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I looked at her, suddenly sure she was lying...but there was something oddly open and honest in her blue eyes.
"You mean it?" I asked. "Free?"
"Free," she repeated. "I promise you. After tonight, you'll never have to fight again."
Then she led me down a hall and sat me in a chair, and Vassily showed up doing his stupid Dracula impression, with cameras that leered at me with empty eyes. And then it was all over and the countdown was up.
Time to fight.
"Paying customers," Myrnin said. He nodded to the people getting out of cars and walking toward the far door, the safe door, of the warehouse. There were all types--what passed for white-collar in Morganville, moms, college kids, tough guys. A cross section of crazy. There were vampires, too,
working the door...Claire recognized one of them, and said so. "Yes," Myrnin agreed. "He was with Bishop before. One of those Amelie said has been missing. Now we know where he's been. No doubt Vassily hired many of Bishop's former employees to staff his little venture."
"But what does hewant ?" Eve asked. She was watching the parade of people forking over cash with a baffled and faintly sickened expression. "All this for money?"
"Millions of dollars, which to a vampire means safety and stability," Myrnin said. "And independence. Our friends who broke away from Amelie to form their little colony in Blacke aren't the only ones who want out of Morganville; Bishop's friends and sympathizers fear Amelie. Outside of this town, they could be their own little petty kings and queens." The way he said it, he seemed bitter and distant, as if he'd considered it before. Or done it before. "In any case, never think money is any less a good motive than passion. You'd be surprised what people will do for money that they wouldn't do for love."
"We have to get in," Eve said.
"No doubt," Myrnin agreed. "But they will know you immediately. Claire is less recognizable, and hardly anyone knows my face. I suggest you stay here and--"
Eve gave him a withering look and said, "Pass me your hat."
"Pardon?"
"Yourhat . And your coat."
Myrnin gave her a doubtful look and handed them over. She shook them out, sniffed them, made a face, and then put it on. On Eve, the coat looked even bigger and more ill-fitting than it had on Myrnin, and the hat practically swallowed her head. All that Claire could see of her was a white flash of face.
Just like a vamp.
"Huh," Myrnin said, and cocked his head with great interest. "For someone so singular, you can disappear quite effectively."
"Shut up and get ready," Eve said. "You're going to need to move your butt if you don't want it lightly fried."
He looked down at himself and frowned. "Won't do, won't do. Far too individual. No..." And before Claire could stop him, he stripped off his coat and dumped it on the floor, along with his brocade vest. He left on the crimson shirt and black pants--very piratical. "Better?"
"Sure," she said. She couldn't imagine it was. "Ready?"
"Ready."
Eve got out first and hurried toward the door, head down. The vampires got one look at her face and waved her in without a word. Claire followed her, carrying both black bags. They stopped her and asked for admission money, which Myrnin dug out of a pocket and handed over...in gold coins. Probably not all that unusual for the fanged bunch, Claire guessed, because they just shrugged and pocketed the money and gave her and Myrnin plastic strips to wear around their wrists. "You can't bring blood in," one of them said as he sealed the wristband. "Concession's at the back of the room. Ten bucks for a
pint."
"That's ridiculous!" Myrnin said. "The prices--"
Claire nudged him along. He looked outraged. "Well, itis very high," he muttered. "Oh. There's your friend, Even. Ever?"
"Eve," Claire said. "Here, take your bag. I've got mine and Eve's. I'm going to go find Shane. You and Eve--"
"No need for that," Myrnin said as the lights dimmed and the door boomed shut at the back of the room. Claire had the distinct impression that it was being locked up, and anyone who arrived after was going to be standing outside enjoying the day, humanor vampire. "Here he comes."
Claire turned around. They were standing on the concrete floor, and the cheap aluminum bleachers extended up for ten rows or so on all four sides of the big, open room. In the center was a platform, and on the platform was an iron cage with an open door. It was about the size of a boxing ring, and there were bright, white-hot lights pointed down into it from all angles to turn it into a blank white canvas.
Vassily walked out into the middle of it, fangs flashing as he smiled and waved at the crowd. The stands were about half full, Claire realized; maybe they hadn't been able to get the word out quickly enough. Didn't matter. Their real money came from the Internet betting and memberships.
Vassily was wearing just about the exact same outfit as Myrnin, only on him it looked cheap and stupid. He had a wireless microphone, and now he raised it to his mouth and said, "Welcome, friends, to Immortal Battles, where those with eternal lives gamble to lose them, and those with merely human strength learn what it is to be heroes!" He got some yells and applause. Next to her, Myrnin was standing very still, watching. Claire realized he was gripping her arm, holding her still. She didn't know why until Vassily said, "And now, meet our mortal hero of the night: Shane `The Hammer' Collins, winner of two previous bouts, survivor, and hunter! Give him a warm, Immortal welcome!"
The crowd cheered. Claire stood there feeling fragile and hot, like she'd been turned to ashes that might be blown away at any second, and watched as Shane,her Shane, walked into the steel cage, arms held high.
He was smiling, but his eyes were dead and haunted by the ghost of the man he'd been. Claire wanted to fall down. Myrnin's hand was crushingly tight around her arm, but she didn't feel like doing anything stupid; she wasn't sure she could move on her own. It felt like a nightmare.
And then, of course, it got worse.
"And the challenger," Vassily shouted. "Vampire novice, musician, aspiring champion,Michael Glass ! This is a grudge match, ladies and gentlemen, years in the making! Now watch as--"
Vassily had miscalculated, Claire saw; he'd thought he could keep on vamping (pun intended) to drive up the betting, but Shane had other ideas. He did a long circle of the cage, and then, with unnatural quickness, he turned around and slammed into Vassily, who was still talking into his microphone. Vassily dropped the mike, but Shane had him by the collar of his fancy coat and threw him in a rolling, flapping heap on the floor. Before Vassily could get up, Shane was on him.
Michael pulled him off and held his arms behind him. "Stop," he said. Claire could hear him, but she
wasn't sure the crowd could; they were all stomping and yelling, setting up a metal-crashing racket that drowned out most things. Michael wasn't playing to the crowd. He was talking urgently to Shane. "Bro, stop this. This isn't you."
Shane did stop. He went still in Michael's hold and his eyes closed. But when Michael let go, thinking he'd gotten through, Claire saw the smile twist Shane's lips, and tried to yell a warning.
She heard Shane clearly when he said, "You're wrong about that.Bro. "
SHANE
I'd been wanting to take a bite out of Vassily for a while, and hearing him go on and on aboutMichael, well, that was it. Michael frickin' Glass. Mr. Perfect. He wasn't just any vampire, now, was he? No, he came from a long line of human Renfields, all bending over for the vamps. Hell, Sam had even......
No.Something in me shut down when I tried to free-associate Michael's granddad Sam into that mental rant; Sam, I knew, didn't deserve it. I'd liked Sam. Hell, everybody had loved Sam.
Like everybody loved Michael. Mr. Perfect.
I jumped Vassily, and that felt good. It felt good to think with my body instead of the confusing tangle of hate and guilt and fear that was inside of me--to just be something, do something, without the higher brain getting in the way. I kicked him, but with the hardest angle of my foot. You don't kick with the toes, not with bare feet; you use the side or the heel. I chose the heel, and put some momentum behind it, and felt Vassily's ribs creak when the blow landed.
Nice.
Then Michael was pulling me off, and, dammit, he had me from behind. He had leverage and strength. Vassily got up and retrieved his microphone and scrambled out of the cage, slamming it shut behind him.
