Текст книги "Ghost Town"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“Well, you can’t go back to Myrnin. Not after—”

“Michael, I have to! This thing comes and goes, right? People snap out of it. He’ll come back, and when he does I have to be there and find out what to do.” She took a deep breath. “Or, like Shane said, we have to pull the plug. That’s the only other solution.”

“Nuke the site from orbit,” Eve said. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

“Do notquote Aliensat me; I’m freaked-out enough already!”

“Sorry. But it’s always good advice.”

“It actually isgood advice,” Michael said. “I can go pull the plug. Myrnin won’t come after me—”

“He would,” Claire said. “Myrnin used to bite other vamps, too, in case you forgot. You can’t assume just being in the blood club is going to get you through. And he’s strong, and really fast. Don’t. Make Amelie go, or Oliver. I don’t think he’d bite them.”

“You don’t think?”

She shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know him anymore when he’s like this. I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“We are so screwed,” Eve said. “What about Amelie? What’s she doing?”

That opened up a whole can of worms that wriggled unpleasantly in the pit of Claire’s stomach. She was absolutely sure that Amelie and Oliver wouldn’t want her telling anybody about what she’d seen earlier, not even—or maybe especially—Eve and Michael. She decided to hedge. “I don’t know. Oliver told me to take care of it, but . . .” Claire was forced to shrug again. “Maybe by now they’ve both got it, too.”

“Well, that would be bad. Epically bad.”

It would, Claire thought. “I should check in with them and see what they want to do. It’s weird nobody’s called me back,” she said. “Michael, could you stay and wait for Shane—”

It turned out, as the curtain whipped aside, that there was no need to wait. Shane joined them, moving slowly. The stitches were in, but he had a white bandage taped over them. Claire took his hand, and he smiled. He looked a little pale. “I’m good to go. What are we doing?”

“Taking you home,” Claire said.

“Not if you guys are going somewhere else.”

“You’re walking wounded,” Michael said. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t optional.”

“Oh, yeah? You want to try to stop me, tough guy?” Shane said, and grinned. “I know you better. You wouldn’t hit a guy who’s down.”

Eve held up a hand for a high five with him. “Give it up for Shane Collins, master manipulator!”

He smacked it, and winced a little again. “Yeah, well, you don’t grow up with my dad without knowing a few things. So where are we going?”

“To Amelie,” Claire said. “She can go with us to the lab and keep Myrnin pinned down while we pull the plug, if he’s not . . . you know, better.”

“Define betterwith that guy.”

“Not all fangs and raaaaar.”

“Oh. Okay. Quick stop at the house. I want to load up on the good stuff.”

If Shane expected an argument, he didn’t get one. Claire was thinking the same thing.

When you were going into a war zone, you didn’t go unarmed.

ELEVEN

Eve had ordered something special off the Internet, which had arrived by mail, Claire discovered. She’d gotten three of them, and Claire put hers on with a whoop of delight.

Getting two-inch silver chain chokers around the neck of a guy, especially Shane, proved to be more of a problem.

Shane held the jewelry at arm’s length, dangling it like a dead rat. “No way in hellam I caught dead or alive wearing that.”

“Oh, come on, just this once,” Eve said. “Protects your neck. As in your arteries and veins? That’s kind of crucial, right?”

“Thanks for the thought, but it doesn’t go with my shoes.”

“You’re seriously going to worry about what people think right now?”

“No, I’m worrying about people taking pictures and putting them on Facebook. That crap never dies. Kind of like you, Mikey.”

Michael, straight-faced, said, “He’s got a point, because I would definitely take pictures. So would you.”

Eve had to grin. “Yeah, I would. Okay, then. But you’d look glam. I could fix you up with silver eye shadow to match.”

“Tell you what: you can be Glammera the vampire hunter. I’ll stick with being manly and heavily armed.”

Michael snorted and picked up some wooden—i.e., mostly nonlethal—stakes, which he stuffed in his jacket. “You guys ready?”

