The guard bowed his head briefly, then came toward her, but Amelie's eyes snapped open. "Don't touch me," she snapped, but he didn't obey her. Not at all. He took her arm and guided her back to a chair at the side of the table . . . not the head, where she'd been sitting before. Amelie shook free and sank down. She looked ill now, and angry, and humiliated.
Oliver stood where he was for a moment, then turned and addressed the other guard. "Go get Ysandre and John," he said. "I want them here."
The guard nodded and left. "Ysandre?" Claire said. "You're bringing her in here?" Ysandre was a stone-cold menace. Amelie had kept her in prison for a while, and Claire hadn't seen her much recently. She'd hoped that someone had accidentally thrown her under a bus.
Ysandre had tried to hit on Shane. And that alone was reason enough to hate her.
"Quiet," Oliver said. "Sit down, all of you. You have no reason to panic. The situation is under control." Under his control, which was in itself plenty of cause for panic, not to mention freakout. But Claire didn't dare not obey, not until she understood what had happened, and why.
Richard looked at Amelie and asked, "Are you all right?"
She opened her eyes and made her face into a smooth mask, showing nothing of whatever she was feeling now. "I'm well enough," she said. She took her hand away from her throat. The wound was already closed and healing. "Don't interfere. This is an internal matter."
"I know, but if you need me to help--"
"You can't help. I tried to keep my position. I failed." She lowered her gaze to the table. "Oliver leads the town now."
"No," Claire whispered. "No, that can't be true. That isn't right. You're the Founder; you're--"
"Defeated," Amelie said. "Enough, Claire. There is nothing to be done now. He spared me some of the more humiliating aspects that could have accompanied the transfer of power. I won't disrespect that favor by rebelling now."
Oliver didn't say anything. He took his seat at the head of the table, and a moment later the vamp guard came back, with two others--John, who owned the hospital and several clinics in town, including the blood bank. John had long blond curly hair and a proud, sharp face. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. And next to him . . . Ysandre.
Ysandre was just exactly as Claire remembered her from her days as Amelie's father Bishop's follower. She was beautiful, and smoky, and sexy in a sleazy kind of way--that was mostly her clothes, because she loved low-cut crop tops and even lower-cut jeans. She trailed fingers over the back of Richard Morrell's neck, and he slapped them away with a glare.
"Temper," Ysandre purred, and even in that one word Claire could hear the sickly sweet Southern accent. "I'm just trying to be friendly. We're all friends here now, right?"
"Oh, for God's sake, do shut up," John said wearily. He had an English accent that was a lot more charming than Ysandre's put-on drawl. "Founder? You had something to--" Awareness dawned in his face, and Claire thought he must have sensed what had happened. His expression looked a lot like horror, and he stared at Oliver. "No. No, that's not possible."
"I'm afraid it is," Oliver said. "You command loyalty from many of Amelie's closest friends and supporters. I need you to spread the word. I am now in charge. You may hear it from her own lips."
John definitely looked horrified now. Claire couldn't blame him. She was feeling pretty awful herself. "Madam?" He went to one knee beside Amelie's chair. "Command me and I'll obey."
"There is nothing to command," she said. "You can feel the shift of power. It is a fact of nature, one none of us can fight. Obey him, John. I wouldn't wish to see you, or any of you, harmed."
John took her hand and pressed it to his forehead in what looked like real grief, and then stood up and faced Oliver. "No one will support this," he said. "Watch your back, Oliver. You were well treated, and you've betrayed her. We won't forget."
"John, don't," Amelie said. She sounded tired.
"I'm not threatening. I am stating facts. Which you know well, Oliver."
Oliver nodded. "I don't care how you feel about it. Bargain with yourself as you wish, but go and tell your fellows that I am now in charge, and I won't take any challenges to my power. I am not Amelie. Test me, and I'll destroy you."
John's eyes flared a rebellious red, but he bowed stiffly and walked out of the room.
Ysandre laughed. "What a sanctimonious old frog," she said. "Well, Ollie? I think I threw my lot in with the winning side this time. We're going to have a wonderful time. Where should we start? Let's just declare open season on the humans and kick it off right. I feel a good hunt coming on."
Oliver looked at her with the same kind of distaste he'd just gotten from John. "You're not my second," he said. "Don't presume to be informal with me. I spared your life for a specific reason, but don't think that it has anything to do with fondness."
She frowned. "What do you mean, I'm not your second? Who's going to challenge me for it, John?"
"There's to be no challenge. Amelie is my second."
"Amelie?" Ysandre sounded furious, and Claire saw her hands clench. "You can't be serious. You can't keep her around. She'll have a dagger in your back the first chance she gets--" "Like you would? I've seen how you treat your friends as well as your enemies, presuming you make any distinction between the two at all. Don't push me. I interceded for you when Amelie wanted to wall you up in a cell with Bishop. You can show your gratitude by remembering your place, which is definitely not at my side," Oliver said. "Go to my people. Tell them what's happened. Tell them I expect nothing to change until they hear differently, but that change will come. But it will be controlled, and measured, and I will look badly on any attempts to push it faster."