Chapter 22:

Myrnin's POV:

Gripping one of my homemade guns in my hand, I turn to face the two humans and vampire boy, none of whom look particularly heartened by our mission. "She is here," I remind them. "The machine can only tell me the truth, and it concluded that Claire's current location is upon Amelie's property—it does not, however, tell me whether or not she is under or above ground."

Shane rolls his eyes and I fight back a flash of fury within me; we have mere minutes to save Claire, and yet he doesn't seem to be listening. "Is this helpful?" he snaps, playing with a weapon in his hands. I don't avert my gaze from his face to look at it; that could be deemed as a sign of weakness, of fear, something certainly not wanted in front of Shane Collins.

"It is if you want to have a semi-organised plan to save her," I reply, my tone dry. "If you feel that you can cover three acres of ground both above and below within the next ten minutes, then by all means go ahead. I feel the odds are slightly more in our favour if we arrange how we are going to search, however."

The boy opens his mouth to say something, but the blond who looks so much like his grandfather takes a step forwards. "Yes, yes, you're right, Myrnin, it's better to go in with a plan," he agrees, but my eyes are still locked on Shane's face—currently, it's betraying just how disgusted he is with his friend for agreeing with me. "What, Shane? You can't deny that it's a better idea to cover the ground properly, and it might mean we…we actually get to where we want to be." Michael turns to face me, his expression grim. "What do we do?"

Accepting the fact that he has placed me in charge—not that I wasn't already—I take a step backwards, nodding as I do so. "I don't care about how you three do it, but you cover ground level; I wouldn't want to work with the Collins boy, and to be frank, you're all far too slow for me," I begin, noting the look of relief on the humans' faces. "I will go to Amelie's home and confirm that he isn't there—there are many, many rooms and it would be quite easy for him to have snuck into one of them—before working my way through the underground passages."

Michael looks suspicious. "How are you going to manage that in eight minutes?" he asks, and I shrug. "And anyway, didn't you say that Amelie banned you from looking for Claire?"

"Yes, yes, I did say that, otherwise I would have had no need for any of you," I reply impatiently, looking at the clock. Eight and a half minutes left. "Can we leave the questioning of the plan until after we have enacted it, because I would rather find the girl alive…?"

Shane mutters something which I purposefully choose to ignore, though I know he knows I've heard.

"If you're banned from searching, then why are you going to Amelie's home?" Michael says, exasperated. "That won't exactly help, will it, our fastest weapon being detained by the woman who said you couldn't look for Claire!"

The second the clock is about to turn, I burst into motion, unable to stay standing still any longer. "I'll make something up; it doesn't matter to me if Amelie thinks I'm mad! If you find her, call any number; my phone can pick up any mobile signals in the nearby vicinity. I shall, of course, do you the same courtesy."

Before I can hear any of their replies I'm moving as swiftly as ever, darting across the dark land towards the back door of Amelie's great house. The actions of the humans—for Michael is barely a vampire—are slower than mine, yet still hasty as they begin their search for their friend, though Shane doesn't seem to understand that we ought to be silent during this mission. If Oliver hears, he'll cut the deal short, and that isn't something that any of us want, I'm sure.

Within ten seconds, I've covered a great distance, arriving within the more cultivated region of Amelie's grounds; it's where she likes to spend evenings in the summer, surrounded by flowers—in particular roses. All around now, however, are her guards, who are casually surrounding me; as if they think they can outrun me!

Putting on a slight burst of speed, I reach the back door to Amelie's home, certain that she'll be with Sam, who most likely will be housed in a room near to this door. This may mean, if she catches my scent, she will answer the door herself.

A full ten or so seconds ahead of the guards who are supposed to stop people like myself, my fist is pounding upon Amelie's back door, and I'm yelling, "Amelie! Amelie! You need to let me in; it's an emergency." I can hear the desperation in my voice, hear the way that I'm begging Amelie to answer the door, and can only hope that she will do. Tears begin to stream down my cheeks once more as I put every ounce of myself into the connection between us, her as my ruler me as her servant, silently whispering through our connection for her to come to me, for her to help me.

As I'm about to be caught by the guards and I'm building up for a repeat of my begging, the door's flung open, and I fall into Amelie's home. The homeowner herself is standing before me, her expression displeased, and I'm certain she knows why I'm here…I'm just hoping that she'll accept the lie I am going to feed her.

