"But you promised that things would change! You promised at Sam's funeral!"
Amelie looked up sharply and said, "Mind your place, Claire. I know what I said. And I know what Sam would have said, were he here. He would agree with me, though it would pain him. You hardly knew him at all. Don't presume to lecture me on the rights of humans, or my responsibilities."
There was a restless fire in her eyes, something that made Claire shiver, and she couldn't help but look away. "You said I could stop to eat," she said. "Can I go home for that?"
"Myrnin will provide you with meals. I will guarantee it."
"What . . . what do I tell everybody? Shane, Michael, Eve, my parents?"
"Nothing," Amelie said. "Because you will not speak to them at all. You leave this room and go directly to Myrnin's lab, and you begin your work. I will speak with those who need to know of your choice."
"That's cruel."
"It's merciful," Amelie said. "I am sparing you good-byes to those whose tears will cause you pain." She hesitated, then said very quietly, "And if you fail me in this, Claire . . . then you will never see them again. That is my wish."
"But--" Claire couldn't seem to find the words, and then they came in a rush of clarity. "You mean if I don't fix the machine, you'll kill me?"
Amelie didn't answer. She looked into the distance, her face a blank mask, and Claire felt sickeningly sure that she had it right: Amelie expected results, or else.
The female vamp guard came back, and Amelie pointed to Claire. "Take her to Myrnin," she said. "No stops. She speaks to no one. I will tell Myrnin what must be done."
The guard nodded and gestured to Claire, who suddenly didn't want to get out of the chair, uncomfortable though it was; she was scared, and cold, and she wanted to go home. She asked, "Amelie? What if I can't? What if I can't fix it?" Because that was, after all, a very real possibility.
Amelie was silent for a moment, then rose from her chair and looked down at her from what seemed like a million miles away. "You must fix it. The consequences of this town remaining unprotected are too severe. This is the only chance I can offer you, Claire. Prove yourself worthy, and live. Fail, and you will wish you'd taken the second option I offered, harsh and unforgiving as it was."
Amelie swept out of the room, head high, not looking back. Claire slowly got up, tested her trembling legs, and walked over to the waiting guard.
"What's your name?" Claire asked.
"As far as you're concerned, I don't have one," the vamp said. "Move."
She'd never thought of Myrnin's lab as a prison before. The unnamed vampire guard--Claire decided to call her Charlotte, at least in her own mind--escorted Claire to the underground parking lot beneath the council building, loaded her into a standard blacked-out vampire sedan, and drove her without making any further conversation. They got out at the entrance of the alley next to the Day House. It was dark, all the lights off. Overhead, the moon was setting, abandoning everything to the night.
The fence closed in on either side, narrowing and narrowing, until it ended at the run-down wooden shack that was the entrance to the lab.
Myrnin, wearing a gigantic red velvet hat with feathers, and some kind of long cloak, was standing outside the door, waiting. He nodded to Charlotte, took Claire's arm, and, without a word exchanged, hustled her inside. He padlocked the door from within, and then escorted her--more like dragged her--down the steps into the lab proper.
He stripped off the hat and cloak, dumped them on a medieval-looking chair, and turned to look at her with his hands in fists on his hips.
He was wearing a clean white shirt, a shiny blue vest, and black pants. Even his shoes looked normal, if a little pointy at the toes. His hair was clean and curling around his shoulders, and his expression was very, very sober. "Well, you really made a mess of things," he said. "And as a consequence, Amelie has been very clear about my responsibilities. No more Mr. Nice Vampire, Claire. You must work, and work constantly, until we get the last security measure of Morganville running properly again. I can provide you with food and drink, but no rest periods. Personally, I think that's excessively cruel, but no one asked me for my opinion, only for my strict cooperation, which I will provide. How many hours have you been awake so far?"
"Um . . ." Claire's brain didn't seem to be working so well. "About eighteen, I guess."
"Unacceptable. You'll make no significant progress before you collapse or go insane. No one said I couldn't let you rest before you start work. I'll get your dinner, and then off to bed with you. I'll wake you at a reasonable hour." Myrnin's expression softened, and he looked genuinely sad. "I'm sorry for this, Claire. But she's trying to walk a razor's edge, do you see? Cruel enough to satisfy Oliver and his growing number of supporters, but providing you with an opportunity to redeem yourself and do good for our community. And should you fail, I think she is providing me an opportunity to--" He must have been about to say something that he shouldn't have, because he stopped, looked away, and shrugged. "With an opportunity as well. In any case. Dinner. Do you prefer hamburgers or hot dogs?"
Hot dogs made her think of Shane, and that made her want to cry. She knew how he was taking the news; he'd be going crazy, and probably trying to do something stupid that Michael and Eve were trying to stop. "Hamburger," she said. "I guess."
"And french fries? And cola? Young people still like those things, I assume?"
She nodded, miserable already. Myrnin reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. "Chin up, little one," he said. "I have faith in you. Well, in us, actually. I'll be back in five minutes." His hand tightened on her, and she looked up into his face. "I don't have to tell you what the consequences are if you try to flee while I'm gone, do I? I don't have to put you in a cage to be sure?"