Black Dawn: The Morganville Vampires (13 page)

It didn’t mean he’d really given up his dream, though.

Though he
might
have been halfheartedly apologizing to Shane, too. Who knew?

After another try, Myrnin sighed and shook his head. “The portals aren’t working,” he said. “We will have to go in vehicles. It’s not my preference, but it’s the best option we have. Going on foot is a ridiculous risk. We will certainly need a fast escape route.”

“Lucky for you I have a bitchin’ pickup downstairs,” Shane said. “Which provides an excellent fire platform for a flamethrower, by the way.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a tank,” Myrnin said. “Pity we don’t have one.”

“Actually,” Michael said slowly, his forehead creased in thought, “we just might. Follow me.”

Anything was better, Claire thought, than the smelly, chemical-heavy cleaner’s closet, and she sucked down a deep, clean breath of air once they were back in the hall. It made her cough. She could almost imagine her breath puffing out the sickly gold color of Pine-Sol. Her clothes reeked of the stuff. She didn’t know if it was bothering any of the others, but it definitely wasn’t her favorite smell in the world, especially in that intense burst.

Michael led them down to the elevators and pressed the button for the parking garage. He looked … well, smug. Definitely smug.

“Spill it,” Shane said. “You look like you won a year’s shopping spree at the blood bank or something.”

“You’ll see,” he said, and then the elevator doors dinged and rolled open …

… And Eve was standing there. She was wet and muddy, and there were four other vampires with her. She actually took a surprised step back when she saw Michael.

And he took the same step back when he saw her.

Oh,
so
not good. Claire’s heart practically ripped in half at the expression on Eve’s face—a fast-changing mixture of longing, anger, fear, love, and finally, sadness. She reached up and pulled her earplugs out and said, “Sorry—I was just surprised.”

Michael didn’t answer. He was looking … well,
sick
was probably the only word for it. Myrnin ignored the whole thing and pushed past him, out of the elevator. Shane, after a hesitation, followed,
with Claire. Michael stepped out last, and only because the doors started to shut on him.

In the sudden and uncomfortable silence, the brown-haired vamp standing next to Eve took his headphones off and said, “Is there some problem?” He was talking to Michael, but he was looking at Eve.

“No,” she said, and smiled brightly. “Thanks, Stephen. It’s all good. You guys go on.”

“Good work,” said the tall, dark-haired vampire woman, and opened the elevator doors again for the four of them to step inside while Eve lingered behind. “Call on us anytime, Eve.”

She nodded without taking her gaze off Michael, her dark eyes large and unreadable now.

“Making new friends?” he asked her. No mistaking the jealousy in that tone. “
Stephen?
I thought you were off vampires.”

“Lighten up,” Eve said. “I saved his life. It’s not like we’re going out.”

Even Shane winced at that one. Michael didn’t. He remained stone-faced, staring at his girl, and then he shrugged and said, “Well, you can go with your new friends or come with us. Your choice, I guess.”

“Where are we going?” Eve asked, like it wasn’t even a real question. Which it probably wasn’t.

“The water treatment plant,” Myrnin said. “I’ll catch you up if you’d like.”

“That’s—okay,” Eve said, and held up a hand when he would have kept talking. “I’m so not in the mood, Chatty Batty. Just hand me something to do.”

“Oh,” he said, and rubbed his hands together, “I think I can do that. Yes, absolutely. Michael? If you would lead on, please?”

Michael was no longer smug, but he led them toward the far
end of the garage. It felt oppressive and damp down here, and smelled of wet concrete and mold—smells that reminded Claire vividly of the draug, the pool, the horrific fight to survive.

The fear.

She took hold of Shane’s hand, which was strategically stupid but emotionally smart; his warm, steady grip anchored her and made her feel less out of control. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he didn’t let go.

A boxy gray shape loomed up in the dark, and Myrnin said, “Ahhhhh,” in the way people do when they finally understand something. Claire squinted, but couldn’t see much until Eve flicked on her flashlight and cast a harsh white glare over the gunmetal gray surface.

It was an armored cash truck, with some logo on it that was too sun-faded to read. It had a thick metal hide and a very intimidating door on the back.

“Nice. Gun ports,” Shane said, flicking a fingernail at a round metal covering on the side of the truck. “Heavy steel. Run-flat tires. Bullet-resistant glass. Me likey, Mikey.”

