Myrnin stepped out of the hole in the wall, glared balefully at the police, and waved to Amelie with demented excitement. “Hello! Your dear father is unfortunately very dead,” he called. “And you said my dispersal system would never work!”
Amelie blinked and focused on him. “What did you say?” she called.
“Dead,” he said, clearly and distinctly. “Your esteemed forebear is no more. He is dust and angel tears, though I shouldn’t think any of us will be mourning him for long. You may see for yourself, but I will swear to you that it is, indeed, your unlamented Mr. Bishop. Now could you please ask these idiots to stop pointing their bullets at me? It’s terribly wasteful.”
Claire tried to keep from laughing, but it turned into a choking cough, and then Shane started laughing, too, and suddenly it was all right.
Amelie swept past them, making for the hole they’d come out of; Oliver hurried to dart in front of her, holding what looked like an actual old-fashioned broadsword. Claire supposed that in the world of vampire wars, a sword could be pretty useful, especially with a silver edge. Beheading always worked.
Michael and Eve came out after a few more seconds, and Eve looked around and saw Shane and Claire in their almost-arrested poses. She snorted. “Leave it to you two,” she said. “What is it with you and cages, Shane?” It must have occurred to Eve a second later that maybe that might not have been cool to say at the moment. But Shane just shrugged.
“If Amelie wants to throw me back in jail, it’s okay. I did sign on for the fighting. I did beat a couple of vamps pretty bad. And I could have hurt Michael.”
Michael leaned against the wall next to him, arms folded. He was wearing the stupid hat—now at least fifty percent stupider, thanks to being crushed by running feet—and the ratty trench coat, but under the shade, his smile was full-on smug. “Sorry. What did you say? You could have hurt me?”
“Dude, I was kicking your ass.” It occurred to Shane, Claire guessed, that maybe he shouldn’t have been quite so proud of it. “Which is why I’m sorry.”
“I wasn’t even trying, Shane.”
“Yeah, I know. But…” Shane fell silent.
Now Michael stopped smiling and looked at him for a long few seconds. He nodded and stepped away. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “And, yeah, you will be sorry. You know that.”
“Oh, I know,” Shane said. “You have no idea how sorry I already am.”
But Claire did. She saw the look in his eyes and the shine of tears.
And the shame.
She hugged him and whispered, “We’ll get through this. We will.”
He took in a deep, shaking breath, and relaxed against her.
SIXTEEN
In the end, the score was seventeen vampires captured; Vassily was one of them, which surprised Claire, until she heard that Frank had locked down his funds transfers, and Vassily had spent way too much time trying to get his money. He’d always been about the profits. By the time he’d finally given up, it had been too late for him to avoid the roadblocks set up at the exits out of Morganville. He ended up on his knees in front of Amelie, while Oliver stood there with the sword in his hands. Vassily begged and generally excused himself, but Amelie wasn’t amused. At all.
Claire got to leave before any actual beheadings started. Later, she heard that of the seventeen, four were judged most guilty, including Vassily. Nobody said what had been done to them, but really, nobody had to. She just assumed.
Shane got a special hearing in front of Amelie and Oliver in closed session, with Mayor Richard Morrell as an official council member. Claire wasn’t allowed in. Neither was Myrnin, not that Myrnin would have bothered to show up, anyway. Claire sat in the waiting room with Eve and Michael and Amelie’s assistant, Bizzie O’Meara, waiting for some word.
The doors finally opened, and Amelie and Oliver came out and walked straight past them, ignoring the waiting trio. Richard followed, looking like he had a headache and the town had just run out of aspirin, but he didn’t look angry or upset. That was good.
Shane followed him. He wasn’t in handcuffs, at least, and when he spotted Claire, he said, “Don’t look so worried. I’m on probation.”
“What kind of probation?” She held out her hand, and he took it with his left; his right was still bandaged tightly, and it must have hurt, because he didn’t move it much.
“The kind where you don’t do anything stupid or bad things happen,” Shane said. “Everybody agrees that Glory screwed with my head. Not everybody agrees that it’s all better now. So I have to prove that I’m not going to go pick fights with vampires anymore.”
“Jeez, Shane. You’ve done that since you were twelve,” Eve said. “That’s going to be a tough habit to break.”
“You know what I mean.” Shane’s dark eyes met Claire’s for a second. “They’re right about it. I still feel…you know, angry. Uncomfortable. I guess it’ll take some time.”
Michael stood up. “You’re okay with me?”
“As okay as I ever am. I wish you weren’t…what you are. But you’re always my bro.” He took a deep, unsteady breath. “Gloriana couldn’t have made me do what I did, you know. Not without it being part of me, all twisted up with who I am, how I was raised, what my dad was like. I’ve always hated vampires. Blamed them. It’s hard for me to look at you and not think about all that. I’m trying. That’s all I can do.”
Michael held out his hand, his left, and Shane took it, then hugged him.
“That’s all you can do,” Michael agreed. “You’re my brother.”
“Some brother.”
“Brothers fight.” Michael shrugged and let go. “Just remember, I could have taken you if I’d wanted to.”
“Dream on, fang boy. Dream on.”
While they were talking—if taunting was a conversation—Claire spotted Amelie loitering in the hallway, speaking with Oliver in low tones. She headed that way. “Ma’am?” she said. “Could I ask you something?”
“I trust it’s not a favor. I am not feeling very generous just now.” Amelie looked tired and peeved and—like Richard—in need of a very big aspirin. “Well? Declare it.”
“I…got a call from a recruiter. At MIT.”
“MIT,” Amelie repeated. “What is this MIT?”
“Massachusetts Institute of Technology. It’s…the fantastic school I wanted to attend. They’ve accepted me. It’s very important, and they…said they’d take me.”
Amelie’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “When?”
“At the beginning of next year.”
Silence. Claire held her tongue, waiting; Amelie was thinking, but she was also testing her. Wanting her to babble nervously. Well, she wasn’t going to. She wasn’t going to show any weakness. Instead, she mimicked Amelie’s stillness, her direct stare.
Amelie smiled. It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly, but it definitely happened. She nodded slightly and said, “And the question is, do you want to go to this MIT?”
“It’s what I’ve wanted my whole life,” Claire said. “It’s always been my dream.”
Amelie didn’t fail to notice the past tense in her verbs. “Wanted,” she repeated. “Been.”
“I should go. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And if I don’t go now, they won’t take me; they’ve got way too many people, good people, trying to get in.”
“So,” Amelie said. “What do you think you should do?”
“Ask you for permission to leave Morganville,” Claire said. “Permanently, maybe.”
Amelie considered that for a few seconds. “And do you believe that you, of all people, need my permission to leave? You know Morganville’s secrets. You can leave more easily than anyone, except possibly Myrnin. I’m quite sure you’ve identified many ways to slip away undetected.”