Текст книги "Lord of Misrule"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“No!” Mrs. Morrell screamed, and threw herself over her husband’s body. “No, you have to try!”

“They did,” Myrnin said, and retreated to lean against a convenient wall. “Which is more than I would have.” He nodded toward Richard. “He might live, but to remove that metal will require a chirurgeon.”

“You mean, a doctor?” Claire asked.

“Yes, of course, a doctor,” Myrnin snapped, and his eyes flared red. “I know you want me to feel some sympathy for them, but that is not who I am. I care only about those I know, and even then, not all that deeply. Strangers get nothing from me.” He was slipping, and the anger was coming back. Next it would be confusion. Claire silently dug in her pockets. She’d put a single glass vial in, and miraculously, it was still unbroken.

He slapped it out of her hand impatiently. “I don’t need it!”

Claire watched it clatter to the floor, heart in her mouth, and said, “You do. You know you do. Please, Myrnin. I don’t need your crap right now. Just take your medicine.”

She didn’t think he would, not at first, but then he snorted, bent down, and picked up the vial. He broke the cap off and dumped the liquid into his mouth. “There,” he said. “Satisfied?” He shattered the glass in his fingers, and the red glow in his eyes intensified. “Are you, little Claire? Do you enjoy giving me orders?”

“Myrnin.”

His hand went around her throat, choking off whatever she was going to say.

She didn’t move.

His hand didn’t tighten.

The red glow slowly faded away, replaced by a look of shame. He let go of her and backed away a full step, head down.

“I don’t know where to get a doctor,” Claire said, as if nothing had happened. “The hospital, maybe, or—”

“No,” Myrnin murmured. “I will bring help. Don’t let anyone go through my things. And watch Michael, in case.”

She nodded. Myrnin opened the portal doorway in the wall and stepped through it, heading—where? She had no idea. Amelie had, Claire thought, shut down all the nodes. But if that was true, how had they gotten here?

Myrnin could open and close them at will. But he was probably the only one who could.

Michael and Eve moved away from Mayor Morrell’s body, as his wife stood over him and cried.

“What can we do?” Shane asked. He sounded miserable. In all the confusion, he’d missed her confrontation with Myrnin. She was dimly glad about that.

“Nothing,” Michael said. “Nothing but wait.”

When the portal opened again, Myrnin stepped through, then helped someone else over the step.

It was Theo Goldman, carrying an antique doctor’s bag. He looked around the lab, nodding to Claire in particular, and then moved to where Richard was lying on the carpet, with his head in his mother’s lap. “Move back, please,” he told her, and knelt down to open his bag. “Myrnin. Take her in the other room. A mother shouldn’t see this.”

He was setting out instruments, unrolling them in a clean white towel. As Claire watched, Myrnin led Mrs. Morrell away and seated her in a chair in the corner, where he normally sat to read. She seemed dazed now, probably in shock. The chair was intact. It was just about the only thing in the lab that was—the scientific instruments were smashed, lab tables overturned, candles and lamps broken.

Books were piled in the corners and burned, reduced to scraps of leather and curling black ash. The whole place smelled sharply of chemicals and fire.

“What can we do?” Michael asked, crouching down on Richard’s other side. Theo took out several pairs of latex gloves and passed one set to Michael. He donned one himself.

“You can act as my nurse, my friend,” he said. “I would have brought my wife—she has many years of training in this—but I don’t want to leave my children on their own. They’re already very frightened.”

“But they’re safe?” Eve asked. “Nobody’s bothered you?”

“No one has so much as knocked on the door,” he said. “It’s a very good hiding place. Thank you.”

“I think you’re paying us back,” Eve said. “Please. Can you save him?”

“It’s in God’s hands, not mine.” Still, Theo’s eyes were bright as he looked at the twisted metal plate embedded in Richard’s side. “It’s good that he’s unconscious, but he might wake during the procedure. There is chloroform in the bag. It’s Michael, yes? Michael, please put some on a cloth and be ready when I tell you to cover his mouth and nose.”

