Ghost Town (26 page)

“Michael Glass and Claire Danvers for Amelie,” Michael said.

“You don’t have an appointment.”

“No,” Claire said. “But it’s important. We need to see her.”

“My instructions are that she isn’t to be disturbed,” the guard said.

“But it’s an emergency!”

“I have my orders.”

“Amelie will want to see us,” Michael said.

The other vampire raised her eyebrows, just ever so slightly. “It doesn’t matter whether she would,” she said. “Amelie no longer gives the orders. Oliver does, and his orders are that she should rest undisturbed. Now go or I’ll have you removed.”

“Maybe we should see Oliver,” Claire said doubtfully.

That made the vampire guard smile, with the tips of fangs showing. “An excellent idea, but again, you have no appointment. Oliver sees no
human
without an appointment.”

“What about me?” Michael said. They got into a staring match.

“I’m afraid Oliver is not available to anyone at the present time,” she finally said. “Orders.”

“Then we’ll just see Amelie,” Michael said, and reached for the doorknob. The guard’s hand flashed out and closed white and hard around his wrist, stopping him an inch from the metal. “Really? You’re sure you want to do it this way?”

The guard smiled, with vamp teeth showing fully now. “You’re the one pushing the issue, New Guy. I told you: go away. There’s no more discussion—” Her expression suddenly altered, and even Claire felt some kind of force sweep past them, a kind of pressure wave that made both vampires turn toward the Founder’s closed door.

Claire found she was holding her hands to her head, and couldn’t remember doing it. She looked up at Michael, who looked just as shaken as she felt. The vampire guard looked just as surprised.

“What was that?” Claire asked.

“Amelie,” Michael said. He reached again for the doorknob, and the vamp blocked him. He grabbed the vamp’s arm above the elbow with his left hand, and tipped her over his head in a sudden, shocking movement. She should have been down on the floor at the end of it, but instead she twisted in midair and came down lightly on her feet, got her balance, and slammed
him
against the paneled walls with her clawed fingernails at his throat.

Claire grabbed the doorknob and plunged inside the office.

Inside, it was dark. Pitch-dark. She couldn’t see a thing, and for a second she just stood there, hoping her eyes might adjust. Nothing. It was like swimming in ink. Claire groped along the wall for a switch, and found one.

When she flipped it on, she found Amelie standing about one foot away from her, staring at her with wide, ice-gray eyes. Claire yelped and flinched back against the door. Amelie leaned forward, one palm against the wood to the side of Claire’s head. With her right hand, she reached over and turned the bolt to seal them in.

“Now,” she said softly. “Who are you, little soft girl? Some novice vampire slayer who thinks she will free the town and become a hero of the people? Do you really think you have the courage to put a stake in my heart, child?”

Amelie didn’t know her. At all.

Worse, there was another vampire in the room. Oliver.

And he was lying unconscious on the floor, with blood streaming from two puncture wounds in his throat.

In retrospect, it was fairly obvious what had just happened; Claire had seen the reverse of it earlier, in the council chamber, when Amelie and Oliver had struggled for control of the town, and Amelie had lost.

It had happened again, and this time she’d
won
.

Claire looked at the hot, alien light in Amelie’s eyes, and thought,
Yay?
It was a crazy thing to think, especially since the thought sounded like Eve’s voice inside her head, but somehow it made her feel a little steadier. A little stronger.

“Don’t mind the intruder,” Amelie said, glancing sidewise at Oliver, who was showing no signs of moving. “I’ve put him in his place. As I assure you I will do for you, little slayer girl.”

Claire swallowed hard and tried to regulate the racing beat of her heart. Showing fear wasn’t going to help. “My name is Claire Danvers,” she said. “I’m Myrnin’s apprentice.”

Amelie smiled. Not a nice smile. “My dear, Myrnin would devour you for a morning snack,” she said. “He’s done it before, to those more capable and better loved by him.” The smile died. “Now. Who are you?”

“Claire! My name is Claire! You know me!”

“I do not. Nor do I see why I should bother. You shouldn’t have come here, little girl. I don’t tolerate these kinds of rebellions.”

