Behind her stood Eve, both hands in the vamp's hair. "That's my friend, you bitch!" Eve said, and--when she was sure Claire was ready--shoved the vamp at her, off balance.
Onto the point of Claire's silver-coated, blinged-out stake.
The vamp cried out, and for a second her eyes met Claire's, and Claire felt something terrible: guilt. There was terror in those alien eyes, and hurt, and surprise . . . and then the vamp went down at her feet, taking the stake with her.
The vamp girl had been somebody's daughter once. Somebody's sister. Maybe even somebody's girlfriend. Maybe she hadn't asked to be what she was now.
Claire felt sick and she wanted to cry, but there wasn't time, because Shane was at her side now, pulling her into his arms.
"Eve?" he asked. "You okay?"
Claire turned her head to look at her friend. Eve didn't look okay. Her Goth makeup was a mess, mascara smeared and running in thick, uneven streams down her face; her dress was torn at the shoulder, and she had long, red scratches down one arm that were still bleeding.
But it was her eyes that really told Claire how not-okay she was. They were wide and full of misery. Without even knowing why, Claire let go of Shane and hugged Eve, who hugged her back so hard it hurt. Eve was trying not to cry, from her hiccuping little gasps for breath.
"You're okay now," Claire whispered in her ear. "We came as fast as we could."
Eve nodded and tried to smile. "Guess I can't say you're losers for at least a week, then." Her voice sounded odd and muffled, but she blinked back the tears. "Thank you." She kissed Claire's cheek, then Shane's. Shane stepped away, clearing his throat. "Oh, don't go all boy on me."
"Mikey!" Shane yelled. "You'd better finish it up! Your girlfriend's trying to kiss--"
He didn't finish, because all of a sudden the fight was over . . .
. . . and Michael lost.
It happened so fast Claire hardly had time to comprehend it, but one second, the two vamps were a blur of movement, and the next, Michael was down on the ground, crumpled like a broken toy.
The other vamp grinned with her sharp, sharp teeth gleaming in the light, and licked blood from her lips. Her eyes looked brilliant and insane, and redder than the blood. She kicked Michael's limp body out of the way and came for the three of them, doing that creepy jumping-spider thing again.
Suddenly, there was a cold, still presence standing in front of them, and a white hand reaching up, grabbing the vamp in midair and slamming her down to the floor.
Amelie.
The Founder of Morganville had arrived, and she'd done it in force; as Claire looked behind her, she saw at least a dozen vampires, all looking very seriously dangerous, including Oliver and a number of others she knew by sight. They were all dressed in long black leather coats, like a kind of uniform, with the symbol of the Founder stamped into the leather on every one of them.
Amelie was wearing white. Pure ice white, almost shimmering in the dim light. Her hair was up in a woven crown, nearly as pale as her elegant silk suit.
"Do be quiet," she told the fallen vampire. "You're a worthless idiot, but I don't want more blood tonight. Don't make me kill you for what you've done." Amelie's voice was so cold that it seemed to drop the temperature in the overheated, stifling room by at least fiftydegrees."Getup."
The other vamp did, moving slowly. Claire didn't see Oliver move, but suddenly he was right there, holding both the woman's arms in a bone-shattering grip behind her. "No foolish moves, Patrice," he said. "I don't believe the Founder is joking."
"Get her out of my sight," Amelie said, and looked at the other fallen vampires. The one who'd been burned badly by Claire's silver nitrate got up and limped over, looking thoroughly terrified. "This one, too. And release those others." She waved a hand at the vampires Shane had nailed with the crossbow bolts. One of Oliver's black-coated troopers glided over and pulled the arrows out. The two downed bloodsuckers, released from their paralysis, coughed and sputtered blood.
They'd live.
"Michael," Claire whispered. Eve broke free and ran to him, throwing herself down on the floor and taking his head into her lap. He looked--oh, God--he looked . . . dead. His eyes were open, and he looked so pale, so still; there was a hole in the side of his throat, but not much blood. Claire skidded to a stop and put her hands to her mouth, trying to hold in a scream. She felt Shane's hands close hard around her shoulders--that was probably his version of feeling the same rush of horror and denial.
Then Michael finally, slowly, blinked. Eve screamed. "Michael? Michael! Talk to me!"
"He can't," Amelie said. She had come up behind them, and was looking at Michael with a slight softening of her usual cool expression. Maybe, Claire thought, because Michael still reminded her of Sam, her lost love. Apart from the color of their hair, they'd looked a lot alike. "He'll be all right once we get some nourishment into him. I'll have my people take him directly to the blood bank."
"I want to go with him!" Eve said.
"I'm not sure that's wise. Drained and hungry vampires, even ones you know well, can be very unpredictable. I would hate for anything to happen that Michael might regret later."
"What about what we might regret later?" Shane asked under his breath. "Oh, right. Humans don't count."
Amelie heard him, and her head swiveled smoothly as she focused her cool gray eyes on his face. "I only meant that you would likely not be around to regret anything, Mr. Collins. Ms. Rosser. Explain what happened here. Now."