Bite Club

“That’s quite an interesting assumption to make, as I may not require the gift of your expertise,” Amelie said. “For instance, I am well aware that my father, Bishop, is missing. I am also aware that several vampires once loyal to him have been acting oddly, and several who were not are now missing. I am aware that Gloriana’s presence in this town is somewhat…unsettling for many, although perhaps not for Oliver.” She sounded just a shade sharp on that last part. About Oliver? Weird. “Has Gloriana, perhaps, decided to practice her wiles on your Shane, then?”

That was way too close to the truth. “Oliver says she’s not interested in human boys that way.” That was true. It just didn’t quite answer the question. “She went after Michael; that’s what Eve said.”

“Yes, I’m aware of that. But it seems to have passed without any significant bloodshed.” More fingernail drumming. When Claire glanced at Amelie’s face, she saw the vampire was staring out her tinted windows, which minimized the rising sun. There was a distant expression on her face. Amelie could look almost as young as Claire herself sometimes; she’d probably been only about twenty when she’d become what she was now. But just now, she looked her actual age, with all the weight of centuries on that smooth, unlined face. “You’re well aware how dangerous this town is, Claire. But what you may not understand, not fully, is that it is held together by will. My will. Without my influence, vampires would fight for control, and humans would be slaughtered in the streets. Not all my kind have the vision to understand that such behavior is…counterproductive to the long-term survival of my species. Like some of your own contemporaries, younger vampires want what they want, when they want it, regardless of consequences.” She paused for a moment. Claire didn’t know if she was supposed to say anything, so she kept quiet. “I’ve been struggling to educate them for many years. And, in truth, I’m growing tired of the struggle. I remember what it was like when I had no responsibilities, no worries. And that is begi

That seemed ominous. “What…what do you mean?”

Amelie’s gray gaze came back to her, but the expression didn’t change. “Morganville is an experiment,” she said. “One I’ve fostered and encouraged for a long time, in human terms, and even for a significant period in vampire measures. But it doesn’t seem to me that my kind have learned much about living among humans productively. Or that humans have learned how to tolerate our differences. Oliver thinks it’s a fool’s errand, you know. And he may be right about that.”

“It’s not,” Claire said. “I know there are problems; there are always problems. People—people can’t even live with each other without violence and problems, much less with you. But somehow we manage. We can manage.”

“I’ve always thought so,” Amelie said softly. “And I’ve fought for that principle. I’ve bled for it. I’ve buried loved ones for it. But what if I’m wrong, Claire? What if Morganville is a folly of arrogance? You know as well as I that there are humans who will never accept living with us. And vampires who will never accept living with humans. What are we fighting so hard to prove?”

Claire didn’t know how they’d gotten to this; it felt completely wrong to be having this conversation. She wasn’t old enough; she didn’t understand where it was coming from. And hearing that Amelie had doubts…that hurt. And it scared her. So many things crashing down. Maybe she wasn’t the only one with that feeling, she realized with a start. That was a new and entirely unpleasant sort of thought.

It actually made her blink.

She fell back on something her parents had taught her. “Anything worthwhile is worth fighting for,” Claire said. “Not always with guns and stuff. But with…taking a stand. Right?”

Amelie seemed to focus on her again. For a few seconds she regarded her, frowning, and then smiled just a little. “So I recall,” she said. “Not all wars are waged with bullets and swords, indeed. Some are wars of wills and ideas. It’s good we both remember that.” The smile faded. “But not all ideas win the war, and not all wills are strong enough. Darkness can descend so easily.”

“It won’t here,” Claire said. “We just have to be stronger.”

Amelie inclined her head, but Claire couldn’t tell if it was agreement. She frowned again, this time at the phone, and after a hesitation, pushed the intercom button. “Bizzie?” she asked. “Have you confirmation that Michael is in the car?”

The answer came back immediately. “No, Founder. The car is there, but the others in the house report that Michael Glass is not there.”

“Not there,” Amelie repeated. “Very well. Call his cell phone. I believe he has one of those. I will wait.”

Bizzie left the speaker on as she dialed. It rang and rang on the other end, and then Michael’s recorded voice said, “Michael Glass’s phone. Leave a message,” over the sound of his guitar. It cut off. Bizzie said, “Madam? No answer.”

“I can hear that,” Amelie said. She looked at Claire. “Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Claire said. She felt her stomach tightening unpleasantly. “He—We all went home last night. I don’t know why he’s not there.” But she did. Deep down, she did. Michael had tried something, something that had got him in trouble—and, worse, he hadn’t even told anyone.

Eve was going to kill him. And if Eve didn’t, Claire decided she’d be next in line. The idea of Michael going missing now made her feel as shaky as if the earth under her feet had moved. Michael was a rock; even the first time she’d met him, as a half ghost, he’d been the calmest and most capable one of the group.

But this time, if he’d gone off on his own, he’d made a mistake. A big one.

Amelie must have read something on her face, because she said, “Have my car brought around, Bizzie. The usual complement of guards.”

“Yes, Founder.”

Amelie rose to her feet. Claire just stared at her in confusion, until she said, “I am, of course, going with you. And you will tell me where you believe Michael might have gone, because I am not losing yet another of my people to this mystery.”

Claire resisted the urge to say, Yes, Founder, and silently—in defeat—followed her to the limousine.

By usual complement, Amelie must have meant “more vampires than a Dracula convention” because besides Amelie and her driver, there were two silent, suit-wearing guards in sunglasses, and a heavily tinted town car carrying four more that followed along. Amelie ignored their presence—but then, she’d grown up in an age when servants were no more than moving furniture—and leaned forward, hands clasped. She still sat like a lady, knees together and demurely angled, even though she was wearing pants. “Now,” she said. “You will tell me everything you declined to tell me earlier. We are past the amusingly amateur portion of this problem. If you know where my father is, or even suspect you have a clue, no matter how small, you will tell me.”

Claire felt sick, hot, and trapped—mostly because she was trapped, no doubt about it. She squeezed her eyes shut and said, “If I tell you everything, you have to make me a promise.”

Ominous silence, broken only by the faint hiss of the road noise beneath the car. Claire had no idea where they were heading, and realized that she’d just done the same thing Michael had: she’d taken off without letting anyone know where she was going. She could disappear just as quickly. She risked a look at Amelie, and saw the same expectant, waiting expression. No anger yet.

Amelie smiled, very slightly—in fact, if Claire hadn’t known her as well as she did, she’d never have seen it at all. “You’re always asking for promises, Claire. Sometimes that seems charming, as if you simply expect me to be honorable enough to keep them.”