Where Michael and Eve were.
The first warning was a shout of alarm, then a woman’s scream, and the crowd between Claire and whatever was happening closed ranks. Shane, who was taller, gazed in that direction and said, “Crap.”
“What?”
“Stay here!”
He took off, shoving his way through the crowd.
No way was she staying behind. Where he went, she went. Claire squirmed through the close-packed bodies of humans (on this side of the room) and suddenly was in the open area, which held Eve, Michael, the newly arrived Shane, and two men.
The two men—part of that not-quite-townie crew Claire had wondered about earlier—had ganged up on Michael. The fight was already over; one was down flat on his back, and Eve’s sharp high heel was planted in the center of his chest, holding him down (although he looked unconscious, and not likely to give anybody trouble). As Claire arrived and skidded to a halt, the second man that Michael was fighting stabbed in with a stake aimed at Michael’s heart.
Michael easily slapped it out of his hand and shoved him backward. His attacker tripped over the downed body of his partner, and Michael loomed over him, beautiful as an avenging angel, practically glowing in the lights. His fangs were down.
“Don’t you
ever
raise a hand to Eve again!” he said, and bent down to grab the man’s tie. With a single, effortless yank, Michael raised him back to his feet and shook him like a rag doll. “Don’t you even
look
at her!”
Shane yelled, “Behind you!” and threw himself into a full tackle, just as a woman lunged out of the onlookers with another stake aiming for Michael’s back. He knocked her down, and the stake went flying. Shane bounced back upright and grabbed up the length of sharpened wood. “Hey! Sorry, lady, but nobody’s staking anybody at this party! I hung a disco ball for this!”
Michael looked over at him.
“Yo,” Shane said, and nodded toward the man Michael was dangling. “He’s turning kinda purple. I think you made the point.”
Michael dropped him. His fangs disappeared, and he held out his hand to Eve. She left her own fallen attacker and took it.
Claire left the safety of the crowd and went to join Shane. The four of them, surrounded.
“Anybody got anything to say now?” Shane said. “Any crap about mixed marriages? The floor’s open; say your piece!”
The vampires, Claire realized, hadn’t come rushing to Michael’s defense. In fact, they were standing in a clump next to the blood supply, sipping from crystal cups, looking utterly uninvolved. She looked around for Oliver and Amelie and Myrnin. Myrnin was sitting down at a table, running his fingernails slowly over the cloth, shredding it into fluff.
Amelie and Oliver were still standing at the edge of the crowd, watching.
“All right.” A woman pushed through the crowd—a townie. Claire recognized her. The older clerk who’d refused to wait on Eve at the party supply store. She looked even stiffer and less fun today, in her boxy pastel blue dress and lacquered hair. “I’ll say something. I know you invited us here, and I think that was brave, but you know this is wrong.
He’s
one of
them
. No offense to
them
, but we keep ourselves to ourselves. Always have.”
“As much as I hate to stand in agreement, she’s correct,” drawled a well-dressed vampire, who sipped at his blood with perfect calm. “A master doesn’t
marry
the livestock. That’s simply perverse.”
Monica Morrell pushed her way through the crowd, teetering on heels that were even higher and thinner than Eve’s. “Hey! Who are you calling
livestock
, freak?” Her brother grabbed her by the shoulder to haul her back, but she shook him off. “I am not your
cow
.”
“I wasn’t talking to you,” the vampire said, and brushed imaginary dirt from his wine red velvet lapel. “You seem to have forgotten your place. And if you won’t be a cow, perhaps being a pig is more acceptable.”
That woke dry, sharp laughter from the vampire contingent, like the clatter of breaking crystal.
“Pig?” Monica yelped, and tried to twist free of Richard. “Let
go.
That asshole called me a
pig
! I’m not a nobody like
her
, you know!” She jerked her chin at Eve. “I’m a Morrell!”
“Excuse me, then,” the vampire said. “You are therefore a
prize
pig.”
Monica lurched forward on those high heels, scooped up the fallen knife from the floor, and stood next to Eve. A few steps away, but approximately next, anyway. “I have a Protector!” she snapped. “Hello? Protect me already!”
“From what?” Oliver’s voice echoed through the ballroom. “Insults? I’m not obliged to defend your dignity. Provided you have any. Stop this, all of you.”
