Claire swallowed and stepped out from behind Shane. He tried to grab her arm, but she twisted away, never taking her eyes off Pennywell. "Don't hurt them," she said. "What do you want?"
"I want you to come with me," he said, "and I am entirely out of patience. Now."
Claire held out her hands, palm out, to her friends - Michael, in his rock-star clothes, looking pale and focused and dangerous; Eve, dressed in a fall of black velvet, looking like a silent film star, right down to the look of fear on her face.
Shane was practically begging her not to go. His need to protect her pulled at her like gravity.
She said, "He won't hurt me. I'll call as soon as I can. You guys go home. Please."
"Claire - "
"Shane, go."
To her utter dismay, she saw Kim move over to her friends and stand next to Shane. Kim put a hand on his arm, and he looked down at her. "Let her go," she told him. "She'll be fine."
Claire knew that this was not the right time to be wanting to scream, Take your hands off my boyfriend, bitch, but it was all she could do to hold the words inside. Pennywell's hand closed around her wrist, cold and strong as a handcuff, and as he began to pull her away, Claire met Shane's eyes one last time.
"I'll be back," she said. "Don't do anything crazy."
He probably thought she meant fighting vampires.
What she really meant, deep down, was Don't fall in love with Kim.
5
Pennywell marched her outside of the concert hall, into the chilly night. There was a smell of rain in the air, and thunder rumbling far off in the distance. Lightning shattered across the sky, briefly turning Pennywell almost luminous, and as Claire blinked away the glare, she saw that he was pulling her in the direction of an idling limousine parked at the curb.
"In," he barked, and shoved her at the open back door. She stumbled, caught herself, and crawled in. It was dark, of course. And it smelled like cigar smoke. Pennywell clambered in behind her, agile as a spider, and slammed the door behind him. The big car accelerated away from the curb.
"Where are we going?" Claire asked.
"Nowhere," said a voice out of the dark - Oliver's voice. The lights in the back slowly came up, revealing him sitting on the bench seat opposite her. Next to him was the source of the smoke, who smirked at her as he took a long pull on his cigar. Myrnin had put on a wine red jacket for the evening, something with elaborate embroidery on it. He looked almost normal, actually. He was even wearing the right shoes.
There was nothing normal about his smile, though.
"Cohiba?" he asked, and took an unlit cigar out of his pocket to offer it to her. She shook her head, violently. "Pity. You know, daring women used to smoke."
"Cancer isn't sexy."
He raised his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "You all die of something," he said. "And we all pay for our pleasures, one way or another."
"Myrnin, what the hell is going on? You send this freak to abduct me. . . ."
"Actually," Oliver said, "I sent Pennywell. It seemed to me he would be the one of us you and your friends would be least likely to argue with."
Pennywell laughed. "There you are wrong."
"I never said it would be easy." Oliver slammed the door on that conversation, and focused back on Claire. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and she tried not to be intimidated. "Myrnin and I wish to ask you about Amelie."
"Amelie." Claire stared back at him blankly, and then she felt the first tinglings of alarm. "What about her?"
"That display of foolishness last night. How did you know what she was doing? I didn't."
"I think it's the bracelet. I don't know. Maybe - " Maybe it's Ada, she thought, but didn't say. Myrnin stared at her thoughtfully through half-lidded eyes and blew smoke in a cloud at the roof. "Maybe she wanted me to know. Deep down. Maybe she wanted someone to stop her."
"Was she surprised to see you?" Myrnin asked. Claire slowly nodded. "Then she didn't summon you, consciously or unconsciously. Interesting."
"Theories?" Oliver asked.
"Not at present." Myrnin shrugged; then he spoiled his cool by catching sight of something outside of the limousine windows and brightening like a three-year-old with a new toy. "Oh, an all-night drive-through! I could murder a cheeseburger. Don't you just love this century?"
"Focus, you fool," Oliver growled. "What is Amelie up to? Is she fit to remain in control?"
"What makes you think she is in control?" Myrnin asked absently, then shot Claire a frown. "What happened to your face?"
"You," she snapped. "Remember?"
"I certainly did not order you to stand out in the sun. What possible good would that do?"
"Box? UV bomb? Ringing any bells?"
"Oh." Myrnin considered this carefully, then sighed.
"Yes. Quite my fault. So sorry. What were we talking about?"
"Amelie," Oliver said, almost growling. "Is she fit to lead?"
Myrnin stubbed out his cigar in the wineglass. "Careful, my old friend," he said."You come very close to saying something you would regret. I'm not your creature."
"No," Oliver agreed. "You're her creature to the bone. You built her this madhouse of a town. I would assume you could destroy it, if you chose."
Myrnin's attention seemed to be focused on crushing the cigar into submission. "Your point?"
"Amelie said herself that Morganville was built as an experiment, to see if it was possible for vampires and humans to live openly, and in peace. Well, I think that after all this time, we know the answer to that question. The only way to control humans is through fear, intimi dation, and appeals to their greed. This exercise hasn't made us stronger; it's made us weaker."