane would—whatever, Shane wouldn’t be caught dead roaming around in the dark with a bunch of vampires like this, and Claire knew it.

It seemed like they went on forever, and then Amelie pulled her to a stop and let go. Losing that support felt as if she were standing on the edge of a cliff, and Claire was really, really grateful for Hannah’s grip to tell her there was something else real in the world. Don’t let me fall.

And then Hannah’s hand went away. A fast tightening of her fingers, and she was gone.

Claire was floating in total darkness, disconnected, alone. Her breath sounded loud as a train in her ears, but it was buried under the thunder of her fast heartbeats. Move,she told herself. Do something!

She whispered, “Hannah?”

Cold hands slapped around her from behind, one pinning her arms to her sides, the other covering her mouth. She was lifted off the ground, and she screamed, a faint buzzing sound like a storm of bees that didn’t make it through the muffling gag.

And then she went flying through the air into the darkness . . . and rolled to a stop facedown, on a cold stone floor. There was light here. Faint, but definite, painting the edges of things a pale gray, including the arched mouth of the tunnel at the end of the hall.

She had no idea where she was.

Claire got quickly to her feet and turned to look behind her. Amelie, pale as a pearl, stepped through the portal, and with her came the other two vampires. Gérard had Hannah Moses’s arm gripped in his good hand.

Hannah had a bloody gash on her head, and when Gérard let go, she dropped to her knees, breathing hard. Her eyes looked blank and unfocused.

Amelie whirled, something silver in one hand, and stabbed as something came at her from the dark. It screamed, a thin sound that echoed through the tunnel, and a white hand reached out to grab Amelie’s shirt.

The invisible portal slammed shut like an iris, and severed the arm just above the elbow.

Amelie plucked the still-grabbing hand from her shirt, dropped the hand to the ground, and kicked it to the side. When she turned back to the others, there was no expression on her face.

Claire felt like throwing up. She couldn’t take her eyes away from that wiggling, fish-pale hand.

“It was necessary to come this way,” Amelie said. “Dangerous, but necessary.”

“Where are we?” Claire asked. Amelie gave her a look and ignored her as she took the lead, heading down the hall. Going through this didn’t give her any right to ask questions. Of course. “Hannah? Are you okay?”

Hannah waved her hand vaguely, which really wasn’t all that confidence-building. The vampire Gérard answered for her. “She’s fine.” Sure, he could talk, having one hand burned to the bone. He’d probably classify himself as fine, too. “Take her,” Gérard ordered, and pushed Hannah toward Claire as he moved to follow Amelie. The other bodyguard—what was his name?—moved with him, as if they were an old, practiced team.

Hannah was heavy, but she pulled herself back on her own center of gravity after a breath or two. “I’m fine,” she said, and gave Claire a reassuring grin. “Damn. That was not a walk in the park.”

“You should meet my boyfriend,” Claire said. “You two are both masters of understatement.”

She thought Hannah wanted to laugh, but instead, she just nodded and patted Claire on the shoulder. “Watch the sides,” she said. “We’re just starting on this thing.”

That was an easy job, because there was nothing to watch on the sides. They were, after all, in a tunnel. Hannah, it appeared, was the rear guard, and she seemed to take it very seriously, although it looked like Amelie had slammed the doorway behind them pretty hard, with prejudice. I hope we don’t have to go back that way,Claire thought, and shivered at the sight of that pale severed hand behind them. It had finally stopped moving. I really, really hope we don’t have to go back there.

At the mouth of the tunnel, Amelie seemed to pause for a moment, and then disappeared to the right, around the corner, with her two vampire bodyguards in flying formation behind her. Hannah and Claire hurried to keep up, and emerged into another hallway, this one square instead of arched, and paneled in rich, dark wood. There were paintings on the walls—old ones, Claire thought—of pale people lit by candlelight, dressed in about a thousand pounds of costume and rice white makeup and wigs.

She stopped and backed up, staring at one.

“What?” Hannah growled.

“That’s her. Amelie.” It definitely was, only instead of the Princess Grace-style clothes she wore now, in the picture she was wearing an elaborate sky blue satin dress, cut way low over her breasts. She was wearing a big white wig, and staring out of the canvas in an eerily familiar way.

“Art appreciation later, Claire. We need to go.”

That was true, beyond any argument, but Claire kept throwing glances at the paintings as they passed. One looked like it could have been Oliver, from about four hundred years ago. One more modern one looked almost like Myrnin. It’s the vampire museum,she realized. It’s their history.There were glass cases lining the hall ahead, filled with books and papers and jewelry, clothing, and musical instruments. All the fine and fabulous things gathered through their long, long lives.