“It’s a tank,” Michael said. “Or at least as close as we’re likely to get around here.”

“Pop quiz,” Eve said, and held up her black-fingernailed hand like a kid in school. “Does this thing actually, y’know, run?”

“Oh, yes,” Myrnin said. He was walking around the truck, tapping a finger on his bottom lip. His expression was elated but thoughtful. “It’s the Founder’s personal security vehicle, for her protection in emergencies. Used for her personal evacuation only.”

“Where are the keys?” Shane asked. He’d tried the driver’s side door, but it was, of course, locked.

“No one but Amelie and her assistant would know, and her assistant was evacuated with the others, I’m afraid. Don’t bother trying
to force the lock, Michael. It’s hardened against vampires as well as humans. Without the proper keys, we’re not getting in. And yet … it
is
a good idea. Very good indeed.” Myrnin turned suddenly and focused directly on Claire. “I will go ask Amelie for the keys.”

“Excuse me?” Claire blinked. “That’s … really not a good idea. Oliver wouldn’t let me anywhere close to her. He said she was …”

“Unpredictable,” Myrnin said briskly. “Well, if anyone can handle unpredictable, I should think it would be me. Don’t worry. Oh, all right, then do worry, if that pleases you, but we need the key, and Amelie’s got it. There’s no choice.”

“Pickup truck,” Shane said. “That’s a choice.”

“Not a good one where we’re going,” Myrnin said. He held out a finger toward Michael, then Shane, then Eve, and said, “Stay.”

“Excuse me, we’re not your pets,” Eve said. “You don’t get to order us around …” But she was talking to empty air. Myrnin had already vanished, vampire-speed. The only one who might have caught him was Michael, but Michael wasn’t moving.

When Claire started after him, Michael grabbed her by the shoulder. “No,” he said. “He’s right. Nobody’s better qualified to handle unpredictable vampires than he is. Certainly not you. You are
way
too vulnerable.”

“I’m not staying here,” she said. “Are you coming or not? Because I don’t think you want to have to tie me up to make me stay.”

Shane heaved a sigh. “Nobody’s tying her up,” he said. “Sorry, Mike. It’s not that I don’t think you’re right, it’s that I know my girl. She’s going. We can either watch her back or stay here. And I’m not staying here, mostly because I don’t take orders from—what did you call him?”

“Chatty Batty,” Eve said. “Hey, it fits.”

“I like it.”

Claire shook off Michael’s hand. He let her. “Then let’s go, before he gets himself killed.”

Shane
probably
didn’t mean it when he said, “Wait, that was an option? Because I could still stay.”

Myrnin was already well ahead of them, of course, and they had the guards to deal with, but since Claire had already been admitted once today, with Theo, they let her in.

But
only
her.

“We’re with the band,” Shane said, and tried to push his way past. That got him an iron-hard vampire grip on his arm that made him wince and stopped him cold. “Claire, don’t. Stay with me. He’ll be okay.”

But in her bones Claire didn’t really think he would be. She looked at the guard holding Shane’s arm and asked, “Is Oliver still in there, too?”

“He’s gone to find the doctor,” the guard said. “Myrnin just went in.”

“So he’s alone?” She felt a surge of anxiety. “Well, he wants us with him.”

“Us?” The vampire wasn’t buying that one. “You, maybe. The others stay here. They’re not on the list.”

“There’s a list? And I’m not on it?” Eve said. “I’m deeply hurt. I’m
always
on the list.”

“It’s not a club,” Michael said.

“Still.”

Claire backed away, down the hall, mouthed,
Sorry,
to Shane, and hurried on. From the look on his face, she knew they’d be having a serious conversation about this later, but she couldn’t wait to try to talk it out now.

Myrnin was in trouble. She could just feel it.

Inside the room, Claire shut the heavy door but didn’t lock it behind her; the anteroom was a sitting area, hushed and airless. It reeked of the damp and sickness, and it also seemed a little like a museum … as if someone had created it for show, not for use.
This is how vampires lived in the twenty-first century,
the exhibit card would read.
Pretending that everything was normal.

Claire took in a slow, calm breath and opened the bedroom door. She half expected to find it empty, but Myrnin was there, standing stock-still a few feet from the bed.

Looking at Amelie.