Claire had no idea why she thought of it, but suddenly, a page from the history book that she’d bought at the used bookstore flared in front of her brain, clear as if it had been pasted on. She could see every detail of the type, even down to the water stains on the paper. “But you did,” she said. “About a hundred years ago. You let Ballard Templin go free after he took a shot at you on the street.”

That surprised Amelie enough to make her cock her head and frown, just a little. “Ballard Templin,” she repeated. “How would someone of your age know of Templin?”

“He was a gunfighter,” Claire said. “And he was hired to kill you. You took his gun away and told him to go kill the man who’d hired him. He did. It was the bank manager.”

“These are things you should not know, girl. Things that were never made public.”

Claire called up another page in her memory. “You bought the land for Morganville from a farmer named Roger Hanthorn, for about a hundred dollars. The first barrier around it was made out of wood, a big fence, like a stockade. And you used to play the harp. People said you played like an angel.”

Amelie had gone very still, and the bafflement in her face was almost human now. “You
cannot
know these things.”

“Your father was Bishop,” Claire said. “And you were in love with Sam Glass—”

She didn’t know what she’d said wrong, but Amelie bared her fangs and grabbed Claire by the arm. She threw her across the room in a weightless rush, and Claire lost the backpack along the way as she tumbled over and over, until she came to a hard, sudden stop against the wall.

Things went fuzzy then, and she felt weirdly hot. She blinked a few times, and Amelie’s face came into focus right above hers. “Who are you?” Amelie said. “What do you know of Sam?
Where is he?
He can’t hide from me, but I can’t sense him! Who has taken him?”

Claire snapped back to instant clarity. She was hurting, but she didn’t think anything was broken. There was a hot, throbbing spot on her head where she’d hit the wall, though.

All of that faded to the background as she realized what Amelie was asking.

She thought Sam Glass was alive.

She thought Sam was
missing
.

And she thought Claire knew where he was.

That was bad, but what was worse was that there wasn’t any good answer. What was she going to tell her?
Sam’s dead? You buried him? I can show you his grave?
How horrible would that be? And besides, Amelie would probably kill her for it, even if she believed it, which she probably wouldn’t. Hannah hadn’t believed she was back from Afghanistan. This would be a lot harder to accept.

“Well?” Amelie whispered, and pressed her fingernails gently into Claire’s neck so she could feel the sting. “I won’t kill you, girl. Not yet, and not quickly. If you’ve done anything to Sam Glass, I will see you destroyed slowly, in the old ways. You can save yourself by telling me where to find him,
now
.” Her eyes widened. “Was it Oliver who took him?” She let go of Claire and whirled to stalk over to Oliver, who was just opening his eyes as she bent to grab him by the shirtfront and drag him up to a sitting position. The wounds on his throat were almost closed. “You.” Amelie’s voice dripped with scorn and venom. “Is this how you repay my kindness to you? I let you live the last time you challenged me. Did you take Sam Glass to ensure your victory this time?”

Oliver blinked, and Claire was sure she saw bafflement in his eyes, and dawning realization. “She doesn’t remember,” Claire said. “It’s got her, too.”

“So I see,” he murmured, and shut his eyes again. “I can’t help you, Claire. I can’t help either of us.”

Claire’s mind wasn’t blank, exactly; it was whirling with ideas and thoughts and schemes, and the problem was that none of them would save her, and she knew it.

Amelie stared down at Oliver with ice-cold fury and said, “Tell me where he is now, or I will destroy you.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry.”

She was going to
kill him
. And Oliver wasn’t going to make a move to defend himself . . . or maybe, Claire realized, he couldn’t. She’d weakened him too much already. “The machine’s malfunctioning!” Claire blurted, as Amelie pulled back her hand with claws extended to rip out his throat. “That’s why you’re confused! That’s why you can’t remember where Sam is! You know where he is, Amelie. You know me, too. You gave me a gold bracelet for a while, and now I have a pin. You gave me a pin! You have to believe me!”

That was not what Amelie was expecting her to say, obviously, because she drew back, just a little. She let go of Oliver and came back to Claire, and Amelie’s fingers touched the small gold pin, with the Founder’s symbol, that Claire had on her shirt. “Where did you get this?” she asked. “From whom did you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Claire said. “You gave it to me. How could I know the name of Myrnin’s computer if I wasn’t who I say I am? How would I know any of what I said to you?”

