And then the vampire from the front desk—John, the one who’d called her the apprentice vampire hunter—appeared in the corridor. Claire stopped dead in her tracks, tense and ready for anything. He stared at her for a second, then beckoned.
She stayed where she was.
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I was told to get you out. You want to stay, I can make that happen, girl. I got plenty of open cells.”
“I’m waiting for Myrnin.”
“You’ll be waiting a while,” he said. “He’s up with the boss lady. You come with me or get in a cell. Your choice.”
If Amelie was watching the closed-circuit feeds, she’d see Claire in the hallway and witness whatever might happen. Hopefully John knew that, too. That, and only that, made Claire nod and move toward the other vampire.
He didn’t touch her. He opened and closed gates, and finally they were in the last section, barred at one end, thick steel door at the other.
And, Claire realized, there were no cameras right in this particular section.
Oh, God.
John stopped and turned toward her. “I don’t forget what you did,” he said. He tapped the skin below his clouded, blind eye, eerily silver. “This is on you. You hurt me so bad, it’s never going to heal.”
Well, she’d done this to herself, trapped with a vamp who really didn’t like her, knowing she was responsible for his current not-so-great looks. “You were trying to kill me when I did that,” she said. “So it’s on you. If it helps, it makes you look way scarier than before.”
He bared fangs, and the look on his face made her feel painfully aware of the blood running under her skin and the terror that seemed to be growing spikes in her stomach. “You want to say that again?” he said. “How it was my fault you threw liquid nitrogen in my face?”
“Maybe it’s shared responsibility,” she said. “But that’s as far as I’m willing to go. Now open the door.”
“Once I’m done,” he said. “Eye for an eye. That’s what the Bible says.”
“I’m thinking you don’t live by the commandments too much.”
“Oh, I do. I pay special attention to the parts I agree with, same as everybody else. Now, if you stand still, it won’t take long.” He grinned evilly. “Not saying it won’t hurt, of course. What’d be the point if it didn’t hurt?”
She took a giant step back. Useless. Close quarters, no place to run, no weapons. Hand to hand with a much bigger, stronger, vampire-type dude, she had zero chance, and she knew it.
But she wasn’t going to beg. Even if the screaming voice in her head wanted her to.
Should have left that I-know-who-killed-me note.
And then the door next to her popped open with a harsh buzzing sound. She didn’t hesitate. As the vampire lunged for her, she shoved the door open and ran out into the lobby, dodging the wooden desk.
The angry vamp came after her and skidded to a fast stop when he saw who was standing there in his path.
Amelie.
She wasn’t a tall woman, but she looked tall in her carefully tailored silk jacket and skirt and heels, with her pale hair piled on top of her head in a crown. The silk clothes were one shade paler than her skin, giving her a sleek, marble look that was enhanced by the stillness of her body.
“I also believe in an eye for an eye, John,” she said. “Quite strongly, in fact. It’s one of my founding principles. You’d do well to remember that.”
John gave Claire a fast, furious look, and bowed his head. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”
“I believe I employ you for a specific job, John. Guarding a very valuable, and possibly very dangerous, prisoner.”
“You do, ma’am.”
“Then perhaps it might be good for you to return to it and stop indulging your own petty little grudges.”
He silently crossed to the desk and sat down behind it. Claire let out a trembling breath. She would have said thank you, but she didn’t think Amelie wanted to hear that, not now.
“You did me good service, Claire,” Amelie said, turning to face her. “And now I need your word that you will forget what you heard here tonight.”
“You mean about—”
“I mean forget,” the vampire queen of Morganville said, and the force of her personality hit Claire like a wall of cold water. “I can’t compel you, but I can assure you that if you share the information you heard here, I will know. And we’ve already established how I view betrayals, I believe.”
This wasn’t Amelie, the one who’d sometimes unbent enough to smile…no, this was Queen Amelie, the Founder of Morganville, who never smiled. The daughter of Bishop. The one who’d survived ages and every enemy thrown at her through all those dangerous years.
And Claire never doubted for a second that she meant what she said.
“I won’t say anything,” she said. “But I need help getting home.”
“You’ll have it. Myrnin!” Amelie’s voice was sharp, brittle, and impatient. “Out here. Now.”
A section of the wall opened—one that Claire would never have guessed for a door—and Myrnin leaned out, eyebrows raised. “Then we’re finished here?”
“For now,” Amelie said. “Take her home. And—”
“Say nothing—yes, yes, I heard you the first seven hundred times,” Myrnin said, much too sharply. “I’m ancient. I’m not deaf.”
Amelie’s cold expression deepened, and her gray eyes took on an unpleasant reddish glitter. “Do you think I find this a joking matter?”
“Maybe you should,” he said. “And maybe you should have cut off the old man’s head when you had the chance. Absolutely no one would have argued with that choice. Merely walling him up, to increase his suffering and create an example—that was unmerciful, and, worse, it was sloppy. I believe that flapping sound you hear is pigeons, coming home to roost.”
If Amelie had looked any colder, Claire would have expected frost to form on the floor around her. “Really? Because I believe it’s the sound of my patience with your nonsense running out. Old friend. Do remember your limits.”
He crossed the room in a flash, standing toe-to-toe with her. He was taller than she was, and gangly, and raggedly just the opposite of her elegance…but there was something about him, something that made Claire catch her breath and hold it. “I am your friend,” he said quietly. “I’ve always been your friend, dear one. But on the subject of your father, you’ve never been very rational. Don’t let him drive you. Don’t play with him; he’ll always be crueler than you. Kill him when you find him. I’d have killed him for you just now, if I’d been able. But he’s fast and strong, and I couldn’t afford to let him bite me. He can assemble an army frighteningly fast. You have to find him, and when you do, you must execute him. Immediately.”
For a second, Claire thought that he’d reached her—that she was listening to the quiet pain in his voice. But then her pale, strong hand closed around Myrnin’s throat and squeezed. Spots of blood formed where her fingernails dug in. With a single jerk, she pulled him off balance and sent him crashing to his knees and held him there.
He didn’t try to struggle. Claire wasn’t sure he could; there was a thick, cold wave of menace coming from Amelie that froze Claire where she stood.
Amelie bent toward him very slowly and said, “My hateful father never had a better student than me, Myrnin. And I will kill him, but I’ll do it in my own time. Don’t tell me what to do, or I might find it necessary to remind you that I am the Founder of Morganville. Not you.”
“I never forget,” Myrnin said in a choked whisper. “Certainly not with your nails in my throat. They’re quite an excellent mnemonic device.”
She blinked and let him go. As she stepped away, she frowned down at her bloodstained fingernails.