“Guess so.” Shane gave his small crossbow another once-over, then put it in the carry bag. Eve had packed a (for her) huge purse full of stuff. The purse, of course, had a shiny yellow happy face on it—with fangs. Claire stuck with her unfashionable but useful backpack. She’d emptied out all of her books and left them stacked on the table. She had no idea when she’d actually get back to school, but it certainly wouldn’t be today.

Shane dropped the silver choker to the table, shuddered, and led the way out of the Glass House to the car. Michael locked up behind them, and Claire thought about how natural it was for them now to watch one another’s backs. There wasn’t even any discussion. Shane went first, keys to Eve’s hearse in hand; Eve had, of course, called shotgun, so she was heading straight for the passenger side. Claire was checking shadows and heading for the back of the long black coach, and Michael zipped down fast and joined her as she opened the back. He was the last one in, and smacked the roof to signal Shane as he and Claire sat down on the long bench seats in the back.

Eve had added some kind of color-changing strips along the inside of the roof. “What’s with the disco lights?” Michael said, rolling down the window between the driver’s compartment and the back.

Eve turned around, and her face brightened. “You like it? I thought it looked really cool. I saw it in a movie, you know, in a limo.”

“It’s cool,” Michael said, and smiled at her. She smiled back. “Can’t wait to lie here and watch it with you.”

Claire said, “You don’t have to wait; it’s working now. Look—Oh. Never mind.” She blushed, feeling stupid that she hadn’t gotten that one in the first second. Eve winked at her.

“Shouldn’t you be calling Amelie and getting us some kind of parking permit?” Eve asked. Claire nodded, glad to be off the hook, and made the call. It rang to voice mail, and Claire left her a message. She was just hanging up when she spotted a parked police car out of the window.

Hannah Moses was standing alongside it. Just . . . standing. Looking around.

“Wait,” Claire said, and leaned over to grab Shane’s shoulder. “Stop. She can get us in; she’s got permission to go to Founder’s Square anytime she wants.”

Shane pulled in behind Hannah’s cruiser, and Claire got out to talk to her. She moved fast, because this wasn’t a well-lit area, and everything seemed really dark tonight anyway. Even with the hearse’s headlights shining, it felt shadowed.

“Hannah!” she said. “We need some help. Can you get us in to see Amelie?”

Hannah turned to look at her, and there was something odd in her body language. She seemed tense and ready to react. She kept her hand near the gun in her holster. “Who are you?” she asked. “Name.”

“Oh, crap,” Claire said. “You’ve got it, too.”

“Name!” Hannah snapped. “Now!”

“Uh, okay, I’m Claire. Claire Danvers. You know me.”

Hannah shook her head. “This is Morganville,” she said. “I can’t be in Morganville. I was in . . . I was in Kandahar. I was just there.” She looked down at her police uniform and shook her head again. “I wasn’t wearing this. I’m not a cop. I’m a marine. This can’t be happening.”

“Hannah, you’re having a . . . a flashback, that’s all. You’re not a marine; you’re not in Afghanistan. You’re here, in Morganville. You’re the chief of police, remember?”

Hannah just looked at her as if Claire were crazy.

“Look at what you’re wearing,” Claire said. “Police uniform. Why would somebody kidnap you, bring you here, and change your clothes? What sense does that make?”

“It doesn’t,” Hannah admitted. “None of this makes any sense. I need to call in.”

“Call in where?”

“To my commanding officer.”

“Hannah, you’re not inthe marines now! You don’t havea commanding officer!”

Hannah didn’t seem to hear her this time. “They’ll think I’m AWOL. I need to tell them what happened.” Then she looked around again, and the look in her face was a little desperate. “Except I don’t know what happened.”

“I just told you! Flashback!”

“This isn’t a combat flashback!”

“No, it’s . . .” Lying, Claire figured, was now the only way to go. “You’ve been drugged. You have to believe me. You live here, in Morganville. You’re the chief of police.”