Ahead, the three vampires came to a sudden, motionless halt, and Hannah grabbed Claire by the arm to pull her out of the way, against the wall. “What’s happening?” Claire whispered.

“Sorting credentials.”

Claire didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but when she risked moving out just a bit to see what was happening, she saw that there were lots of other vampires in here—about a hundred of them, some sitting down and obviously hurt. There were humans, too, mostly standing together and looking nervous, which seemed reasonable.

If these were Bishop’s people, their little rescue party was in serious trouble.

Amelie exchanged some quiet words with the vampire who seemed to be in charge, and Gérard and his partner visibly relaxed. That settled the friend-or-foe question, apparently; Amelie turned and nodded to Claire, and she and Hannah edged out from behind the glass cases to join them.

Amelie made a gesture, and immediately several vampires peeled off from the group and joined her in a distant corner.

“What’s going on?” Claire asked, and stared around her. Most of the vampires were still dressed in the costumes they’d worn to Bishop’s welcome feast, but a few were in more military dress—black, mostly, but some in camouflage.

“It’s a rally point,” Hannah said. “She’s talking strategy, probably. Those would be her captains. Notice there aren’t any humans with her?”

Claire did. It wasn’t exactly a pleasant sensation, the doubt that boiled up inside.

Whatever orders Amelie delivered, it didn’t take long. One by one, the vampires nodded and peeled off from the meeting, gathered up followers—including humans this time—and departed. By the time Amelie had dispatched the last group, there were only about ten people left Claire didn’t know, and they were all standing together.

Amelie came back to them, saw the group of humans and vamps, and nodded toward them.

“Claire, this is Theodosius Goldman,” Amelie said. “Theo, he prefers to be called. These are his family.”

Family?That was a shock, because there were so many of them. Theo seemed to be kind of middle-aged, with graying, curly hair and a face that, except for its vampiric pallor, seemed kind of . . . nice.

“May I present my wife, Patience?” he said with the kind of old manners Claire had only seen on Masterpiece Theater. “Our sons, Virgil and Clarence. Their wives, Ida and Minnie.” There were more vampires bowing, or in the case of the one guy down on the floor, with his head held in the lap of a female vamp, waving. “And their children.”

Evidently the grandkids didn’t merit individual introductions. There were four of them, two boys and two girls, all pale like their relatives. They seemed younger than Claire, at least physically; she guessed the littler girl was probably about twelve, the older boy around fifteen.

The older boy and girl glared at her, as if she were personally responsible for the mess they were in, but Claire was too busy imagining how a whole family—down to grandkids—could all be made vampires like this.

Theo, evidently, could see all that in her expression, because he said, “We were made eternal a long time ago, my girl, by”—he cast a quick look at Amelie, who nodded—“by her father, Bishop. It was a joke of his, you see, that we should all be together for all time.” He really did have a kind face, Claire thought, and his smile was kind of tragic. “The joke turned on him, though. We refused to let it destroy us. Amelie showed us we did not have to kill to survive, and so we were able to keep our faith as well as our lives.”

“Your faith?”

“It’s a very old faith,” Theo said. “And today is our Sabbath.”

Claire blinked. “Oh. You’re Jewish?”

He nodded, eyes fixed on her. “We found a refuge here, in Morganville. A place where we could live in peace, both with our nature and our God.”

Amelie said, softly, “But will you fight for it now, Theo? This place that gave you refuge?”

He held out his hand. His wife’s cool white fingers closed around it. She was a delicate china doll of a woman, with masses of sleek black hair piled on top of her head. “Not today.”

“I’m sure God would understand if you broke the Sabbath under these circumstances.”

“I’m sure he would. God is forgiving, or we would not still be walking this world. But to be moral is not to need his divine forgiveness, I think.” He shook his head again, very regretfully. “We cannot fight, Amelie. Not today. And I would prefer not to fight at all.”

“If you think you can stay neutral in this, you’re wrong. I will respect your wishes. My father will not.”

Theo’s face hardened. “If your father threatens my family again, then we willfight. But until he comes for us, until he shows us the sword, we will not take up arms against him.”

Gérard snorted, which proved what he thought about it; Claire wasn’t much surprised. He seemed like a practical sort of guy. Amelie simply nodded. “I can’t force you, and I wouldn’t. But be careful. I cannot spare anyone to help you. You should be safe enough here, for a time. If any others come through, send them out to guard the power station and the campus.” She allowed her gaze to move beyond Theo, to touch the three humans huddled in the far corner of the room, under another painting, a big one. “Are these under your Protection?”

