Amelie shrugged. “It’s an old custom,” she said. “Offering blood to the lost. It takes will and ingenuity to do it properly.”
“Don’t forget stupidity,” Eve said. “That kind of thing would kill most people, never mind most vampires.”
Amelie slowly nodded. “It might have.” Michael, who’d been more appalled than any of them, from the look on his face, finally found something to say. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you do this? Because of Sam?”
That actually got a smile, or at least a suggestion of one, on her pale lips. “Your grandfather would be very angry with me if he thought he was the cause. He’d think me a helpless romantic.”
Eve snorted.“There’s romantic, then there’s dramatic, and then there’s moronic. Guess which this would be.”
Amelie’s smile faded, and some of the spark came back into her eyes. She lifted her chin, staring down her nose at Eve. “And you do not wake up daily and paint on your clown makeup, knowing it sets you apart from your fellows? What’s the phrase your generation uses? It takes one to know one?”
“I’m pretty sure that phrase was hot about fourteen generations back, but yeah, I get your point. And I may be into drama, but hey, at least I’m not a cutter.”
“A what?”
“A cutter.” Eve pointed to Amelie’s bloody wrists. “You know, bad poetry, emo music, I have to hurt myself to feel, because the world’s so awful?”
“That isn’t why—” Amelie fell silent a moment, then slowly nodded. “Perhaps. Perhaps that is how I feel, yes.”
“Well, too damn bad,” Eve said, and there was some freaky chill in her voice that made Claire blink. “You want to waste away by your lover’s grave, go for it. I’m Goth; I get it. But don’t you dare drag Claire along with you, or I’ll chase you down in hell and stake you there.”
Even Shane was staring at Eve now as if he’d never seen her before. Claire opened her mouth to say something, and couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it would be. The silence went on, and on, and finally Amelie turned her head toward Claire and said, “The bracelet. It warned you of my—situation.”
“Warned her? It almost killed her,” Shane said. “You were taking her with you. But you knew that, right?”
Amelie shook her head. “I did not.” She sighed, and she looked very young, and very human. And, Claire thought, very tired. “I had forgotten that such a thing could happen, though now I think on it, it is very possible. I must apologize to you, Claire. You are feeling better now?”
Claire was still cold, but figured that it had more to do with the icy wind and the cold ground than any magic. She nodded and tried not to show any shivers. “I’m fine. But you lost a lot of blood.”
Amelie shrugged, just a tiny roll of her shoulders, as if it didn’t matter. “I will recover.” She didn’t sound overly thrilled about it. “Leave me now. I have amends to make to Samuel.”
“You can bleed all over his grave some other time,” Eve said. “Come on, lady. Up. Let’s get you home.”
She reached out, and once again, Amelie let herself be touched. Odd, Claire thought; Michael was the vampire, but Amelie trusted Eve more right now. Michael was feeling that, too; there was a complicated look on his face, mostly worry.
“No biting,” Eve said, as she helped Amelie to her feet. The vampire gave her a withering look. “Hey, all my teachers said that repetition was the only way to learn. You got a car or something?”
“No.”
“Um . . . what about your people? Lurking in the shadows, preferably with a limo?”
Amelie raised a single white eyebrow. “If I had brought an entourage, surely they might have objected to my purpose here.”
“The dramatic death scene? Yeah, guess so. Okay, then, we’ll give you a ride. Blood bank first, right?”
“Unless you are offering a donation.”
“Ugh. No. And don’t even look at Claire, either.”
“Me neither,” Shane put in. “Homie don’t play that.”
“I wonder, sometimes, if your generation speaks English at all,” Amelie said. “But yes, if you would drive me to the blood bank, you may leave me there safely enough. My people”—she gave it just enough of an ironic edge to let them know she found it as funny to say as they did—“will find me there.”
They were walking away from Sam’s grave, moving slowly and in a tight group, when a shadow stepped out from behind the big marble mausoleum at the top of the hill. It was a vampire, but not the kind Claire was used to seeing around Morganville; this one looked like he lived rough, and without access to showers or personal-grooming equipment.
He also didn’t look quite sane.
“Amelie,” the man said—at least Claire thought it a man, but it was tough to be sure with the tangle of hair that hadn’t been combed since the last century, and the shapeless mass of dirty clothes, topped by a filthy raincoat. “Come to visit your peasants and distribute charity, like olden times?” He had a thick accent, English maybe—but rough, too, not like Oliver’s refined voice. “Oh, please, mistress, alms for the poor?” And he laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound, and it grew . . . until it came from all around them, from out of the darkness.
There were more of them out there.
Michael turned, staring into the night; maybe he could see something, but to Claire it was all just shadows and tombstones, and that laughter.
Shane put his arm around her.
Amelie shook off the support of Eve’s arm and stepped out from their little group. “Morley,” she said. “I see you crawled out of your sewer.”
“And you’ve come down from your ivory tower, my lady,” he said. “And here we are, meeting in the midden where humans discard their trash. And you brought lunch. How kind.”
Ghostly chuckles came from the dark. Michael turned, tracking something Claire couldn’t see; his eyes were turning red, and she could see him shifting away from the Michael she knew into something else, something scarier—the Michael she didn’t know. Eve sensed it, too, and stepped back, closer to Shane. She looked calm, but her hands were balled into fists at her sides.
“Do something,” she said to Amelie. “Get us out of here.”
“And how do you imagine I will do that?”
“Think of something!”
“You really are a very trying child,” Amelie said, but her eyes stayed fixed on Morley, the scarecrow next to the marble tomb. “I don’t know why I bother.”
“I don’t know why you do, either,” Morley said. “Confidentially, your dear old da had the right idea. Kill them all, or pen them up for their blood; this living as equals is nonsense, and you know it. They’ll never be our equals, will they?”
“Right back atcha,” Eve said, and shot him the finger. Shane quickly grabbed her arm and forced it down. “What, you’re Mr. Discretion now? Is it Opposite Day?”
“Just shut up,” Shane whispered. “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re outnumbered.”
“And? When are we not?”
Claire shrugged when Shane looked at her. “She does have a point. We usually are.”
“You’re not helping. Michael?” Shane asked. “What cha got, man?”
“Trouble,” Michael said. His voice sounded different, too—deeper than Claire was used to hearing it. Darker. “There are at least eight of them, all vampires. Stay with the girls.”
“I know you didn’t mean that how it came out. And you need me. Amelie’s weak, and you’re way outgunned, bro.”
“Am I?” Michael flashed them a disconcerting smile that showed fang. “Just stay with the girls, Shane.”
“I’d say you suck, but why state the obvious?” Shane’s words were banter, but his tone was dead serious, tense, and worried. “Go careful, man. Real careful.”
Amelie said, “We’re not fighting.”
At the top of the hill, with the big white mausoleum glowing like bone behind him, Morley cocked his head and crossed his arms. “No?”