Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(112)

Through the metal grate on the ground.

Claire heard Myrnin’s scream of raw pain and fury, and she had to press both hands to her mouth to keep quiet. There was a splashing sound, and scraping, as if he were clawing his way up from a great distance below.

“He won’t get far,” Naomi said. “No vampire’s strong enough to make it all that way to the top before sunrise, and the silver in the grate will keep him in. If he falls, the silver in the water will finish him. Well done, Oliver. Now go back to Amelie. Our little chess pawns are almost all in place. We’ll play our last moves soon.”

“Yes,” he said, “my queen.”

“Your white queen,” Naomi said, and laughed. “I like the sound of that. You’re a useful blunt instrument, Oliver. I shall keep you in my court when I take my rightful place.”

“Amelie,” he said, and it seemed it was hard for him to get the words out. “What of Amelie?”

“What about her?” Naomi asked. She was staring down through the grate, to where she’d just condemned Myrnin to death. “A wise ruler never leaves a rival at her back. Though I might consider a merciful exile, if you beg hard enough on her behalf. Would you, Oliver? Beg?”

He said nothing. He stood with his hands locked behind his back, and from what Claire could see of him, his face was hard as stone and his eyes flaring red.

“Obviously not,” Naomi said. “Your personal dignity was always more important to you than mere emotion, wasn’t it? Very well.” She leaned over the grate. “Myrnin? I leave you to your gods.” She put her fingers to her mouth and blew him a delicate little kiss, and then she and Oliver turned away, drifting soundlessly through the deserted graveyard, then up and onto the wall.

Then Naomi turned and looked right at Claire’s hiding place, and smiled. “Did you really think I wouldn’t see that ridiculous car, or sense your presence? Since your friend Eve is indisposed, I assumed it would be you rushing to the rescue,” she said. “I think our little friend has outlived her usefulness after all, though it would have been a nice finishing move to use her to plant a dagger in Amelie’s back. Michael. Take her off the board.”

Claire gasped, because Michael jumped up on the wall next to Naomi, scanned the graveyard, and fixed his gaze right where she was.

Naomi nodded. “Adieu, Claire. It’s too bad there will be no place for you in the Morganville we are to create.”

She left.

And then Michael jumped down and came at her.

Claire ran.


Michael wasn’t even trying hard, Claire thought; there was no real reason he couldn’t catch her within ten feet. He was very, very fast, and she wasn’t; the heavy leather coat she’d decided to wear was weighing her down, and so was the weapons bag. She wanted to leave it, but she didn’t dare.

Are you really going to try to kill him? she asked herself, and didn’t have any idea of the answer. She tripped over a fallen, tilted grave marker and went flying, rolled, and the canvas bag ripped open on a jagged piece of broken marble. The fabric was tough, but it had weakened along the zipper, and things spilled out through the gap…. The first one she laid hands on was a plastic Baggie full of random silver chain links, scavenged from old jewelry Eve had bought through the Internet. It made a nice, heavy handful as Claire opened it, and as she stumbled to her feet, she twisted and threw it at Michael.

The silver hit him, and where it struck skin, she saw sparks; it was more surprising than painful, but it slowed him down, giving her a moment to sort through her other available choices. She passed over the silver nitrate; she didn’t want to hurt him—she really didn’t.

Her hands closed on Shane’s silver-tipped baseball bat, which was the biggest thing in the canvas bag, and she yanked it out.

She didn’t even have time to prepare a decent swing as Michael lunged forward, but she did manage to get the coated end of the wood into place so that his momentum took him chest-first into it; the silver scorched him hard, and he veered off with a cry of pain.

Then it was a temporary standoff as Claire set her feet and took up a batter’s stance, ready and watching as he paced beyond her reach.

“Michael?”

He didn’t answer. His face looked as immobile and frozen as that of the marble angel behind him.

“Michael, please don’t do this. I know this isn’t your fault; Naomi’s using you. I don’t want to hurt you. I swear….”

“Good,” he said. “That makes it easy.”

“But I will!” she finished, and took a swing at his knees as he came into reach. He jumped over the bat, landed lightly, and sprang for her with hands outstretched.

Something hit him in the neck with a soft, coughing hiss, and Michael landed off-balance, staggered, and shook his head in confusion. There was something sticking out of his neck.

A dart.

He pulled it out, looked at it in confusion, and turned away from Claire, toward the wall…and sitting on top of it, with a heavy rifle in his hands, was Shane Collins.

“Sorry, man,” Shane said. He kicked free and dropped off the wall, flexing his knees and loading another dart into the tranquilizer gun. He aimed as he walked toward them. “You’re going to feel real damn bad for a while. Don’t make me hit you again. I’m not sure it won’t kill you.”