The other vampire, facing away and down the steps, said, "Don't think we have time for sweet talk, ma'am. What you want us to do?" He had a drawling Texas accent, the first one Claire had heard from any vampire. She'd never heard him speak at all before.
He winked at her, which was even more of a shock. Until that moment, he hadn't even looked at her like a real person.
"A moment," Amelie murmured.
The Texan nodded behind them. "Don't think we've got one, ma'am."
There were shadows converging in the dark at the foot of the steps--the patrol that Hannah had been shooting at. There were at least twenty of them. In the lead was Ysandre, the beautiful vampire Claire hated maybe more than she hated any other vampire in the entire world. She was Bishop's girl through and through--Amelie's vampire sister, if they thought in those kinds of terms.
Claire hated Ysandre for Shane's sake. She was glad the vamp was here, and not attacking Shane's Bloodmobile-- one, because she wasn't so sure Shane could resist the evil witch, and two, she wanted to stake Ysandre herself.
Personally.
"No," Hannah said, when Claire took a step out from behind her. "Are you crazy? Get back!"
Hannah fired over her shoulder. It was at the outer extreme of the paintball gun's range, but the pellet hit one of the vampires--not Ysandre, Claire was disappointed to see--right in the chest. Silver dust puffed up in a lethal mist, and the close formation scattered. Ysandre might have had a few burns, but nothing that wouldn't heal.
The vampire Hannah had shot in the chest toppled over and hit the marble stairs, smoking and flailing.
Amelie slammed her palm flat against the door and closed her eyes, and deep inside the barrier something groaned and shifted with a scrape of metal. "Inside," Amelie murmured, still wicked controlled, and Claire spun and followed the three vampires across the threshold. Hannah backed in after, grabbed the door, and slammed it shut.
"No locks," she said.
Amelie reached over and pushed Hannah's gun hand into an atrest position at her side. "None necessary. They won't get in." She sounded sure of it, but from the look Hannah continued to give the door--as if she wished she could weld it shut with the force of her stare--she wasn't so certain. "This way. We'll take the stairs."
It was a library, full of books. Some--on this floor--were new, or at least newish, with colorful spines and crisp titles that Claire could read even in the low light. She slowed down a little, blinking. "You guys have vampire stories in here?" None of the vampires answered. Amelie veered to the right, through the twostorytall shelves, and headed for a set of sweeping marble steps at the end. The books got older, the paper more yellow. Claire caught sight of a sign that read FOLKLORE, CA. 18701945, ENGLISH, and then another that identified a German section. Then French. Then script that might have been Chinese.
So many books, and from what she could tell, every single one of them had to do in some way with vampires. Was it history or fiction to them?
Claire didn't really have time to work it out. They were taking the stairs, moving around the curve up to the second level. Claire's legs burned all along the calf muscles, and her breathing was getting raspy from the constant movement and adrenaline. Hannah flashed her a quick, sympathetic smile. "Yeah," she said. "Consider it basic training. Can you keep up?"
Claire gave her a gasping nod.
More books here, old and crumbling, and the air tasted like dry leather and ancient paper. Toward the back of the room, there were things that looked like wine racks, the fancy Xshaped kind people put in cellars, only these held rolls of paper, each neatly tied with ribbon. They were scrolls, probably very old ones. Claire hoped they'd go that direction, but no, Amelie was turning them down another book aisle, toward a blank white wall.
No, not quite blank. It had a small painting on the wall, in a fussy gilt frame. Some blandlooking nature scene . . . and then, as Amelie stared at it, the painting changed.
It grew darker, as though clouds had come across the meadow and the drowsy sheep in the picture.
And then it was dark, just a dark canvas, then some pinpricks of light, like candle flames through smoke. . . .
And then Claire saw Myrnin.
He was in chains, silvercolored chains, kneeling on the floor, and his head was down. He was still wearing the blousy white pantaloons of his Pierrot costume, but no shirt. The wet points of his damp hair clung to his face and his marblepale shoulders.
Amelie nodded sharply, and put a hand against the wall to the left of the picture, pressing what looked like a nail, and part of the wall swung out silently on oiled hinges.
Hidden doors: vampires sure seemed to love them.
There was darkness on the other side. "Oh, hell no," Claire heard Hannah mutter. "Not again."
Amelie sent her a glance, and there was a whisper of amusement in the look. "It's a different darkness," she said. "And the dangers are very different, from this point on. Things may change quickly. You will have to adapt."
Then she stepped through, and the vampires followed, and it was just Claire and Hannah.
Claire held out her hand. Hannah took it, still shaking her head, and the dark closed around them like a damp velvet curtain.
There was the hiss of a match dragging, and a flare of light from the corner. Amelie, her face turned ivory by the licking flame, set the match to a candle and left the light burning as she flicked on a small flashlight and played it around the room. Boxes. It was some kind of storeroom, dusty and disused. "All right," she said. "G?rard, if you please."