Then she locked the door behind herself and leaned against it as she let me go. I backed off, holding my sore arm, watching her with wary intensity. It was really hard to see her as a threat. She had a certain … delicacy that made her seem vulnerable and breakable.
That probably worked really well for her.
“You’re biting my brother,” I said. “And he says you’re going to turn him vamp. Are you?”
She said nothing. It was as if I hadn’t spoken at all. She swept a gaze over me, head to toe, then back up again. “Of all the clothing you could have chosen.” She sighed. “Why is everything you wear either cast off by some ridiculous mummers’ show, or filled with sharp edges? You could be attractive, in your way. It pains me to see Michael wasting his potential on you.”
“Hey!” I’d expected a lot of comebacks, but not … fashion critique. “Excuse me, Project Runway, but I asked you a question! Are you biting my brother?”
“Jason,” Naomi said thoughtfully, as if she was running the name over in her mind. That could take a while. She was about a gajillion years old. She walked away from the door and over to a beautiful old sofa, something in bone white wood and pale silk that matched the rest of the antiques in the room. The whole place looked like it had been ripped out of some French palace before the guillotine had gotten started—and so did she. I could actually imagine her with those high powdered wigs and giant sideways skirts from the movies. “Jason—ah, the felon.” She shrugged and settled herself on the sofa, gracefully, of course. “He’s of no concern to you.”
“Did you hear the part where he’s my brother?”
“According to Jason, you’ve rarely acted the part of family,” she said, and shook her head a little, sadly. “Abandoning him in his hour of need. Turning your back. Hardly the actions of a devoted older sister.”
I’d been a child, too. Terrified. And Jason had always been the strong, aggressive one, even then, but there was no sense in telling her anything like that. Trying to justify myself made me feel sick. “I’m not talking about the past, I’m talking about what’s going on right now. You’re biting him. Feeding off him. And you’re telling him you’re going to turn him. Are you?”
“Perhaps.” She fussed with the corner of a small crystal vase on the table next to her, and seemed completely fascinated with the sparkle. “One needs allies, and of course servants. Jason has unique qualities that would make him an excellent vampire.”
I laughed a little crazily. “You admit it. Oh my God, you actually think it’s a good idea to give my brother fangs? He is a sociopath, lady. Look it up.”
“I hardly need to,” she said. “One doesn’t survive the centuries by preying on the blood of others if one is vegetarian. Or overly empathetic.” A dimple formed near her mouth; on anybody else, at any other time, it would have been charming and cute. “I assure you, I take no sexual advantage of him. He is, as you would say, not of interest to me.”
“Yeah, yeah, vampire lesbian chic, I get it.”
“Actually,” she said, and now I got her full attention, “I have no interest in either sex, beyond what use they may be. Romantic love is an illusion, invented by poets and purchased by fools. I told you, and Michael, what was necessary at the time to make you understand that my goal was not to seduce him, only to … help.”
“Help.” My voice had gone flat and hard now, and I was starting to calculate my chances of getting out of this room alive. She was explaining too much. That meant she wanted me to know how clever she was. Never a good sign for the long-term survival of the listener. “Why the hell did you want to help us at all? Considering how Michael was wasting his potential and everything.”
“Because it opposed my sister’s wishes, of course. It showed me in a reasonable light. And I gained some supporters that I would not have otherwise had. None of this is about your great love affair, foolish girl. Marriages never are. They are alliances, politics, power. They are the politest form of war. If Michael chooses to squander his own power, then I will at least take advantage of the situation.” Naomi smiled. It still looked lovely and tentative and charming, but I was starting to realize that she just had much better camouflage than the others. Underneath, she was still all teeth and hunger and cold, cold ambition. “Now. Your brother. He does have some wild tendencies, but those can be controlled with a firm hand. I’ve had a niais with spirit before.”
“A what?”
“Niais? The vulgar call it an eyas. A young hawk. A fledgling.” She rolled her eyes at my incomprehension this time. “A newborn vampire. Do they teach you nothing of your betters here?”
The insult to Morganville’s educational system didn’t faze me, but the implication that she was my superior did. “You keep your fangs off him from now on,” I told her. “Nobody’s allowed to turn a human without authorization. There are laws against it.”
“Oh, yes, laws.” Naomi dismissed that with a graceful wave of her hand. “Old and outdated, these laws of Amelie’s. My sister always tried to put leashes on us, but we are not dogs, dear one, we are wolves. And Amelie is hardly in a position to enforce her laws now. Oliver won’t care; he’ll be busy turning his own small army. It will come to battle eventually. He’s no king, as I just told him. He has no God-given right to rule.”
“And you do?” I crossed my arms. “The Magic 8 Ball says doubtful.”
She gave me a blank look, which proved she was not as cool as Oliver; that was tragic. He at least knew what a Magic 8 Ball was. But her confusion didn’t last long. Not long enough, for sure. “You want your brother? Very well. I can trade him back to you, Eve. He would be a formidable ally, but I am prepared to sacrifice, provided you help me in something most critical.”
I didn’t trust her. Not at all. But Jason deserved the attempt from me, didn’t he? “What exactly would I be helping with?”
“Research,” she said. “Only research. And I promise you, it is research that Oliver needs as well. Your friend Claire means something to Magnus; the draug target her, and I wish to know why, and how it can be of use to us. You must help me discover it.”
“But—” That felt uncomfortably like betraying Claire, somehow, and yet it was also something I knew Claire was wondering about herself. She could see the head draug, Magnus; nobody else seemed to be able to unless he wanted it. It was a good question, and even Claire wanted the answers. Win/win.
Unless there were traps I couldn’t see. And there probably were. “Okay,” I finally said, reluctantly. “I help you find out why Claire can see Magnus, and you back off my brother and promise not to turn him. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she said, and smiled. There was that dimple again. “May I send for tea?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CLAIRE
“Just tell me,” Claire said to Shane. She was getting annoyed with him just now; he’d been silent ever since they’d settled the matter of examining the map, determining safe routes, and discussing transportation for the latest mission to Morganville High School.
And, of course, going anywhere with Myrnin, which had been a lively, interesting discussion that had ended with Michael saying that he was coming along and if Myrnin tried anything he’d stake him with silver.
There was absolutely no question that Michael meant it. Even Myrnin figured that out.
“Tell you what?” Shane asked. They were sitting in the backseat of the car, and Michael was driving, which was a huge improvement over the prospect of Myrnin doing it; his modern-vehicle-piloting skills were—to put it mildly—tremendously bad. They were driving a standard-issue black vampire sedan, with tinted windows, although as best she could tell, it was gloomy and cloudy outside. Myrnin was in the shotgun seat in front, which left just the two of them in the back. It felt private, even though it really wasn’t.