The Dead Girls' Dance (14 page)

“He could,'” Hess agreed. “But he's just crazy enough to think burning in a cage alongside his kid is going out in a blaze of glory. Some kind of victory. He might say Shane was part of it just to punish him. We can't know.'”

She couldn't deny that. Claire swallowed hard. “So…are you going to give me a ride or not?'”

“You're determined to go out,'” Hess said. “In the dark.'”

“Yes. And I'll walk if I have to. I just hope I don't—have to.'”

His sigh rattled the phone speaker. “All right. Ten minutes. Stay inside until I honk the horn.'”

Claire hung up the phone and turned, and nearly bumped into Michael. She yelped, and he reached out and steadied her. He kept hold of her arms even after she didn't need the steadying support anymore. He felt warm and real, and she thought—not for the first time—how weird it was that he could seem so
alive
when he really wasn't. Not exactly. Not all the time.

He looked like he had something he wanted to say, but he didn't know how to say it. And finally, he looked away. “Hess is coming?'”

“Yeah. Ten minutes, he said.'”

Michael nodded. “You're going to see Amelie?'”

“Maybe. I've got exactly one shot. If that doesn't work, then…'” She spread her hands. “Then I guess I talk to Oliver instead.'”

“If…you do see Amelie, tell her I need to talk to her,'” he said. “Will you do that for me?'”

Claire blinked. “Sure. But—why?'”

“Something she said to me before. Look, obviously I can't go to her. She has to come here.'” Michael shrugged and gave her a tiny curve of a smile. “Not important why.'”

That raised a little red flag in the back of her mind. “Michael, you're not going to do anything, well, crazy, right?'”

“Says the sixteen-year-old about to walk out the door in the dark to go see a vampire? No, Claire. I'm not going to do anything crazy.'” Michael's eyes glittered suddenly with some fierce emotion. It looked like rage, or pain, or some toxic mix of both. “I hate this. I hate letting you go. I hate Shane for getting himself caught. I hate
this
—'”

What Michael was really saying, Claire understood, was
I hate me
. She totally got that. She hated herself on a regular basis.

“Don't punch anything, okay?'” Because he had that look again. “Take care of Eve. Don't let
her
go crazy, okay? Promise? If you love her, you need to take care of her. She needs you now.'”

Some of the fierceness faded out of his eyes, and the way he looked at her made her go all soft and warm inside. “I promise,'” he said, and rubbed his hands gently up and down her arms, then let go. “You tell Hess that if anything happens to you—anything—I'm killing him hard.'”

She smiled faintly. “Ooooh, tough guy.'”

“Sometimes. Look, I didn't ask before—is Shane okay?'”

“Okay? You mean, did they hurt him?'” She shook her head. “No, he looked pretty much in one piece. But he's in a cage, Michael. And they're going to kill him. So no, he's not
okay.'”

The look in his eyes turned a little wild. “That's the only reason I'm letting you go. If I had any choice—'”

“You do,'” she said. “We can all sit here and let him die. Or you can let Eve go on her wild-ass rescue mission and get herself killed. Or you can let sweet, calm, reasonable Claire go do some talking.'”

He shook his head. His long, elegant hands, which looked so at home wrapped around a guitar, closed into fists. “Guess that means there's no choice.'”

“Not really,'” Claire agreed. “I was kind of lying about that choice thing.'”

 

Detective Hess was surprised when she gave him the address. “That's old-lady Day's house,'” he said. “She lives there with her daughter. What do you want with them? Far as I know, they're not involved in any of this.'”

“It's where I need to go,'” Claire said stubbornly. She had no idea where Amelie's house was, but she knew of one door into it. She'd been thinking about ways to explain how you could open a bathroom door and be in a house that might be halfway across town, but all she could think of was folded space, and even the most wild-haired physicists said that was nearly impossible.

But she liked folded space better as an explanation than crazy booga-booga vampire magic.

“You going prepared for trouble?'” he asked. When she didn't answer, he reached into the glove compartment of the car and pulled out a small jewelry-type box. “Here. I always carry spares.'”

