edge of the tiles, her pointed- toe pumps lined up very precisely

with the boundary. The Founder of Morganville was dressed in

impeccable white, impossibly clean and pure in the dirty, yellowed

glow. Her pale silvery eyes seemed almost colorless, and from ex-

perience Claire knew that meant Amelie was at her most danger-

ous.

“What do you want with Michael?” she asked. Her hands were

folded in front of her, a calm, resting position, and her body lan-

guage was watchful.

“Eve wants to see him, to be sure he’s all right.”

That made Amelie smile, just a little. It was a shivery kind of

expression, and she lowered her chin just enough to make it seem

terrifying. “Yes, I’m sure all of you are simply brimming with con-

cern for our well- being.”

“He’s my husband!” Eve said sharply. “Look, I just had to fight

to get this far. Don’t be a jerkface, Amelie.”

That broke Amelie’s concentration, and she looked a little puz-

zled as she worked out the word. “Jerkface?” she said slowly, as if testing the syllables. “Ah. You think I am the one at fault? You

have quite a lot to learn, Eve. But if you wish to see Michael, I will send him out— as soon as Chief Moses assures me that he will remain unharmed and will be returned in the same state.”

“Returned to you? What about to me?”

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“It’s clear you don’t understand the slightest thing about what

is happening in Morganville,” Amelie said. “So I will forgive you

for not comprehending how much danger you put Michael in by

separating him from my protection.” She nodded slightly, and on

the other side of the atrium, Oliver stepped up. He was holding

Michael by the arm. Michael broke free, and for just a heartbeat

Claire saw him clearly in the dim light: a shock of golden hair wild around his face, clear blue eyes fixed on Eve. Of all of them, he

looked the least like a vampire, except for the pallor of his skin. He looked like a Renaissance angel come to life, if angels wore jeans

and witty T- shirts.

He was wearing something black around his throat, and for a

second Claire thought it was one of Eve’s chokers, the dog- collar

type, though that would be a strange thing for him to put on. She

could barely see it, and then he was a blur, heading at vamp speed

across the tiles.

Hannah pressed a button on the box on her belt, and Michael

stopped. No, not just stopped— he broke stride, stumbled, and fell to his knees, shaking. “Slowly,” Hannah said. “Don’t make me

take it up to the next level, Michael. Move slowly.”

“Yes,” Amelie said from the shadows. “Pray do as she says, Mi-

chael.”

Eve, after a white- hot glare at Hannah, threw herself out into