Claire’s nerve failed around the time that Theo took hold of the piece of steel, and she turned away. Eve already had, to take a blanket to Mrs. Morrell and put it around her shoulders.

“Where’s my daughter?” the mayor’s wife asked. “Monica should be here. I don’t want her out there alone.”

Eve raised her eyebrows at Claire, clearly wondering where Monica was.

“The last time I saw her, she was at school,” Claire said. “But that was before I got the call to come home, so I don’t know. Maybe she’s in shelter in the dorm?” She checked her cell phone. No bars. Reception was usually spotty down here in the lab, but she could usually see something, even if it was only a flicker. “I think the cell towers are down.”

“Yeah, likely,” Eve agreed. She reached over to tuck the blanket around Mrs. Morrell, who leaned her head back and closed her eyes, as if the strength was just leaking right out of her. “You think this is the right thing to do? I mean, do we even know this guy or anything?”

Claire didn’t, really, but she still wanted to like Theo, in much the same way as she liked Myrnin—against her better sense. “I think he’s okay. And it’s not like anybody’s making house calls right now.”

The operation—and it was an operation, with suturing and everything—took a couple of hours before Theo sat back, stripped off the gloves, and sighed in quiet satisfaction. “There,” he said. Claire and Eve got up to walk over as Michael rose to his feet. Shane had been hanging on the edges, watching in what Claire thought looked like queasy fascination. “His pulse is steady. He’s lost some blood, but I believe he will be all right, provided no infection sets in. Still, this century has those wonderful antibiotics, yes? So that is not so bad.” Theo was almost beaming. “I must say, I haven’t used my surgical skills in years. It’s very exciting. Although it makes me hungry.”

Claire was pretty sure Richard wouldn’t want to know that. She knew she wouldn’t have, in his place.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Morrell said. She got up from the chair, folded the blanket and put it aside, then walked over to shake Theo’s hand with simple, dignified gratitude. “I’ll see that my husband compensates you for your kindness.”

They all exchanged looks. Michael started to speak, but Theo shook his head. “That’s quite all right, dear lady. I am delighted to help. I recently lost a son myself. I know the weight of grief.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Morrell said, “I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.” She said it as if she didn’t know her husband was lying across the room, dead.

Tears sparkled in his eyes, Claire saw, but then he blinked them away and smiled. He patted her hand gently. “You are very generous to an old man,” he said. “We have always liked living in Morganville, you know. The people are so kind.”

Shane said, “Some of those same people killed your son.”

Theo looked at him with calm, unflinching eyes. “And without forgiveness, there is never any peace. I tell you this from the distance of many centuries. My son gave his life. I won’t reply to his gift with anger, not even for those who took him from me. Those same poor, sad people will wake up tomorrow grieving their own losses, I think, if they survive at all. How can hating them heal me?”

Myrnin, who hadn’t spoken at all, murmured, “You shame me, Theo.”

“I don’t mean to do so,” he said, and shrugged. “Well. I should get back to my family now. I wish you all well.”

Myrnin got up from his chair and walked with Theo to the portal. They all watched him go. Mrs. Morrell was staring after him with a bright, odd look in her eyes.

“How very strange,” she said. “I wish Mr. Morrell had been available to meet him.”

She spoke as if he were in a meeting downtown instead of under a sheet on the other side of the room. Claire shuddered.

“Come on, let’s go see Richard,” Eve said, and led her away.

Shane let out his breath in a slow hiss. “I wish it were as simple as Theo thinks it is, to stop hating.” He swallowed, watching Mrs. Morrell. “I wish I could, I really do.”

“At least you want to,” Michael said. “It’s a start.”

They stayed the night in the lab, mainly because the storm continued outside until the wee hours of the morning—rain, mostly, with some hail. There didn’t seem to be much point running out in it. Claire kept checking her phone, Eve found a portable radio buried in piles of junk at the back of the room, and they checked for news at regular intervals.

