“But—Amelie promised that things would change,” Claire said. “After we defeated her father, Bishop. She said humans would have an equal place in Morganville, that all this hunting would stop! You heard her.”
“I did. And now she’s changed her mind,” Hannah said. “Believe me, I tried to stop the whole thing, but Oliver’s in charge of the day-to-day business. He’s put two more vampires on the Elders’ Council, which makes it three to one if we vote along vampire versus human lines. In short, they can just ignore my votes.” She looked calm, mostly, but Claire noticed the tight muscles in her jaw, and the way she glanced away as if reliving a bad memory.
Claire followed her gaze and saw a lone cardboard moving box in the corner. Hannah hadn’t had the job very long, so it could have just been unpacking left to do…but from what she knew of her, Mayor Moses wasn’t one to just let things sit around undone.
“Hannah?”
The mayor focused on her, and for a second Claire thought she might talk about what was bothering her, but then she shook her head. “Never mind,” she said. “Claire, please take my advice. Drop this. There’s nothing you can do or say that will change her mind, and Amelie’s not the person you knew before. She’s not reasonable. And she’s not safe. If I could have put a stop to this, I would have; seven generations of my family come from Morganville, and I don’t want to see things go south any more than you do.”
“But—if we don’t talk to Amelie, what are we supposed to do to stop it?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. She seemed angry, and deeply troubled. “I just don’t know.”
At times like these, Claire was sharply reminded that Hannah wasn’t just some small-town sheriff upgraded to mayor. She had been a soldier, and she’d fought for her country. Hannah had taken up arms in Morganville before, and in a fight there wasn’t anybody Claire wanted at her back more (except Shane).
“That’s not an answer,” Shane said. He tapped the identification card again. “You’re not serious about really carrying these things.”
“That’s the new law of the land, Shane. Carry it or get fined the first time. Second time, it’s jail. I can’t advise you to do anything else but comply.”
“What do we get the third time, stocks and public mockery?”
“There wouldn’t be a third time,” she said. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then silently put it back in his pocket. Claire knew that look, and she saw the muscle jumping uneasily along his jawline. He was counting to ten, silently, letting go of the impulse to say something crazy and suicidal.
When he let his breath out, slowly, she knew it was okay, and she felt tension she didn’t even know she had start to unbraid along her spine.
“Thanks for seeing us,” Claire said, and Hannah stood to offer her hand. Claire accepted, though she still felt awkward shaking hands. Trying to be professional always made her seem like a fraud, like a kid playing dress-up. But she tried to hold Hannah’s gaze as she returned the firm, dry grip. “Are you sure you won’t come with us?”
“You’re intent on going to see Amelie?”
“We have to try,” Claire said. “Don’t we? As you said, she used to listen to me, a little. Maybe she still will.”
Hannah shook her head. “Kid, you’ve got guts, but I’m telling you, it’s not going to work.”
“Will you make an appointment for me, though? That way there’s a record.”
“I will.” Hannah looked to Shane. “You’re going to let her do this?”
“Not alone.”
“Good.”
Ten seconds later, they were out in the waiting area, under the judging gaze of the assistant, and then in the hallway. Claire took in a deep breath. “Did we actually accomplish anything?”
“Yeah,” Shane said. “We figured out that Hannah wasn’t going to help us much. Go figure, a Morganville mayor whose hands are tied? Who saw that coming?” He stopped Claire and put his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll go with you to see Amelie.”
“That’s sweet, but having you with me is kind of a walking invitation to trouble.”
“Just because they know I prefer my vampires extra-crispy…”
“Exactly.” Claire covered the hand on her shoulder with her own. “I’ll be careful.”
“I meant what I said. You’re not going in there alone,” he said. “Take Michael. Or—and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this—take Myrnin. Just have somebody at your back, okay?”
It was really something if Shane suggested she go anywhere at all with Myrnin, and for pretty good reasons…. Myrnin had feelings for her, and he had feelings for Shane, too, but in the opposite way entirely. As in, Myrnin probably thought about the death of her boyfriend, and Shane had the same fantasies. It was a mutual, weirdly cheerful loathing, even if it didn’t come to outright conflict.
“Okay,” Claire said. She didn’t mean it, but it touched her that he was so genuinely concerned about her safety. She’d survived a lot in Morganville—not as much as Shane, granted—and she thought of herself as pretty tough these days. Not indestructible, but…sturdy.
One of these days, she’d have to sit him down and explain that she wasn’t the fragile little sixteen-year-old he’d met; she was an adult now (she so didn’t feel that status yet, despite the birthdays) and she’d proven she could meet the challenges of survival around here. And while it was sweet and lovely that he wanted to protect her, at a certain point he really needed to understand it wasn’t his job to do it, twenty-four/seven.
He linked his arm with hers and walked her to the elevator. There was no repeat of the kissing, which was a little disappointing, but he outright ignored his would-be stalker Annabelle down in the outer lobby. That was better.
After the chill of the lobby, walking into the sun was like hitting a furnace face-first, and Claire blinked and grabbed her sunglasses. They were cheap and fun, blinged all to heaven—a gift from Eve, of course. As she adjusted them, she saw something odd.
Monica Morrell was still here. Standing at the bottom of the steps, leaning against a forbidding granite pillar (the courthouse was built in a style Claire liked to call Early American Mausoleum) and shading her eyes to peer out at the street. The hot wind stirred her long, glossy, dark hair like a sheet of silk, and that dress—as ever—was dangerously close to violating decency laws when the breeze inched the hem up.
Shane saw her, too, and slowed down, shooting Claire a sideways glance. She silently agreed. It was odd. Monica didn’t just stand places, at least not unless she was making a statement of some kind. She was always on the move, like a shark.
“Huh,” Monica said. “That’s weird. Don’t you think that’s weird?” She addressed the remark to the air, but Claire supposed she intended it for her and Shane. Kind of.
“What?” she asked.
“The van,” Monica said, and tilted her head toward the street. “Parked on the corner.”
“Sweet,” Shane said. “Somebody got new wheels.”
“This year’s model,” Monica said. “I know for a fact that our lame-ass car lot doesn’t even have last year’s model. I had to go all the way to Odessa to buy my convertible. Morganville doesn’t exactly keep up with the cutting edge.”
“Okay.” Shane shrugged. “Somebody went to Odessa and bought a new van. Why’s that weird?”
“Because I’d know about it if they did, stupid. Nobody in Morganville’s bought a new van in years.” She sounded confident. Monica was the queen of town gossip, and Claire had to admit, she had a point. She would know. She’d probably know the serial numbers of each purchase, and how many times it had driven through town, and what the driver had been wearing on each occasion. “Besides, that shine? That’s so town, not country. And check out the tinting.”
“So?” Claire asked. Most glossy cars in Morganville had superdark windows, because they were owned by people who were—to put it mildly—allergic to the sun.