She glanced down at her backpack and instantly, instinctively held back. "No."
"Lie to me again and I'll put you out on the street and do this myself."
Claire swallowed. "Uh, yeah."
"With what?"
"Silver-coated stakes, wooden stakes, a crossbow, about ten bolts . . . oh, and a squirt gun with some silver-nitrate solution."
He smiled grimly at the dark windshield. "What, no grenade launchers?"
"Would they work?"
"I choose not to comment. Very well, I will take your crossbow. Try to use nonlethal methods, if you please; there's been enough disaster in this town recently. Also, I assume you're still fond of Myrnin, in some way." He said that as if he had no clue why that might be the case. Well, she could understand that, from his point of view.
"I won't kill him," she said. "But I'll hurt him if he tries to hurt me."
"An excellent strategy, except that if you hurt him, he will kill you, most likely. So leave Myrnin to me. You do your job, and this will soon be over. . . ." His voice faded as he made a turn, and Claire saw something happen in his face, which was an eerie blue-white in the car's dashboard lights. She just wasn't sure what it was. "Get down, Claire."
"What--"
He didn't tell her again, just reached over, grabbed her head, and pulled her sideways on the seat, then pushed her down into the wheel well.
The windshield rattled, and all of a sudden there were holes in it, sunlight streaming in. No, that hadn't been the windshield rattling. Something had hit the car.
Bullets had hit the car. Oliver swerved the limousine and accelerated, but there was more noise, and this time Claire realized it was gunfire. The entire windshield fell out, and Oliver made a choked sound as he got a faceful of blazing sun.
But he kept driving, until they hit something with a crash. Above her, Claire saw a flash of white as she was thrown forward against the carpet.
Great, the air bags had deployed, and she was in the wheel well. But at least she hadn't had far to go, and in fact, she didn't think she was hurt at all, though there was some glass that had fallen on her.
Oliver was fighting to get free of his seat belt and the deflated air bag, but he didn't make it. Someone yanked open his door, and Claire guessed they cut the seat belt, or broke it, because they dragged him out of the limo. He was struggling, but their attackers must have been vamps, because he wasn't getting away.
They don't know I'm here, Claire realized, and stayed where she was, curled into a very small ball in the shadows under the dash. Her backpack had slid off the seat and was next to her. She carefully unzipped it and pulled out the small, folding crossbow, cranked it open, and got out the bolts. She did it very carefully, hoping the noise of the fighting outside would cover up any sound of what she was doing. It must have, because nobody reached into the car to grab her.
She heard Oliver being dragged off, and finally risked slithering out of her hiding place to peek over the dashboard, out the sharp-edged hole where the windshield had once been.
There were vampires out, all in their heavy coats and hats and gloves. Some carried umbrellas, which was surprisingly practical of them. A whole group of them, maybe twenty in total, were standing in the shade of a building.
Amelie had an umbrella, but she didn't carry it herself. She had a minion for that. Her umbrella, like all the others, was black, but the silk suit she was wearing was icy white, with hints of blue. The color of dead lips, Claire thought, and wished she hadn't. Amelie looked dangerous, even though she was just standing there, hands folded, watching as Oliver was dragged over and dumped at her feet.
"I knew it was you," she said. She sounded viciously angry. Claire could just barely hear her, but she certainly didn't want to try to get any closer. ". . . think you wouldn't be suspected? Such an obvious . . ."
The wind kept blowing, and it made it harder for Claire to hear what was going on. Oliver said something, and it must have not made Amelie happy, because she snapped her fingers and a couple of other vampires grabbed his arms and raised him to his knees. Claire couldn't help but think how wildly all this had reversed. First Amelie had been at his mercy; then he'd been at hers; and now she had him once again.
That wouldn't make Oliver happy. Not at all.
"Don't spin your tales with me," Amelie said. "I don't believe we were ever . . ." More wind, and Claire lost the words. ". . . coming here. You were invited, once. You refused. Now you think you can just come here and scheme to take over--"
Oliver laughed. It had a raw, desperate sound to it. Whatever he said then, Amelie drew back a step, and then she shook her head. "Useless," she said. "Take him to the cells. I'll decide how to deal with him later."
There were way too many for Claire to even think about staging any kind of rescue. Oliver was clearly hurt, and she didn't think he'd appreciate any Rambo-style heroics, anyway.
But she'd just lost her chance to stop all this. Without Oliver, she had almost no chance of getting past Myrnin. Unless Myrnin was more himself this time.
The vamps melted into the shadows, taking Oliver with them, leaving Claire and the shot-up limo where it sat, in the middle of the road. She sat back and dialed her cell phone, but the lab number kept ringing, and ringing, and ringing. Just as she was about to hang up, there was a click, and Myrnin's voice said, "Hello?"
"Myrnin, it's Claire. Claire Danvers."
Silence.
"Myrnin, do you know who I am?"
More silence, and then Myrnin said, very softly, "My head aches."
"Myrnin, do you know who I am?"