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 c**k 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?"