"What do you want, Myrnin, and why is it that you have come to visit me through an external door, rather than your preferred invasion of my privacy through portals?" she asks me, her eyebrow raising slightly as she speaks.

"I…I have to check the house and grounds for signs of…beetle infestations," I reply as swiftly as I can, coming up with an excuse on the spot. I lift my gun slightly, causing Amelie's expression to turn slightly sour; she's always hated weapons, particularly when they're unnecessary. "This gun has special powder in it to try and blast the infestations to pieces—they're all over the lower town, apparently. I don't want them to get a hold in here, otherwise there's a chance that…that the entire building will have to be pulled down."

"Is that so?" Amelie murmurs, the expression on her face proof that she doesn't believe me. Still, she moves aside, allowing me into her house as she shuts the door. "Well, I shan't stop you. Just ensure that you are off the premises by one o'clock in the morning; Sam will be awake then, and I don't want him to have to face your idiotic self when still weak." She smiles ever so slightly. "I want him to be at full strength when he insults you for everything you've done."

I dismiss her words with a wave and shrug that I shall regret later, though I don't care for the consequences of tomorrow as I race through the corridor on the ground floor, certain that Oliver couldn't be higher up than this. There are only three possible locations upon the ground floor, then the entire cellar, for the room would have to be soundproofed…but, from what I recall, the cellar is humungous, and is split into tiny rooms. It was intended to be a questioning centre for humans until Amelie realised the security risk and so had them all closed. They're all a possibility.

Within one quarter of a minute, I've ascertained that the rooms on the ground floor are free from Oliver contamination and am on my way down to the cellar, sliding down the tunnel designed for something that hasn't ever been followed through on rather than running; it's quicker than finding the stairs. When downstairs, I begin by smelling the air, able to tell by the staleness of it that the entire left hand side of the cellar hasn't been entered in over a year by anyone, human or vampire. At least that's cut down on the number of locations I have to search…

I follow the most recent pathways of scent, realising that there is a chance that Oliver could have entered through a different entrance, but after opening every door down the right side of the cellar, I have to conclude that he isn't here. Either he didn't know about these rooms, or he felt that it was too risky entering the physical den of the lion; under Amelie's grounds is close enough.

As I'm bursting into the tunnel that leads under the grounds, I know that this is where I'll find Claire; now I know she isn't in Amelie's home, I'm aware of the fact that she's down here. The only possibilities above ground aren't big or secure enough for Oliver—he does like to have room to play with his food—and there's always the potential of someone catching him purely by accident. Down here, in a place the majority of Amelie's men (or, wider than that, most of Morganville) aren't aware of, he's got the chance to do whatever he wants…all without being caught.

"Dammit!" I growl as I move through the winding tunnels of this place, the smell of bleach and mould strong within the air. The mixture affects my ability to smell out freshness of scent, meaning I have the entire underground to cover—and only four and a half minutes to do it in. "Why did he have to do this?" I continue, shifting the gun so that it's resting under my arm rather than in my hands; I'm too close to snapping it in my firm grip.

Some doors are locked down here, their keys long ago lost and forgotten about, but I kick them open to ensure their state is empty, wasting no time in fiddling with the locks. Nobody, not even Amelie, cares about these rooms; they're forgotten about and disused, most likely why Oliver chose them. It also means that I don't have to leave them in a decent state of repair when I leave.

I stop muttering to myself as I advance down another passageway, desperately hoping that I can reach them before the clock strikes—

There isn't a sound but I know.

I know that it's 12am: midnight. It's a feeling in my bones, my mental clock having counted down to this moment; I don't need to check my phone to confirm the time.

This is the minute of Claire's death.

Claire's POV:

At a quarter to twelve, Oliver sets up a digital clock in the corner, its numbers flashing bright red, and whilst I attempt to avoid counting down the minutes until my death, it's impossible to resist.

"It's so tempting to watch life slip from within your fingers, isn't it?" Oliver says quietly as he sits across from me, his eyes locked on the clock. "This isn't your fault, yet you're watching your own life fade away…I never wanted that, to know that the end will soon be upon me and that something will take me—that's why I chose the path I did, immortality to an extent. It means that I don't have to fear death…at least as much as you humans do."