Hannah was shaking her head—not as if she didn’t believe it, but as if she didn’t wantto believe it. “I’m not going back to Morganville. No way in hellam I signing up for that.”

But you did, Claire started to say, then held it back. She didn’t know why Hannah had changed her mind; maybe something had happened to her while she was in Afghanistan, or since she came back from there. But whatever it was, in Hannah’s mind, it hadn’t happened yet.

“I know this is hard,” Claire said. “But we need your help. Really. All you have to do is call in permission for us to go into Founder’s Square. Would you do that?”

“I don’t know you people,” Hannah said. “And you’re driving around in a damn hearse. It doesn’t exactly make me want to trust you. . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she blinked as the hearse’s doors opened, and Michael and Eve got out. “You’re . . . you’re the Glass kid. The guitar player. I remember you. And—” Hannah did an absolute double take, the most surprised Claire had ever seen her. “Eve? What the hell did you do to yourself? Have your parents seen how you look?”

Claire exchanged a mute second of stares with her friends, and Eve finally said, “Ah, yeah, they’ve seen it. I’ve been dressing like this for about three years; don’t you remember?”

“No,” Hannah said, and suddenly sat down on the sidewalk. Just . . . sat. She put her head in her hands. “No, I don’t remember that. I remember . . . you were in school with my brother Reggie, before he . . . I saw you at the funeral. . . .”

Eve crouched down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she said. “But then you went to Afghanistan, and then you came back, and now you’re the head police chick. You have to remember that!”

“I don’t,” Hannah said, and Claire realized with a shock that she was crying silently, tears running down her face. “I don’t remember that at all.” She pulled in a deep breath, wiped her face, and let Eve help her to her feet. “All right. Let’s say all that’s true, even if I don’t believe it. What do you want?”

“Just . . . we need you to call in to the guard post at Founder’s Square and give us a pass to see Amelie,” Claire said. “Please. I’ve tried phoning. She’s not answering.” And Claire found that she was really, truly worried. Not that Amelie was a friend, exactly, but the idea of a Morganville without her was . . . unthinkable. She couldn’t get the image of Amelie lying limp on the floor in Oliver’s arms out of her head.

Hannah stared at her like she was even crazier than before. “We don’t ever call the Founder by name.”

“We do now,” Claire said. “I do. We all do. You have to believe me—things around here are different now. Please, Hannah. We really need this if we’re going to help people.”

Hannah took another look around at the town, at them, and finally nodded. “All right,” she said. “You tell me what to do and I’ll do it. Anything to make this all . . . stop.”

Claire got into the police car and found Hannah’s cell phone. Sure enough, it had all kinds of numbers plugged in, and one of them was to the guard station at the entrance to Founder’s Square. She dialed it for Hannah and held out the phone.

“Guard post?” Hannah said, and here, at least, she seemed to be on familiar ground. Marine training did that for you, Claire guessed. “This is Lieut—This is Hannah Moses. I’ve got four kids in a hearse who are cleared for admittance to Founder’s Square.” She covered the phone receiver and looked at Claire. “Anything else?”

“Um . . . they should let us in to see Amelie.”

Hannah took in a deep breath and nodded as she uncovered the receiver. “Yeah, and they’ll need unescorted access to the Founder’s office.” She listened, and her eyes widened a little. “Great. Thank you.” She passed the phone back to Claire, who hung it up and put it back in the car. “They said they’d put you on the list. Just like that.”

“Thanks, Hannah.” On impulse, Claire hugged her. Hannah was a solid block of muscle, but then she softened a little and hugged her back. “Go home. Don’t go out again until things stop feeling weird, okay?”

“Home?” Hannah echoed, and looked haunted again. “I’ve got no home here.”

Well, she probably did, but Claire didn’t know where it was. She thought for a second, then said, “Go to Gramma Day’s house. You used to live with her, right?”

“When I was a kid, yeah.”

