Black Dawn: The Morganville Vampires (14 page)

Blood. Blood on her hand—no, on her fingers, welling out as if she’d been stabbed with a hundred pins.

It hurt in a sudden, blazing ignition of feeling, and she realized what had just happened. It crashed in on her fast and hard, and she felt terror rip through her. She squirmed back and up, sitting against the corner, holding her injured hand close to her chest.

Oliver was helping Myrnin unwrap Amelie’s fingers from his wrist. As soon as it was done, Myrnin fell to the floor and half crawled, half slid into another corner, cradling his wrist just as Claire was holding her own injured fingers. He looked … appalled. And scared.

Oliver was standing between the two of them and the bed. Amelie hadn’t moved. Not at all. Oliver looked as furious as Claire had ever seen him, face as sharp and pale as bone, eyes like coals smoldering red beneath the black. “You
idiots
,” he snapped, and came toward Claire. When she flinched, he looked even angrier. “I’m not set to hurt you, stupid girl. Let me see your hand.”

She was all too aware of the red pooling in her palm, but he didn’t wait for her consent; he snatched her arm, vamp fast, and stretched it out to inspect the wound. If the blood itself affected him at all, he showed no signs of it. He took a moment, then let her go, strode away, and came back with a small white towel, which he pitched into her lap. “Clean yourself,” he said. “I told you very clearly you were not to enter this room. I never took you
for this much of a fool. And you, Myrnin. What the devil were you thinking?”

“We need the key,” Claire said. Her teeth were inexplicably chattering, and she felt ice-cold inside, as if she’d lost a lot of blood, not just a little. Maybe it was shock. “The k-k-key to the armored truck, downstairs. W-we need to use it to g-get to the water plant. Myrnin said she had it.”

“The key?” Oliver almost laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t only the key, was it?”

Myrnin raised his head then. “I needed to find out just how much you’ve been lying to me about her condition. A considerable amount, it seems to me.”

Claire never saw Oliver hit him; she just inferred that it happened from the blur, and Myrnin’s head snapping back. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of one hand, never looking away from Oliver, and said, “You said that she was holding her own. She just asked me to
kill her
.”

“She fights,” Oliver said. “And she fights it better without these ridiculous distractions. Take the girl and get out. You risked yourself, and her, for nothing. I thought you liked the child better than that.”

“I like both of them better than that. But I came for a reason, and the reason still holds.”

“Your curiosity is an addiction that will kill you one of these days. I’m not Amelie. I’ll not put up with your whims. Consider this fair warning, Myrnin: when I tell you to stay away,
stay away
, and keep your pets on leashes.”

Myrnin looked past him at Claire. “Are you all right?” He still seemed shaken, but he was pulling himself together fast. He stood up and helped her rise as well. She didn’t think she was all right,
exactly, but she nodded anyway. Bruises, for sure, but nothing broken. Her hand was the worst of it, and the towel Oliver had thrown at her was soaking up the blood. “Oliver. We still need those keys.”

“Keys?” Oliver interrupted, and barked out a laugh. “Keys to
what
?”

“The Founder’s transport car. The armored one. I require them,” Myrnin said.

“Be off with you. I don’t have them.”

“No, the
Founder
has them.” Myrnin stressed the noun a bit more than necessary, and it seemed to make Oliver angrier still, if that was even possible. “And the
Founder
will give them to me, if she’s still herself at all. She knows that I wouldn’t ask for no reason.”

“Myrnin.” Amelie’s quiet, gray voice hardly broke the surface of the silence, but both of them turned toward her instantly. There was a flash of something in Oliver’s face, something like—fear, Claire thought. It was gone too fast for her to be certain.

“I am sorry, but I cannot control this,” Amelie said. “It’s best that you leave now. All of you. Leave me to this. I fight it as I can.” Her eyes slowly closed, then opened again. “Keys. Keys are in the black box in my desk. Take them.” It hurt her to do whatever she was doing—even Claire could see it—but she even
smiled
, just a little, through the pain. “I don’t want to hurt my friends. Oliver has been trying to protect you, you should know that.”

“Oh, my dear,” Myrnin said, and blinked back tears. “Amelie, hold. You must
hold
. I’ll be back and we will find a way to stop this.”

