are you talking about? We were married! In the church!”

“As I said, a conversation for a later time, perhaps. I am sorry to upset you.”

He might have been sorry, but he had definitely upset her, big-

time. Eve’s cheeks had gone from flushed to pale now, and she

looked shaky. She hadn’t expected that, at all . . . not that.

Claire said, “I want to see Amelie.”

That got his immediate undivided attention. His eyes were

very blue, and in fact not at all warm. Not cold, either. Just . . .

expressionless. “I’m sorry, perhaps you didn’t understand,” he said.

“It simply isn’t possible. And it will not be anywhere in the near

future. If you want to talk to the person in charge of Morganville, it is no longer a vampire. It is Mayor Flora Ramos, the duly elected representative, which is as it should be. Or don’t you agree that humans should govern themselves? Your reputation was . . . somewhat

different. I thought that you had stood up for the free will and

rights of humans in this town.”

“Depends on the human,” Claire said. “As far as I know, Hitler

had a heartbeat, and I wouldn’t vote him to be in charge.”

That earned her a slow, warm smile. “You think Mayor Ramos

is Adolf Hitler?”

“You’re drawing false connections, and I don’t know who you

are. But I’m betting that Mayor Ramos answers to you.”

“That’s an interesting inference, and I think you might be sur-

prised about how much free will the mayor has. Shane? You’re un-

accountably silent.” He suddenly turned and looked at her

boyfriend, who stared back without any shift in his guarded ex-

pression and said nothing. “Are you going to let your girlfriend do all the work?”

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“Yeah,” Shane said. “Why? Is it bugging you, Rhys? What kind of name is that, anyway?”

“Irish. I meant no disrespect, I simply thought you’d be

more—” Rhys just shrugged. “Well. Forceful.”

Shane just smiled his sweetest, nicest smile, but his eyes were

hard. And dangerous.

“He is,” Claire said. “So am I. So’s Eve. You’d better start an-

swering our questions, right now.”

“You know, I appreciate your passion, but you betray your very

young age when you speak that way to me, because I am not your

prisoner, Claire. You would do well to note that fact very care-

fully.”

There was menace in his tone now, something subtle but all the

more serious for it. Fallon held Claire’s stare for a long moment,

and then, without looking away, said, “Ah, Irene. How fare you,

my friend?”

Claire turned just as the glass door closed behind Dr. Irene

Anderson, who stood there blocking their way out. Once, Dr. An-

derson had been Claire’s professor at MIT; once, Claire had

trusted her, even liked her. Now she just loathed the sight of her—