Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(50)

“Foul his name again and we’re finished,” I interrupted. I meant it, and it dripped from every syllable I spoke.

Myrnin sat still for a moment, staring into my eyes, and then he nodded. “Then we are indeed,” he said. “I just had to be certain that you were beyond my hope, and my help. But if he has you tied this close, he will have you do as he wishes. Whomever it hurts.”

“Do you think I am so—so stupid? So utterly weak that I would allow any man to—”

“Not just a man,” Myrnin said. “He swayed a nation to kill its king, once. He persuades. He influences. Perhaps he doesn’t even intend to do so, but it’s in his nature. And while you are more powerful than he by far, once he has your trust, there is no saying what he might be able to accomplish, through you.”

His words left me cold inside, a chill I’d not felt since the moment I’d finally acknowledged the aching need for Oliver’s regard, for his loyalty, for his attention. I had been alone for so long; Michael’s grandfather Sam Glass and I had loved, but save for a few precious times, always carefully, and from afar. Oliver had come at me like a storm, and the fury of it was…cleansing.

But was Myrnin right? Could I be falling victim, as so many had, to Oliver’s deadly charm? Was what I was doing here right, or simply convenient to his ambitions?

I slowly sat down in a chair across from my oldest living friend, the one who—in the end—I trusted more than any still walking the earth, and said, “I know my own mind, Myrnin. I am Amelie. I am the Founder of Morganville, and what I do here, I do for the good of all. You may trust that. You must.”

He had a sadness in his eyes that I could not understand, but then, who ever had understood Myrnin fully? I couldn’t make that claim, and neither could Claire, the girl he trusted so much. And then he stood, and with the ease of thousands of years of experience, he made a graceful, ages-old bow, took my hand in his, and kissed it with the greatest of love and respect.

“Farewell,” he said.

And then he was gone.

I slowly drew my hand back to my chest, frowning, and became aware that I was cradling it, rubbing the spot where his lips had pressed as if they had burned me. Farewell. He’d thrown tantrums many times, threatened to leave, but this—this seemed different.

It was a calm, ordered, and above all sad departure.

“Myrnin?” I said softly into the silence, but it was too late.

Far too late.





NINE





CLAIRE




Shane preceded Claire into the house by a couple of steps as she shut and locked the door behind them; apparently that was a lucky thing, because as she was turning the dead bolt, she heard him say, “Oh, crap,” in a voice that was choked with laughter, and then a startled yelp from Eve, followed by the sound of scrambling and flailing. Shane backed up next to Claire and held her back when she would have moved forward.

“Trust me,” he said. “Wait a second.”

Michael and Eve were in the parlor, the front living area that was so rarely used, except for dropping coats and bags and miscellaneous stuff, and from the hasty whispers and rustles of clothes, Claire quickly figured out exactly why Shane was holding her back.

Oh.

“I guess I should have said, Put your pants on,” Shane said, loudly enough that they could hear. “Alert, there’s a barely legal girl out here.”

“Hey!” Claire swiped a hand at him, which he easily avoided. “What were they doing?”

“What do you think?”

Pink-faced, Eve leaned around the frame of the doorway and said, “Um…hi. You’re early.”

“Nope,” Shane said with merciless good cheer. “It’s sundown. Not a bit early. You got clothes on?”

“Yes!” Eve said. Her cheeks burned brighter. “Of course! And you didn’t see anything anyway.” There was a bit of worry to her voice, though, and Shane made it worse with a big, utterly unsympathetic smile.

“Married people,” he said to Claire. “They’re a menace.”

Eve eased out of the door, zipping up her blouse—it was one of those with a front zip—and cleared her throat. “Right,” she said. “We really need to talk, you guys.”

“You know, my dad sucked at most things, but he did give me the birds and bees Q&A when I was ten, so I’m good,” Shane said. Man, he was enjoying this way too much. “Claire?”

She nodded soberly. “I think I understand the basics.”

Eve, still blushing, rolled her eyes. “I’m serious!”

Michael finally appeared behind her. He was dressed, kind of; his shirt was unbuttoned, though he was doing it up as quickly as he could. “Eve’s right,” he said, and he wasn’t kidding at all. “We need to talk, guys.”

“No, we don’t,” Shane said. “Just text me or something next time. We could go grab a burger or a movie or—”

Michael shook his head and walked inside the parlor. Eve followed him. Shane sent Claire a look that had a little bit of alarm in it, and finally shrugged. “Guess we’re talking,” he said. “Whether we want to or not.”

Michael and Eve hadn’t taken seats, when the two of them came in; they were standing with their hands clasped, for solidarity, apparently.