She opened it and found a delicate silver cross on a long chain. She silently put it around her neck and dropped it down the neck of her shirt. She already had a backup, one of Eve's handmade wooden ones, but this one felt…real, somehow. “I'll give it back to you,'” she said.

“No need. Like I said, I've got more.'”

“I don't take jewelry from older men.'”

Hess laughed. “You know, I thought you were a mousy little thing when I first saw you, Claire, but you're not, are you? Not underneath.'”

“Oh, I am mousy,'” she said. “All this scares the hell out of me. But I don't know what else to do, sir, except try. Even a mouse bites.'”

Hess nodded, the laughter fading out of his face. “Then I'll try to give you the chance to show some teeth.'”

He drove the half mile or so, navigating dark streets with ease. She saw glimpses of people moving in the dark, pale and quick. The vampires were out in force, he'd said, and he was right. She caught a burning reflection of eyes as the car turned a corner. Vampire eyes reflected light like a cat's. Disturbing.

Hess pulled to a halt in front of the old Victorian-style house. “You want me to come up with you?'” he asked.

“You'd just scare them,'” Claire said. “They know me. Besides, I'm not exactly threatening.'”

“Not until they get to know you,'” Hess said. “Stay out of the alley.'”

She paused, her hand on the door. “Why?'”

“Vampire lives at the end of it. Crazy old bastard. He doesn't come out of there, and neither does anybody who wanders in. So just stay out.'”

She nodded and ducked out into the dark. Outside, the Morganville shadows had a character all their own. A neighborhood that had been a little shabby in the daytime was transformed into a freak-show park at night, gilded by cold silver moonlight. The shadows looked like holes in the world; they were so black. Claire looked at the house, and felt its
presence
. It was like the Glass House, all right. It had some kind of living soul, only where the Glass House seemed mildly interested in the creatures scuttling around inside of it, this place…she wasn't sure it even liked what was going on.

She shuddered, opened the picket gate, and hurried up to knock on the door. She kept knocking, frantic, until a voice shouted through the wood, “Who the hell's that?'”

“Claire! Claire Danvers, I was here, you remember? You gave me some lemonade?'” No answer. “Please, ma'am, please let me in. I need to use your bathroom!'”

“You
what
? Girl, you better step off my gramma's porch!'”

“Please!'” Claire knew she sounded desperate, but then…she
was
desperate. Not to mention just one step shy of crazy.
“Please, ma'am, don't leave me out here in the dark!'”

That was only a little bit of acting, frankly, because the dark kept getting heavier and closer around her, and she couldn't stop thinking about the alley, the crazy vampire hiding at the end like some giant tarantula waiting to jump—

She nearly screamed as the door was suddenly opened, and a hand closed around her arm.

“Oh, for God's sake, get in!'” snapped Lisa. She looked irritated, tired, and rumpled; Claire had clearly rattled her right out of bed. She was wearing pink satin pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers, which didn't make her look any less pissed off. She yanked, Claire stumbled forward across the threshold, and Lisa slammed and multiply locked the door behind her.

Then she turned, crossed her arms, and frowned at Claire. It was a formidable frown, but the pink pj's and bunny slippers undermined it.

“What the
hell
are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?'” Lisa demanded. Claire took a deep breath, opened her mouth…and didn't have to say anything.

Because Gramma was standing in the hallway entrance, and with her was Amelie.

The contrast couldn't have been more striking. Amelie looked every inch the glorious, perfect ice queen, from her carefully braided and coiled hair to her unlined face to the sleek white dress she wore—she'd changed from the black suit she'd worn to the Elders' Council building. She looked like one of those Greek statues made out of marble. Next to her, Gramma seemed ancient, exhausted, and breakable.

“The visitor is here for me,'” Amelie said calmly. “I've been expecting her. I do thank you, Katherine, for your kindness.'”

Who's Katherine?
Claire looked around, and realized after a few seconds that it had to be Gramma. Funny, she couldn't imagine Gramma ever having had a first name, or being young; Lisa looked kind of thrown by it, too.

