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"I said, what do you know about it? Where? When? Who's involved?"
"Let go, jerk!"
He didn't say anything, but Claire was almost sure he squeezed, because Monica made a funny little sound and went very still . "Okay," she said. "Okay, jackass, you win. It's just general talk as far as I know, but some people are saying an example should be made. Michael and Eve are just handy targets standing in the middle of the war zone. Come to think of it, so's your girlfriend, what with allher cozying up to Amelie."
Shane let her go. "You're one to talk."
"Yeah, I am. I know what it's like to think you're secure and safe and allof a sudden be standing allalone. You think you and your friends are the only ones in the crosshairs? Do you have any idea how many people want to hurt me?"
Monica was more self-aware than Claire had ever given her credit for. She knew how things were-maybe better than Shane, surprisingly enough. She'd probably had to learn how to protect herself fast, once the town had stopped being cowed by her status as Self-Crowned Princess.
"Then you shouldn't be pissing off the only ones who might listen to you when you scream for help," Shane said. "Get me?"
Monica finally nodded, a little unwil ingly. She shot a quick, unreadable look at Claire, and then turned and strode up the walk to her apartment.
They watched as she produced a key (though where she'd kept it on that skintight dress was a mystery) and unlocked her door. Once she was inside, and the lights were on, Shane put his hands in his pockets and extended an elbow to Claire, who threaded her arm through his.
"You're super nice to her, allof a sudden," Claire said.
"Ha. If I was super nice to her, she wouldn't have bruises on her arm right now," he said. "But I'm wil ing to forget to hate her, every once in a while. She's had it rough these past couple of years."
"So have you."
He flashed her a smile. "I never did have much, so having it rough came with the territory. I was conditioned for it. And you're forgetting the most important thing that's different."
"You don't have a fashion addiction to skintight clothes?"
"I have you," he said, and the warmth in his voice took her breath away. She let go of his arm and crowded in close as they walked, and he hugged her close. It was awkward making progress that way, but it felt so sweet. "Okay, and I don't have a fashion addiction. Valid point."
"You don't think she knows something about a plot to hurt Michael and Eve, do you? The way she said that back there..."
"I don't know," Shane said. "I don't think she'd hide it; she'd really like teasing us with it, but she'd give it up. She'd want to, I think. It's not as if she wants Michael dead, anyway. She always had a little bit of a thing for him."
"And you," Claire said, and elbowed him. "More than a little bit."
"Ugh. Please don't say that or I'll lose my wil to live."
"I love you." It came out of her spontaneously, and she felt a little jolt of adrenaline, then a little burst of fear right on the heels of it. There had been no reason to say it now, walking down the street, but it had just seemed...right. She was a little afraid that Shane would think it was clingy, or fake, but when she glanced over at him, she saw he was smiling-an easy, relaxed smile, uncomplicated and happy.
It wasn't something she saw very often, and it made her feel glorious.
"I love you, too," he said, and that felt like some kind of milestone to her, that they felt easy enough with each other to just say it whenever they wanted, without feeling awkward about it, or afraid.
We're growing up, she thought. We're growing up together.
He put his arm around her, and they walked close together, allthe way home. The setting sun was lurid reds and golds, spil ing into the vast and open sky, and it was as beautiful a thing as Claire had ever seen in Morganville.
Peaceful.
It was the last of that, though.
Chapter EIGHT
AMELIE
Iknew of no one, vampire or human, who could detour Myrnin from a course once he had decided on it, whether it was mad, manic, destructive, or simply single-minded. So when the guards informed me that he had refused to stop at the checkpoint to the hal way of my office, I did not bother to order them to try to detain him. It might have been possible for a few moments, an hour, a day, but Myrnin wouldn't forget. He would simply start again, and sooner or later, he'd succeed.
I pressed the button on my phone-stil such an awkward and common device, to my mind, nothing attractive about it-and informed my assistant that upon his arrival she should not stand in his way. Poor thing, she had taken enough abuse lately, from humans as well as from vampires.
Only I could handle Myrnin with any measure of success.
He exploded through my doorway with the force of a tropical storm, and indeed the riot of colors about his person reminded me of that...so many shades, and none of them complementary. I did not bother to catalog allthe offenses, but they began with the jacket he had chosen. I had no name for that particular hue of orange, other than unfortunate.
"This is my last attempt at making you see sense," he said. Shouted, actually. "Damn you, how long have we worked, how many sacrifices have we made? To see you throw that allaway for him..."
I had already decided, well before his grand entrance, what my first move would be, and with an economy of motion, I slapped him ful across the face. The force of it would have fel ed a strong mortal; it certainly made Myrnin pause, with the mark of the blow blushing a very faint pink in the shape of my fingers.
He blinked.
"You may save your well -rehearsed speech," I said. "I'l hear none of it. This il -advised intrusion is at an end."
"Amelie, we have been friends for-"
"Don't presume to tel me how many years. I can count as well as you, or possibly better on the days when you're insane," I snapped back. "Sit down."
He did, looking oddly watchful. I paced. I'd been doing that more frequently than was my normal habit, but I put it down to raw nerves. Morganville lately had seemed exasperating, a broken toy that would never be put right no matter how much time and love I lavished on the repairs.
Myrnin said, "You even move like he does now."
"Silence!" I whirled on him, snarling, and knew my eyes had gone deep crimson.
"No," he said, with an eerie sort of calm. Myrnin was many things, but he was rarely calm, and when he was, it was time to worry. "There are some people who may say this is a good match for you, that you needed a strong right arm to calm the fears of the vampires and subdue the human population. I am not one. Sam gentled you, Amelie. He made you feel more a part of the world you rule. Oliver wil never do that. He feels no responsibility for those he crushes, and-"
"Foul his name again and we're finished," I interrupted. I meant it, and it dripped from every syl able I spoke.
Myrnin sat still for a moment, staring into my eyes, and then he nodded. "Then we are indeed," he said. "I just had to be certain that you were beyond my hope, and my help. But if he has you tied this close, he wil have you do as he wishes. Whomever it hurts."
"Do you think I am so-so stupid? So utterly weak that I would allow any man to-"
"Not just a man," Myrnin said. "He swayed a nation to kil its king, once. He persuades. He influences. Perhaps he doesn't even intend to do so, but it's in his nature. And while you are more powerful than he by far, once he has your trust, there is no saying what he might be able to accomplish, through you."
His words left me cold inside, a chil I'd not felt since the moment I'd finally acknowledged the aching need for Oliver's regard, for his loyalty, for his attention. I had been alone for so long; Michael's grandfather Sam Glass and I had loved, but save for a few precious times, always carefully, and from afar. Oliver had come at me like a storm, and the fury of it was...cleansing.
But was Myrnin right? Could I be fal ing victim, as so many had, to Oliver's deadly charm? Was what I was doing here right, or simply convenient to his ambitions?
I slowly sat down in a chair across from my oldest living friend, the one who-in the end-I trusted more than any still walking the earth, and said, "I know my own mind, Myrnin. I am Amelie. I am the Founder of Morganville, and what I do here, I do for the good of all. You may trust that. You must."
He had a sadness in his eyes that I could not understand, but then, who ever had understood Myrnin fully? I couldn't make that claim, and neither could Claire, the girl he trusted so much. And then he stood, and with the ease of thousands of years of experience, he made a graceful, ages-old bow, took my hand in his, and kissed it with the greatest of love and respect.