Theo shrugged. “They asked to join us.”

“Theo.”

“I will defend them if someone tries to harm them.” Theo pitched his voice lower. “Also, we may need them, if we can’t get supplies.”

Claire went cold. For all his kind face and smile, Theo was talking about using those people as portable blood banks .

“I don’t want to do it,” Theo continued, “but if things go against us, I have to think of my children. You understand.”

“I do,” Amelie said. Her face was back to a blank mask that gave away nothing of how she felt about it. “I have never told you what to do, and I will not now. But by the laws of this town, if you place these humans under your Protection, you owe them certain duties. You know that.”

Another shrug, and Theo held out his hands to show he was helpless. “Family comes first,” he said. “I have always told you so.”

“Some of us,” Amelie said, “are not so fortunate in our choice of families.”

She turned away from Theo without waiting for his response—if he’d been intending to give one—and without so much as a pause, slammed her fist into a glass-fronted wall box labeled EMERGENCY USE ONLY three steps to the right. It shattered in a loud clatter, and Amelie shook shards of glass from her skin.

She reached into the box and took out . . . Claire blinked. “Is that a paintballgun?”

Amelie handed it to Hannah, who handled it like a professional. “It fires pellets loaded with silver powder,” she said. “Very dangerous to us. Be careful where you aim.”

“Always am,” Hannah said. “Extra magazines?”

Amelie retrieved them from the case and handed them over. Claire noticed that she protected herself even from a casual touch, with a fold of fabric over her fingers. “There are ten shots per magazine,” she said. “There is one already loaded, and six more here.”

“Well,” Hannah said, “any problem I can’t solve with seventy shots is probably going to kill us, anyway.”

“Claire,” Amelie said, and handed over a small, sealed vial. “Silver powder, packed under pressure. It will explode on impact, so be very careful with it. If you throw it, there is a wide dispersal through the air. It can hurt your friends as much as your enemies.”

There were real uses for silver powder, like coating parts in computers; Claire supposed it wasn’t exactly restricted, but she was surprised the vampires were progressive enough to lay in a supply. Amelie raised pale eyebrows at her.

“You’ve been expecting this,” Claire said.

“Not in detail. But I’ve learned through my life that such preparations are never wasted, in the end. Sometime, somewhere, life always comes to a fight, and peace always comes to an end.”

Theo said, very quietly, “Amen.”

4

They left the museum by way of a side door. It was risky to go out into the night, but since the only other way to exit the museum was to go back into the darkness, nobody argued about the choice.

“Careful,” Amelie told them in a very soft voice that hardly reached past the shadows. “I have gathered my forces. My father is doing the same. There will be patrols, especially here.”

The flames hadn’t reached Founder’s Square, which was where they came out—the heart of vamp territory. It didn’t look like the calm, orderly place Claire remembered, though; the lights were all out, and the shops and restaurants that bordered it were closed and empty.

It looked afraid.

The only place she could see movement was on the marble steps of the Elders’ Council building, where Bishop’s welcome feast had been held. Gérard hissed a warning, and they all froze, silent and still in the dark. Hannah’s grip on Claire’s arm felt like an iron band.

There were three vampires standing there, scanning the area.

Lookouts.

“Go,” Amelie said in a whisper so small it was like a ghost. “Move, but be careful.”

They reached the edge of the shadows by the corner of the building, but just as Claire was starting to relax a little, Amelie, Gérard, and the other vampires moved in a blur, scattering in all directions.

This left Claire flat-footed for one horrible second, before Hannah tackled her facedown on the grass. Claire gasped, got a mouthful of crunchy dirt and bitter chlorophyll, and fought to get her breath. Hannah’s heavy weight held her down, and the older woman braced her elbows on Claire’s back.

She’s firing the pistol,Claire thought, and tried to raise her head to see where Hannah was shooting.

“Head down!” Hannah snarled, and shoved Claire down with one hand while she continued to fire with the other. From the screams in the dark, she was hitting something. “Get up! Run!”

Claire wasn’t quick enough to suit either the marines or the vampires, and before she knew it, she was being half pulled, half dragged at a dead run through the night. It was all a confusing blur of shadows, dark buildings, pale faces, and the surly orange glow of flames in the distance.

“What is it?” she screamed.

“Patrols.” Hannah kept on firing behind them. She wasn’t firing wildly, not at all; it seemed like she took a second or two between every shot, choosing her target. Most of the shots seemed to hit, from the shouts and snarls and screams. “Amelie! We need an exit, now!”

