Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(115)

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 Square. Shane was forced to leave the gun, but he grabbed Claire’s backpack and filled it with a selection of the handiest possible weapons.

“We’re not going to be able to fight our way in, or out again,” Myrnin said. “You might keep that in mind during your packing frenzy.”

“Shut up.” Shane put the backpack over his shoulder, and for the first time, looked at Claire directly. “He’s your responsibility. Keep him from doing anything too crazy.”

“I’ll try,” she said. It was the first real conversation—brief and businesslike as it was—that they’d had in hours, and it made her feel just a tiny bit less awful…until he turned his back on her in the elevator, in preference to watching the numbers flicker until they’d arrived at the right floor. Myrnin led the way, which was a good thing, because the first intersection brought them face-to-face with two of Amelie’s black-uniformed guards.

“We were told you left,” one of them said to Myrnin.

“You were ill-informed, then,” Myrnin said loftily, and drips of filthy water ran down his feet to leave stains on the carpet. “I’m here to see the Founder.”

“Like that?” The guard gave him an up-and-down look, eyebrows raised.

“Would you like me to shower and change before warning her of potential disaster? Because of course one wouldn’t like to deliver that news in a less-than-pristine state.”

The guard accepted that, but then he turned the analysis on Claire and Shane. “And them?”

“With me,” he said. “Entourage. You know.”

“Backpack,” the second guard said to Shane, and gestured. He hesitated. “Now.”

“Oh, give it up. I told you we couldn’t use those anyway,” Myrnin said. “Do it. Quickly. We have little time left, for heaven’s sake.”

The guards were ignoring him now, focused on Shane and the potentially lethal contents of his bag, and as soon as they’d turned away from him, Myrnin reached out, grabbed each of the guards by the side of the head, and knocked them together, hard. Claire shuddered at the sound of bone crunching. Both men dropped to the carpet, twitching.

“Come on,” Myrnin said. “They won’t be down for long. But don’t worry, their brains aren’t complicated enough to be damaged.”

“But—”

“Claire, we do not have time.” He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along at a run, past closed doorways, painted portraits, flickering lights…

And into an open doorway.

Amelie’s assistant rose to her feet in alarm at the sight of them and bared her teeth, and Myrnin bared his in turn. “Announce me,” he said, and then shook his head. “Never mind; I’ll do it myself.”

He lowered his shoulder and ran at the inner door. The lock broke, and the door swung open…

On Amelie, held in Oliver’s arms. Not as a hostage, as Claire originally thought, but in a position that could only be called, ah, intimate. That was one hell of a kiss in progress, and there were fewer clothes than might be strictly formal.

The kiss broke off as Myrnin came to a sliding halt in the remains of the door, with Shane and Claire close behind, and said, “Well, this is awkward. Beg pardon, but I believe Claire has something to tell you.”

Then he shoved her forward as Oliver stepped away from the embrace and began buttoning up his shirt. Amelie glared at Claire, then at Myrnin, then at Shane, as if deciding which of them to kill first.

Myrnin seriously wasn’t going to do anything, Claire realized. He was standing back, watching. She wasn’t sure what he was watching for, but he’d left her deliberately hanging there, wriggling like a worm on a hook.

“Well?” Amelie’s voice was a crack of sound, like a sheet of ice snapping. “What could possibly be so vital that you intrude here on my privacy, like some assassin?” She grabbed Shane by the collar and dragged him close, ripped the backpack from his hands, and shredded it open, spilling weapons across the floor. “You come to use these, then? Are you in league with your father again? I warn you, this time, the cage won’t go unused. You’ll burn for this, you little fool.”