Ghost Town

“I know, but if you need me to help—”

“You can’t help. I tried to keep my position. I failed.” She lowered her gaze to the table. “Oliver leads the town now.”

“No,” Claire whispered. “No, that can’t be true. That isn’t right. You’re the Founder; you’re—”

“Defeated,” Amelie said. “Enough, Claire. There is nothing to be done now. He spared me some of the more humiliating aspects that could have accompanied the transfer of power. I won’t disrespect that favor by rebelling now.”

Oliver didn’t say anything. He took his seat at the head of the table, and a moment later the vamp guard came back, with two others—John, who owned the hospital and several clinics in town, including the blood bank. John had long blond curly hair and a proud, sharp face. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. And next to him . . . Ysandre.

Ysandre was just exactly as Claire remembered her from her days as Amelie’s father Bishop’s follower. She was beautiful, and smoky, and sexy in a sleazy kind of way—that was mostly her clothes, because she loved low-cut crop tops and even lower-cut jeans. She trailed fingers over the back of Richard Morrell’s neck, and he slapped them away with a glare.

“Temper,” Ysandre purred, and even in that one word Claire could hear the sickly sweet Southern accent. “I’m just trying to be friendly. We’re all friends here now, right?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, do shut up,” John said wearily. He had an English accent that was a lot more charming than Ysandre’s put-on drawl. “Founder? You had something to—” Awareness dawned in his face, and Claire thought he must have sensed what had happened. His expression looked a lot like horror, and he stared at Oliver. “No. No, that’s not possible.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Oliver said. “You command loyalty from many of Amelie’s closest friends and supporters. I need you to spread the word. I am now in charge. You may hear it from her own lips.”

John definitely looked horrified now. Claire couldn’t blame him. She was feeling pretty awful herself. “Madam?” He went to one knee beside Amelie’s chair. “Command me and I’ll obey.”

“There is nothing to command,” she said. “You can feel the shift of power. It is a fact of nature, one none of us can fight. Obey him, John. I wouldn’t wish to see you, or any of you, harmed.”

John took her hand and pressed it to his forehead in what looked like real grief, and then stood up and faced Oliver. “No one will support this,” he said. “Watch your back, Oliver. You were well treated, and you’ve betrayed her. We won’t forget.”

“John, don’t,” Amelie said. She sounded tired.

“I’m not threatening. I am stating facts. Which you know well, Oliver.”

Oliver nodded. “I don’t care how you feel about it. Bargain with yourself as you wish, but go and tell your fellows that I am now in charge, and I won’t take any challenges to my power. I am not Amelie. Test me, and I’ll destroy you.”

John’s eyes flared a rebellious red, but he bowed stiffly and walked out of the room.

Ysandre laughed. “What a sanctimonious old frog,” she said. “Well, Ollie? I think I threw my lot in with the wi

Oliver looked at her with the same kind of distaste he’d just gotten from John. “You’re not my second,” he said. “Don’t presume to be informal with me. I spared your life for a specific reason, but don’t think that it has anything to do with fondness.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, I’m not your second? Who’s going to challenge me for it, John?”

“There’s to be no challenge. Amelie is my second.”

“Amelie?” Ysandre sounded furious, and Claire saw her hands clench. “You can’t be serious. You can’t keep her around. She’ll have a dagger in your back the first chance she gets—”

“Like you would? I’ve seen how you treat your friends as well as your enemies, presuming you make any distinction between the two at all. Don’t push me. I interceded for you when Amelie wanted to wall you up in a cell with Bishop. You can show your gratitude by remembering your place, which is definitely not at my side,” Oliver said. “Go to my people. Tell them what’s happened. Tell them I expect nothing to change until they hear differently, but that change will come. But it will be controlled, and measured, and I will look badly on any attempts to push it faster.”

Ysandre stared at him through narrowed eyes, and Claire thought she was just as angry as John, but for different reasons. She finally shrugged and said, “Whatever you want, boss man. If you want to be a fool, go right ahead. You just got the big chair. Good luck holding on to it, with that kind of attitude.” She turned her attention to Claire, on the other side of the table, and smiled. “Well, if it isn’t the little bit of nothing. How’s Shane?” She licked her lips. “I’ve been missing him.”

Claire gave the vampire her best impression of Amelie’s cold look. “If I see you around Shane, I’ll stake you.”

Ysandre made a little O of her mouth, and then said, “No empty threat, is it? I’ll just bet you’ve got a stake somewhere, don’t you? Bet you never go anywhere without it.”

Claire glanced over at her backpack. She’d brought it, but she’d set it in the corner, out of the way. It was on Ysandre’s side of the table.

“I’d better go on and disarm her, boss,” Ysandre said. “Security and all.”

Oliver looked irritated, but he didn’t stop her. She went to the backpack, opened it, and dumped books and papers all over the floor.

A silver-coated stake tumbled out to thump on the carpet at her feet. Then a silver-coated knife.

“Well, well, well. I think these ought to be illegal, don’t you?” Ysandre grabbed one of Claire’s papers and wrapped it around the stake’s handle, and one around the knife’s, and strolled back to the table. “Dangerous weapons, especially in council chambers.”

And before Claire or anyone else could suspect what she was going to do, she stabbed Amelie in the back, through the heart, with the stake. Amelie screamed and toppled out of her chair, limp, to the floor. Claire felt like the world was moving at nightmare speeds—Ysandre was too fast, Claire was too slow, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it as Ysandre yanked on Amelie’s white-blond hair and exposed her throat to the knife.

“No!” Oliver shouted, and sprang to his feet.

“I’m going to be your second whether you like it or not!” Ysandre yelled back, and put the knife to Amelie’s throat. “And the first thing is, get rid of the competition!”

Oliver lunged across the table. He hit her so hard he threw her into the far doors, which broke off the hinges, and Ysandre and the doors slid down the marble hallway for twenty feet before coming to a stop. She was still moving, weakly, but Oliver snapped his fingers and pointed the guards in her direction.

“No,” he said. “You’re finished. Amelie was right after all: you’re too stupid to be allowed to live.”

He went to Amelie, kicked the fallen knife out of the way, and dropped to his knees beside her. She was frozen by the stake, and where the silver touched her, it was burning her. Ysandre’s paper handle had fallen off, but Oliver didn’t wait. He grabbed the silver and pulled it out of her back in one fast motion, and threw the stake into the corner. Claire caught a glimpse of his hand turning black from the contact, but he didn’t pause, didn’t seem to feel the pain.

He cradled Amelie’s head in his hands. “It’s out,” he said. “Can you hear me? Amelie!”

She still wasn’t moving. Oliver pulled her into his arms. The female guard came back, pulling Ysandre’s struggling body by the hair, and he snapped, “Get Theo Goldman. Now. And put that one in a cage until I decide how we should be rid of her. Something painful, preferably.”