Around three a.m. they got some. It was on the radio’s emergency alert frequency.

All Morganville residents and surrounding areas: we remain under severe thunderstorm warnings, with high winds and possible flooding, until seven a.m. today. Rescue efforts are under way at City Hall, which was partially destroyed by a tornado that also leveled several warehouses and abandoned buildings, as well as one building in Founder’s Square. There are numerous reports of injuries coming in. Please remain calm. Emergency teams are working their way through town now, looking for anyone who may be in need of assistance. Stay where you are. Please do not attempt to go out into the streets at this time.

It started to repeat. Eve frowned and looked up at Myrnin, who had listened as well. “What aren’t they saying?” she asked.

“If I had to guess, their urgent desire that people stay within shelter would tell me there are other things to worry about.” His dark eyes grew distant for a moment, then snapped back into focus. “Ibid nothing.”

“What?” Eve seemed to think she’d misheard.

“Ibid nothing carlo. I don’t justice.”

Myrnin was making word salad again—a precursor to the drugs wearing off—more quickly than Claire had expected, actually, and that was worrying.

Eve sent Claire a look of alarm. “Okay, I didn’t really understand that at all—”

Claire put a hand on her arm to silence her. “Why don’t you go see Mrs. Morrell? You too, Shane.”

He didn’t like it, but he went. As he did, he jerked his head at Michael, who rose from where he was sitting with Richard and strolled over.

Casually.

“Myrnin,” Claire said. “You need to listen to me, okay? I think your drugs are wearing off again.”

“I’m fine.” His excitement level was rising; she could see it—a very light flush in his face, his eyes starting to glitter. “You worry over notebook.”

There was no point in trying to explain the signs; he never could identify them. “We should check on the prison,” she said. “See if everything’s still okay there.”

Myrnin smiled. “You’re trying to trick me.” His eyes were getting darker, endlessly dark, and that smile had edges to it. “Oh, little girl, you don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like, having all these guests here, and all this”—he breathed in deeply—“all this blood.” His eyes focused on her throat, with its ragged bite mark hidden under a bandage Theo had given her. “I know it’s there. Your mark. Tell me, did François—”

“Stop. Stop it.” Claire dug her fingers into her palms. Myrnin took a step toward her, and she forced herself not to flinch. She knew him, knew what he was trying to do. “You won’t hurt me. You need me.”

“Do I?” He breathed deeply again. “Yes, I do. Bright, so bright. I can feel your energy. I know how it will feel when I . . .” He blinked, and horror sheeted across his face, fast as lightning. “What was I saying? Claire? What did I just say?”

She couldn’t repeat it. “Nothing. Don’t worry. But I think we’d better get you to the cell, okay? Please?”

He looked devastated. This was the worst part of it, she thought, the mood swings. He’d tried so hard, and he’d helped, he really had—but he wasn’t going to be able to hold together much longer. She was seeing him fall apart in slow motion.

Again.

Michael steered him toward the portal. “Let’s go,” he said. “Claire, can you do this?”

“If he doesn’t fight me,” she said nervously. She remembered one afternoon when his paranoia had taken over, and every time she’d tried to establish the portal, he’d snapped the connection, sure something was waiting on the other side to destroy him. “I wish we had a tranquilizer.”

“Well, you don’t,” Myrnin said. “And I don’t like being stuck with your needles, you know that. I’ll behave myself.” He laughed softly. “Mostly.”

Claire opened the door, but instead of the connection snapping clear to the prison, she felt it shift, pulled out of focus. “Myrnin, stop it!”

He spread his hands theatrically. “I didn’t do anything.”

She tried again. The connection bent, and before she could bring it back where she wanted it, an alternate destination came into focus.

Theo Goldman fell out of the door.

“Theo!” Myrnin caught him, surprised out of his petulance, at least for the moment. He eased the other vampire down to a sitting position against the wall. “Are you injured?”

