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Hans let go, and Claire felt a wild urge to run, run out of this room, get Shane and just go, anywhere but here. There was something too big to understand in Amelie's eyes, something she didn't want to know. She started to take a step back, but Amelie's hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist and pulled, and Claire fell to her knees on the other side of Sam's body.
He looked dead.
Really, really dead.
"When I tell you, take hold of the wood and pull," Amelie said, her voice low and steady. "Not until I tell you."
"But -- I'm not very strong -- " Why wasn't she asking Richard? Asking one of the vampires? Oliver, even?
"You are strong enough. When I tell you, Claire." Amelie closed her eyes again, and Claire scrubbed her damp palms nervously over her blue jeans. The wooden stake in Sam's chest was round, polished wood, like a spike, and she couldn't tell how deep it was in his body. Was it in his heart? Wouldn't that kill him, once and for all? She remembered they'd talked about other vampires who'd gotten staked, and they'd died ...
Amelie's expression suddenly twisted in pain, and she said, "Now, Claire!"
Claire didn't even think. She fastened her hands around the stake and pulled, one massive yank, and for a terrifying second she thought it wouldn't work, but then she felt it sliding free, scraping against bone as it went.
Sam's whole body arched, like he'd been shocked with one of those heart machines, and the circle of vampires moved back. Amelie kept hold of him, her fingers white as bone where they pressed on the sides of his head. Her eyes flew open, and they were pure blazing silver.
Claire scrambled backward, clutching the stake in both hands. Someone plucked it out of her grip -- Richard Morrell, looking grim and tired. He put it into a plastic bag and zipped it shut.
Evidence.
Sam went limp again. The wound in his chest was bleeding a steady slow trickle, and Amelie took off her jacket -- white silk -- and folded it into a pad to press it against the flow. Nobody spoke, not even Amelie. Claire sat there feeling helpless, watching Sam. He wasn't moving, not at all.
He still looked dead.
"Samuel," Amelie said, and her voice was low and quiet and warm. She bent closer to him. "Samuel. Come back to me."
His eyes opened, and they were all pupil. Scary owl eyes. Claire bit her lip and thought again about running, but Hans and Gretchen were at her back and she knew she didn't have a chance, anyway.
Sam blinked, and his pupils began to shrink slowly to a more normal size. His lips moved, but no sound came out.
"Breathe in," Amelie said, in that same quiet, warm tone. "I'm here, Samuel. I won't leave you." She stroked fingers gently over his forehead, and he blinked again and slowly focused on her.
It was like there was nobody else in all the world, just the two of them. Amelie was wrong, Claire thought. It isn't just that Sam loves her. She loves him just as much.
Sam looked from Amelie to the circle of people, searching it for someone. When he didn't find the right one, he looked at Amelie again. His lips formed a name. Michael.
"Michael is safe," Amelie said. "Hans. Fetch him here."
Hans nodded and left, walking quickly. Michael. Claire realized with a jolt that she'd forgotten he'd be here, forgotten all about him in the shock of all that had happened. Sam was, at least, looking better with every passing second, but Amelie continued to press the makeshift bandage to the wound in his chest.
Sam's hand crept up, clumsy and slow, to cover hers, and for a long few seconds they looked at each other silently, and then Amelie nodded and let go.
Sam held the bandage in place and, with Amelie's help, pulled himself to a sitting position. She helped him lean against the wall.
"Can you tell us what happened?" she asked him. Sam nodded, and Claire looked up to see Richard Morrell crouching down, notebook and pen at the ready.
Sam's voice, when it finally came, was soft and thin, and it was clearly an effort for him to speak at all. "Went to see Michael," he said.
"But Michael was here, with us," Amelie said. "We summoned him during the night."
Sam's hand -- the one not occupied holding the jacket to his chest -- rose and fell, helplessly. "Sensed he wasn't home, so I backed out of the drive. Someone pulled open the car door -- taser, couldn't fight back. Staked me while I was down."
"Who?" Richard asked. Sam's eyes closed briefly, then opened.
"Didn't see. Human. Heard the heartbeat." He swallowed. "Thirsty."
"You must heal first," Amelie said. "A few more moments. Is there anything at all you can tell us about this human who attacked you?"
Sam's eyes opened again, with an effort. "He called me Michael."
Michael arrived just in time to hear that last part. He looked at Claire, wide-eyed, then crouched down beside Sam. "Who did? The one who did this?"
Sam shook his head. "I don't know who. Male, that's all I know. He used your name. I think he thought I was you." Sam's lips curled in the pale ghost of a smile. "Guess he didn't see the hair before he staked me."
The article in the newspaper. Captain Obvious. Somebody had decided to take out the newest vampire in town, and it was sheer luck that they'd gotten Sam instead. It could have been Michael lying in the street.
And from the look on Michael's face, he was thinking the exact same thing.
Amelie was agitated. It wasn't really obvious, but Claire had seen her enough to know the difference. She moved more swiftly, and there was something less calm than usual in her eyes. Claire shivered a little when Amelie summoned her into a side room. It was small and empty, probably some kind of meeting room. Amelie didn't come alone; a tall blond vampire guy followed along and stood with his back to the door, a flesh-and-blood deadbolt. No getting out quickly, or at all, really.
"What happened?" Amelie demanded.
"I don't know," Claire said. "I was asleep. I woke up when -- " When I heard the sirens, she'd been about to say, but again, that wasn't really true. She'd felt something, a flash of alarm that had come out of nowhere. And Shane and Eve had felt it too. It normally would take a nuclear explosion to blast Shane out of sleep in the pre-dawn hours, but he'd been wide awake. "It was like some alarm went off in the house."
Amelie's face went very still and smooth. "Indeed."
"Why? Is that important?"
"Maybe. What else?"
"Nothing -- we went downstairs. The sirens were going outside, and by the time we got down there it was all over, I guess. Sam was down on the road, and the cop was already there."