“And I appreciate your vigilance, Lisa, but your caution is unnecessary,'” Amelie continued. “Please return to your—'” For a second, Amelie hesitated, and Claire couldn't imagine why until she saw that the vampire's gaze was fixed on the sight of Lisa's bunny shoes. It was only a second, a little crack in the marble, but Amelie's eyes widened just a bit, and her mouth curved.
She has a sense of humor.
That, more than anything else, made Claire feel lost. How could vampires have a sense of humor? How exactly was that fair?

Amelie recovered her poise. “You may return to your sleep,'” she said, and bowed her head gracefully to Lisa and her gramma. “Claire. If you would attend me.'”

She didn't wait to see if Claire would, or explain what “attend me'” meant; she just turned and glided down the hallway. Claire exchanged a look with Lisa—this time, Lisa looked worried, not angry—and hurried after Amelie's retreating figure.

Amelie opened the bathroom door and stepped through into the same study Claire had visited before, only now it was night, and a fire was roaring in the enormous hearth to warm the chilly room. The walls were thick stone, and looked very old. The tapestries looked old, too—faded, tattered, but still keeping a sense of magnificence, somehow. The place looked way spookier by firelight. If there were electric lights, they weren't on. Not even the books crowding the shelves made the place warm.

Amelie crossed to a chair near the hearth and gracefully motioned Claire to one across from her. “You may sit,'” she said. “But be warned, Claire, what I expect you want from me is not in my power to grant.'”

Claire settled carefully, not daring to relax. “You know why I'm here.'”

“I'd be a fool if I thought it was any reason other than young Shane,'” Amelie said, and smiled very sadly. “I can recognize loyalty when I see it. It shines strongly from you both, which is one reason I have trusted you so much on insignificant acquaintance.'” She lost her smile, and her pale eyes turned to frost again. “And that is why I cannot forgive what Shane has done. He broke faith with me, Claire, and that is intolerable. Morganville is founded on trust. Without it, we have nothing but despair and death.'”

“But
he didn't do anything
!'” Claire knew she sounded like a whiny little girl, but she didn't know what else to do. It was that or cry, and she didn't want to cry. She had the feeling she'd be doing plenty of that, no matter what. “He didn't kill Brandon. He tried to save him. You can't punish him for being in the wrong place!'”

“We have no one's word of that save Shane's. And make no mistake, child, I know why Shane returned to Morganville in the first place. It is regrettable that his sister was so brutally and unnecessarily killed; we tried to make amends with his family, as is custom. We even allowed them to leave Morganville, which you understand is
not
common, in hopes that Shane and his parents might heal their grief in less…difficult surroundings. But it was not possible. And his mother broke through the block surrounding her memories.'”

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was too big, and too high up; her toes barely touched the ground. She gripped the arms firmly, tried to remind herself that she was strong and courageous, that she
had
to be, for Shane. “Did you kill her? Shane's mother?'” she asked, as bluntly as she could. It still sounded timid, but at least she'd gotten the question out.

For a second she thought Amelie wasn't going to answer her, but then the vampire looked away, toward the fire. Her eyes looked orange in its glow, with dots of reflective yellow in the center. She shrugged, a gesture so small, Claire barely even saw it. “I have not lifted a hand against a human in hundreds of years, little Claire. But that is not what you ask, is it? Am I responsible for his mother's death? In a larger sense, I am responsible for anything that is done in Morganville, or even beyond its borders if it relates to vampires. But I think you ask if I gave an explicit order.'”

Claire nodded. Her neck felt stiff, and her hands would have been shaking if they hadn't been grabbing the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles cracked.

“Yes,'” Amelie said, and turned her head back to meet Claire's eyes. She looked cool, merciless, and absolutely without conscience. “Of course I did. Shane's mother was one of the rare cases who, by focusing on a single event in their past, are able to overcome the psychic block that is placed on them when they depart this place. She remembered her daughter's death, and from that, she remembered other things. Dangerous things. As soon as we became aware this was happening, it was brought to my attention, and I gave the order to kill her. It was to be done quickly and without pain, and it was a mercy, Claire. Shane's mother had been in so much pain for so long, do you understand? She was damaged, and some damages cannot be healed.'”