Ghost Town

until she came to a hard, sudden stop against the wall.

Things went fuzzy then, and she felt weirdly hot. She blinked a few times, and Amelie’s face came into focus right above hers. “Who are you?” Amelie said. “What do you know of Sam? Where is he? He can’t hide from me, but I can’t sense him! Who has taken him?”

Claire snapped back to instant clarity. She was hurting, but she didn’t think anything was broken. There was a hot, throbbing spot on her head where she’d hit the wall, though.

All of that faded to the background as she realized what Amelie was asking.

She thought Sam Glass was alive.

She thought Sam was missing.

And she thought Claire knew where he was.

That was bad, but what was worse was that there wasn’t any good answer. What was she going to tell her? Sam’s dead? You buried him? I can show you his grave? How horrible would that be? And besides, Amelie would probably kill her for it, even if she believed it, which she probably wouldn’t. Hannah hadn’t believed she was back from Afghanistan. This would be a lot harder to accept.

“Well?” Amelie whispered, and pressed her fingernails gently into Claire’s neck so she could feel the sting. “I won’t kill you, girl. Not yet, and not quickly. If you’ve done anything to Sam Glass, I will see you destroyed slowly, in the old ways. You can save yourself by telling me where to find him, now.” Her eyes widened. “Was it Oliver who took him?” She let go of Claire and whirled to stalk over to Oliver, who was just opening his eyes as she bent to grab him by the shirtfront and drag him up to a sitting position. The wounds on his throat were almost closed. “You.” Amelie’s voice dripped with scorn and venom. “Is this how you repay my kindness to you? I let you live the last time you challenged me. Did you take Sam Glass to ensure your victory this time?”

Oliver blinked, and Claire was sure she saw bafflement in his eyes, and dawning realization. “She doesn’t remember,” Claire said. “It’s got her, too.”

“So I see,” he murmured, and shut his eyes again. “I can’t help you, Claire. I can’t help either of us.”

Claire’s mind wasn’t blank, exactly; it was whirling with ideas and thoughts and schemes, and the problem was that none of them would save her, and she knew it.

Amelie stared down at Oliver with ice-cold fury and said, “Tell me where he is now, or I will destroy you.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry.”

She was going to kill him. And Oliver wasn’t going to make a move to defend himself . . . or maybe, Claire realized, he couldn’t. She’d weakened him too much already. “The machine’s malfunctioning!” Claire blurted, as Amelie pulled back her hand with claws extended to rip out his throat. “That’s why you’re confused! That’s why you can’t remember where Sam is! You know where he is, Amelie. You know me, too. You gave me a gold bracelet for a while, and now I have a pin. You gave me a pin! You have to believe me!”

That was not what Amelie was expecting her to say, obviously, because she drew back, just a little. She let go of Oliver and came back to Claire, and Amelie’s fingers touched the small gold pin, with the Founder’s symbol, that Claire had on her shirt. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “From whom did you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Claire said. “You gave it to me. How could I know the name of Myrnin’s computer if I wasn’t who I say I am? How would I know any of what I said to you?”

She thought for a second that she’d gambled all the wrong way, because Amelie looked so angry, and so . . . confused. All she had to do was hit her, and Claire was going to come to a very messy, unpleasant end.

“A good question,” Amelie finally said. “How do you know these things? Only Myrnin and I know of the machine. No one else. No one alive. Did he tell you?”

“I work for him,” Claire said again. “I work for you. And there’s something wrong with the machine. That’s what’s wrong with you. Don’t you feel something’s wrong?”

Amelie kept watching her for a moment more, then frowned down at Oliver, who was propped now against the wall, still making no effort to rise. She turned and walked back to a big, polished desk. Claire looked around and realized that she recognized this room; she’d been in it before, but by portal rather than the front door. There were a lot of old books in built-in shelves, and beautiful old furniture, and soft lights. Large windows that were, just now, uncovered to show Founder’s Square at night.

The cage in the middle of the park was lit up like an exhibit. Claire wondered if the boy was still in there, or if somehow he’d managed to take advantage of the confusion and get out. She kind of hoped so. What if Kyle didn’t remember why he was in that cage? How awful would that be?

Claire limped over to a chair and fell into it. Her head was spinning, and she felt like she wanted to throw up, but there was no way she was going to do that on Amelie’s fancy carpeting. Oliver had already bled all over it.

Outside the room, there was sudden silence, and then the door banged open with a crash that sent the lock flying right out of the wood. Michael came inside, dragging the guard along with him. She’d been tied up with what Claire realized were strips torn from her coat, and he’d added a gag. Both of them looked ragged and worn- out.

Amelie stood up, mouth open, and cried, “Sam?” just a second before she realized she was wrong. Not Sam Glass. His grandson. They looked a lot alike, except for their hair color. Sam’s had been more red. “Michael. But you . . . you can’t be . . .” Her expression changed, slowly, and she breathed out, “No. Not possible. You can’t be any get of mine. I would know this. I would remember.” But Claire could tell that she could feel it was true—and that made Amelie even more confused.

A confused Amelie was very dangerous.

Michael dumped the guard in the corner and came to Claire. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Oh. Yeah, her neck was bleeding a little. Not enough to worry about. “I’m fine.” Except for the headache, which was bad, but that wasn’t something she wanted to go into. Michael looked doubtful, but he turned from her to look at Oliver. “What happened to you?”

“Complacency,” Oliver murmured. “I thought she was under my control, and then . . . she changed.”

“She lost her memory,” Claire said. “She forgot you’d taken over. So she attacked you.”

Oliver lifted a weak hand in agreement, and they all looked at Amelie, who was white as a marble statue now. “How can this be? You were . . . I remember you, Michael. You should be younger . . . thinner—”

“And not a vampire,” Michael said. “But I am one. And you made me one.”

“Yes,” Amelie whispered. “I can feel that. But how . . . how can this be true when I don’t—”

“It’s the machine in Myrnin’s lab,” Michael said. “We need your help to stop it before it’s too late. Myrnin doesn’t remember things, either. He won’t let us get close without a fight. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

“I must think,” Amelie said, and sat down as if she’d lost all strength. “Leave me.” She didn’t seem to care about them anymore, any of them. There was a deep, miserable confusion in her eyes, and Claire remembered how the vampire in the diner had snapped. Surely that wouldn’t happen to Amelie.

Not to Amelie.

Claire turned to Oliver. “Help us,” she pleaded. “We need your help. You still remember.”

“For how long?” Oliver asked. He, too, sounded weak and odd. “I saw it overtake her. It will do the same to me, and I’ll be of no use to you then.”

“Convince her to come to Myrnin’s lab,” Michael said. “That’s how you can be of use to us. We need you there. Both of you.”

Amelie looked up sharply. “No one convinces me. Leave now, or I’ll destroy both of you. If there’s action to be taken, I will take it, but you will not stay here and insult my authority by appealing to him.” She pressed a button on her desk, and an alarm began to sound out in the hall. “I must have time to decide what to do.”

Michael pulled Claire out of the chair, grabbed her backpack, and said, “We’re going.”

“Then run,” Amelie said. “Because if my men catch you, I will have them kill you.”

Michael nodded, and practically dragged Claire at a run out of the office.