Amelie looked back at them, a pale flash of face in the dark, and nodded.

They charged up the steps of another building on Founder’s Square. Claire didn’t have time to get more than a vague impression of it—some kind of official building, with columns in front and big stone lions snarling on the stairs—before their little party came to a halt at the top of the stairs, in front of a closed white door with no knob.

Gérard started to throw himself against it. Amelie stopped him with an outstretched hand. “It will do no good,” she said. “It can’t be opened by force. Let me.”

The other vampire, facing away and down the steps, said, “Don’t think we have time for sweet talk, ma’am. What you want us to do?” He had a drawling Texas accent, the first one Claire had heard from any vampire. She’d never heard him speak at all before.

He winked at her, which was even more of a shock. Until that moment, he hadn’t even looked at her like a real person.

“A moment,” Amelie murmured.

The Texan nodded behind them. “Don’t think we’ve got one, ma’am.”

There were shadows converging in the dark at the foot of the steps—the patrol that Hannah had been shooting at. There were at least twenty of them. In the lead was Ysandre, the beautiful vampire Claire hated maybe more than she hated any other vampire in the entire world. She was Bishop’s girl through and through—Amelie’s vampire sister, if they thought in those kinds of terms.

Claire hated Ysandre for Shane’s sake. She was glad the vamp was here, and not attacking Shane’s Bloodmobile—one, because she wasn’t so sure Shane could resist the evil witch, and two, she wanted to stake Ysandre herself.

Personally.

“No,” Hannah said, when Claire took a step out from behind her. “Are you crazy? Get back!”

Hannah fired over her shoulder. It was at the outer extreme of the paintball gun’s range, but the pellet hit one of the vampires—not Ysandre, Claire was disappointed to see—right in the chest. Silver dust puffed up in a lethal mist, and the close formation scattered. Ysandre might have had a few burns, but nothing that wouldn’t heal.

The vampire Hannah had shot in the chest toppled over and hit the marble stairs, smoking and flailing.

Amelie slammed her palm flat against the door and closed her eyes, and deep inside the barrier something groaned and shifted with a scrape of metal. “Inside,” Amelie murmured, still wicked controlled, and Claire spun and followed the three vampires across the threshold. Hannah backed in after, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut.

“No locks,” she said.

Amelie reached over and pushed Hannah’s gun hand into an at-rest position at her side. “None necessary. They won’t get in.” She sounded sure of it, but from the look Hannah continued to give the door—as if she wished she could weld it shut with the force of her stare—she wasn’t so certain. “This way. We’ll take the stairs.”

It was a library, full of books. Some—on this floor—were new, or at least newish, with colorful spines and crisp titles that Claire could read even in the low light. She slowed down a little, blinking. “You guys have vampirestories in here?” None of the vampires answered. Amelie veered to the right, through the two-story-tall shelves, and headed for a set of sweeping marble steps at the end. The books got older, the paper more yellow. Claire caught sight of a sign that read FOLKLORE, CA. 1870-1945, ENGLISH, and then another that identified a Germansection. Then French.Then script that might have been Chinese.

So many books, and from what she could tell, every single one of them had to do in some way with vampires. Was it history or fiction to them?

Claire didn’t really have time to work it out. They were taking the stairs, moving around the curve up to the second level. Claire’s legs burned all along the calf muscles, and her breathing was getting raspy from the constant movement and adrenaline. Hannah flashed her a quick, sympathetic smile. “Yeah,” she said. “Consider it basic training. Can you keep up?”

Claire gave her a gasping nod.

More books here, old and crumbling, and the air tasted like dry leather and ancient paper. Toward the back of the room, there were things that looked like wine racks, the fancy X-shaped kind people put in cellars, only these held rolls of paper, each neatly tied with ribbon. They were scrolls, probably very old ones. Claire hoped they’d go that direction, but no, Amelie was turning them down another book aisle, toward a blank white wall.

No, not quite blank. It had a small painting on the wall, in a fussy gilt frame. Some bland-looking nature scene . . . and then, as Amelie stared at it, the painting changed.

It grew darker, as though clouds had come across the meadow and the drowsy sheep in the picture.

And then it was dark, just a dark canvas, then some pinpricks of light, like candle flames through smoke. . . .

And then Claire saw Myrnin.

He was in chains, silver-colored chains, kneeling on the floor, and his head was down. He was still wearing the blousy white pantaloons of his Pierrot costume, but no shirt. The wet points of his damp hair clung to his face and his marble-pale shoulders.

