“I will rest here for now. Thank you.” It was a dismissal, one Claire was a little relieved to get. Amelie just seemed—absent. Empty.
“Okay. But—I guess if you need something—”
Amelie’s eyes snapped open, and Claire felt it at the same time: a surge of power—the portal reopening.
Amelie’s will slammed it closed.
“Someone’s looking for you,” Claire said. “Who is it?”
“None of your affair.”
“It is if they’re coming here! Is someone after you?”
“It’s my guards,” Amelie said. “They’ll find me, sooner or later, but for now, I want to be here. Here, where Sam—” She stopped again, and silvery tears pooled in her eyes and ran down into her unbound pale hair. “Where Sam told me he would never leave me. But he did leave me, Claire. I knew he would, and he did. Everyone leaves. Everyone.”
This time, when the portal flared, Amelie didn’t try to keep it shut. In seconds, the attic door flew open, and it wasn’t the guards after all, in their black Secret Service suits.
It was Oliver, still wearing his bowling shirt, graying hair pulled tight into a ponytail. For a second, as his gaze fell on Amelie, he looked like a different person.
No, that wasn’t possible. He couldn’t really feelsomething for her. Could he?
“You,” he said to Claire. “Leave us. Now.”
“Stay,” Amelie said. There was an unmistakable thread of command in her voice. “You don’t order my servants in my house, Oliver. Not yet.”
“You’re hiding behind children?”
“I’m not hiding at all. Not even from you.” She slowly sat up, and in the multicolored glow of the lamps she looked young, and very tired. “We’ve played our games, haven’t we? The two of us, we’ve schemed and cheated and used each other all these centuries, for our own purposes. What did it bring us? Peace? There’s never peace for us. There can’t be.”
“I can’t talk of peace,” he said, and went to one knee, looking up into her face. “And neither can you. Morley tried to kill you out there in the graveyard the other evening, and still you wander alone, looking for your own destruction. You must stop.”
“Speaking as my second-in-command.”
“Speaking as your friend,” he said, and took her hand. “Amelie. We have our differences, you and I. We always will. But I would not see you suffer so. Morganville is too much for you right now—there are too many vampires here with too much ambition. Control must be maintained, and if you won’t do it, you must put it in stronger hands. My hands.”
“How kind of you, to keep the best interests of others so close to your heart,” she said. She didn’t try to remove her fingers from his, but her tone had taken on a remote kind of chill. “So what do you propose?”
“Until you can put aside your mourning, give me the town,” he said. “You know I can keep order here. I’ll act as your regent. When you are ready, I’ll give it back to you.”
“Liar.” She said it without particular emphasis, or blame, and Claire saw Oliver’s hand tighten on hers. Amelie smiled, just a little. “Liar, and bully. Do you really think such tactics could work, against the daughter of Bishop? You would have done well to pretend to a little more sympathy, or less. Half measures never work for you, Oliver.”
“You’re losing the town by inches now,” he said. “Morley’s only the first of the vampires to make a move against you—more will come. The humans, too; there are gangs of them attacking us in the night. I’ve already been approached to stop it.”
“So now it’s a plot. A plot to remove me from control. And you are my faithful servant, coming to warn me.” Her teeth flashed as she laughed softly. “Oh, Oliver. The only reason you didn’t betray me to my father when you had the chance was because the odds were even. Had he courted you for even a moment, you’d have yielded like a lovesick girl. You’d have planted the knife in my back yourself.”
“No,” he said, and pulled her off balance, down to her knees on the floor across from him. “I wouldn’t. You’re not a queen anymore, Amelie. Don’t presume to sit on your throne and judge me!”
She wrenched a hand free and slapped him hard across the face, and Claire backed up as the two vampires locked red stares. “I’ll judge as I see fit,” Amelie said. “And I’ll have none of your insolence. Scheme all you want, but it doesn’t matter. Morganville is mine, and it will never be yours. Never. I’m on my guard now. You may be assured that whatever plots exist against me will be uncovered and destroyed. Even yours.”
She shoved him back, and Oliver fell full length on the floor. In a flash, Amelie reached out for the silver knife that Claire had put on the table, and before Claire could blink, that knife was at Oliver’s throat. “Well?” she demanded. “What say you, my servant?”
He spread his hands wide in mute surrender.
Amelie stared down at him, then looked at Claire. “Summon my car,” she said. “I believe I will go for a drive in Morganville. It’s time my people see me, and know I’m not to be underestimated.”
She slammed the knife into the floor next to Oliver’s head, close enough that the edge left a bloody streak down his cheek, then rose to her feet and swept out of the room and down the stairs. Claire dug her cell phone out and called the number to Amelie’s security, and told them to meet her downstairs.
By the time she was done, Oliver was sitting on the sofa. He dabbed at the cut on his face, looking a lot less upset than Claire expected him to be.
“Wow, you planned that,” she said. “Right?”
He shrugged. “She loved Sam. She needs someone to fill the void inside her—either a lover, or an enemy.”
“And you’re the enemy.”
Oliver dusted himself off. “Through all the long, long years, it’s what we’ve always had between us. Anger, and respect.” He smiled a little. “And sometimes a glimmer of something else, not that we would ever admit it to each other. No, enemies are easier. She likes being my enemy. And I rather enjoy being hers.”
Claire really, really didn’t get it, but she didn’t think that either one of them would care.
“Hey,” she said. “You came through the portal. Did anything weird happen?”
“Weird?” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I mean—never mind. I’m just kind of worried about the portals. I want to recalibrate the system.”
“I was planning to walk in any case. It’s just as important for the residents of Morganville to see me afoot as for them to see Amelie in her queen’s black coach.” Oliver straightened his shirt and stood up. “It gives us . . . balance.”
“Oliver?”
He stopped at the head of the stairs.
“What would happen if someone got word out about the town?”
“Out?”
“Out in the world. You know.”
“Oh, it’s happened before. But no one believes. No one ever believes.”
“What if—what if they had proof?”
“The only possible proof would be a genuine vampire, and that will never happen. Short of that, any proof can be denied easily enough.”
“What about—video?”
“Claire. You go to the cinema, don’t you? Do you imagine, in this age of digital trickery, that anyone would believe video of vampires?” He shook his head. “They would believe it now less than ever. The very popularity of vampires in your stories protects us.” He sent her a sharp glance. “Why?”
“Just wondering,” she said.
“Stop wondering. It’s not healthy.”
Then he was gone. Claire sat down on the couch and smoothed her palms over her jeans.
Oliver was right; people probably wouldn’t believe it. Most people didn’t believe all the ghost reality shows, either. The problem was that these days, reality didn’t have to be real to be a hit—and Morganville couldn’t stand up to real scrutiny.
They had to stop Kim, before it all fell apart.
Plus, as a bonus, they had to really kick her ass about the cameras, because that was just wrong.