“Hey!” Claire broke in. “Why me? Why grab me?”

“We’re still debating that,” Myrnin said.

Oliver looked frustrated enough to claw steel. “No, we are not debating it. The girl clearly has a connection to Amelie. It’s the one way we can guarantee she will come to us.”

“Don’t be stupid. Amelie may have a connection to her, but Claire is eminently replaceable,” Myrnin said. “No offense, my dear, but you’re human. Humans are, by definition, replaceable.”

“So are vampires,” Pennywell said. “Including you, you bedlamite wretch.”

“I was never in Bedlam,” Myrnin said. “Although I hear you picked off inmates there when the rats ran scarce.”

That must have been a serious vampire insult or something, because Pennywell launched himself across the space to latch his hands around Myrnin’s throat.

Myrnin didn’t even bother to react. He yawned. “Oliver,” he said, “control your beast before I am forced to.”

Pennywell snarled. His fangs snapped down.

Myrnin’s eyes sparked red, and he grabbed Pennywell’s wrist in his hand and twisted.

Bones snapped. Pennywell howled, clearly shocked at Myrnin’s strength. From the look on his face, Oliver hadn’t exactly expected it, either. Myrnin shoved Pennywell back to his place, pointed a finger at him, and smiled. “Next time, I will take your fangs,” he said. “Then you’ll be a toothless tiger. I don’t think you’d enjoy it. Play nicely, witchfinder.”

“Boys,” Oliver said coolly, “the question at hand is an important one: Do we allow Amelie to continue to run Morganville? Or do we use the girl to take it from her control, once and for all?”

Myrnin sighed. “You do understand that Amelie is aware of your intentions? That she’s planned for your eventual rebellion? Because it was plain as the moon that you’d betray her, sooner or later.”

“I’d hate to disappoint,” Oliver said. “And she has become weak. The weak can’t lead.”

“I’ve known Amelie a very long time, and I would never describe her as weak.” Myrnin lit up another cigar, with much puffing and use of a lighter with a hot blue flame. Claire almost choked on the smoke. Her eyes burned and teared, and she had to wipe them clear. “Wounded, perhaps. Less certain of herself than before. But not weak, which you will discover if you think to push her.”

Oliver frowned at him. “I thought you were with me in this.”

“Did I say that? Well, I’m not very reliable, as you know.” Myrnin closed his eyes in delight as he drew in the smoke from the cigar. “You very nearly succeeded in bribing me with these excellent Cubans. I haven’t had the like since Victoria was still Queen of England. But in the end, I must remain loyal to my lady. And I really can’t allow you to torment my apprentice. After all, that’s my job.”

“I thought that might be the case,” Oliver said.

He pulled a stake from inside his coat and slammed it into Myrnin’s chest.