"I doubt that," Amelie said. Her voice was ragged with emotion, but she held her father's stare. "I was careful to keep things from her."
"Not so careful to keep them from Oliver, though. And that was a mistake." He tipped her chin up to meet her eyes. "Morganville is mine. You are mine. Again."
"Then take what's yours," Amelie said. She seemed weak now. Defeated. "Kill, if you wish. Burn. Destroy. When it's over, what do you have, Father? Nothing. Exactly what you've always had. We came here to build. To live. It's not something you would ever understand."
"Oh, I do understand. I just despise it. And here," Bishop said, "is where you die."
He yanked Amelie's head to the side, and for a horrible second Claire thought she was going to see him kill her, right there, but then he laughed and kissed her on the throat.
"Though, of course, not at my hands," he said. "It wouldn't be moral, after all. We must set a good example, or so you like to tell me, child. I'll let your humans kill you, eventually. Once you've begged for the privilege."
He shoved Amelie aside, into Pennywell's hands, and instead, he grabbed Sam Glass.
"No!" Michael shouted, and leaped to his feet to stop it.
He couldn't. Claire caught sight of Sam's pale, set face, of a determination she couldn't understand, and of Michael being brought down ten feet away, as Bishop exposed Sam's throat and bit him.
Amelie's scream tore through the air. Myrnin - still shaking and weak - crawled toward her. Ysandre kicked him aside, laughing.
Oliver just stood there, like an ice sculpture. Only his eyes were alive, and even they didn't show Claire anything she understood.
Michael wasn't there to hold Claire down anymore. She scrambled to her feet, clutched the silver knife, and plunged it into Ysandre's back as deeply as she could. It dug into bone.
"Oh," Ysandre said, annoyed. She tried to get at the knife, but it was out of her reach. She turned on Claire with a snarl, then staggered. Shock blanked her pretty face, and then worry.
Then fear, as the burning started.
She fell, screaming for help. Claire vaulted over her to kneel next to Myrnin. He was fighting his way back through the pain, panting, and his eyes were bright crimson from the stress, and probably hunger.
He wasn't out of control, though. Not anymore. "Get me up," he demanded. "Do it now!"
She offered him a hand, and he used it to haul himself to his feet - unsteady, but stronger than she'd ever seen him. This was a different Myrnin . . . sleek, glossy, dark, and dangerous, with his glowing, angry eyes fixed on Bishop.
"Stop him!" Claire yelled at Myrnin, as he just stood there. Sam was dying. Myrnin was letting it happen. "It's Sam! You have to stop him!"
Instead, Myrnin turned and attacked Pennywell.
"No! Myrnin, no! Sam!"
Oliver still wasn't moving. He was staring at Bishop. Waiting.
They were all waiting.
Down in the crowd, screaming had started, and as Claire looked out she saw that people were trying to run. There were vampires moving through the crowd - hunters, taking victims. The Morganville humans were fighting for their lives. A lot of people had shown up armed to their own funerals, including Shane and Eve; Claire caught glimpses of them down there, and all she could do was pray they'd be okay. They had each other for protection, at least.
She had to help Michael. Claire didn't dare grab the knife from Ysandre's back - it was the only thing keeping her out of the fight - but she couldn't just stand there, either.
Luckily, she didn't have to. Hannah Moses shouted her name, and as Claire turned, she saw Hannah throwing something at her. She instinctively reached up to catch it.
It was a sharp wooden stake. Hannah didn't wait to see what she was going to do with it; she was already heading for Fran?ois, who was trying to get hold of Richard Morrell. Hannah leaped on the nasty little vampire, pinned him with an expert shift of her weight, and plunged her own wooden stake through his heart. It wouldn't kill him, probably, but he was out of the struggle until somebody removed it.
Michael had already won his fight by the time Claire got there; he was bloodied and a little unsteady, but he grabbed her arm and yelled, "Get out of here!"
"We have to save Sam!" she protested.
But it was too late for that.
Bishop dropped Sam limply to the carpeted floor, and Claire could see that if Sam was still alive, he wouldn't be for long. The holes in his throat were barely leaking at all, and he wasn't moving.
Fury whited out her good sense.
Claire ran at Bishop as he turned, and rammed the stake at his chest, right on target for where his heart would be, if he had one at all.
He caught her wrist.
"No," he said gently, like someone with a pet who'd piddled on the good furniture. "I'll not be taken by the likes of you, little girl."
She tried to get away, but she knew it was over; there was just no way she was getting out of this. Michael had gotten into a fight along the way to reach Sam. Amelie was down on her knees, still bound by all the silver chains. Hannah and Richard were back-to-back, defending themselves against three vampire guards.
Myrnin was fighting Pennywell, and destroying half the stage along the way. There was some old hate there. History.
Oliver had drifted closer to Amelie, although Claire couldn't see any change in him at all. He still wasn't fighting, for or against, and he certainly wasn't making any heroic effort to save her.
"Claire!"
Shane. She heard him scream her name, but he was too far away - twenty feet down, at the foot of the stage, looking up.
He had a knife in his hand. As she looked down to meet his eyes, he flipped it, grabbed it by the blade, and threw it.
The knife grazed her cheek, but it hit Mr. Bishop right in the center of his chest.
He laughed. "Your young man has quite the throwing arm," he said, and pulled the knife out as casually as a splinter. Not silver. It wouldn't do a thing to him. "Your friends like to think they still have a chance, but they don't. There's no . . . "
Then the oddest thing happened. . . . Bishop seemed to hesitate. His eyes went blank and distant, and for a second Claire thought he was just savoring his victory.
"There's no chance," he started again, and then stopped. Then he took an unsteady step to the side, like he'd lost his balance.
Then he let her go altogether, to brace himself on the arm of his throne. Bishop looked down at the knife in his hand - Shane's knife - in disbelief. He couldn't hold on to it. It slipped out of his fist, hit the seat of the chair, and bounced off to the floor.
Bishop staggered backward.As he did, his coat flapped open, and Claire saw that the wound was bleeding.
Bleeding a lot.
"Get the book!" Amelie suddenly screamed, and Claire saw it, tucked in the breast pocket of Bishop's jacket. Amelie's book, Myrnin's book. The book of Morganville, with all the secrets and power.
Seemed only right that it ought to be the thing he lost tonight, even if he won everything else.
Claire darted in, grabbed the book, and somehow ducked his clutching hands.
Bishop lunged after her as she danced backward, but he seemed confused now. Slower.
Sicker?
As if sensing some signal, Oliver finally moved. He took a pair of leather gloves from his pocket, calmly put them on, and snapped the silver chains holding Amelie prisoner. He picked up the end of the silver leash and held it for a second, looking into her eyes.
He smiled.
Then he took that off her neck and dropped it to the floor.
Amelie surged to her feet - wounded, bloodied, messy, and angrier than Claire had ever seen her. She hissed at Oliver, fangs out, and then darted around him to kneel next to Sam.
His eyes opened and fixed on her face. Neither of them spoke.
She took his hand in hers for a moment, then lifted it to touch the back of it to her face.
"You were right," she said. "You were always right, about everything. And I will always love you, Sam. Forever."
He smiled, and then he closed his eyes . . .
. . . and he was gone. Claire could see his life - or whatever it was that animated a vampire - slip away.
Her eyes blurred with hot tears. No. Oh, Sam . . .
Amelie put his hand gently back on his chest, touched her lips to his forehead, and stood up. Oliver helped her, with one hand under her arm - that was the only way Claire could tell that Amelie wasn't herself, because she seemed to be more alive than ever.
More motivated, anyway.