"Shhhh," he whispered, and pressed his lips to her forehead. "How's Michael?" She didn't want to talk about Michael, so she just shook her head. Shane swallowed hard. "He's not . . . dead?"
"Define dead around here," Claire said. "No, he's okay. He's just . . . you know. Not himself."
"Bishop's?" She nodded. He closed his eyes in pain. "What about Eve?"
"She's working. I haven't seen her in a couple of weeks." Eve, like everyone else in Morganville, treated Claire like a traitor these days, and Claire honestly couldn't blame her. "She's really busted up about Michael. And you, of course."
"No doubt," Shane said softly. He seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat. "Have you heard anything about me and my dad? What Bishop has planned for us?"
Claire shook her head. Even if she knew - and she didn't, in detail - she wouldn't have told him. "Let's not talk about it. Shane - I've missed you so much - "
He kissed her again, and the world melted into a wonderful spinning blend of heat and bells, and it was only when she finally, regretfully pulled back that she heard Myrnin's mocking, steady clapping.
"Love conquers all," he said. "How quaint."
Claire turned on him, feeling fury erupt like a volcano in her guts. "Shut up!"
He didn't even bother to glance at her, just leaned back against the wall and smiled. "You want to know what he's got planned for you, Shane? Do you really?"
"Myrnin, don't!"
Shane reached through the bars and grabbed Claire's shoulders, turning her back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he said. "This matters, right now. Claire, we're going to get out of this. We're going to live through it. Both of us. Say it with me."
"Both of us," she repeated. "We're going to live."
Myrnin's cold hand closed around her wrist, and he dragged her away from the bars. The last thing she let go of was Shane's hand.
"Hey!" Shane yelled, as Claire fought, lost, and was pulled through the door. "Claire! We've going to live! Say it! We're going to live!"
Myrnin slammed the door. "Theatrical, isn't he? Come on, girl. We have work to do."
She tried to shake him off. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you traitor!"
Myrnin didn't give her a choice; he half dragged, half marched her away from the first vampire guard, then the second, and then pulled her into an empty, quiet room off the long hallway. He shut the door with a wicked boom and whirled to face her.
Claire grabbed the first thing that came to hand - it happened to be a heavy candlestick - and swung it at his head. He ducked, rushed in, and effortlessly took it away from her. "Girl. Claire!" He shook her into stillness. His eyes were wide and very dark. Not at all crazy. "If you want the boy to live, you'll stop fighting me. It's not productive."
"What, I should just stand here and let you bite me? Not happening!" She tried to pull away, but he was as solid as a granite statue. Her bones would break before his grip did.
"Why on earth would I bite you?" Myrnin asked, very reasonably. "I don't work for Bishop, Claire. I never have. I thought you certainly had enough brains to understand that."
Claire blinked again. "Are you trying to tell me that you're still on our side?"
"Define our, my dear."
"The side of . . ." Well, he was right. It was a little tough to define. "You know. Us!"
Myrnin actually laughed, let go, and stuffed his hands casually into the pockets of his frock coat. "Us, indeed. I understand you might be skeptical. You have reason. Perhaps I should allow someone else to convince you - Ah. Right on time."
She wouldn't have believed him, not for a second, except that a section of the wall opened, there was a flash of white-hot light, and a woman stepped through, followed by a long line of people.
The woman was Amelie, vampire queen of Morganville - though she didn't look anything like the perfect pale princess that Claire had always seen. Amelie had on black pants, a black zip-up hoodie, and running shoes.
So wrong.
And behind her was the frickin' vampire army, led by Oliver, all in black, looking scarier than Claire could remember ever seeing him - he usually at least tried to look nondangerous, but today, he obviously didn't care. He wore his graying hair tied back in a ponytail, and it pulled his face into an unsmiling mask.
He crossed his arms and looked at Myrnin and Claire like they were something slimy he'd found on his coffee shop floor.