“She’ll help you,” Claire said. “Tell her I said hello.”

“She’s a tough old lady,” Hannah said, but it sounded fond. “Yeah, I’ll go there. But you owe me explanations, Claire. Real ones.”

“If this goes right, I won’t owe them anymore,” Claire said. “Be careful, okay?”

Hannah smiled faintly. “I’m from Morganville,” she said. “I’m always careful.”

They left her behind, still standing beside her patrol car, and headed for Founder’s Square.

The guards looked inside the car, but didn’t search; Claire supposed they had no real reason to, with Hannah approving their visit. Eve looked nervous, but not toonervous, and having Michael with them guaranteed that the vamps would keep their hands off, anyway. The guards waved them on, and Eve, now driving, guided the big car down the ramp and into the underground parking area. “Damn,” she said. “I hope I can park this thing in here.”

In the end, she wedged it sideways in two spots, but since the garage was mostly deserted, Claire supposed nobody was going to complain. “Okay, we’re here,” Shane said. “What now?”

“Let’s do this smart,” Michael said. “Shane, you and Eve stay here with the weapons. I’ll go up with Claire. If we don’t come back in ten minutes, load up and come running.”

“You’re taking weapons,” Shane said.

“Just what we can conceal,” Michael said. “If we go in there with crossbows, Amelie will kill us all just for doing it. She’ll overlook personal defense. Not armed assault.”

Claire lifted her backpack. People were so used to seeing it on her that it didn’t matter what she carried inside. She knew Michael had stakes on him. It would have to be enough. “I’ll call you if it’s okay,” Claire promised, and kissed Shane quickly. He grabbed her hand when she tried to leave the car, and pulled her back for another kiss, a longer one. He didn’t want to let go, and neither did she, but he finally sighed and nodded, and she opened the back door.

“Hey, Mikey? You get her hurt and I’ll end you.”

“You let anything happen to Eve and I’ll do the same,” Michael said. He’d just finished kissing Eve, too. “While you’re at it, don’t get yourself killed, either, bro.”

“Ditto. And don’t kiss me.”

Claire cocked her head at him, exasperated. “Seriously, Shane? Ditto?That’s the best you can do?”

Shane and Michael exchanged identical looks and shrugs. Guys.

“Let me show you idiots how it’s done,” Eve said, and hugged Claire fiercely. She kissed her on the cheek. “I love you, CB. Please take care of yourself, okay?”

“I love you, too,” Claire said, and suddenly her throat felt tight and her eyes burned with tears. “I really do.”

Shane and Michael watched them with identical expressions of blank bemusement, and finally Shane said, “So basically, it’s what I said. Ditto.”

Michael grinned and headed for the elevator that would take them up to the Elders’ Council level. “Coming?”

Claire picked up her heavy backpack and ran to join him.

The elevator was empty and cool, the metal gleaming as if someone had just finished polishing it. Michael pressed the button and looked down at her. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

“Your heart’s beating really fast.”

“Gee, thanks. That’s very comforting that you can hear it.”

He smiled, and it was the old Michael, the one she’d first met before all the vamp stuff. “Yeah, I know it is. Sorry. Just stay behind me if there’s trouble.”

“You sound like Shane.”

“Well, he did say he’d kill me if I got you hurt. I’m just looking after my own neck.”

“Liar.”

He ruffled her hair, like an annoying big brother, and stepped in front of her as the elevator dinged to a stop, and the doors slid open. She couldn’t see anything, but evidently the coast was clear, because Michael stepped out and walked down the hallway.

“There’s usually a guard there,” Claire said, peeking around him at the double doors of the council chamber.

“When they’re meeting,” Michael agreed. “No reason to guard an empty room. It’s this way.”

He turned at a Tintersection and went right down another identical hallway, all paneling and marble floors and steadily burning dim lights. It stillreminded Claire of a funeral home. No sounds in the building except for the muted sighing of central air. The air was cool, verging on cold. All the doors were unmarked, at least to human eyes.