“No,” she said. “Don’t come back.
Never
come back, Myrnin. Or I’ll have you.” She suddenly looked toward Claire, and the impact of it made Claire take in a sharp, painful breath. “I’ll remember the taste of you. Don’t let me get so close again.”

It was a naked, chilling warning, and Claire took it seriously. So, she saw, did Myrnin.

But Oliver had to drive it home. “If you do come back,” he said, “I’ll kill you before she gets you. It would be a kindness.”

Myrnin shook his head. “She’ll get you first, you know that.”

“I’m not as easy as all that.” Oliver held the door for them, and his eyes brushed over Claire, then came to rest on Myrnin. “You of all people should know.”

Then he let the door slam shut behind them.

“Let me see,” Myrnin said, in the sudden silence of the anteroom, and she realized he was asking about her hand. She unwrapped it and held it out, and flinched as his cool fingers touched her hot, bloodied ones. “They’ve swollen a bit, but that’s good. Your body is fighting the infection. You’ll be all right.” His hand came away with a smear of blood on it, and he looked at it, then sighed and wiped it on the towel. “That is a great waste.”

“What, the blood?”

“Of course not.” He sighed. “Amelie, of course. We shall not see her like again in these weak times.”

He set a wicked fast pace down the hall; Claire grimly trudged along for her enforced aerobic workout and wondered if her hand might feel better if she just
hit him
. He was so far ahead she almost missed which turns he’d taken; this building always got her turned around, as she suspected it was supposed to do. There were no signs, no names on doors, just those expensively generic paintings. She supposed that if she could tell one old masters landscape from another, she’d know her way around, but her brain wasn’t really wired that way.

“Slow down!” she finally yelled, as Myrnin disappeared around a distant corner. She was tired, shaky, and irritable, and the bruises she’d collected were making themselves felt, definitely.
She also had a hot pinpoint headache forming in the center of her forehead.

Myrnin popped his head—just his head—back around the corner at a very weird angle to say, “Oh, just
hurry
up
!” and then he vanished. If Claire had been in the habit of cursing like, say, Shane, she’d have scorched the carpet with it. Instead, she just set her teeth together, hard, and moved faster.

Amelie’s office, without its usual complement of guards, was halfway down the next hall, or at least that was the door that Myrnin was in the act of kicking open. It took several attempts, which must have meant that Amelie had built her security against vampires, not humans—sensible, really. Before Claire reached him, Myrnin had beaten the locks, and the heavy wooden door splintered open with a crash. “Faster would be better,” he said, “given that her guards are not
fully
off duty, and they may not appreciate that I took dire measures, even with permission. They have to fix the doors eventually, you know.”

He zipped inside, kicked open Amelie’s inner sanctum door with a few
more
violent blows, and by the time Claire got there he was at the desk, ripping open another (locked) drawer and removing a black box.

He hissed and dropped it on the desktop in surprise. His fingers looked burned—in fact, there was a faint wisp of smoke coming from them. But it was a
black
box, not …

Claire picked it up, or tried to. It was very heavy. When she scratched it with her thumbnail, the paint peeled off and bright metal was revealed.

Silver.

“Locked,” she said. “Do you have the key?”

“Cherub, do I look like I have
any
keys to
anything
in this room? The doors I just knocked down would argue against that, I’d
think. Here.” He snatched up a letter opener—steel, not silver—and set it against the lock. “Hold the box still.”

She did, and he hit the letter opener sharply on the end with the heel of his hand, and it drove into the lock and snapped it. Claire folded back the hinged top and said, “Oh, no.”

Because there were literally dozens of keys in the box, and not a one of them was labeled. They had colored tags, but that didn’t mean anything to her or, she could tell, to Myrnin. He shook his head and said, “Bring the box. Damnation, I believe her security is coming.” He glared at her injured right hand, then took hold of a heavy velvet curtain over the window and ripped it down. It didn’t make the room that much lighter, since darkness was falling fast. Myrnin smothered the box in the thick velvet and scooped it up. “Well? What are you waiting for?
Run!
”

She didn’t know what they were really running
from
, and wasn’t in any mood to find out. She’d memorized turns this time—right out the door, down the hall, left, then another left—and then she spotted the vampire guards at the end of the long stretch of corridor.

