Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(117)

“Great,” Shane said. Claire sensed he would have been pacing, if there had been room, but the steel cage in Founder’s Square was just big enough to hold her, Myrnin, and the limp bodies of Oliver and Amelie without any room left over. “Just great. I’m still going to die in this cage, after everything that’s happened. That’s just perfect.”

“Well,” Myrnin said, and shoved Oliver’s limp body over to stretch out his long, dirty legs, “at least we’re dying in royal company. That’s something.” He reached out to pull the stake out of Amelie’s chest, but as he did, a thin silver blade poked through the bars and cut his hand. He yelped and pulled back.

Hannah was standing outside the bars, watching them with calm concentration. “Don’t try it,” she said. “No use. You leave the stakes where they are.”

“Worried?” Myrnin sucked at the cut on his hand, and spat flecks of silver that burned on the floor. “You should be, Hannah. If you think supporting Naomi will win your people freedom, you’re a fool. She’s worse than Oliver ever thought of being, because I think she honestly believes that what she is doing is for the best—well, for her best, in any case.” He cocked his head, staring at her, and then suddenly lunged at the bags, wrapping his hands around them. She didn’t flinch, though she took a tighter grip on the knife she held. “She’s Bishop’s daughter. His spiritual child as well as his bloodline, with all his gifts. She believes humans are her property, and the world is her larder. Don’t be a fool. You can’t believe that Claire and Shane should be in here with us, even if you hate vampires so desperately. What has either of them done to deserve it?”

She didn’t answer. Myrnin waited, then nodded, as if she’d done exactly what he expected. “I see,” he said, and his voice was unexpectedly gentle. “I am well aware how being under such control feels, my dear. All will be well.”

“How?” Hannah asked. She sounded indifferent, but Claire thought she heard something new in her voice: pain.

He shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “But I’m quite certain that it’s unfolding even now.”

It was the emphasis he put on the last two words that made Claire realize that by lunging forward, and drawing Hannah’s full attention, he’d left Amelie partially obscured. Shane was the closest to the fallen vampire. Claire frantically gestured to the wooden stake in her heart, and Shane didn’t hesitate. He pulled it out—but not all the way out. Just enough, Claire thought, to clear her heart.

Amelie didn’t move. At this point, she probably couldn’t.

If he’d done it right, though, maybe she would, when she was ready.

Founder’s Square was as busy as a mall at Christmas. The big braziers surrounding the center of the square were being lit, bringing a barbaric splendor to the deep night; vampires were gathering, some looking sleepy and confused, some excited, some outright worried. There were humans, too—a group of them, herded together nearby. Claire recognized several of them, including the new mayor, Flora Ramos, and—incredibly—Gramma Day. One of them was complaining loudly. It was Monica Morrell. She certainly hadn’t been rousted out of bed like the others; she was dressed to party…. Well, that might not be true. Claire wasn’t sure she didn’t wear tube dresses to bed.

Myrnin sank back from the bars and crossed his arms, glancing at Shane. “Well done,” he said in an undertone. “Clever boy, taking it out only part of the way. I take back at least one bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

“What’s happening?” Claire asked.

“Naomi prepares to declare her primacy,” he said. “She’ll have herself crowned, and then she’ll spill blood—”

“Ours,” Shane said.

“Oh no, not at all. It’s a very old custom, one even Bishop respected. She’ll kill the most influential residents of Morganville…Founder families, important business leaders, politicians…. I suppose Monica’s there to represent her family; more’s the pity for their memories.”

“It’s about more than ceremony,” Shane said. “Most of those guys are on Captain Obvious’s war council. I saw them. And Gramma Day is related to Hannah.”

“Really?” Myrnin raised his eyebrows. “Interesting indeed. She’s honoring the old customs and ensuring her own long-term survival. Masterful. Worthy of her father, in his better days.”

“Could you maybe not admire the evil enemy quite so much, and focus more on how we’re going to get out of this?” Claire asked. “Because I’m pretty sure we’re going to die, too.”

“Oh yes. But you and I are merely collateral damage; this is a pyre for Amelie. And I see they’ve made improvements. See the grates underneath us? Natural gas. It’s all very fuel efficient, not like the old days with all the logs….”

“Myrnin!”

He went suddenly very cool and sensible. “Bite marks,” he said. “Michael’s got one on his neck. So does Hannah Moses. So, in fact, does Oliver. All a very distinctive bite distance. It takes a delicate mouth to make such marks, such as, say—” He pointed a finger, and Claire followed the line of it to Naomi, who was standing draped in silver and white a few feet away. “She’s got the gift, you see. Not every vampire can compel like that. Amelie can, though she never does, and Naomi can—both of them inherited that trait from their vampire father, Bishop. So whatever’s been done, you can rightly assume she’s the one pulling the strings, and that no one had any choice in what’s been done.”