He
didn’t have to push through the crowd; people got out of the way for him.
Amelie, Claire noticed, did not come with him. She stayed where she was, remote and cold.
“Enough of this. Look at you, squabbling like spoiled children,” Oliver said. He leveled a finger at the vampire in the dark red coat. “
You
will be respectful. And
you
—” The finger turned to point at Monica. “
You
will learn to hold your tongue.”
“Like a good little pet?” she asked acidly. “Oink.”
“If you don’t want my Protection, feel free to take off the bracelet,” Oliver said, and stared at her with fierce eyes. “Go ahead, Monica. See how it feels to be naked in the cold.”
Claire thought for a second she would actually do it. Monica lifted her wrist and ran a finger over the silver bracelet she wore, the one with Oliver’s sigil on it….
… And then she stepped back, head bowed. Richard pushed her behind him.
“Better,” Oliver said. He pointed at the vampire again. “More from you, Jean?” He gave it the French pronunciation,
Zhon
. Jean shrugged and sipped his blood. “Now. We are going to behave like civilized individuals.” He snapped his fingers and pointed at the two men on the ground. Two of Amelie’s ever-present bodyguards walked through the hole he’d made in the crowd, gathered them up, and dragged them off. “I do hope nobody else here has any other surprises planned, because if you so much as
think
about harming one another, I will oblige them. This is neutral ground. Violators will be gruesomely and violently shown the error of their ways. Clear?”
Nobody said a word. Not even Eve, which was surprising.
And then Amelie walked forward, moving through the parted crowd like an iceberg through dark seas—gleaming with cutting edges.
Oliver turned as she approached behind him, and Claire saw the look on his face. The dread, quickly stamped out into an even, expressionless mask.
“The Founder will speak,” he said, and stepped back to give her the floor.
“I come today at the request of two Morganville residents,” Amelie said. She stood in the very center of the room, facing Michael and Eve, who still had their hands clasped tightly together. “I come to deliver judgment on whether this planned union may proceed.”
“But—,” Eve whispered. “But I thought—”
Amelie stopped her cold. “I have heard the pleas of human residents to allow you to proceed. I have listened to others who insisted you be stopped. My own people are likewise divided, and equally persuasive.” Her silver eyes glittered like frozen coins. “I come to tell you what will be done in the best interests of Morganville, and my will rules here. Not Oliver’s, not yours. Mine.” Her eyes were turning white now, and Claire felt power stirring in the room, like currents of wild electricity. “And I say that this is not the time. Not for this.”
“Wait,” Michael said. “
Wait!
You can’t—”
“I can,” Amelie said softly. “And I will. And I must. No wedding will take place, not between human and vampire. Not until I am willing to let it be so.” Her eyes were pure white now, and Claire felt the crushing pulse of power. It wasn’t directed at her, she realized, or at Eve, or any human…. It was a vampire power, directed at the vamps in the room.
Who were falling to their knees now. Some willingly, some grudgingly. Some stayed on their feet for a while, but eventually, they caved, too.
Leaving only Oliver, swaying and resisting her … and Michael, who was holding on to Eve for support.
“No,” Michael said, through tightly gritted teeth. “No, this is
my
life.
Mine.
”
“Your life has always been mine, bloodchild.” Amelie extended her hand toward him, and closed her fist. “Submit.”
Michael screamed, and his eyes turned white. So did his face, dead white,
dead
. Claire took an involuntary step toward him, horrified, but Shane did more than that.
He stepped up to Michael’s side and put his arm under Michael’s, supporting his weight.
“You’ll thank me later, bro,” he said, and turned his gaze on Amelie. “Step off. Now.”
Her fangs were out. Amelie had never looked more alien to Claire, or more beautiful, or horribly dangerous. She was
terrifying
, and the other humans of Morganville were backing off now, heading for the door. The vampires were pinned in place.
Claire moved in to help brace Michael. Her head felt black with the buzzing power around her, and she knew it must be killing Michael; the color was gone out of him now. He could have been made out of marble, and it was scary, so very scary to touch his ice-cold skin….
Eve let go of Michael, leaving Claire and Shane to support him, and walked in front of Amelie.
