Bite Club Page 0,81

she hadn't been invited to take one of the thick leather armchairs next to the desk, and, besides, she wasn't in a sitting kind of mood. Amelie's office in Founder's Square had been a little tricky to access; she didn't want to use portals, and popping in uninvited on the Big Vampire Boss (much less popping in with a bag full of antivampire equipment) probably wasn't a fabulous survival tactic,

anyway. But getting through the levels of guards and social secretaries also hadn't been easy. Amelie had hired someone to sit at a desk in front of her office, and that vampire--the nameplate on her desk said her name was Bizzie O'Meara, and she'd looked deadly serious about her job--hadn't been at all understanding about the concept of emergencies.

Amelie herself had opened the door, looking cross at all the noise, and waved Claire inside. That didn't mean, however, that Claire was welcome. Just stuck.

"Well?" Amelie said. That tone was about as close as the Founder of Morganville ever came to showing temper, at least with humans. There was an icy, cutting edge to it that left the unmistakable impression of a threat, even if the details weren't exactly specified. "Explain yourself."

"I can't," Claire said, and readjusted the book bag on her shoulder. "Not yet, anyway. I'm investigating. When I'm sure about what I know, I'll tell you. But in order to get proof, I need access to someone who's being held for crimes against Morganville."

Amelie raised her eyebrows about a millimeter. "Really. Of course, the answer to that would be no."

"But I need--"

"Prisoners who are held on that particular charge don't get visitors, Claire. Nor do they get furloughs. They are mine, for life, to do with as I wish. And this...individual...may not even be alive, for all you know."

That was scarily true. Claire hesitated, then said, "Kim."

"Kim," Amelie repeated, as if she had no idea who Claire was talking about. "Oh.Her. Well, yes, she is alive--I'd hardly execute someone so young, even if she is unpleasant and unmanageable. She remains in custody, as she will at my pleasure until she proves to me that she deserves to see daylight once again."

"She's good at doing things online that even you and Myrnin couldn't find, and that's pretty rare. I need her expertise." Claire was in danger of giving things away and she knew it; she had no idea if Frank would lie to the Founder, or even if hecould. Part of what drove him was machinery and programming; his human brain might want to lie for his son, but what about the rest of him? She couldn't be sure about anything. "I need her help to find someone."

"Does this have to do with my father?"

That was an extremely dangerous question, because it did, in a small and indirect way, but to answeryes meant spilling everything. It was ninety percentno , anyway. "Not directly," Claire said. "But it might help."

"Hmmm. And do you think she'd actually help you?" Amelie sat down at her desk, looking every inch the woman in charge. "I think you don't know this Kim very well. She loathes you, in particular, more than anyone else. Even more than me, I believe."

"Because of Shane. Yeah, I know. She likes him."

Amelie just shrugged, completely uninterested in mere mortal feelings.

"I think she'll help me on this. Please. Just let me talk to her. I do need her help."

Amelie drummed her pale-pink-painted fingernails on the desk in a slow rhythm, staring at Claire with those unsettling gray eyes. Her phone gave a low buzz for attention. She ignored it. "I don't like you assuming that you have the run of my office, Claire. Are we understood?"

"Yes."

More drumming. Claire couldn't stop glancing at those long, shapely, pale fingers, with their razor-sharp (and perfectly manicured) nails. As Amelie probably intended.

"All right," Amelie said. "I'll give you access for five minutes. If you can get that person to agree, I will let her help you on this...project. But she cannot leave her confinement. Are we understood?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Amelie said. "You're not going alone." She pressed a button on the phone, which had stopped buzzing, and said, "Bizzie. Please get Michael Glass to my office immediately."

"Ma'am," Bizzie's disembodied voice said. "Oliver is calling for you."

"Oliver can wait. I want Michael here. Send a car."

"Yes, Madam Founder."

"You, Claire," Amelie said, lifting her finger from the phone button, "will sit and be quiet. I am greatly annoyed with your behavior. I realize that it is