I deliberately don't look at him, but something about the pause makes me think that he's waiting for an answer. "I don't fear death," I whisper, but I'm lying. I fear death; I fear not seeing the people I love again and telling them that I'm sorry for whatever I've done, and that I just want us to move on. I fear not seeing Myrnin again, not being able to help him, not being able to be helped by him which he is surprisingly good at. I don't want to leave him…

It's in this moment that I realise, with all too clear a clarity, that this is another potential death situation—though more definite than potential—and that I'm thinking about Myrnin again. It's him who I'm worried about, should I die; I know that Eve and Michael will be alright, my parents probably won't even notice I'm gone the amount that we see one another nowadays, and Shane…Shane is Shane. He doesn't need me now, not anymore; he won't need me when I die.

In my worries, I don't realise that the time's slipping away as quickly as it is until I look at the clock and see that it's 11:59pm; I'm into my last minute. Every book I've ever read says that the last of life is meant to go by super-slowly, but as I look at the seconds, they seem to be increasing in speed as they tick onwards…I've got thirty seconds, then twenty before I think even two's passed, and I realise that this is my time to say my words of love to the people I adore…but I have no words.

Nothing's coming out of my dry throat. I'm stunned at the last hurdle, unable to say anything—and so I turn to the one way left I have to express emotion: through tears.

They drip down my cheeks before I'm consciously aware that I'm crying, and the wetness of my chin makes me think that I've been crying ever since Oliver put the clock up, though I don't remember it.

The clock strikes twelve, clanging slightly to signal another day, and slowly, I raise my head to look at Oliver.

He doesn't look happy, more resigned, as though he never expected this to happen. "I thought…I thought that Myrnin meant more to her than he evidently does," he mutters, which confuses me. Surely this is about Sam? Oliver notices my confusion and shakes his head. "I don't mean like that, Claire, I mean that this was the ultimate threat; they're supposed to be the closest of friends, so close that even a lover couldn't get between them—I suppose that I was wrong."

Taking a step towards me, Oliver sighs; his expression's changed to almost look sad…but his self-pity for what he's about to do won't save me. Only Amelie or Myrnin have the power to save me—and neither of them seem to be coming.

"Please," is the only word that escapes my lips as Oliver advances closer, untying the ropes that bind me to the chair. At least he's allowing me some dignity in death…if that is possible in this situation. I feel almost ashamed that the only word I can utter is my begging for him to stop when he quite obviously can't, for whatever reason, but I can't stop myself. I keep trying to appeal to his human side…evidently, he doesn't have one—or it's not strong enough to overturn the obligation to his code that he evidently has.

His fangs pierce my neck before I realise and I scream, shocked that my life could be fading already; I feel him drinking deeply, feel my heart rate slowing and slowing, until it feels as though it's barely there. My eyes lock on the clock—it's only 12:03am but it feels so, so much later. Maybe it's the light in the room, but everything's going fuzzy; it hurts to keep my eyes open, to support my head, and so I stop trying.

I flop into Oliver's arms and he removes his fangs from my neck; it doesn't hurt, not really. I'm going numb, I suppose.

"I'm truly sorry," I think I hear him whisper as he sets me down on the floor. I'm not sure though.

It hurts too much to do anything—so I fade into the blackness.

Myrnin's POV:

I hear a scream.

It's too late.

The noise gives me something to pinpoint in the darkness and I follow it, the echo of it haunting my ears so that even if I wanted to forget it, I couldn't. No matter what happens now, this noise will stay with me the rest of my life—something which may not be very long should I make the wrong decision now.

It takes almost a minute to locate the exact point where Claire and Oliver are, and I know instantly that it's too late. She's on the floor, her skin chalky white, paler than it's ever been, and her eyes are closed. Her chest is barely moving, if at all, and everything about her looks how a corpse does: dead, and not coming back.

In the corner of the room is Oliver, but I pay no attention to him as I fall to my knees next to the young woman I could have seen out the end of the universe with, pulling her into my arms. "Why?" I find myself screaming, a bitter fight occurring within me to ensure that I don't lose all of my sanity in these moments. "Why her? Why not me?"

I cling Claire close to me, not willing to let her go, not for anything.

Not until I die.

I'd really appreciate feedback on this chapter because I found it really hard to write.