Bitter Blood

had taken on a softer note, with something almost tentative about it. “As to Oliver, I will be seen as weak if I forgive him as well as Naomi. He was my most visible adversary, and the most visible knife at my back. So he must go. He is exiled from Morganville, until such time as I decide he may return.”

Oliver opened his eyes and turned his head. Amelie’s gaze fell on him, and for a moment, there was something so painful between them, it made Claire want to look away. It was a kind of desperate, angry longing she knew all too well.

And then Oliver said, “Yes, my liege.” And he closed his eyes. “As you wish. I accept your punishment.”

“You’re all dismissed,” Amelie said. “Oliver, you may gather your things. You’ll leave tomorrow.”

She went back into her office.

And…that was it. It felt oddly empty to Claire, where there should have been some sense of…of triumph. Of something. But she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. She just knew that she had to take control of her life, now, or it would never happen.

Michael stopped next to Claire and said, “So this is where I tell you how sorry I am. So, so sorry. Believe me, I—I can’t explain.”

“You don’t need to,” she said. “I was controlled by Bishop; I know how it felt.”

Michael sighed and shook his head. “Dammit. It’s not—I know you’ve got some issues with Shane, and that’s on me, not on you. I’m sorry. Let me fix things, if I can.”

She wasn’t sure that was remotely possible, but she smiled at him. “Thanks,” she said. It was the best she could manage. “But it’s my life, Michael.”

“I know,” he said. “I—I just don’t know what we are going to do without you.”

“You and Eve? You’ll be fine. You love her; everybody can see that now. I think you’d even give her up, if she asked you to, but not if they ask it. That’s real love, I guess.” On impulse, she stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. He flinched. So did she, a little. “I’ll be back. But I need—I need to have my own life for a while. Out there. Away. You know?”

He did; she saw it in his smile. “That’s what Eve and I were trying to explain to you guys,” he said. “Sometimes you just…need that. To be sure who you really are.” His smile faded. “You didn’t ask for Shane to go with you.”

“I didn’t,” she agreed, and walked away.

Shane was waiting at the hearse. He still wasn’t looking directly at her, or for that matter at Michael, as the two of them approached. He leaned against the side, arms folded, and said, “Shotgun.”

“Sure,” Michael said. “I’ll drive. Shane—”

Shane held out a palm to stop him. “Not now,” he said. “I’m not ready for any apologies. You fix it with Eve, then talk to me.”

Michael nodded. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear, obviously, but it was the best he could have hoped for, really. We won, she thought. Why didn’t it feel any better?

“Sorry,” Shane said. He seemed flushed and awkward, suddenly, as she headed for the back of the hearse. “I—look, you should take the front and—”

“You called shotgun,” she said. “It’s okay.”

He stared after her, clearly trying to think what to say, and failing. For that matter, she wasn’t sure, either.

The drive home was weirdly silent.

Miranda met them at the door, face alight. Jenna was standing behind her, looking almost as proud. “You’re okay,” she said. “I knew you were going to need our help.”

“Actually,” Jenna said, “that was me. I had a vision of you locked in that cage, and I didn’t know what to do.”

“I did,” Miranda said. “Once I stopped being afraid of the others and really tried to talk to them, it was easier. I still have to be careful around them, but with Jenna holding on, they can’t feed on me as they could before. She can help me get out of the house. It’s perfect.”

Jenna didn’t seem to think so, but for the moment, at least she nodded.

“How’s Eve?” Michael asked. Miranda’s smile faded.

“She’s awake,” she said. “She’s waiting on the couch. We told her what happened.”

“Thanks. You saved our lives.” Claire hugged Miranda, then followed her into the living room. Eve was sitting up on the couch, and already her bruises were loads better; the ice packs on the floor were probably part of that.

She was watching Michael with a fragile kind of hope in her eyes.

He was a few steps away, as if he didn’t dare make a move. Shane came to a halt behind him and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Claire knew that pose; it was his bodyguard look. He was, at the moment, guarding Eve, from Michael.

But Michael didn’t try to come closer.

“I hurt you,” he said. “I never wanted it, but that happened. I could tell you I didn’t mean it, and that it wasn’t me, and that’s true, but it was me, and I know you can’t forget it. I—” He spread his hands wide. “I hate myself, Eve. That’s all I can say. I hate myself. And if you want me to go, I’ll go. I’ll do anything. Anything.”

There were tears glittering in her eyes. “Miranda told me,” she said. “About Naomi. About her biting you. That you didn’t have a choice in what you did. But it felt real. You know?”

“I know,” he said. “It felt real to me, too. And it scared the hell out of me.”

“Don’t ever do it again.”

He smiled. “I won’t,” he said. “I love you, Mrs. Glass.”

She opened her arms, and he hugged her, as carefully as if she were a fragile piece of crystal.

Shane cleared his throat. “Um, you should know that Amelie tried to make him give you up,” he said. “Because Michael’s probably not going to tell you that. And he refused. So now he’s on her bad side, again.”

“Oh, baby,” Eve said, and drew back to look at Michael’s face. “How bad?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

And Eve’s smile was full of delight as she laid her head on his shoulder. Claire met Eve’s eyes and got a very small smile. It was a little thing, but it was a start.

“I love you, too, Eve,” Claire said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hush up,” Eve said. “Who wouldn’t want to kiss him? Forgiven and forgotten.”

That was more charity than Claire thought she could ever earn. Then Michael whispered something to Eve that clearly wasn’t meant to be overheard, and the sense of intruding on something so precious and private was more than she could take.

Shane must have felt it, too; he pushed off the wall and went up the stairs toward his room. Claire hesitated, then headed that way.

“Hey.” It was Michael’s voice, soft and a little rough, and she glanced over at him as he untangled just a bit from Eve. “That thing, the one you were working on for Myrnin. There’s something to it. I felt it. I thought you should know.”

She was—surprised, she guessed, and a little elated. “Thanks,” she said. The thing was sitting like a particularly large engine part on the dining room table, and she went back, retrieved it, and wondered, again, what exactly it would be able to do if she could really, truly make it work.

Something wonderful, maybe.

Or something awful.

She carted it upstairs, and at the hallway, she hesitated. All the doors were shut, including Shane’s. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and began walking in that direction.

It felt a bit like going to her own funeral.

Shane’s door was shut. She knocked and got silence for an answer. He doesn’t want to talk about it, she thought, and even though she’d wanted to keep him at a distance for now, to let him understand how badly he’d hurt her when he’d failed to trust her…it ached.

So she went to her room, feeling lost and alone. She left the lights off. The exhaustion, the chill, the despair, were suddenly…too much. She just wanted to crawl into bed and cry until she died. Tomorrow, she’d have to think