“No, no, no—” Theo was gasping, though Claire knew he didn’t need air, not the way humans did. This was emotion, not exertion. “Please, you have to help, I beg you. Help us, help my family, please—”

Myrnin crouched down to put their eyes on a level. “What’s happened?”

Theo’s eyes filled with tears that flowed over his lined, kind face. “Bishop,” he said. “Bishop has my family. He says he wants Amelie and the book, or he will kill them all.”

14

Theo hadn’t come straight from Common Grounds, of course; he’d been taken to one of the open portals—he didn’t know where—and forced through by Bishop. “No,” he said, and stopped Michael as he tried to come closer. “No, not you. He only wants Amelie, and the book, and I want no more innocent blood shed, not yours or mine. Please. Myrnin, I know you can find her. You have the blood tie and I don’t. Please find her and bring her. This is not our fight. It’s family; it’s father and daughter. They should end this, face-to-face.”

Myrnin stared at him for a long, long moment, and then cocked his head to one side. “You want me to betray her,” he said. “Deliver her to her father.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t ask for that. Only to—to let her know what price there will be. Amelie will come. I know she will.”

“She won’t,” Myrnin said. “I won’t let her.”

Theo cried out in misery, and Claire bit her lip. “Can’t you help him?” she said. “There’s got to be a way!”

“Oh, there is,” Myrnin said. “There is. But you won’t like it, my little Claire. It isn’t neat, and it isn’t easy. And it will require considerable courage from you, yet again.”

“I’ll do it!”

“No, you won’t,” Shane and Michael said, at virtually the same time. Shane continued. “You’re barely on your feet, Claire. You don’t go anywhere, not without me.”

“And me,” Michael said.

“Hell,” Eve sighed. “I guess that means I have to go, too. Which I may not ever forgive you for, even if I don’t die horribly.”

Myrnin stared at each of them in turn. “You’d go. All of you.” His lips stretched into a crazy, rubber-doll smile. “You are the best toys, you know. I can’t imagine how much funit will be to play with you.”

Silence, and then Eve said, “Okay, that was extra creepy, with whipped creepy topping. And this is me, changing my mind.”

The glee faded from Myrnin’s eyes, replaced with a kind of lost desperation that Claire recognized all too well. “It’s coming. Claire, it’s coming, I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do. I can feel it.”

She reached out and took his hand. “I know. Please, try. We need you right now. Can you hold on?”

He nodded, but it was more a convulsive response than confirmation. “In the drawer by the skulls,” he said. “One last dose. I hid it. I forgot.”

He did that; he hid things and remembered them at odd moments—or never. Claire dashed off to the far end of the room, near where Richard slept, and opened drawer after drawer under the row of skulls he’d nailed to the wall. He’d promised that they were all clinical specimens, not one of them victims of violence. She still didn’t altogether believe him.

In the last drawer, shoved behind ancient rolls of parchment and the mounted skeleton of a bat, were two vials, both in brown glass. One, when she pried up the stopper, proved to be red crystals.

The other was silver powder.

She put the vial with silver powder in her pants pocket—careful to use the pocket without a hole in it—and brought the red crystals back to Myrnin. He nodded and slipped the vial into his vest pocket, inside the coat.

“Aren’t you going to take them?”

“Not quite yet,” he said, which scared the hell out of her, frankly. “I can stay focused a bit longer. I promise.”

“So,” Michael said, “what’s the plan?”

“This.”

Claire felt the portal snap into place behind her, clear as a lightning strike, and Myrnin grabbed the front of her shirt, swung her around, and threw her violently through the doorway.

She seemed to fall a really, really long time, but she hit the ground and rolled.

She opened her eyes on pitch darkness, smelling rot and old wine.

No.

She knew this place.

She was trying to get up when something else hit her from behind—Shane, from the sound of his angry cursing. She writhed around and slapped a hand over his mouth, which made him stop in midcurse. “Shhhh,” she hissed, as softly as she could. Not that their rolling around on the floor hadn’t rung the dinner bell loud and clear, of course.

