"Harlequin," she croaked. "Myrnin - " The memory of what Myrnin had done came flooding back. He'd taunted Bishop. He'd set Amelie up to take the fall, and he'd run. He'd left her there, too, to die.
"That's Myrnin? The crazy one? Claire. How could you trust him in the first place?" Shane cupped her face in his hands. "He talked you into it, didn't he?"
Not exactly. She'd wanted to believe Myrnin. She wanted to believe in that sweet, innocent soul that she glimpsed in him from time to time - but now she wasn't at all sure it even existed at all.
Or if it had, maybe her cure had destroyed it.
"I couldn't - " Claire tried to put the words together, but it was too hard, and Shane's eyes were too forgiving. He kissed her, and even under the circumstances, with her parents right there, with a house full of vampires and half of Morganville in danger, she thought she could stand here all night and all day, in his arms.
"I know," he murmured, with his damp, sweet lips on hers. "I know."
She almost thought he did.
"Sorry to break this up," Michael said drily from behind Claire, "but I'm thinking we need to do a little perimeter patrolling."
"Not a bad idea," Shane said, and stepped back, "if they're torching houses to drive people out in the streets. Easier to pick them off that way, I'll bet."
"Exactly." Michael handed him a crowbar. Shane twirled it and captured it under his arm. "Like Claire said, we're a good target. All the Founder Houses are. I'll take the back; you go to the front."
"I'll do it," Claire offered. Shane and Michael both grabbed her arms and towed her back to the couch, where she was unceremoniously dumped. "Hey!"
Shane turned to her parents. "Make sure she stays in."
"We will," her mother said, and sat down beside Claire. "Honestly, Claire, what are you thinking? It's dangerous out there!"
That was exactly what Claire was thinking, in relation to Shane. But she knew that in her present condition, she wasn't much use. Not for this, at least.
"Bathroom," she sighed, and there was no arguing with that. Her parents exchanged a look. Dad shrugged.
"I'll go with you," Mom offered.
"Mom, I'm old enough to go to the bathroom alone." Her voice was getting stronger all the time; she only had to hesitate a couple of times getting all that out. She still sounded like she had a pack-a-day cigarette habit, though. But husky was sexy, right?
Mom had her doubts about the whole old-enough theory, but she stayed where she was, on the couch. She and Dad exchanged shrugs. Claire stepped around a knot of strangers - all vampires, with cool, suspicious eyes - and took the stairs.
Miranda was sitting on the landing with her Medusa-snaked head cradled in her hands. "Hey," Claire said, and hunkered down next to her. "You okay?"
Miranda nodded. "Told you," she said. "Blood. Fire. It's all going away."
"Can you see anything about us? About the house?"
Miranda shook her head. "Too tired." She sounded like it - almost catatonic, slurring her words. "Head hurts."
"Come on," Claire said, and got Miranda to her feet. "I've got a bed. No reason somebody shouldn't be using it."
She saw the girl tucked in, already dozing off, and then - as she'd promised Mom and Dad - visited the bathroom. There was a line. Once that was done, she felt free to investigate other options.
She'd never promised to come right back.
The way she wanted to go was blocked by one of Amelie's bodyguards - the one who'd nodded to her during an earlier visit, in fact. He was marginally less stone-faced than the rest of her staff, but definitely intimidating. Claire looked up at him, well aware that the bruising around her throat was turning purple.
"Can I go up?" she asked. The bodyguard seemed to consider her for a long second before giving her a nod and moving aside. He knocked. The hidden door popped open, and Claire slipped inside and closed it behind her.
There was another vampire bodyguard at the foot of the stairs, and he wasn't as friendly, but after a whispered conversation at the top of the stairs, he let her go up.
Upstairs it was only Amelie, lying in a frozen waterfall of white silk on the couch, and Sam, and Oliver.
The stake was still in her chest, and her eyes were open and blank.
Oliver snapped at Claire the second she cleared the stairs. "Go away!"
She nearly did, but Sam jumped in quickly. "No," he said. "She's earned the right. She was the first one to stand next to Amelie, not you. Not even me."
Oliver seemed harassed, but he refocused on Amelie's still, pale face. His long fingers were on her temples, unexpectedly gentle. He'd stripped off his scarecrow costume, or most of it, but there were still bits of straw in his hair, and smudges of greasepaint on his skin.
He leaned close, staring into her open eyes, and held there. Seconds ticked by, and Sam waited.
"Now," Oliver whispered.
Sam grabbed the stake and pulled, one swift yank. Amelie's body followed it upward in a spasm, and her mouth opened wide. Her vampire teeth glittered, sharp and deadly in the light.
She didn't make a sound.
Sam looked tormented. Oliver was whispering something, too faint for Claire to catch, and he bent his head so close to Amelie's they were almost touching. When Sam reached out toward her, Oliver looked up and shook his head sharply. Sam froze.
"Take her," Oliver said, and removed his hands from her head. Sam quickly took over, sliding into his place. Oliver skinned back his gray shirtsleeve, took in a deep breath, and put his forearm to Amelie's mouth.