She took off the pin that was on her red dress and threw it at her. “Go to
hell
and take that with you!” She shouted it right in Amelie’s face. Eve was an exotic blaze of color against Amelie’s white fury.
And then she
slapped the Founder in the face
.
Amelie took a step backward, stunned, and the crush of power in the room faltered.
Oliver lunged out and grabbed Eve by the waist, slinging her out of the way as Amelie went for her. He grabbed the Founder and wrapped her in his arms, then yelled at Claire, “Get them out! Now! Go home, and
hurry
! Do it now!”
Amelie’s fury jumped into the other vampires, and one by one, they shot to their feet, hissing. One threw a crystal glass of blood at Eve, but got Claire instead, splattering her white dress.
She looked down at the mess with a startled gasp, and thought,
Damn, Miranda was right. Again.
“Ahh … maybe we should be going,” Shane said. “Ditch the shoes, Eve. We’ll be running now.”
“I love these shoes!”
“More than your circulatory system?”
Eve silently kicked off the stilettos and backed up. Shane and Claire got Michael moving, weakly at least, and headed for the door. Eve acted as rearguard, not that she had anything to fight with other than the shoes she’d grabbed up.
The vampire in the red velvet coat headed for her, fangs out. She got the stiletto heel up, ready to strike, but something grabbed him in midleap and slammed him up, straight into the chandelier. Crystal shattered, and the disco ball spun wildly, throwing drunken sparkles over the room.
At the far end of the room, the fleeing dj hit a button on her system, and thundering techno music started up, shivering the air and thumping beats into Claire’s body like kicks.
Way
too loud.
Myrnin, who’d intercepted the attacking vamp, turned and looked at them.
At Claire.
His lips shaped words, but Claire couldn’t hear them. He made a shooing motion and smiled at her, one of those fragile and half-crazy things, and her heart just broke all over again.
She shook her head, and Eve slammed the ballroom door, cutting off the rush of vampires heading their way. She jammed a chair under the handle.
They ran for the elevator. Shane punched the button about sixteen times before the doors opened, and he dragged Michael inside as Claire held it for Eve. “They’re breaking out!” Eve gasped. “That chair’s not going to hold!”
“Close close close!” Shane yelled at the buttons, punching the one for the garage. Claire heard wood splintering, and then a crash as the ballroom door shattered off its hinges.
One vampire appeared in front of the elevator—a vampire with shoulder-length dark hair and ridiculously long tails on his black brocade coat.
Myrnin, again.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and turned to face a horde of oncoming attackers. “I’ll buy you time. Oh, nice party, by the way!”
The doors closed before Claire could thank him, and the elevator lurched and started inching its way slowly down.
“Michael?” Shane shook him, still holding him upright with an arm under his shoulders. “Hey, man, you with us?”
Michael nodded. He looked better. Not good, but not as statue-pale now. His eyes were fading back to blue again, slowly. “You had my back.” He sounded surprised.
“Always,” Shane said. “Thought you knew that.”
Eve put her arms around his neck and kissed him, on the lips. Shane did a funny little wiggle, trying to squirm away while not dumping Michael on his ass, but she kept it brief. “Sorry, but I had to do that,” she said. “You rock.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t have to brand me with lipstick,” Shane said, and wiped it off. “My girl’s standing right there.”
“Your girl doesn’t mind,” Claire said. She was still scared, but somehow also elated. Free. Reborn. “I’d kiss you, too, if I was closer.”
“I wouldn’t,” Michael said. “I don’t love you that way.”
“That’s not what you said last time.”
“Ass.” Michael almost smiled, but it faded as the movement of the cabin stopped with a jerk. “We’re here. Stay alert; we’re not clear yet.”
Claire got out, watching the angles, but the garage seemed deserted. She gestured for the others to hustle after her, which they did, quickly. Shane had the keys to the hearse, which he tossed to her, and Claire quickly unlocked the back. They loaded Michael and Eve inside, in the vampire-shaded area, and got in the front. “Lock it,” Shane said. Claire nodded and hit the control, just as a white-faced vampire popped up at her window and tried the door. She shrieked and jumped, but got control and jammed the hearse into gear.
Too fast, too fast
… the thing was like a luxury liner, and she had to make several fast back-and-forth moves to rock it free of obstructions. The vampire jumped on top, and punched fingernails through the roof.