“I—” Miranda sighed. “Good luck. I’ll wait for you to come back, and if you’re not back before sunrise, I’ll call…somebody. Amelie. I’ll call Amelie.”
“Don’t do that,” Claire said. “Because it might be Amelie. Okay?”
“But—”
Claire didn’t give her time to argue.
The hearse drove differently from any other car she’d tried in her very limited driving experience…. It was heavy, hard to manage, and had terrible stopping distance, as she found when she rolled through a stop light while pumping the brakes. Luckily, no Morganville police cruisers caught sight of her. She passed some custom-tinted vampire cars. No one tried to stop her.
Claire drove the mile, give or take, out to the cemetery, which brushed the limits of the Morganville township. The place was surrounded by a thick stone wall and had heavy wrought-iron gates; the lightning-struck dead white tree loomed high, all spiky branches and intimidating angles. The gates were locked, of course. Claire considered ramming them, but she knew Eve would never forgive her for it, so she strapped the canvas bag over her shoulders, on top of her backpack, and climbed. The iron was cold and slick under her fingers, but there were plenty of crossbars, and she managed to make it to the top, then slipped down the other side.
Morganville Cemetery was an old one, back to pioneer days, full of time-sanded headstones that were hardly readable anymore, thanks to the constant wind. What grass there was grew fitfully. Nobody visited here with any reliability; the newer cemetery, Redeemer, was closer to the center of town, and that was where present-day burials were done. This was mostly just here for historical value.
It wasn’t a very likely spot for vampires to hang out, at least; there hadn’t been anyone with a pulse visiting the place in years. But it was still plenty creepy, all right—shadows like black knives across the ground, harsh and sharp in the moonlight. Tree branches rattled like dry bones.
Claire was headed for the tree when she saw the vampires appear on top of the wall and drop easily down, landing without breaking their stride. There were two of them, moving together. One had pale hair; the other had graying locks.
Amelie and Oliver?
She dropped to the ground behind a large carved angel and hoped that it would be enough to hide her. She also hoped she hadn’t landed on one of the huge fire ant mounds that dotted the grounds; if she had, this was going to be a very short and unpleasant adventure. If the fire ants didn’t bite her into a coma, the vampires would.
They passed fairly close to where she was hiding, and luck was with her; the wind had shifted, carrying her human scent away from them. And it was not Amelie with the pale hair shifting in the breeze, Claire realized, as she caught sight of the girl’s face, her smile, her dimples.
That was Naomi. Walking with Oliver. But Naomi was supposed to be dead. Of course, Claire thought in horror. Bishop’s other daughter. She might have the same powers, too. If Naomi and Oliver were in it together, Naomi could have turned Michael against them.
And Amelie didn’t know.
The two of them strolled through the weeds, through tombstones and tumbleweeds, and came to a halt under the white tree. Oliver dragged a fallen piece of marble away, and Claire heard it grate on metal.
She was also close enough to hear the voices, and she heard Oliver say, “No need to go down after him. Between this and the morning sun, he’s finished.” He reached into his pocket and came out with a bottle Claire recognized—one of the weapons that Shane had first developed. Then he shared it with Captain Obvious and his crew. And then with the vampires, to use against the draug…It was silver nitrate. Oliver had on gloves, but he still handled the bottle carefully as he opened the top, then poured it into the ground—no, not into the ground.
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.