"Okay," Claire said. Shane looked massively relieved as he ducked his head and entered the back seat of the cruiser. Eve followed him in.
The cop slammed the door after Eve, before Claire could get in the patrol car.
"Hey!" Shane yelled, and hit the car window. He and Eve were both trying to get out, but the doors weren't opening.
Fenton grabbed her by the arm and hustled her over to the other sedan, opened the door, and put her in the back seat before she could protest. Claire heard the faint click of locks engaging, and sat very still, trying to see through the gloom.
One of the vampires flicked on the overhead light. Oh crap. It was two of her not-favorite people. The woman was pale as snow, with white-blonde hair and eyes of palest silver. Gretchen. Her partner, Hans, was a hard man made of angles, with graying short hair, and a stony expression.
"I wish we'd gotten the boy instead," Gretchen said, clearly disappointed. Her voice was low-pitched, throaty, with a heavy foreign accent. Not quite German, but not quite anything else, either. An old accent, Claire thought. "He was so rude to us when last we spoke. And surely his father deserves a lesson, even if the boy does not."
"Amelie says just bring this one," Hans said, and put the car in gear. He looked at Claire in the rear view mirror. "Seatbelt, please."
She had trouble wrapping her head around that — why did he care? — but she clicked the safety restraint shut and sat back. Like the ride in Sam's car the day before, she couldn't see a thing outside the windows except a faint gray dot where the sun was rising.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked. Gretchen laughed. Claire caught the flash of fangs, but Gretchen didn't really need them to be scary. Not at all.
"To the Elder's Council," she said. "You remember it, Claire. You had such a good time there when last we visited."
CHAPTER SEVEN
There was Morganville — the dry, dusty, run-down town that was all most people ever saw — and then there was Founder's Square, a little piece of Europe where people with a pulse weren't welcome. Claire had been inside once, and it wasn't a fond memory; no matter how cute the little cafes were, or how nice the shops, she could only see the center of the square, with its cage where they'd locked up Shane.
Where they'd been meaning to burn him alive as punishment for something he hadn't even done.
Somehow, Claire had expected to be parked in the same place as last time —outside of the square, at the police checkpoint — but of course that wasn't possible, was it? A few of the older vampires might be able to stand the sun, but they wouldn't willingly stroll around in it. Morganville was built for the convenience of vampires, not humans, and when Claire's door opened, and Gretchen impatiently gestured for her to get out, they were in an underground parking garage. It was full of cars, all nice ones, with darkened windows. Like a Beverly Hills mall or something.
There were armed guards. One of them started toward them as Gretchen pulled Claire out of the car, but Hans flashed him a badge, and the other guy — vampire, presumably — backed off.
"Let's go," Hans said. "Your Patron is waiting."
Gretchen chuckled. Not a happy sound. Claire stumbled over her own feet trying to keep up as the two vampires set off at a brisk walk, Gretchen's iron-hard grip on her upper arm setting in with bruising force. She was short of breath by the time they got to a long double flight of stairs, which the vampires took at a jog. At the top of the stairs was some kind of fire door, with a code panel. Claire didn't dare try to sneak a look at what Hans entered; knowing the vampires' paranoia, it wouldn't do her any good. The machines were probably calibrated to exclude anybody with a heartbeat.
Which made her wonder: was Myrnin behind the town's security, too? Was that something else she was supposed to learn? It could really come in handy if she could persuade him to show her ...
She was obsessing on technicals to avoid feeling the terror, but as soon as the door lock released she had nothing else to focus on except fear, and it washed over her in a sticky, cold wave. Gretchen seemed to sense it. She looked down at Claire with those cool, mirror-gray eyes, and smiled. "Worried, little one?" she asked sweetly. "Worried for yourself, or for your friends?"
"Worried for Sam," Claire said. Gretchen lost her smile, and for just an instant, she seemed honestly off balance and surprised. "Is he alive?"
"Alive?" Gretchen's armor slid firmly back in place, and she raised a slender arched eyebrow. "He may yet be saved, if that is what you mean. I suppose your friend Shane will have to try again."
"Shane didn't do anything!"
This time, Gretchen's smile got positively cruel. "Perhaps not," she said. "Perhaps not yet. But be patient. He will. It's in his nature, as much as killing is in ours."
Claire had to save her breath, because they were walking again, big strides across thick maroon carpet. Claire's first impression of the Elder's Council building had been that it was a funeral home; it still felt like that to her, all hushed and quiet and elegant. They'd had roses in the last time, when the vampire they'd thought Shane killed had been lying in state. She didn't see any flowers this time.
Gretchen led her down a hallway and through thick double doors, into the round entry hall. There were four armed vampire guards in the room, and Gretchen and Hans had to stop and show ID, and surrender their weapons. Claire got searched — quick, competent pats from cold hands that made her shiver.
And then the doors opened, and she was pulled into a big round room with a high ceiling, chandeliers like falls of ice, and dim, expensive paintings on the walls. She hadn't imagined the smell of roses. In the center of the room stood a massive round conference table, surrounded by chairs, and in the center was a vase filled with red, red blooms.
Nobody was at the table. Instead, a group of at least ten was standing at the other side of the room, looking down.
Some of them turned to look, and Claire's gaze fixed irresistibly on Oliver. She hadn't seen him since he'd threatened her life, trying to lure Shane out of hiding, and as he stood up now she had a flash of that again, how icy and hard his hands had been around her throat. How scared she'd been.
Oliver snarled, low in his throat but loud enough to be heard, and his eyes were like a wolf's. Not human at all.
"I see you brought the criminal for punishment," he said, and moved toward them.
Gretchen looked at Hans, and then shoved Claire behind her. "Stop," she said. Oliver did, mostly in surprise. "The girl asked to come, to see her Patron. We have no proof she is guilty."
"If she lives in that house, then she's guilty," Oliver said. "You surprise me, Gretchen. When did you begin taking the side of the breathers?"
She laughed, but it had a bright, false sound to it. She said something in a language that Claire didn't recognize, and Oliver spat something back, and Hans put a big hand on Claire's shoulder.
"She's our responsibility," he said. "And she's Amelie's property. Nothing to do with you, Oliver. Move."
Oliver, smiling, raised his hands and backed away. Hans moved Claire forward, past him, and she felt his stare on the back of her neck, as real as knives.
The circle of people parted as Hans approached. It was mostly (Claire guessed) vampires; they didn't wear tags or anything, but most of them had the same cool pale skin, the same whip-snake quickness when they moved. In fact, the only two humans — breathers? — she saw were Mayor Morrell, looking miserably uncomfortable as he stood near the edge of the group, and his son Richard. Richard's uniform was damp in places, and it took Claire a few seconds to realize that it was wet with blood.
Sam's blood.
Sam was lying on his back on the carpet, with his head cradled in Amelie's lap. The elder vampire was kneeling, and her hands were stroking gently through Sam's bright copper hair. He looked pale and dead, and the stake was still in his chest.