She looked like her own statue—immobile and white, lying exactly in the center of the bed with her hands folded over her stomach. The sheets were drawn up and folded back just below her arms. It looked as if she was wearing some kind of thick white nightgown, with incredibly delicate lace at the collar and cuffs. Her hair was loose, and it spilled over the pillow in a pale silk fan.

There was a thick bandage on her throat, but it was soaked through with dark, wet blood.

Seeing her like this was … strange. She looked very young, and vulnerable, and somehow very sad. Claire remembered seeing pictures of the tombs of queens, of the marble images carved to top them that were replicas of the bodies below. Amelie looked just like that … an eternal monument to her own mortality.

Myrnin raised his head and saw Claire standing there, and his expression turned from blank to tormented. “Get out,” he said. “Get out
now
, while you still can!”

He sounded absolutely serious, and Claire took a step backward, intending to follow his instructions.

And then Amelie opened her eyes.

It was sudden, a flash of movement that made Claire’s
heart skip a beat. Amelie’s eyes were a paler gray than they’d always been, more like dirty ice.

“Someone’s here,” she whispered. “Someone …”

“Claire, get
out
,” Myrnin said, and took a step closer to the bed. “I’m here, Amelie. Myrnin. Right here.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. Her voice was thin as silk, and just as soft. “Where is Oliver?”

“Gone, for the moment,” Myrnin said. “Oh, my dearest. You are far too pale. Let me get something for you to eat.” He meant blood, Claire thought. Amelie had
no
color under her skin. She looked almost translucent.

“Don’t you mean some
one
?” Amelie asked. It was nearly a joke, but it wasn’t funny. “I asked Oliver to end my suffering. I didn’t mean to make him so angry, but he really must face facts, soon. Will you do it for me, Myrnin? As my friend?”

“Not yet,” he said, and took her hand in his. “I am not quite ready to let you go. None of us are.”

“All things die, even vampires.” That same distant tone, as if none of it mattered any longer. “If it was only death I faced, I would go gladly. But I can feel it now, inside me. The pull of the sea. The tides. The hunger.” Amelie’s eyes focused on Myrnin again, and there was a strangely luminous glow to them. “The seas came first. All life flowed from them and must in the end return there. As I’m returning. As you will. I was a fool to believe the draug could be defeated. They are the tide. The sea. The beginning and end of us.” The glow intensified, and Claire found herself oddly … calmed by it. Amelie seemed so peaceful, lying there. And being around her seemed so safe. Myrnin must have felt the same; he sank to a sitting position on the edge of her bed. “There’s no escaping the tides, don’t you see? Not for me, or you, or Morganville. Because the tide always comes.”

Myrnin pulled in a sharp gasp, and looked down at his hand, held in hers. He tried to pull free, but couldn’t. “Stop,” he said, in a voice only half as strong as it should have been. “Amelie,
stop
. You must not do this.”

“I’m not,” she said, sounding very sad. “There’s so much inside that isn’t me any longer. You shouldn’t have come. Either of you.”

Her ice-pale gaze captured Claire’s, and Claire knew she was walking forward, drawn by forces she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. She couldn’t stop herself. Didn’t really
want
to stop herself.

And then she stretched out her hand and Amelie’s pale, strong fingers locked over hers.

She felt the tingle, and then the burning, like a million needles piercing her skin.

She watched the bitter cold of Amelie’s skin change, take on warmth.

Blood.

Blood drawn out of
Claire
. By a
touch.

The same was happening to Myrnin, Claire realized. He was panting now, mumbling frantic pleas, trying to pry her hand free from his but failing.

Amelie no longer needed fangs to feed. Like the draug, she fed at a touch.

And it was happening so
fast.
Claire felt light-headed, pleasantly tired, even though somewhere deep inside she was shrieking in protest.

Just close your eyes,
Amelie’s voice was saying gently, far away.
Just close your eyes and sleep now.

And then something hit her and knocked her away, halfway across the room and into a heavy wooden table with a gigantic bowl of dried flowers. It all crashed to the carpet, spilling shattered
glass and broken petals, and Claire was lying on her side, staring up at the wall. There was a painting there, something famous, with dark paint and bright bursts of color all done in furious layers and peaks. She blinked slowly, not quite comprehending what had just happened, and saw a bright spot of red closer to her than the painting.