I could maybe have managed something with the underwire.
I've jimmied my share of car door locks and a few house locks along the way as well.
The shoes I didn't mind so much.
Someone knocked tentatively at the door.
I hadn't heard anyone walking.
Maybe it was the ghost.
The scrape of a lock and the door opened.
Amber opened the door, and said, "Silly, Mercy.
Why did you lock yourself in?" Her voice was as light as her smile, but something wild lurked behind her eyes.
Something very close to a wolf.
Vampire? I wondered.
I'd met one of Stefan's menagerie who was well on his way to vampirehood.
Or maybe it was just the part of Amber who knew what was going on.
"I didn't," I told her.
"Blackwood did." She smelled funny, but the cinnamon kept me from pinpointing it.
"Silly," she said again.
"Why would he do that?" Her hair looked as if she hadn't combed it since the last time I'd seen her, and her striped shirt was buttoned one button off.
"I don't know," I told her.
But she had changed subjects already.
"I have dinner ready.
You're supposed to join us for dinner." "Us?" She laughed, but there was no smile in her eyes, just a trapped beast growing wild with frustration.
"Why Corban, Chad, and Jim, of course." She turned to lead the way, and I noticed she was limping badly.
"Are you hurt?" I asked her.
"No, why do you ask?" "Never mind," I said gently, because I'd noticed something else.
"Don't worry about it." She wasn't breathing.
Here and now, I counseled myself.
No fear, no rage.
Just observation: know your enemy.
Rot.
That's what I'd been smelling: that first hint that a steak's been in the fridge too long.