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It actually made her blink.
She fell back on something her parents had taught her. "Anything worthwhile is worth fighting for," Claire said. "Not always with guns and stuff. But with...taking a stand. Right?"
Amelie seemed to focus on her again. For a few seconds she regarded her, frowning, and then smiled just a little. "So I recall," she said. "Not all wars are waged with bullets and swords, indeed. Some are wars of wills and ideas. It's good we both remember that." The smile faded. "But not all ideas win the war, and not all wills are strong enough. Darkness can descend so easily."
"It won't here," Claire said. "We just have to be stronger."
Amelie inclined her head, but Claire couldn't tell if it was agreement. She frowned again, this time at the phone, and after a hesitation, pushed the intercom button. "Bizzie?" she asked. "Have you confirmation that Michael is in the car?"
The answer came back immediately. "No, Founder. The car is there, but the others in the house report that Michael Glass isnot there."
"Not there," Amelie repeated. "Very well. Call his cell phone. I believe he has one of those. I will wait."
Bizzie left the speaker on as she dialed. It rang and rang on the other end, and then Michael's recorded voice said, "Michael Glass's phone. Leave a message," over the sound of his guitar. It cut off. Bizzie
said, "Madam? No answer."
"I can hear that," Amelie said. She looked at Claire. "Do you know where he is?"
"No," Claire said. She felt her stomach tightening unpleasantly. "He--We all went home last night. I don't know why he's not there." But she did. Deep down, she did. Michael had tried something, something that had got him in trouble--and, worse, he hadn't even told anyone.
Eve was going to kill him. And if Eve didn't, Claire decided she'd be next in line. The idea of Michael going missingnow made her feel as shaky as if the earth under her feet had moved. Michael was a rock; even the first time she'd met him, as a half ghost, he'd been the calmest and most capable one of the group.
But this time, if he'd gone off on his own, he'd made a mistake. A big one.
Amelie must have read something on her face, because she said, "Have my car brought around, Bizzie. The usual complement of guards."
"Yes, Founder."
Amelie rose to her feet. Claire just stared at her in confusion, until she said, "I am, of course, going with you. And you will tell me where you believe Michael might have gone, because I am not losing yet another of my people to this mystery."
Claire resisted the urge to say,Yes, Founder , and silently--in defeat--followed her to the limousine.
Byusual complement , Amelie must have meant "more vampires than a Dracula convention" because besides Amelie and her driver, there were two silent, suit-wearing guards in sunglasses, and a heavily tinted town car carrying four more that followed along. Amelie ignored their presence--but then, she'd grown up in an age when servants were no more than moving furniture--and leaned forward, hands clasped. She still sat like a lady, knees together and demurely angled, even though she was wearing pants. "Now," she said. "You will tell me everything you declined to tell me earlier. We are past the amusingly amateur portion of this problem. If you know where my father is, or even suspect you have a clue, no matter how small, youwill tell me. "
Claire felt sick, hot, and trapped--mostly because shewas trapped, no doubt about it. She squeezed her eyes shut and said, "If I tell you everything, you have to make me a promise."
Ominous silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the road noise beneath the car. Claire had no idea where they were heading, and realized that she'd just done the same thing Michael had: she'd taken off without letting anyone know where she was going. She could disappear just as quickly. She risked a look at Amelie, and saw the same expectant, waiting expression. No anger yet.
Amelie smiled, very slightly--in fact, if Claire hadn't known her as well as she did, she'd never have seen it at all. "You're always asking for promises, Claire. Sometimes that seems charming, as if you simply expect me to be honorable enough to keep them."
"How about today?" Amelie inclined her head. That wasn't a yes, though; Claire could see it in the cold glitter of her eyes. "It's just that if Shane...if Shane's got anything to do with this, it's because he's been
glamoured. By Gloriana. It's not his choice. And he'd never, ever help Bishop. You know that." It came out in a rush, and even to her ears, it sounded incoherent.
Amelie straightened, settled back in her seat, and said, "From the beginning."
Claire tried. She thought about holding some things back, but the truth was that it was all going to come out sooner rather than later, and lying to Amelie's face...well, that wasn't a good strategy. Amelie was understanding sometimes. Still, Claire cringed when she had to mention Shane. All she could think about was how bad it had been when he'd been accused of the murder of one of Amelie's own, when he'd been trapped and condemned and she'd felt so useless to save him.
Here it was again--that black, swelling, suffocating sense of utter helplessness.
Amelie made no comments and had no physical reactions to what Claire said. She looked not at Claire, but at the scenery beyond the tinted window--visible to her eyes, presumably, though Claire felt like she was confined in a crowded black box--while she listened. When Claire finally paused, feeling short of breath, Amelie inclined her head slightly.
"Thank you," she said. "A very honest accounting. I had wondered how much you'd try to conceal from me. I'm pleased you didn't attempt it."
Claire squeezed her eyes shut for a few seconds. "You knew."
"Of course I knew," Amelie said. "Most things, at least. The Web site is new, and therefore of great interest; I have operatives tracing its origins now, though you are entirely correct that a more expert approach will be needed. But the role of Gloriana and Vassily--these things were already known to me and to Oliver."
Oliver. Of course. "He was keeping an eye on her for you," Claire realized. "That's why he was hanging around her."
"Gloriana believes it is due to her own charm, of course, but Oliver is not so easily manipulated as that. He knows her too well, and has good reason to be wary of her and her motives." Amelie finally looked at her, unsmiling. "How my father is involved in all this is somewhat of a mystery, but it will be solved."
"Do you know where he is? Bishop?"
"No." Amelie looked away again. "One thing he's very good at is hiding when he feels threatened. He's within the town's borders. Alerts would have gone off if he'd crossed the boundaries. We'll find him, even should he be buried in the dirt like some hunting spider." She sounded bitter and cold at the end, and Claire shivered a little. "When he's found, I will ensure that this particular danger to us doesn't return. You have my word on that."
The car slowed, and Amelie nodded to one of her guards, the one sitting on her left side. He nodded back, and as the limousine drifted to a smooth stop, he immediately opened the door and exited. Claire couldn't have tried to get out even if she'd wanted to; there were two guards between her and the outside.
And Amelie didn't move. She sat, composed and erect, until the first man looked back into the car and said, "Clear, Founder." Then there was a sudden scramble from the guards on both sides, and Claire and Amelie were left sitting across from each other, temporarily alone. Amelie began to slide toward the exit.
"Wait," Claire said. "Shane."
Apart from a very small hesitation, Amelie didn't respond to that at all. She simply continued on her way. A guard offered her a hand, and she left the car in a graceful stride.
Claire gulped air and scrambled out to follow.
There was a moving wall of black-suited vampires around Amelie, escorting her away from the idling limousine and up a covered walkway leading to......
Claire blinked. She knew this building. She'd been in it at least five or six times, mostly to add or drop classes, pay fees--that kind of thing. It was the Admin Building of Texas Prairie University--closed, of course. Nobody around.
Amelie's guards had keys.
Inside, they didn't proceed the way Claire had always been, toward the main processing area; instead, Amelie turned left, down a paneled hallway filled with the fading photographs of university presidents, donors, and not-very-famous alumni. It ended in what looked like a blank wall, except for an ornate brass lock plate.
