Claire took in a breath and asked, "Did you order Myrnin to kill Shane?"
Amelie stood there silently with the white carnation turning in her cool, long fingers, then turned and took Oliver's offered elbow as he entered the room, looking very much not himself in a suit that was almost as beautiful as what Michael was wearing. "Ah. There you are. Shall we proceed?"
"I suppose we must," he said. He didn't seem happy about it.
Claire said, "Wait! You didn't answer - "
Amelie turned back to Claire just for a moment, and said, "What I do for this town, I do without regard to my own feelings, much less yours. Is that clear?" Her voice was cold, low, and very clear, and then she was gone, the queen walking off to greet her subjects.
So, it hadn't really been Myrnin's choice. No wonder he was so wounded; he'd been ordered, and he'd obeyed, and Claire had dumped the blame on him (well, he was to blame - he could have refused!), but Amelie was definitely the puppet master pulling his strings. As hurtful as Myrnin's betrayal was, it didn't scare her nearly as much now.
Amelie had told her long ago that she would do anything, sacrifice anyone, for the safety of Morganville, but it still felt like betrayal.
Eve peeked around the door and gestured at Claire, who moved closer. "Is everybody here?" she asked. She looked terrified and excited all at once. "Is it ready?"
"Ready," Claire said. "Everyone's waiting on you."
Eve took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and whispered something to herself, then disappeared behind the edge of the door again. Thirty seconds later, she swept in on Michael's arm.
Claire thought that she had never seen them look better, especially together; Eve's dramatic long red dress clung to her figure and made her look even taller, while Michael had put on a really great suit. His blond hair blazed in the light, and was the perfect counterpoint to Eve's black.
They looked at each other, and Eve smiled a slow, delighted smile that Michael echoed.
Claire stepped forward and pinned on Eve's corsage, and then the two swept on into the crowd, full of people murmuring and whispering. Everyone watched them, and Claire moved back to grip Shane's hand tightly. It was Eve and Michael's party, but somehow, it felt like a test.
Nobody spoke to them directly as they made their way across the room, until Myrnin stepped into their path. He was silent for a few seconds, then reached for Eve's hand. He raised it to his lips and bent over it, and Claire could hear him say, even where she stood by the door, "Congratulations to you both, my dear. May your happiness last forever."
"I'll drink to that!" someone said, and a number of people laughed, and the spell was broken. People mixed and mingled. More came up to shake Michael's hand and offer Eve a hug or a smile.
It was going to be all right.
"Uh-oh," Shane said. He jerked his chin toward the far edge of the crowd. "She's not joining in." By she he meant Amelie, who stood in regal isolation with Oliver. They were talking together, ignoring what was going on in the center of the room. It looked intense. "I don't like the look of that."
"She practically admitted she ordered - " Claire didn't dare say more, not in a room full of vampire ears, so she touched the soft fabric of his turtleneck, and he nodded. "I don't know if we can count on her help."
"I never have," he said. "Or anybody else's, except yours, Eve's, and . . ." He hesitated, but he smiled and finished anyway. "Michael's. Safer that way, CB. You get wrapped up in the politics of this town and you get dragged under."
Richard Morrell arrived late, and he brought his sister. Monica Morrell took the very last carnation Claire had, made a face, and handed it to her brother. "Cheap," she said. "I should have known they wouldn't have orchids, but I expected something better than that." As if Claire weren't standing right there. "Ugh, I'll bet they don't even have an open bar."
"How exactly would that matter to you, since you can't drink legally?" Richard asked. He sounded worn-out and sharp, and Monica fell into a pout. She wore a low-cut, thigh-high shimmering blue dress that emphasized her long legs, and had probably cost more than Claire had saved for her college fund. "You wanted to come, and you promised you'd be civil. If you're not, you go home. No arguments."
"Oh, try not to sound so much like Mom - you don't have the ovaries," Monica said. She threw Claire a nasty smile as she strode past them, tossing the carnation to the floor and crushing it beneath her fancy stiletto-heeled shoes. "Isn't there supposed to be dancing? Knowing Eve, it'll probably be that crappy death metal and emo ballads, but I came to dance."
"Shut up and put the gift on the table, Monica," Richard said. He handed her a nicely wrapped box, which she held at arm's length as if it held live cockroaches. Claire pointed her to the gift table, already loaded up with presents. Monica stalked over and dropped it on the pile, then turned a dazzling smile and hair-flip on the nearest man.
"God," Richard sighed. "I'd apologize, but you know by now that you can't expect anything else out of her."
"In a weird sort of way, it's comforting," Shane said. "Nice to know some things never change. Plagues, death, taxes, Monica."
"I guess we can stop playing greeters," Claire said. "I'm all out of flowers." She picked up the one Monica had trampled and tossed it back in the box, which she shoved under a handy table. "I need punch."
"May I escort you to get it?" Richard asked, and offered her his arm. She blinked and looked at Shane, who shrugged.
"I'd be honored," she said.
It felt weird, being led around by the mayor.... People talked to him freely, and gave her odd looks; she was well aware of Shane moving along behind them, and wondered if she should have done this, after all. Morganville was a gossip hotbed. Next thing, she'd probably find out she'd dumped her boyfriend for Richard, which was so not going to happen; Richard was nice enough, but not when compared with Shane. Besides, that meant getting Monica as a relative. Terrifying.
Richard steered her to the punch, released her, and went off to talk to constituents; Claire filled two cups and handed one to Shane, who took a long drink, then winced and touched his throat.
"Hurts?"
He nodded. "Burns," he said. "Somebody spiked the punch, FYI. Maybe you should stick to water - that tastes like Ever-clear."
"Ugh." Claire put her punch down, untasted, and went for bottled water instead. Safer, anyway; she hadn't forgotten Miranda's words about her dress. Her throat was dry, and the water tasted cool and sweet. She nibbled a bell-shaped cookie and eyed the cake, which looked considerably better than it had when the bakers had shoved it on Eve as professional work; she was, in fact, kind of proud of it. "Should we do something about the punch?"
"Don't take all the fun out of things," Shane said. "Besides, I'm not lugging that all the way to the kitchen." He was right - the punch bowl was enormous, and full. Not much that could be done about it.
She was still worrying about it when a fight broke out, somewhere near the middle of the room.
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.