“Up there,” Michael said. Claire nodded. She could see a vampire guard in black stationed outside of one of the doors—the woman who’d been one of the guards at the council chambers. She was sitting in a chair reading a magazine, but as Michael and Claire approached, she stood up and assumed her usual at-rest position.

“Michael Glass and Claire Danvers for Amelie,” Michael said.

“You don’t have an appointment.”

“No,” Claire said. “But it’s important. We need to see her.”

“My instructions are that she isn’t to be disturbed,” the guard said.

“But it’s an emergency!”

“I have my orders.”

“Amelie will want to see us,” Michael said.

The other vampire raised her eyebrows, just ever so slightly. “It doesn’t matter whether she would,” she said. “Amelie no longer gives the orders. Oliver does, and his orders are that she should rest undisturbed. Now go or I’ll have you removed.”

“Maybe we should see Oliver,” Claire said doubtfully.

That made the vampire guard smile, with the tips of fangs showing. “An excellent idea, but again, you have no appointment. Oliver sees no humanwithout an appointment.”

“What about me?” Michael said. They got into a staring match.

“I’m afraid Oliver is not available to anyone at the present time,” she finally said. “Orders.”

“Then we’ll just see Amelie,” Michael said, and reached for the doorknob. The guard’s hand flashed out and closed white and hard around his wrist, stopping him an inch from the metal. “Really? You’re sure you want to do it this way?”

The guard smiled, with vamp teeth showing fully now. “You’re the one pushing the issue, New Guy. I told you: go away. There’s no more discussion—” Her expression suddenly altered, and even Claire felt some kind of force sweep past them, a kind of pressure wave that made both vampires turn toward the Founder’s closed door.

Claire found she was holding her hands to her head, and couldn’t remember doing it. She looked up at Michael, who looked just as shaken as she felt. The vampire guard looked just as surprised.

“What was that?” Claire asked.

“Amelie,” Michael said. He reached again for the doorknob, and the vamp blocked him. He grabbed the vamp’s arm above the elbow with his left hand, and tipped her over his head in a sudden, shocking movement. She should have been down on the floor at the end of it, but instead she twisted in midair and came down lightly on her feet, got her balance, and slammed himagainst the paneled walls with her clawed fingernails at his throat.

Claire grabbed the doorknob and plunged inside the office.

Inside, it was dark. Pitch-dark. She couldn’t see a thing, and for a second she just stood there, hoping her eyes might adjust. Nothing. It was like swimming in ink. Claire groped along the wall for a switch, and found one.

When she flipped it on, she found Amelie standing about one foot away from her, staring at her with wide, ice-gray eyes. Claire yelped and flinched back against the door. Amelie leaned forward, one palm against the wood to the side of Claire’s head. With her right hand, she reached over and turned the bolt to seal them in.

“Now,” she said softly. “Who are you, little soft girl? Some novice vampire slayer who thinks she will free the town and become a hero of the people? Do you really think you have the courage to put a stake in my heart, child?”

Amelie didn’t know her. At all.

Worse, there was another vampire in the room. Oliver.

And he was lying unconscious on the floor, with blood streaming from two puncture wounds in his throat.

In retrospect, it was fairly obvious what had just happened; Claire had seen the reverse of it earlier, in the council chamber, when Amelie and Oliver had struggled for control of the town, and Amelie had lost.

It had happened again, and this time she’d won.

Claire looked at the hot, alien light in Amelie’s eyes, and thought, Yay?It was a crazy thing to think, especially since the thought sounded like Eve’s voice inside her head, but somehow it made her feel a little steadier. A little stronger.

“Don’t mind the intruder,” Amelie said, glancing sidewise at Oliver, who was showing no signs of moving. “I’ve put him in his place. As I assure you I will do for you, little slayer girl.”

