But only her.

“We’re with the band,” Shane said, and tried to push his way past. That got him an iron-hard vampire grip on his arm that made him wince and stopped him cold. “Claire, don’t. Stay with me. He’ll be okay.”

But in her bones Claire didn’t really think he would be. She looked at the guard holding Shane’s arm and asked, “Is Oliver still in there, too?”

“He’s gone to find the doctor,” the guard said. “Myrnin just went in.”

“So he’s alone?” She felt a surge of anxiety. “Well, he wants us with him.”

“Us?” The vampire wasn’t buying that one. “You, maybe. The others stay here. They’re not on the list.”

“There’s a list? And I’m not on it?” Eve said. “I’m deeply hurt. I’m always on the list.”

“It’s not a club,” Michael said.

“Still.”

Claire backed away, down the hall, mouthed, Sorry, to Shane, and hurried on. From the look on his face, she knew they’d be having a serious conversation about this later, but she couldn’t wait to try to talk it out now.

Myrnin was in trouble. She could just feel it.

Inside the room, Claire shut the heavy door but didn’t lock it behind her; the anteroom was a sitting area, hushed and airless. It reeked of the damp and sickness, and it also seemed a little like a museum … as if someone had created it for show, not for use. This is how vampires lived in the twenty-first century, the exhibit card would read. Pretending that everything was normal.

Claire took in a slow, calm breath and opened the bedroom door. She half expected to find it empty, but Myrnin was there, standing stock-still a few feet from the bed.

Looking at Amelie.

She looked like her own statue—immobile and white, lying exactly in the center of the bed with her hands folded over her stomach. The sheets were drawn up and folded back just below her arms. It looked as if she was wearing some kind of thick white nightgown, with incredibly delicate lace at the collar and cuffs. Her hair was loose, and it spilled over the pillow in a pale silk fan.

There was a thick bandage on her throat, but it was soaked through with dark, wet blood.

Seeing her like this was … strange. She looked very young, and vulnerable, and somehow very sad. Claire remembered seeing pictures of the tombs of queens, of the marble images carved to top them that were replicas of the bodies below. Amelie looked just like that … an eternal monument to her own mortality.

Myrnin raised his head and saw Claire standing there, and his expression turned from blank to tormented. “Get out,” he said. “Get out now, while you still can!”

He sounded absolutely serious, and Claire took a step backward, intending to follow his instructions.

And then Amelie opened her eyes.

It was sudden, a flash of movement that made Claire’s heart skip a beat. Amelie’s eyes were a paler gray than they’d always been, more like dirty ice.