Damn you, Myrnin.

A cold hand encircled her wrist and pulled her away from Shane, and when she hit out at it, she felt a velvet sleeve.

Myrnin. Shane was scrambling to his feet, too.

“Michael, can you see?” Myrnin’s voice sounded completely calm.

“Yes.” Michael’s didn’t. At all.

“Then run, damn you! I’ve got them!”

Myrnin followed his own advice, and Claire’s arm was almost yanked from its socket as he dragged her with him. She heard Shane panting on his other side. Her foot came down on something springy, like a body, and she yelped. The sound echoed, and from the darkness on all sides, she heard what sounded like fingers tapping, sliding, coming closer.

Something grabbed her ankle, and this time Claire screamed. It felt like a wire loop, but when she tried to bat at it, she felt fingers, a thin, bony forearm, and nails like talons.

Myrnin skidded to a halt, turned, and stomped. Her ankle came free, and something in the darkness screamed in rage.

“Go!” He roared—not to them, but to Michael, Claire guessed. She saw a flash of something up ahead that wasn’t quite light—the portal? That looked like the kind of shimmer it made when it was being activated.

Myrnin let go of her wrist, and shoved her forward.

Once again, she fell. This time, she landed on top of Michael.

Shane fell on top of her, and she gasped for air as all the breath was driven out of her. They squirmed around and separated. Michael pulled Eve to her feet.

“I know this place,” Claire said. “This is where Myrnin—”

Myrnin stepped through the portal and slammed it shut, just as Amelie had done not so long ago. “We won’t come back here,” he said. “Out. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

He led the way, long black coat flapping, and Claire had to dig deep to keep up, even with Shane helping her. When he slowed down and started to pick her up, she swatted at him breathlessly. “No, I’ll make it!”

He didn’t look so sure.

At the end of the stone hallway, they took a left, heading down the dark, paneled hall that Claire remembered, but they passed up the door she remembered as Myrnin’s cell, where he’d been chained.

He didn’t even slow down.

“Where are we going?” Eve gasped. “Man, I wish I’d worn different shoes—”

She cut herself off as Myrnin stopped at the end of the hallway. There was a massive wooden door there, medieval style with thick, hand-hammered iron bands, and the Founder’s Symbol etched into the old wood.

He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Of course. Claire windmilled her arms as she stumbled to a halt, and braced herself against the wall, chest heaving.

“Shouldn’t we be armed?” Eve asked. “I mean, for a rescue mission, generally people go armed. I’m just pointing that out.”

“I don’t like this,” Shane said.

Myrnin didn’t move his gaze away from Claire. He reached out and took her hand in his. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

“I will if you take your meds,” she said.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I have my reasons, little one. Please. I must have your word.”

Shane was shaking his head. Michael wasn’t seeming any too confident about this, either, and Eve—Eve looked like she would gladly have run back the other way, if she’d known there was any other choice than going back into that darkness.

“Yes,” Claire said.

Myrnin smiled. It was a tired, thin sort of smile, and it had a hint of sadness in it. “Then I should apologize now,” he said. “Because I’m about to break that trust most grievously.”

He dropped Claire’s hand, grabbed Shane by the shirt, and kicked open the door.

He dragged Shane through with him, and the door slammed behind him before any of them could react—even Michael, who hit the wood just an instant later, battering at it. It was built to hold out vampires, Claire realized. And it would hold out Michael for a long, long time.

“Shane!” She screamed his name and threw herself against the wood, slamming her hand over and over into the Founder’s Symbol. “Shane, no! Myrnin, bring him back. Please, don’t do this. Bring him back. . . .”

Michael whirled around, facing the other direction. “Stay behind me,” he said to Eve and Claire. Claire looked over her shoulder to see doors opening, up and down the hall, as if somebody had pressed a button.

