“Not until they get to know you,’” Hess said. “Stay out of the alley.’”
She paused, her hand on the door. “Why?’”
“Vampire lives at the end of it. Crazy old bastard. He doesn’t come out of there, and neither does anybody who wanders in. So just stay out.’”
She nodded and ducked out into the dark. Outside, the Morganville shadows had a character all their own. A neighborhood that had been a little shabby in the daytime was transformed into a freak-show park at night, gilded by cold silver moonlight. The shadows looked like holes in the world; they were so black. Claire looked at the house, and felt its presence. It was like the Glass House, all right. It had some kind of living soul, only where the Glass House seemed mildly interested in the creatures scuttling around inside of it, this place…she wasn’t sure it even liked what was going on.
She shuddered, opened the picket gate, and hurried up to knock on the door. She kept knocking, frantic, until a voice shouted through the wood, “Who the hell’s that?’”
“Claire! Claire Danvers, I was here, you remember? You gave me some lemonade?’” No answer. “Please, ma’am, please let me in. I need to use your bathroom!’”
“You what? Girl, you better step off my gramma’s porch!’”
“Please!’” Claire knew she sounded desperate, but then…she was desperate. Not to mention just one step shy of crazy. “Please, ma’am, don’t leave me out here in the dark!’”
That was only a little bit of acting, frankly, because the dark kept getting heavier and closer around her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the alley, the crazy vampire hiding at the end like some giant tarantula waiting to jump—
She nearly screamed as the door was suddenly opened, and a hand closed around her arm.
“Oh, for God’s sake, get in!’” snapped Lisa. She looked irritated, tired, and rumpled; Claire had clearly rattled her right out of bed. She was wearing pink satin pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers, which didn’t make her look any less pissed off. She yanked, Claire stumbled forward across the threshold, and Lisa slammed and multiply locked the door behind her.
Then she turned, crossed her arms, and frowned at Claire. It was a formidable frown, but the pink pj’s and bunny slippers undermined it.
“What the hell are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?’” Lisa demanded. Claire took a deep breath, opened her mouth…and didn’t have to say anything.
Because Gramma was standing in the hallway entrance, and with her was Amelie.
The contrast couldn’t have been more striking. Amelie looked every inch the glorious, perfect ice queen, from her carefully braided and coiled hair to her unlined face to the sleek white dress she wore—she’d changed from the black suit she’d worn to the Elders’ Council building. She looked like one of those Greek statues made out of marble. Next to her, Gramma seemed ancient, exhausted, and breakable.
“The visitor is here for me,’” Amelie said calmly. “I’ve been expecting her. I do thank you, Katherine, for your kindness.’”
Who’s Katherine? Claire looked around, and realized after a few seconds that it had to be Gramma. Funny, she couldn’t imagine Gramma ever having had a first name, or being young; Lisa looked kind of thrown by it, too.
“And I appreciate your vigilance, Lisa, but your caution is unnecessary,’” Amelie continued. “Please return to your—’” For a second, Amelie hesitated, and Claire couldn’t imagine why until she saw that the vampire’s gaze was fixed on the sight of Lisa’s bunny shoes. It was only a second, a little crack in the marble, but Amelie’s eyes widened just a bit, and her mouth curved. She has a sense of humor. That, more than anything else, made Claire feel lost. How could vampires have a sense of humor? How exactly was that fair?
Amelie recovered her poise. “You may return to your sleep,’” she said, and bowed her head gracefully to Lisa and her gramma. “Claire. If you would attend me.’”
She didn’t wait to see if Claire would, or explain what “attend me’” meant; she just turned and glided down the hallway. Claire exchanged a look with Lisa—this time, Lisa looked worried, not angry—and hurried after Amelie’s retreating figure.
Amelie opened the bathroom door and stepped through into the same study Claire had visited before, only now it was night, and a fire was roaring in the enormous hearth to warm the chilly room. The walls were thick stone, and looked very old. The tapestries looked old, too—faded, tattered, but still keeping a sense of magnificence, somehow. The place looked way spookier by firelight. If there were electric lights, they weren’t on. Not even the books crowding the shelves made the place warm.
Amelie crossed to a chair near the hearth and gracefully motioned Claire to one across from her. “You may sit,’” she said. “But be warned, Claire, what I expect you want from me is not in my power to grant.’”
Claire settled carefully, not daring to relax. “You know why I’m here.’”
“I’d be a fool if I thought it was any reason other than young Shane,’” Amelie said, and smiled very sadly. “I can recognize loyalty when I see it. It shines strongly from you both, which is one reason I have trusted you so much on insignificant acquaintance.’” She lost her smile, and her pale eyes turned to frost again. “And that is why I cannot forgive what Shane has done. He broke faith with me, Claire, and that is intolerable. Morganville is founded on trust. Without it, we have nothing but despair and death.’”
“But he didn’t do anything!’” Claire knew she sounded like a whiny little girl, but she didn’t know what else to do. It was that or cry, and she didn’t want to cry. She had the feeling she’d be doing plenty of that, no matter what. “He didn’t kill Brandon. He tried to save him. You can’t punish him for being in the wrong place!’”
“We have no one’s word of that save Shane’s. And make no mistake, child, I know why Shane returned to Morganville in the first place. It is regrettable that his sister was so brutally and unnecessarily killed; we tried to make amends with his family, as is custom. We even allowed them to leave Morganville, which you understand is not common, in hopes that Shane and his parents might heal their grief in less…difficult surroundings. But it was not possible. And his mother broke through the block surrounding her memories.’”
Claire shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was too big, and too high up; her toes barely touched the ground. She gripped the arms firmly, tried to remind herself that she was strong and courageous, that she had to be, for Shane. “Did you kill her? Shane’s mother?’” she asked, as bluntly as she could. It still sounded timid, but at least she’d gotten the question out.
For a second she thought Amelie wasn’t going to answer her, but then the vampire looked away, toward the fire. Her eyes looked orange in its glow, with dots of reflective yellow in the center. She shrugged, a gesture so small, Claire barely even saw it. “I have not lifted a hand against a human in hundreds of years, little Claire. But that is not what you ask, is it? Am I responsible for his mother’s death? In a larger sense, I am responsible for anything that is done in Morganville, or even beyond its borders if it relates to vampires. But I think you ask if I gave an explicit order.’”
Claire nodded. Her neck felt stiff, and her hands would have been shaking if they hadn’t been grabbing the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles cracked.
“Yes,’” Amelie said, and turned her head back to meet Claire’s eyes. She looked cool, merciless, and absolutely without conscience. “Of course I did. Shane’s mother was one of the rare cases who, by focusing on a single event in their past, are able to overcome the psychic block that is placed on them when they depart this place. She remembered her daughter’s death, and from that, she remembered other things. Dangerous things. As soon as we became aware this was happening, it was brought to my attention, and I gave the order to kill her. It was to be done quickly and without pain, and it was a mercy, Claire. Shane’s mother had been in so much pain for so long, do you understand? She was damaged, and some damages cannot be healed.’”