Dead Girls' Dance

Claire heard Michael and Eve yelling, and felt Eve trying to hold on to her, but there was no way Eve could match Oliver’s strength. He simply pulled Claire out of the car like a rag doll, his fingers wrapped cruelly tight around her throat, and dragged her out into the street.

“Shane! Shane Collins!’” he shouted. “I have something for you! I want you to watch this very carefully!’”

Claire grabbed at his hand with both of her own, trying to pry his grip free, but it was no good. He knew just how tightly to hold on without quite crushing her throat or cutting off her breathing. She fought back another panicked bout of coughing, and tried to think of something, anything, to do.

“I’m going to kill this girl,’” Oliver continued, “unless she swears herself to me and my service, in front of all of these witnesses. Shane, you can save her by making the same deal. You have two minutes to consider your decision.’”

“Why?’” Claire whispered. It came out as a mouse squeak, barely audible. Oliver, who was staring at the decaying facade of the old hospital, with its weather-stained weeping angels and molding baroque stonework, turned his attention briefly to her. The morning was warm and cloudless, the sun a hot brass pe

He wasn’t even sweating.

“Why what, Claire? It’s an imprecise question. You have a better mind than that.’”

She fought for breath, helplessly clawing at his fingers. “Why…kill Brandon?’”

He lost his smile, and his eyes turned wary. “Clever,’” he said. “Cleverness may not be good for you after all. The question you should be asking is, why do I want your service?’”

“All right,’” she wheezed. “Why?’”

“Because Amelie has some use for you,’” he said. “And I am not accustomed to giving Amelie what she wants. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with history. But, sadly, I’m making it your problem. Cheer up; if your boyfriend swears on your behalf, I’ll keep him alive. Let you see him from time to time. Star-crossed lovers are so entertaining.’”

Amelie didn’t seem to have much of a use for her, Claire reflected, but she didn’t argue about it. Couldn’t, in fact. Couldn’t do much of anything but stand on tiptoe, gag for each breath, and hope that somehow, she’d figure a way out of this stupid situation that she’d gotten herself into. Again.

“One minute!’” Oliver called. There was movement inside of the building, flickers at the windows. “Well. It appears we have a domestic disturbance.’”

What he meant was, Shane’s dad was kicking the crap out of him. Claire struggled to see what was going on, but Oliver’s grip was too tight. She could see only from the corner of her eye, and what she could see wasn’t good. Shane was in the doorway of the hospital, trying to get free, but someone dragged him back.

“Thirty seconds!’” Oliver a

“You should take your hands off of her, Oliver,’” said a voice from behind them, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being pumped. “Seriously. I’m not in a good mood, I’m tired, and I just want to go home.’”

“Richard,’” Oliver said, and turned to regard him. “You look like hell, my friend. Don’t you think you should go be with your family, instead of worrying about these—outcasts?’”

Richard stepped forward and put the shotgun under Oliver’s chin. “Yeah, I should. But I owe them. I said—’”

Oliver backhanded him. Richard went flying and rolled to a limp stop on the pavement, the shotgun clattering to the ground.

“I heard you the first time,’” Oliver said mildly. “My, you do make friends in strange places, Claire. I suppose you’ll have to tell me all about that later.’” He raised his voice. “Time’s up! Claire Danvers, do you swear your life, your blood, and your service to me, now and for your lifetime, that I may command you in all things? Do say yes, my dear, because if you don’t, I’ll simply close my hand. It’s a very messy way to go. Takes minutes for you to choke to death, and Shane gets to watch the whole thing.’”

Claire couldn’t believe she’d ever thought Oliver was kind, or reasonable, or human. She stared at his cold, cold eyes, and saw a thin, blood-colored trickle of sweat run down his face under the hat.

She was no longer standing on tiptoe, she realized. Her feet were flat on the ground.

He’s getting weaker!

Not that it would do her any good.

“Wait.’” Shane’s voice. Claire breathed in a shallow gasp and saw him limping across the open ground from the hospital building toward her. His face was bloody, and there was something wrong with his ankle, but he wasn’t stopping. “You want a servant? How about me?’”

“Ah. The hero appears.’” Oliver turned toward him, and as he did, Claire got a better look at Shane. She saw the fear in his eyes, and her heart just broke for him. He’d been through so much; he didn’t deserve this, too. Not this. “I thought you might say that. What if I take you both, then? I’m a generous, fair boss. Ask Eve.’”

“Don’t believe anything he says. He’s working with your dad,’” Claire wheezed. “He’s been working with him the whole time. He arranged for Brandon to be killed. Shane—’”

“I know all that,’” Shane said. “Politics, right, Oliver? Mind games, you and Amelie. We’re just pawns to you. Well, she’s not a pawn. Let her go.’”

“All right, my young knight,’” Oliver said, and smiled. “If you insist.’”

He was going to kill her, he really was….

Shane had something in his hand, and he threw it right in Oliver’s eyes.

It looked like water, but it must have burned like acid. Oliver let go of Claire and screamed, stumbling backward, tearing the hat from his head and bending over, clawing at his face….

Shane grabbed Claire’s hand, and pulled her with him in a limping run.

Straight into the old hospital building.

With a roar, the cops, the vampires, and their servants came rushing across the open sunlit parking lot. Some of the vampires went down, hammered by the hot sun, but not all of them. Not nearly all of them.

Shane pushed Claire through the doorway and yelled, “Now!’”

A huge, heavy wooden desk dropped down on its side, blocking the doorway with a crash, and then another one dropped on top of it from the balcony above.

Shane, breathing hard, grabbed Claire and pulled her into a hug. “You okay?’” he asked. “No fang marks or anything?’”

“I’m fine,’” she gasped. “Oh, God, Shane!’”

“So this charcoal look, that’s just fashion. You’re okay.’”

She clung to him tightly. “There was a fire.’”

“No kidding. Dad makes one hell of a diversion.’” Shane swallowed and pushed her back. “Did you get Monica out of there? Dad told me—well, he meant to leave her in there.’” She nodded. Shane’s eyes glittered with relief. “I tried to stop this, Claire. He won’t listen to me.’”

“He never did. Didn’t you know that?’”

He shrugged, and looked around. “Fu

With Michael, she almost said, and realized it probably wasn’t the best moment to a

“Ouch.’”

“Where’s your dad?’”

“They’ve been moving out,’” he said. “He tried to get me to go. I said I’d damn well go when I had you back. So…I guess now would be a good time.’”

There was a clatter of metal off to the side, and Claire’s world gradually expanded past the miracle of seeing Shane again to take in the room where she stood. It was a big lobby, floored in scarred, ugly green plastic tile. What little furniture remained in the room was mostly bolted down, like the reception desk; the walls were black and furry with thick streaks of mold, and lights hung at odd angles overhead, clearly ready to fall at the slightest jolt. There was a creaky-looking second floor overlooking the lobby, and around it dented filing cabinets blocked the windows.