Glass Houses

Nobody knew where she was. And if she tried to leave, Monica might…

They were going to burn me alive.

She shivered and wiped tears from her cheeks and tried to think, think of something she could do to get out of this. Maybe there was a phone. She could call Eve or Shane? Both of them, she decided. Eve for the car, Shane for the bodyguard duty. Poor Shane. He was right—she really ought to stop calling him every time she needed brute strength. Didn’t seem fair, somehow.

Claire froze, unable to breathe, as she heard a soft noise in the chapel. Like fabric moving. A bare whisper, maybe just a curtain moving in the air-conditioning breeze, right? Or…

“Hello,” said the very pale woman leaning over the pew and looking down on her. “You would be Claire, I believe.”

Once the paralyzing terror receded just a little, Claire finally placed her. She knew she’d seen her; it had been just a split-second glance, but this was the woman—the vampire—who’d been brought to Common Grounds in a limousine after closing time.

What was she doing in a church?

Claire slowly sat up, unable to take her eyes off of the woman, who was smiling slightly. Light filtered in softly from the stained-glass windows and gave her a golden glow.

“I followed you,” the woman said. “Although in truth, I do like this church quite a bit. Very peaceful, don’t you think? A sacred place. And one that grants those within it a certain…immunity from danger.”

Claire licked her lips and tasted salt from sweat and tears. “You mean you won’t kill me here.”

The smile stayed intact. If anything, it widened a little. “I mean exactly that, my dear. The same goes for my guards, of course. I assure you, they’re present. I am never left alone. It is part of the curse of the position I hold.” She smiled and tilted her head an elegant fraction. Everything about her was elegant, from the shining golden crown of her hair to the clothes she was wearing. Claire wasn’t much for noticing fashion, unless it was worn by girls kicking the crap out of her, but this outfit looked like something out of old formal photographs from her mother’s time. Or grandmother’s.

“My name is Amelie,” the woman continued. “You are, in a sense, already acquainted with me, although you might not be aware of it. Please, child, don’t look so frightened. I absolutely assure you that no harm will come to you with me. I always give very clear warning before I do anything violent.”

Claire had no idea how to look any less frightened, but she clasped her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking. Amelie sighed.

“You are very new to our town,” she said, “but I have rarely seen anyone disturb quite so many hornets in such a short time. First Monica, then Brandon, and then I hear you turn to my dear Oliver for advice…and now I see you ru

“I’m—nobody,” Claire said. “And I’m leaving town. My parents are taking me out of school.” It suddenly seemed like a really good idea. Not so much ru

“Are they? Well, we’ll see.” Amelie made a shrug seem like a foreign gesture. “Do you know who I am?”

“Somebody important.”

“Yes. Someone very important.” Amelie’s eyes were steady in the dim light, of no real color—gray, maybe? Or blue? It wasn’t color that made them powerful. “I am the oldest vampire in the world, my dear. In a certain sense, I am the only vampire who matters.” She said it without any particular sense of pride. “Although others may have differing opinions, of course. But they would be sadly, and fatally, wrong.”

“I–I don’t understand.”

“No, I do not expect you to.” Amelie leaned forward and put lean, elegant, white hands on the wooden pew in front of her, then rested her pointed chin on top of them. “Somehow you have become mixed up in our search for the book. I believe you know the one I mean.”

“I—uh—yes.” No way was she going to confess what she had sitting at home. She’d made that mistake once already. “I mean, I know about all the—”

“Vampires,” Amelie supplied helpfully. “It is not a secret, my dear.”

“Vampires looking for it.”

“And you just happened to stumble into the operation at the library, in which we were combing through volumes to find it?”

Claire blinked. “Does it belong to you?”

“In a way. Let’s say that it belongs to me as much as it belongs to anyone alive today. If I am, strictly speaking, living. The old word was undead, you know, but aren’t all living things undead? I dislike imprecision. I think we may have that in common, young lady.” Amelie tilted her head a little to the side. Claire was reminded, with a chill, of a nature film. A praying mantis studying its food-to-be. “Vampire is such an old word. I believe I shall commission the university to find another term, a more—what is the new saying? — user-friendly term for what we are.”

“I—what do you want?” Claire blurted. And then, ridiculously, “…sorry.” Because she knew it sounded rude, and however scary this vampire, or whatever, might be, she hadn’t been rude.

“That’s quite all right. You’re under a great deal of stress. I shall forgive your breach of ma

“I—um, nothing.”

There was a long silence. In it, Claire heard distant noises—somebody tugging on the front door of the church.

“That’s unfortunate,” Amelie said quietly. “I had hoped I would be able to help you. It appears that I ca

“Um—that’s it? That’s all?”

“Yes, I’m afraid it is.” Amelie sat back again, hands folded in her lap. “You may go the way you came. I wish you luck, my dear. You are going to need it. Unfortunately, mortal life is very fragile, and very short. Yours could be shorter than usual.”

“But—”

“I can’t help you if you have nothing to offer me. There are rules to life in Morganville. I can’t simply adopt strays because they seem winsome. Farewell, little Claire. Godspeed.”

Claire had no idea what winsome meant, but she got the message. Whatever door had been opened—whether it led to good things or bad—had slammed shut on her now. She stood up, wondering what to say, and decided that saying nothing might be the very best thing…

…and she heard the back door crash open.

“Oh, crap,” she whispered. Amelie looked at her in reproach. “Sorry.”

“We are in a house of worship,” she said severely. “Really, did no one teach your generation any sort of ma

Claire ducked behind a pew. She heard fast footsteps, and then Monica’s voice. “Ma’am! I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were—”

“But I am,” Amelie said coolly. “Morrell, aren’t you? I can never keep any of you straight.”

“Monica.”

“How charming.” Amelie’s voice changed from cool to ice-cold. “I’ll have to ask you to leave, Miss Morrell. You do not belong here. My seal is on this place. You know the rules.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t think—”

“Often the case, I suspect. Go.”

“But—there’s this girl—did she—?”

Amelie’s voice turned to a hiss like sleet on a frozen window. “Are you questioning me?”

“No! No, so sorry, ma’am, it won’t happen again, I’m sorry….” Monica’s voice was fading. She was backing away, down the hall. Claire stayed where she was, trembling.

She almost screamed when Amelie’s pale form rose up over the edge of the pew again and gazed down at her. She hadn’t heard her move. Not at all.

“I suggest you go straight home, little Claire,” Amelie said. “I would take you there, but that would imply more than I think I can afford just now. Run, run home. Hurry, now. And—if you have lied to me about the book, remember that many people might want such a valuable thing, and for many reasons. Be sure of why they want it before you give it over.”