She thought for a second that she’d gambled all the wrong way, because Amelie looked so angry, and so . . . confused. All she had to do was hit her, and Claire was going to come to a very messy, unpleasant end.

“A good question,” Amelie finally said. “How do you know these things? Only Myrnin and I know of the machine. No one else. No one alive. Did he tell you?”

“I work for him,” Claire said again. “I work for
you
. And there’s something wrong with the machine. That’s what’s wrong with you. Don’t you
feel
something’s wrong?”

Amelie kept watching her for a moment more, then frowned down at Oliver, who was propped now against the wall, still making no effort to rise. She turned and walked back to a big, polished desk. Claire looked around and realized that she recognized this room; she’d been in it before, but by portal rather than the front door. There were a lot of old books in built-in shelves, and beautiful old furniture, and soft lights. Large windows that were, just now, uncovered to show Founder’s Square at night.

The cage in the middle of the park was lit up like an exhibit. Claire wondered if the boy was still in there, or if somehow he’d managed to take advantage of the confusion and get out. She kind of hoped so. What if
Kyle
didn’t remember why he was in that cage? How awful would that be?

Claire limped over to a chair and fell into it. Her head was spinning, and she felt like she wanted to throw up, but there was no way she was going to do that on Amelie’s fancy carpeting. Oliver had already bled all over it.

Outside the room, there was sudden silence, and then the door banged open with a crash that sent the lock flying right out of the wood. Michael came inside, dragging the guard along with him. She’d been tied up with what Claire realized were strips torn from her coat, and he’d added a gag. Both of them looked ragged and worn-out.

Amelie stood up, mouth open, and cried, “Sam?” just a second before she realized she was wrong. Not Sam Glass. His grandson. They looked a lot alike, except for their hair color. Sam’s had been more red. “Michael. But you . . . you can’t be . . .” Her expression changed, slowly, and she breathed out, “No. Not possible. You can’t be any get of mine. I would know this. I would
remember.
” But Claire could tell that she could feel it was true—and that made Amelie even more confused.

A confused Amelie was very dangerous.

Michael dumped the guard in the corner and came to Claire. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“There’s blood on your shirt.”

Oh. Yeah, her neck was bleeding a little. Not enough to worry about. “I’m fine.” Except for the headache, which was bad, but that wasn’t something she wanted to go into. Michael looked doubtful, but he turned from her to look at Oliver. “What happened to you?”

“Complacency,” Oliver murmured. “I thought she was under my control, and then . . . she changed.”

“She lost her memory,” Claire said. “She forgot you’d taken over. So she attacked you.”

Oliver lifted a weak hand in agreement, and they all looked at Amelie, who was white as a marble statue now. “How can this be? You were . . . I remember you, Michael. You should be younger . . . thinner—”

“And not a vampire,” Michael said. “But I am one. And you made me one.”

“Yes,” Amelie whispered. “I can feel that. But
how
. . . how can this be true when I don’t—”

“It’s the machine in Myrnin’s lab,” Michael said. “We need your help to stop it before it’s too late. Myrnin doesn’t remember things, either. He won’t let us get close without a fight. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.”

“I must think,” Amelie said, and sat down as if she’d lost all strength. “Leave me.” She didn’t seem to care about them anymore, any of them. There was a deep, miserable confusion in her eyes, and Claire remembered how the vampire in the diner had snapped. Surely that wouldn’t happen to Amelie.

Not to Amelie.

Claire turned to Oliver. “Help us,” she pleaded. “We need your help. You still remember.”

“For how long?” Oliver asked. He, too, sounded weak and odd. “I saw it overtake her. It will do the same to me, and I’ll be of no use to you then.”

“Convince her to come to Myrnin’s lab,” Michael said. “That’s how you can be of use to us. We need you there. Both of you.”

Amelie looked up sharply. “No one convinces me. Leave now, or I’ll destroy both of you. If there’s action to be taken, I will take it, but you
will not
stay here and insult my authority by appealing to
him
.” She pressed a button on her desk, and an alarm began to sound out in the hall. “I must have time to decide what to do.”