Vampires and humans alike came out, filling the hallway between the three of them, and any possible way out.

Every single one of them had fang marks in their necks, just like the ones in Claire’s neck.

Just like the ones in Michael’sneck.

There was something about the way he was standing there, so still, so quiet. . . .

And then he walked away, heading for the other vampires.

“Michael!” Eve started to lunge after him, but Claire stopped her.

When Michael reached the first vampire, Claire expected to see some kind of a fight– something—but instead, they just looked at each other, and then the man nodded.

“Welcome,” he said, “Brother Michael.”

“Welcome,” another vampire murmured, and then a human.

When Michael turned around, his eyes had shifted colors, going from sky blue to dark crimson.

“Oh hell,” Eve whispered. “This isn’t happening. It can’t be.”

The door opened behind them. On the other side was a big stone hall, something straight out of a castle, and the wooden throne that Claire remembered from the welcome feast was here, sitting up on a stage. It was draped in red velvet.

Sitting on the throne was Mr. Bishop.

“Join us,” Bishop said. Claire and Eve looked at each other. Shane was lying on the stone floor, with Myrnin’s hand holding him facedown. “Come in, children. There’s no point anymore. I’ve won the night.”

Claire felt like she’d stepped off the edge of the world, and everything was just . . . gone. Myrnin wouldn’t look at her. He had his head bowed to Bishop.

Eve, after that first look, returned her attention to Michael, who was walking toward them.

It was not the Michael they knew—not at all.

“Let Shane go,” Claire said. Her voice trembled, but it came out clearly enough. Bishop raised one finger, and Michael lunged forward, grabbed Eve by the throat, and pulled her close to him with his fangs bared. “No!”

“Don’t give me orders, child,” Bishop said. “You should be dead by now. I’m almost impressed. Now, rephrase your request. Something with a please.”

Claire licked her lips and tasted sweat. “Please,” she said. “Please let Shane go. Please don’t hurt Eve.”

Bishop considered, then nodded. “I don’t need the girl,” he said. He nodded to Michael, who let Eve go. She backed away, staring at him in disbelief, hands over her throat. “I have what I want. Don’t I, Myrnin?”

Myrnin pulled up Shane’s shirt. There, stuffed in his waistband at the back, was the book.

No.

Myrnin pulled it free, let Shane up, and walked to Bishop. I’m about to break that trust most grievously,he’d said to Claire. She hadn’t believed him until this moment.

“Wait,” Myrnin said, as Bishop reached for it. “The bargain was for Theo Goldman’s family.”

“Who? Oh, yes.” He smiled. “They’ll be quite safe.”

“And unharmed,” Myrnin said.

“Are you putting conditions on our little agreement?” Bishop asked. “Very well. They go free, and unharmed. Let all witness that Theo Goldman and his family will take no harm from me or mine, but they are not welcome in Morganville. I will not have them here.”

Myrnin inclined his head. He lowered himself to one knee in front of the throne, and lifted the book in both hands over his head, offering it up.

Bishop’s fingers closed on it, and he let out a long, rattling sigh. “At last,” he said. “At last.”

Myrnin rested his forearms across his knee, but didn’t try to rise. “You said you also required Amelie. May I suggest an alternative?”

“You may, as I’m in good humor with you at the moment.”

“The girl wears Amelie’s sigil,” he said. “She’s the only one in town who wears it in the old way, by the old laws. That makes her no less than a part of Amelie herself, blood for blood.”

Claire stopped breathing. It seemed as if every head turned toward her, every pair of eyes stared. Shane started to come toward her.

He never made it.

Michael darted forward and slammed his friend down on the stones, snarling. He held him there. Myrnin rose and came to Claire, offering her his hand in an antique, courtly gesture.

His eyes were still dark, still mostly sane.

And that was why she knew she could never really forgive him, ever again. This wasn’t the disease talking.

It was just Myrnin.

“Come,” he said. “Trust me, Claire. Please.”