And her friends, waiting.

“Why is there a bloody towel on your hand?” Shane demanded, and then he spotted Myrnin behind her. “Maybe that question’s for you, asshole. What happened?”

“She touched something she shouldn’t have, and we don’t have time for this. Here.” Myrnin shoved the curtain-swaddled box at Eve, who yelped at how heavy it was. Michael took it from her. “It’s full of keys. Find the ones we need. Careful of the silver, there’s a good lad.” He didn’t pause, just hurried on with Michael and Eve in his wake. “To the garage!”

That left Shane still holding Claire. He didn’t let go. “What happened to your hand?” he asked. “Because if it was him—”

“It wasn’t.” Well, that was debatable, but she wasn’t about to
tell Shane; there was enough tension between him and Myrnin already. “It was Amelie. She’s turning into … one of them. The draug.” She stripped off the towel and showed him her hand, and the red pinpricks of bite—or stings—that covered her fingers. He winced. “We don’t have much time to save her.”

“If we can,” he said, and lifted her injured hand to his lips. His kiss felt so good that it washed relief all the way through her. “I know you. You’re going to try like hell to make everything right again.”

“Hell’s what’s coming,” she said. “I’m just trying to avoid it. Come on.”

As soon as the elevator doors opened, they heard the sound of an engine coughing, catching, and taking up a heavy thrumming idle. Shane cocked his head in that direction. “That’s our cue,” he said. “You ready?”

“No.” She laughed a little, and he kissed her, and she just wanted
that
, more of
that
and less of the blood and terror. Morganville had always been bad, but this had to get better.
It had to.

But first, she strongly suspected, it was going to get worse.

Driving inside an armored truck was boring, Claire found. She’d gotten the shotgun seat, which was useless even though she actually
had
a shotgun, because the windows were vampire tinted and she couldn’t see a thing. Michael drove in silence, with an occasional muttered “Sorry” when the heavy truck hit a bump. It wasn’t made for bumps. At all. The three in the back were getting bounced around like mad—no,
two
of them, Eve and Shane. Myrnin had taken the only seat, the one as plush as a throne, with a safety harness. It had obviously been built for Amelie. There
were hanging straps for, well, hangers-on, and Shane and Eve were clinging to them, not that it helped much.

“I think I may puke,” Shane called up, which was met by a chorus that he’d better not. He wasn’t serious, at least. Or Claire
hoped
he wasn’t. “You could fill this thing up with water and detergent and spin clothes in it. Does it even have shocks?”

“Stop complaining,” Myrnin said, sitting perfectly comfortably in his velvet-covered seat. “It is the most protected vehicle you could possibly wish to be inside. It is bulletproof, lightproof, and most important,
waterproof
, although if you could please not put that to the test by driving it into any deep ponds I would appreciate it.”

Michael looked sideways at Claire and said, “Could you please see if you can get him to shut up before Shane punches him, or I do?”

“Myrnin,” she said wearily, “just shut up.”

“You wound me.”

“Not yet, but keep it up.”

Myrnin didn’t answer that, but his smirk, which Claire glimpsed over her shoulder, was enough to make her want to smack him anyway. He was clearly feeling better.

The bouncing slowed to a crawl, finally, and Michael said, “I can see the treatment plant up ahead. The gates are shut. Do you want me to run it?”

“Yes. The less time we spend on foot, the better,” Myrnin said. “Run the gate by all means, and take us as near as you can to the main entrance. No discussion once we arrive, we simply
move
, and everyone must know their jobs. Michael, you and Eve will stay behind to lock the vehicle; we don’t want any unpleasantly moist surprises waiting for us when we get back. Once it’s locked, you go
in and to the second floor on the north side. There are clearly marked manual valve control panels at the end of the hall; shut them all down and evacuate back to the vehicle immediately. Yours is the shortest distance, so you should get back to the truck the fastest. That is why you will have the keys.”

“What if something happens? Are these the only keys?”

“Yes,” Myrnin said, “so don’t let anything happen, by all means. I should deeply prefer not to have to rescue anyone on this particular outing. Shane, you and Claire will take the manual valve controls on the second floor, on the south side. You have a greater distance to go, so you should do the same as Michael and Eve—shut down the valves and run back for the van.”