Claire swallowed hard and tried to regulate the racing beat of her heart. Showing fear wasn’t going to help. “My name is Claire Danvers,” she said. “I’m Myrnin’s apprentice.”

Amelie smiled. Not a nice smile. “My dear, Myrnin would devour you for a morning snack,” she said. “He’s done it before, to those more capable and better loved by him.” The smile died. “Now. Who are you?”

“Claire! My name is Claire! You know me!”

“I do not. Nor do I see why I should bother. You shouldn’t have come here, little girl. I don’t tolerate these kinds of rebellions.”

Claire had no idea why she thought of it, but suddenly, a page from the history book that she’d bought at the used bookstore flared in front of her brain, clear as if it had been pasted on. She could see every detail of the type, even down to the water stains on the paper. “But you did,” she said. “About a hundred years ago. You let Ballard Templin go free after he took a shot at you on the street.”

That surprised Amelie enough to make her cock her head and frown, just a little. “Ballard Templin,” she repeated. “How would someone of your age know of Templin?”

“He was a gunfighter,” Claire said. “And he was hired to kill you. You took his gun away and told him to go kill the man who’d hired him. He did. It was the bank manager.”

“These are things you should not know, girl. Things that were never made public.”

Claire called up another page in her memory. “You bought the land for Morganville from a farmer named Roger Hanthorn, for about a hundred dollars. The first barrier around it was made out of wood, a big fence, like a stockade. And you used to play the harp. People said you played like an angel.”

Amelie had gone very still, and the bafflement in her face was almost human now. “You cannotknow these things.”

“Your father was Bishop,” Claire said. “And you were in love with Sam Glass—”

She didn’t know what she’d said wrong, but Amelie bared her fangs and grabbed Claire by the arm. She threw her across the room in a weightless rush, and Claire lost the backpack along the way as she tumbled over and over, until she came to a hard, sudden stop against the wall.

Things went fuzzy then, and she felt weirdly hot. She blinked a few times, and Amelie’s face came into focus right above hers. “Who are you?” Amelie said. “What do you know of Sam? Where is he?He can’t hide from me, but I can’t sense him! Who has taken him?”

Claire snapped back to instant clarity. She was hurting, but she didn’t think anything was broken. There was a hot, throbbing spot on her head where she’d hit the wall, though.

All of that faded to the background as she realized what Amelie was asking.

She thought Sam Glass was alive.

She thought Sam was missing.

And she thought Claire knew where he was.

That was bad, but what was worse was that there wasn’t any good answer. What was she going to tell her? Sam’s dead? You buried him? I can show you his grave?How horrible would that be? And besides, Amelie would probably kill her for it, even if she believed it, which she probably wouldn’t. Hannah hadn’t believed she was back from Afghanistan. This would be a lot harder to accept.

“Well?” Amelie whispered, and pressed her fingernails gently into Claire’s neck so she could feel the sting. “I won’t kill you, girl. Not yet, and not quickly. If you’ve done anything to Sam Glass, I will see you destroyed slowly, in the old ways. You can save yourself by telling me where to find him, now.” Her eyes widened. “Was it Oliver who took him?” She let go of Claire and whirled to stalk over to Oliver, who was just opening his eyes as she bent to grab him by the shirtfront and drag him up to a sitting position. The wounds on his throat were almost closed. “You.” Amelie’s voice dripped with scorn and venom. “Is this how you repay my kindness to you? I let you live the last time you challenged me. Did you take Sam Glass to ensure your victory this time?”

Oliver blinked, and Claire was sure she saw bafflement in his eyes, and dawning realization. “She doesn’t remember,” Claire said. “It’s got her, too.”

“So I see,” he murmured, and shut his eyes again. “I can’t help you, Claire. I can’t help either of us.”

Claire’s mind wasn’t blank, exactly; it was whirling with ideas and thoughts and schemes, and the problem was that none of them would save her, and she knew it.

Amelie stared down at Oliver with ice-cold fury and said, “Tell me where he is now, or I will destroy you.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry.”

