Claire screamed out a protest, but it was lost against the gag of Gretchen’s hand. Amelie bent over and placed a kiss on Brandon’s waxy forehead.
“Good-bye, child,’” she said. “Flawed as you were, you were still one of the eternal. We won’t forget.’”
Claire heard someone yell outside the room, and Amelie whipped around so quickly that she was a blur, then moved…and something hit the marble pillar next to where she’d been and exploded with a sharp popping sound.
A bottle. Claire smelled gas, and then heard a thick, whooshing sound.
And then the curtains exploded into flame.
Amelie snarled, bone white and utterly not people, all of a sudden, and then she was dragged out of the way and down, with a moving bunker of bodyguards crowding around her. Gunfire exploded in the room, and somebody—Detective Hess?—shoved Claire forward to the carpet and covered her, too. Eve was down, too, curled into a protective ball, her black-fingernailed hands covering her head.
And then, there was fighting—grunts and smacks and wood being thrown against walls and smashed during struggles. Claire couldn’t get any sense of what was going on, except that it was brutal and it was over fast, and when the choking fog of smoke began to clear, Hess finally backed off and let her sit up.
There were two men dead in the entrance of the room. Big guys, in leather. There was one still moving.
Amelie pushed aside her bodyguards and stalked past Claire as if she didn’t exist. She glided down the aisle and to the one biker still feebly trying to crawl away. He was trailing a dark streak on the maroon carpet. Claire got slowly to her feet, grateful for Detective Hess’s arm around her, and exchanged a look of sheer horror with Eve, on his other side.
Amelie never got to the biker. Oliver was there ahead of her, dragging the wounded man up and, before Claire could blink, snapping his neck with a dry sound.
The body dropped to the carpet with a limp thump. Claire turned and hid her face against Hess’s jacket, trying to control a surge of nausea.
When she looked back, Amelie was staring at Oliver. He was staring right back. “No point in taking chances,’” he said, and gave her a slow, full smile. “He might have killed you, Amelie.’”
“Yes,’” she said softly. “And that wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interests, would it, Oliver? How fortunate I am that you were here to…save me.’”
She didn’t move or gesture, but her bodyguards swarmed and surrounded her, and the whole mass of them moved out, walking around (or over) the dead men.
Oliver watched her go, then turned back to sweep a glare around the entire room, stopping on Shane.
“Your father thinks he can act without consequences, I see,’” he said. “How sad for you. Put these two where they belong. In cages.’”
The biker and Shane were pulled to their knees and dragged off, behind the curtains. Claire lunged forward, but Gretchen grabbed her and put her hand over Claire’s mouth. Claire winced as her arm was twisted up behind her back, and she realized she was crying, unable to breathe for the pressure of the hand on her mouth and the stuffiness building up in her nose.
Eve wasn’t crying. Eve was staring at Oliver, and even when Detective Hess let go of her, she didn’t move.
“What are you going to do to them?’” she asked. She sounded unnaturally calm.
“You know the laws,’” Oliver said. “Don’t you, Eve?’”
“You can’t. Shane had nothing to do with this.’”
Oliver shook his head. “I won’t debate my judgment with you. Mayor? You’ll sign the papers? If you’re done cowering, that is.’”
The mayor had been down in a defensive crouch behind an urn; he got up now, looking flushed and angry. “Of course I’ll sign,’” he said. “The nerve of these bastards! Striking here? Threatening—’”
“Yes, very traumatic,’” Oliver said. “The papers.’”
“I brought a notary. It’ll be all nice and legal.’”
Gretchen let go of Claire, sensing her will to fight was trickling away. “Legal?’” Claire gasped. “But—there hasn’t even been a trial! What about a jury?’”
“He had a jury,’” Detective Hess told her. His tone was gentle, but what he was saying was harsh. “A jury of the victim’s peers. That’s the way the law works here. Same for humans. If a vampire ever got brought up on murder charges, it would be humans deciding whether he lived or died.’”
“Except no vampire has ever been brought up on charges,’” Eve said. She looked nearly cold and pale enough to be a vampire herself. “Or ever will. Don’t kid yourself, Joe. It’s only the humans who get the sharp end of justice around here.’” She looked at the dead guys lying on the carpet at the entrance to the room. “Scared the shit out of you, though, didn’t they?’”
“Don’t flatter them. They had no hope of succeeding,’” Oliver said. He looked at Hans. “I have no further use for these two.’”
“Wait! I want to talk to Shane!’” Claire yelled. Gretchen propelled her toward the exit with a shove. It was move, or fall over the dead, bloody bodies.
Claire moved. Behind her, she heard Eve doing the same.
She blinked away tears, wiped angrily at her face and nose, and tried to think what to do next. Shane’s dad, she thought. Shane’s dad will save him. Although, of course, the dead guys she was stepping over indicated that rescue had already been attempted, and that hadn’t gone so well. Besides, Shane’s dad wasn’t here. He hadn’t stuck around when Shane got caught. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe nobody cared but her.
“Easy,’” Detective Hess said, and stepped in beside her to take her by the elbow. He managed to make it feel like escorting, instead of arresting. “There’s still time. The law says that the convicts have to be displayed on the square for two nights so that everyone can see them. They’ll be in cages, so they’ll be safe enough. It’s not the Ritz, but it keeps Brandon’s friends from ripping them apart without due process.’”
“How—’” Claire’s throat closed up on her. She cleared it and tried again. “How are they going to—?’”
Hess patted her hand. He looked tired and worried and grim. “You won’t be here when it happens,’” he said. “So don’t think about it. If you want to talk to him, you can. They’re putting them in cages now, at the center of the park.’”
“Oliver said take them back,’” Gretchen said from behind them. Hess shrugged.
“Well, he didn’t say when, did he?’”
The Founder’s Park was a large circle, with walkways like spokes in a wheel, all leading to the center.
And at the center were two cages. Cells just big enough for a man to stand up, not wide enough to stretch out. Shane would have to sleep sitting up, if he slept, or curled in a fetal position.
He was sitting, knees up, head resting on his arms, when Eve and Claire arrived. The biker was yelling and rattling his bars. Not Shane. He was…quiet.
“Shane!’” Claire almost flew across the open space, grabbed the cold iron bars in both hands, and pressed her face between them. “Shane!’”
He looked up. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. At least, not now. He managed to move around in the small, cramped cage until he was sitting closer to her, and reached through the bars to lay his hand against her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. It was the cheek that Oliver had slapped, she realized. She wondered if it was still red.
“I’m sorry,’” Shane said. “My dad—I had to go. I couldn’t let him do this. I had to try to stop it, Claire, I had to—’”
She was crying again, silently. With his thumb, he wiped away the tear that fell. She could feel his hand shaking. “You didn’t do anything, did you? To Brandon?’”
“I didn’t like the son of a bitch, but I didn’t hurt him, and I didn’t kill him. That was already done when I got there.’” Shane laughed, but it sounded forced. “Just my luck, huh? Charging off to be the hero, I get to be the villain instead.’”