black water. “Pardon. Well, that was distressing…. Oh no…”
He collapsed back on the ground, as if too weak to rise, and shut his eyes tight. His whole body was shaking and twitching, and it went on for a horribly long time. She didn’t know what to do for him, except put her hand on his shoulder. Beneath the slimy clothes, she could feel his muscles locked and straining as if he were having an epileptic seizure.
He finally relaxed and took in a deep, slow breath before he opened his eyes and said, “We have to go, Claire. Quickly.”
“Where?” she asked, because she was cold and scared and couldn’t think of any place, any place at all, that might be safe now.
“To safety,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”
“But you—you’re not well enough to—”
Before she could finish, he was off stalking barefoot through the weeds toward the exit. He tore the chain off the fence with one hard pull and shoved the gates open with a rusted shriek.
Then he looked back with a red glow in his eyes and said, “Bring Michael. None of this is his fault. I won’t allow him to suffer for it.”
Shane hadn’t moved during all of this, but now he bent down and pulled the tranquilizer dart out of Michael’s neck. “It’s going to be a few minutes before he’s well enough to stand up.”
“Then drag him,” Myrnin said. “Unless you’d like to enjoy the comfort of my little oubliette. I’m sure Naomi will be sending Pennyfeather in a moment to be certain all of us are dead, and I’d rather not be here to oblige her.
He clapped his hands and disappeared beyond the gates, and in a moment, Claire heard Eve’s car start up with a roar.
She went back to Shane and took one of Michael’s arms as he grabbed the other. Their eyes met, briefly.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me, too.”
But she wasn’t sure if they were talking about the same things at all.
EIGHTEEN
CLAIRE
It took them a while to drag Michael’s heavy, unresponsive body over the uneven ground and out to the hearse. Myrnin stuck his head out of the passenger window of the hearse to helpfully suggest that Michael could be dumped down the same hole he’d just crawled out of. Shane suggested that Myrnin bite him, hard. Myrnin declined.
And Claire drove, leaving Shane with Michael, by his own request. She was a little anxious about that; Shane held grudges, and it was going to be hard for him to see past what Michael had done to them, but it was at least a truce for now. Mortal danger trumped emotional pain. Temporarily.
Myrnin said, “Michael seems to be under Naomi’s spell, just as Oliver and Pennyfeather must be. I have no idea how many she’s suborned, but it’s too bad she didn’t try it on me.” He smiled, and his expression was bleak and dark, and it wasn’t only the streaks of black water staining his face. “Greater vampires have tried, including her black-hearted father. I believe my blood made Bishop sick for a month.”
“Where should we go?” she asked. He sighed.
“I suppose we really have no choice,” he said. “Retreating to the Glass House will simply give them an easy point to attack, and we cannot defend the place, not from a concerted attack. So we will have to take the fight to them.”
“Where?”
He shrugged wearily. “To Amelie herself. Ultimately, she is Naomi’s target. Oliver’s seduction of her—or at least, part of it—was Naomi’s effort to weaken her, to stir up trouble against her. She must be warned of what’s to come or she’ll be taken unawares, by those she trusts.”
“How the hell are we supposed to get into Founder’s Square?” Claire asked. “Do you have some secret passage or something?”
“They’re all shut up, I’m afraid,” Myrnin said. “Oh, and I’m ruining your friend’s lovely upholstery. Sorry about the mess. Imagine if they’d left me down there for months. That did happen, once. I was dumped into a cell no larger than a doghouse for half a year. All they did was throw down the occasional chicken or hog…disgusting. I seem to have lost my slippers.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“I expect we’re going to have to rely on Michael,” Myrnin said, switching suddenly back to the original question. “The boy has an automatic entrance to Amelie’s presence, as her offspring. The difficulty is that he’s hardly in a position to voluntarily assist us, and by the way, Shame, why did you shoot him?”
“It’s Shane, and if you call me that again, you’ll be getting the next dart.”
“The question still stands.”
“Because he was going after Claire. Again.” Shane didn’t look at her, not even a glance in the rearview mirror; Claire knew, because she was waiting for it—for some sign that his anger was starting to wear off.
“Again?” Myrnin asked, and his eyebrows rose. “My. Things change so quickly with you young people. Claire, are you enemies now with Michael?”
“Not exactly,” she said. Shane cut her off.
“Last time he just tongue-kissed her,” Shane said. “This time it looked a little more extreme than that. So I didn’t take the chance of being wrong.”
That earned her a sharp, interested look from Myrnin. “Well. We’ll have to have the full story, then.”
“We really don’t,” she said. “Something’s wrong with Michael, all right. And I saw Naomi, with Oliver. They’re working together.”
“That—is very, very unpleasant,” Myrnin said. He frowned and pulled at a stray thread on his shirt, threatening to unravel an entire piece of it. “Naomi was killed in the attack on the draug, or so it was said. I had my doubts. It seemed too convenient, considering that Naomi had begun working to undermine Amelie. I imagine she wanted to take her place even then, but Amelie’s not someone who fails to respond to a challenge.”
“You mean Amelie had Naomi killed?”
“Possibly. Or possibly Oliver did, to protect her. But if so, he must have had a change of heart, since, or Naomi secured control of him. I’ve never trusted the Roundhead, myself. A man of low character and high ambition. Naomi wouldn’t be above using him to achieve her dreams of ruling.”
“Then we have to tell Amelie he’s stabbing her in the back.” Claire took a deep breath. “
“I can’t,” he said. “Look at me. I’m in no fit state to—”
“You’re the official bearer of bad news,” Shane said, and pointed the rifle at Myrnin. “End of discussion.”
“Yes,” Myrnin said instantly. “Of course. No problem at all.”
There was quite a lot of animated debate about how to make it into the guarded area around Founder’s Square. In the end, they propped Michael up in the passenger seat, next to Myrnin, who held him upright with a friendly arm around his shoulders; when Claire rolled down the passenger window, the Founder’s Square vampire guard took one look inside, saw Michael and Myrnin, and nodded them through without any questions. “Amazing,” Myrnin said, squeezing rank water out of his hair. “You’d think someone might notice my general appearance.”
“Funny, I’d think you’d notice that it’s not that different from how you usually look,” Shane said. He hadn’t lowered the rifle; he sat braced in the back, aiming it generally in Myrnin’s direction.
“Really? I’ll have to work on that, clearly. Tell me, are you really so angry at Claire that you’re willing to fire that weapon in an enclosed vehicle, with a distinct chance of hitting her?”
“I’m not angry,” Shane said. “I’m careful.” That, Claire noticed, didn’t really answer the question at all.
It did shut Myrnin up for a while, at least until they’d parked the hearse in the underground lot of Founder’s