She was going to kill him. And Oliver wasn’t going to make a move to defend himself . . . or maybe, Claire realized, he couldn’t. She’d weakened him too much already. “The machine’s malfunctioning!” Claire blurted, as Amelie pulled back her hand with claws extended to rip out his throat. “That’s why you’re confused! That’s why you can’t remember where Sam is! You know where he is, Amelie. You know me, too. You gave me a gold bracelet for a while, and now I have a pin. You gave me a pin! You have to believe me!”

That was not what Amelie was expecting her to say, obviously, because she drew back, just a little. She let go of Oliver and came back to Claire, and Amelie’s fingers touched the small gold pin, with the Founder’s symbol, that Claire had on her shirt. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “From whom did you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Claire said. “You gave it to me. How could I know the name of Myrnin’s computer if I wasn’t who I say I am? How would I know any of what I said to you?”

She thought for a second that she’d gambled all the wrong way, because Amelie looked so angry, and so . . . confused. All she had to do was hit her, and Claire was going to come to a very messy, unpleasant end.

“A good question,” Amelie finally said. “How do you know these things? Only Myrnin and I know of the machine. No one else. No one alive. Did he tell you?”

“I work for him,” Claire said again. “I work for you. And there’s something wrong with the machine. That’s what’s wrong with you. Don’t you feelsomething’s wrong?”

Amelie kept watching her for a moment more, then frowned down at Oliver, who was propped now against the wall, still making no effort to rise. She turned and walked back to a big, polished desk. Claire looked around and realized that she recognized this room; she’d been in it before, but by portal rather than the front door. There were a lot of old books in built-in shelves, and beautiful old furniture, and soft lights. Large windows that were, just now, uncovered to show Founder’s Square at night.

The cage in the middle of the park was lit up like an exhibit. Claire wondered if the boy was still in there, or if somehow he’d managed to take advantage of the confusion and get out. She kind of hoped so. What if Kyledidn’t remember why he was in that cage? How awful would that be?

Claire limped over to a chair and fell into it. Her head was spinning, and she felt like she wanted to throw up, but there was no way she was going to do that on Amelie’s fancy carpeting. Oliver had already bled all over it.

Outside the room, there was sudden silence, and then the door banged open with a crash that sent the lock flying right out of the wood. Michael came inside, dragging the guard along with him. She’d been tied up with what Claire realized were strips torn from her coat, and he’d added a gag. Both of them looked ragged and worn-out.

Amelie stood up, mouth open, and cried, “Sam?” just a second before she realized she was wrong. Not Sam Glass. His grandson. They looked a lot alike, except for their hair color. Sam’s had been more red. “Michael. But you . . . you can’t be . . .” Her expression changed, slowly, and she breathed out, “No. Not possible. You can’t be any get of mine. I would know this. I would remember.” But Claire could tell that she could feel it was true—and that made Amelie even more confused.

A confused Amelie was very dangerous.

Michael dumped the guard in the corner and came to Claire. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Oh. Yeah, her neck was bleeding a little. Not enough to worry about. “I’m fine.” Except for the headache, which was bad, but that wasn’t something she wanted to go into. Michael looked doubtful, but he turned from her to look at Oliver. “What happened to you?”

“Complacency,” Oliver murmured. “I thought she was under my control, and then . . . she changed.”

“She lost her memory,” Claire said. “She forgot you’d taken over. So she attacked you.”

Oliver lifted a weak hand in agreement, and they all looked at Amelie, who was white as a marble statue now. “How can this be? You were . . . I remember you, Michael. You should be younger . . . thinner—”

“And not a vampire,” Michael said. “But I am one. And you made me one.”

“Yes,” Amelie whispered. “I can feel that. But how. . . how can this be true when I don’t—”

“It’s the machine in Myrnin’s lab,” Michael said. “We need your help to stop it before it’s too late. Myrnin doesn’t remember things, either. He won’t let us get close without a fight. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”