Excerpt of Bright Lights Volume 3

Amelie

I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring his naivete rouse. 

"Myrnin." My voice was cold now, my patience growing thin. He sighed before looking up at me, his brown eyes no longer wide with false innocence, but the solemn look of a centuries old vampire. 

"I won't do it. It isn't fair to ask of me, Amelie. You know that. I wouldn't ask you to-" I held up my hand, palm facing him, whilst rubbing the bridge of my nose, trying to keep calm.

"Myrnin, if you don't go, I must. They cannot go unaccompanied, Gwenievere cannot be trusted, and I can hardly ask Oliver to go, now can I? Do you have any idea of just what would happen? Oliver has...patience issues at the best of times, and Vladimir can be trying when he wishes to. He's not above provocation either, something Gwenievere learnt from him. It would end in bloodshed, and this was to be a gesture of good will." 

He tried to fight back a smile, and I knew he was enjoying the idea of Oliver getting rebuked for once. 

"Don't smirk Myrnin, it's unbecoming. God knows I can't go, and nor can Oliver, so it falls to you." The smirk slid off his face, replaced by a scowl.

"No. I won't do it, Amelie. Besides, do you think I would be allowed?" He looked sad as he spoke, and I felt another pang of helplessness. "She agreed with you about an escort, but I highly doubt she would let me escort them. Besides, whatever bloodshed there would be between you and Vladimir is nothing compared to Gwenievere and I. Or are you forgetting just how many times she has wounded me?" He struggled to make it sound light, but I could hear the tense undertones. It made me sad to think of him in pain, but there was nothing I could do to help. Gwenievere would no more listen to my thoughts on the matter than she would listen to Oliver's. I was not welcome in her life.

I sighed again before folding my hands in my lap. 

"Myrnin, I am not asking. This plane will not leave Morganville unless you are aboard too. If you wish to be the one to explain to her why that is, you may be my guest." My voice held no room for discussion, and the dark look that crossed his face gave me pause; I shouldn't command him, not about this. Aside from being surly for the next few years, he would undoubtedly find some way to make me sincerely regret it, and above all I knew just how unhappy it would make him, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. Although I would be loathe to admit it, he was my closest friend.

Not to mention just how hard this would be for him; I had seen the two of them, they were never easy around each other. There was no forgiveness, like a wound that is too fresh to heal, and at best they can manage a thin veil of civility, but even that is torn to shreds before they part again.

I sighed again, lowering my eyes to my skirt where my fingers were smoothing out the creases in the pale cream material. 

"I..." I began awkwardly, "I would not be welcome there." The admission fell from my lips, too late for me to snatch them back.

"I left them." He let out a small breath and when I glanced up, his eyes were full of sadness and understanding.

"I was younger, and I was not meant to be a mother. I...I would not be well received." It made me unbearably sad to think of them, to think of all of them growing up without me, but it was better than the alternative. My blood was bitter, poisonous. Corrupting. And all of them...they were all so good. There was no darkness, not cruelty. And already I had been thinking of how I could use them, of weapons, pawns, not children. I was not made to be a mother. 

"Especially not by Gwenivere. Her brothers and sisters...I don't...I haven't seen them, since, since-" I faltered, unable to continue. He understood though, and nodded at me as I blinked away the wetness in my eyes. 

"Amelie, I will stay on this plane, but I...I make no promises. If she doesn't want me here, there is little I can do to change that. There has never been anything I could do in that respect." He looked away then, and I saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. 

It was in a small, quiet voice that I heard him speak.

"I did love her. I always loved her. I thought...maybe you should know that." He dragged his hands through his hair, fixing me with his piercing gaze.  I had already known, of course, but hearing him say it made me feel morose. I remembered the long years of despondency, his melancholia infecting him. It had been centuries before he returned to his self, but even then, he was still never the same. There was a sadness, a brokenness that hadn't been there before. 

Of course it all lead back to Bishop. I took a deep breath as I struggled to remain calm, my thoughts drifting to Sam's face in his last moments. The sad smile on his face, the love in his eyes. It was always Bishop that broke people. Myrnin, Gwenievere, Sam...and myself. 

I shook my head as I rose from the chair. I glanced at Myrnin as I left; he was in the chair by the window, staring out into the sunlight with a doleful look upon his face, the fingers of his left hand loosely curled around a book.

"Good luck." I murmered quietly.