Amelie nodded sharply, and put a hand against the wall to the left of the picture, pressing what looked like a nail, and part of the wall swung out silently on oiled hinges.

Hidden doors: vampires sure seemed to love them.

There was darkness on the other side. “Oh, hellno,” Claire heard Hannah mutter. “Not again.”

Amelie sent her a glance, and there was a whisper of amusement in the look. “It’s a different darkness,” she said. “And the dangers are very different, from this point on. Things may change quickly. You will have to adapt.”

Then she stepped through, and the vampires followed, and it was just Claire and Hannah.

Claire held out her hand. Hannah took it, still shaking her head, and the dark closed around them like a damp velvet curtain.

There was the hiss of a match dragging, and a flare of light from the corner. Amelie, her face turned ivory by the licking flame, set the match to a candle and left the light burning as she flicked on a small flashlight and played it around the room. Boxes. It was some kind of storeroom, dusty and disused. “All right,” she said. “Gérard, if you please.”

He swung another door open a crack, nodded, and widened it enough to slip through.

Another hallway. Claire was getting tired of hallways, and they were all starting to look the same. Where were they now, anyway? It looked like some kind of hotel, with polished heavy doors marked with brass plates, only instead of numbers, each door had one of the vampire markings, like the symbol on Claire’s bracelet. Each vampire had one; at least she thought they did. So these would be—what? Rooms? Vaults? Claire thought she heard something behind one of the doors—muffled sounds, thumping, scratching. They didn’t stop, though—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know, really.

Amelie brought them to a halt at the T-intersection of the hall. It was deserted in every direction, and disorienting, too; Claire couldn’t tell one hallway from another. Maybe we should drop crumbs,she thought. Or M&M’s. Or blood.

“Myrnin is in a room on this hall,” Amelie said. “It is quite obviously a trap, and quite obviously meant for me. I will stay behind and ensure your escape route. Claire.” Her pale eyes fixed on Claire with merciless intensity. “Whatever else happens, you must bring Myrnin out safely. Do you understand? Do not let Bishop have him.”

She meant, Everybody else is expendable.That made Claire feel sick, and she couldn’t help but look at Hannah, and even at the two vampires. Gérard shrugged, so slightly she thought it might have been her imagination.

“We are soldiers,” Gérard said. “Yes?”

Hannah smiled. “Damn straight.”

“Excellent. You will follow my orders.”

Hannah saluted him, with just a little trace of irony. “Yes sir, squad leader, sir.”

Gérard turned his attention to Claire. “You will stay behind us. Do you understand?”

She nodded. She felt cold and hot at the same time, and a little sick, and the wooden stake in her hand didn’t seem like a heck of a lot, considering. But she didn’t have any time for second thoughts, because Gérard had turned and was already heading down the hall, his wing man flanking him, and Hannah was beckoning Claire to follow.

Amelie’s cool fingers brushed her shoulder. “Careful.”

Claire nodded and went to rescue a crazy vampire from an evil one.

The door shattered under Gérard’s kick. That wasn’t an exaggeration; except for the wood around the door hinges, the rest of it broke into hand-sized pieces and splinters. Before that rain of wreckage hit the floor, Gérard was inside, moving to the left while his colleague went right. Hannah stepped in and swept the room from one side to the other, holding her air pistol ready to fire, then nodded sharply to Claire.

Myrnin was just as she’d seen him in the picture—kneeling in the center of the room, anchored by tight-stretched silvery chains. The chains were double-strength, and threaded through massive steel bolts on the stone floor.

He was shaking all over, and where the chains touched him, he had welts and burns.

Gérard swore softly under his breath and fiercely kicked the eyebolts in the floor. They bent, but didn’t break.

Myrnin finally raised his head, and beneath the mass of sweaty dark hair, Claire saw wild dark eyes, and a smile that made her stomach twist.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispered. “You fools. Where is she? Where’s Amelie?”

“Behind us,” Claire said.

“Fools.”

“Nice way to talk to your rescuers,” Hannah said. She was nervous, Claire could see it, though the woman controlled it very well. “Gérard? I don’t like this. It’s too easy.”

“I know.” He crouched down and looked at the chains. “Silver coated. I can’t break them.”

“What about the bolts in the floor?” Claire asked. In answer, Gérard grabbed the edge of the metal plate and twisted. The steel bent like aluminum foil, and, with a ripping shriek, tore free of the stones. Myrnin wavered as part of his restraints fell loose, and Gérard waved his partner to work on the other two plates while he focused on the second in front.