She avoided him and walked on her own to the foot of Bishop’s throne, staring up at him.

“Well?” she asked. “What are you waiting for? Kill me.”

“Kill you?” he repeated, mystified. “Why on earth would I do such a foolish thing? Myrnin is quite right. There’s no point in killing you, none at all. I need you to run the machines of Morganville for me. I have already declared that Richard Morrell will oversee the humans. I will allow Myrnin the honor of ruling those vampires who choose to stay in my kingdom and swear fealty to me.”

Myrnin bowed slightly, from the waist. “I am, of course, deeply grateful for your favor, my lord.”

“One thing,” Bishop said. “I’ll need Oliver’s head.”

This time, Myrnin smiled. “I know just where to find it, my lord.”

“Then be about your work.”

Myrnin gave a bow, flourished with elaborate arm movements, and to Claire’s eyes, it was almost mocking.

Almost.

While he was bowing, she heard him whisper, “Do as he says.”

And then he was gone, walking away, as if none of it meant anything to him at all.

Eve tried to kick him, but he laughed and avoided her, wagging a finger at her as he did.

They watched him skip away down the hall.

Shane said, “Let me up, Michael, or fang me. One or the other.”

“No,” Bishop said, and snapped his fingers to call Michael off when he snarled. “I may need the boy to control his father. Put them in a cage together.”

Shane was hauled up and marched off, but not before he said, “Claire, I’ll find you.”

“I’ll find you first,” she said.

Bishop broke the lock on the book that Myrnin had given him, and opened it to flip the pages, as if looking for something in particular. He ripped out a page and pressed the two ends together to make a circle of paper, thickly filled with minute, dark writing. “Put this on your arm,” he said, and tossed it to Claire. She hesitated, and he sighed. “Put it on, or one of the many hostages to your good behavior will suffer. Do you understand? Mother, father, friends, acquaintances, complete strangers. You are not Myrnin. Don’t try to play his games.”

Claire slipped the paper sleeve over her arm, feeling stupid, but she didn’t see any alternatives.

The paper felt odd against her skin, and then it sucked in and clung to her like something alive. She panicked and tried to pull it off, but she couldn’t get a grip on it, so closely was it sticking to her arm.

After a moment of searing pain, it loosened and slipped off on its own.

As it fluttered to the floor, she saw that the page was blank. Nothing on it at all. The dense writing that had been on it stayed on her arm—no, under the skin, as if she’d been tattooed with it.

And the symbols were moving.It made her ill to watch. She had no idea what it meant, but she could feel something happening inside, something . . .

Her fear faded away. So did her anger.

“Swear loyalty to me,” Bishop said. “In the old tongue.”

Claire got on her knees and swore, in a language she didn’t even know, and not for one moment did she doubt it was the right thing to do. In fact, it made her happy. Glowingly happy. Some part of her was screaming, He’s making you do this!but the other parts really didn’t care.

“What shall I do with your friends?” he asked her.

“I don’t care.” She didn’t even care that Eve was crying.

“You will, someday. I’ll grant you this much: your friend Eve may go. I have absolutely no use for her. I will show I am merciful.”

Claire shrugged. “I don’t care.”

She did, she knew she did, but she couldn’t make herself feel it.

“Go,” Bishop said, and smiled chillingly at Eve. “Run away. Find Amelie and tell her this: I have taken her town away, and all that she values. Tell her I have the book. If she wants it back, she’ll have to come for it herself.”

Eve angrily wiped tears from her face, glaring at him. “She’ll come. And I’ll come with her. You don’t own jack. This is ourtown, and we’re going to kick you out if it’s the last thing we do.”

The assembled vampires all laughed. Bishop said, “Then come. We’ll be waiting. Won’t we, Claire?”

“Yes,” she said, and went to sit down on the steps by his feet. “We’ll be waiting.”

He snapped his fingers. “Then let’s begin our celebration, and in the morning, we’ll talk about how Morganville will be run from now on. According to mywishes.”