The Morganville Vampires (Books 1-8)

by Rachel Caine

  Claire went around to the front seat, got in, and asked blankly, “Who’s driving?’”

  Richard Morrell slid in behind the wheel. “Joe and Travis will stay here,’” he said. “I’ll bring you back for your car. Everybody, hold on.’”

  As Richard backed the car out and then accelerated toward Founder’s Square, lights and sirens going, Monica managed to get her first coherent words out between coughs.

  “Claire…bitch!’” Her voice sounded raw and hoarse. “You…think this…makes us…friends?’”

  “God, no,’” Claire said. “But I think you kinda owe me.’”

  Monica just glared.

  “I’ll call it even if Shane walks away.’”

  Monica coughed again. “You wish.’”

  12

  Founder’s Square was insane. Richard had to stop the car almost a block away, just outside of a cordon of police cars with flashing lights. Claire got out and had another coughing fit, bad enough that Eve patted her nervously on the back and did the talking for her to the grim-faced uniformed policewoman standing guard at the barricade. “We need to see Mayor Morrell,’” she said.

  “Mayor’s busy,’” the policewoman said. “You’ll have to wait.’”

  “But—’”

  Monica got out of the backseat, and the cop’s eyes widened. “Miss Morrell?’” Well, Claire admitted, the smoke-stained scarecrow with frizzed hair didn’t look much like the usual Monica. She secretly hoped somebody would take pictures. And put them on the Internet.

  When Richard got out, as well, the policewoman gulped. “Jesus. Sorry, sir. Hang on, I’ll get someone here.’” The policewoman got on her radio and passed on information; while they waited, she passed out bottled water from her squad car. Claire took two bottles and ducked back into the patrol car’s backseat, where Michael was sitting, eyes shut tight. He stirred and looked at her when she called his name. He didn’t look good—paper pale, burned in places, and apparently sick, too. She handed him the water. “I don’t know if it’ll help, but…?’”

  Michael nodded and gulped some down. Claire cracked her own bottle and swallowed, nearly moaning in ecstasy. Nothing had ever tasted so good in Claire’s entire life as that lukewarm, flat water washing away the smoke from her throat.

  “I thought—’” Michael licked his lips and let his head flop back against the seat. “I thought I’d be stronger. I’ve seen other vampires in the daytime.’”

  “Older ones,’” Claire said. “I think it must take time. Amelie can even walk around in the daylight, but she’s really old. You just have to be patient, Michael.’”

  “Patient?’” He closed his eyes. “Claire. Today’s the first day I’ve been outside of my house for nearly a year, my best friend’s still under a death sentence, and you’re telling me to be patient?’”

  It did sound stupid, when he put it that way. She drank her water silently, wiping sweat from her forehead and then grimacing at the sooty mess.

  It’s going to be all right, she told herself. We’ll get Shane. We’ll all go home. It’ll be fine.

  Which even now she knew wasn’t very likely, but she had to have something to hold on to.

  It was only about a five-minute wait, and the mayor came himself, trailed by an anxious entourage and two uniformed paramedics, who swooped in on Monica and Richard, ignoring Claire and Eve. “Hey, we’re fine, thanks,’” Eve said sarcastically. “Flesh wounds. Look, we kept our part of the bargain. We want Shane. Right now.’”

  The mayor, hugging his soot-stained daughter, barely even glanced their way. “You’re too late,’” he said.

  Claire’s knees went out from under her. It came to her in a blinding rush—the fire, the smoke, the terror. Shane. Oh no, no, it couldn’t be….

  The mayor must have realized what she was thinking, and what Eve was thinking, too, from the expressions on their faces, because he looked momentarily annoyed. “No, not that,’” he said. “Richard said you were en route. I said I’d wait. I don’t break my word.’”

  “Much,’” Eve muttered, and covered it with a fake cough. “Okay, then why are we too late?’”

  “He’s already gone,’” the mayor said. “His father staged an attack just before dawn, when our attention was on the warehouse fire. Broke Shane and the other one out of the cages, killed five of my men. They were heading out of town, but we’ve got them cornered this time. It’ll all be over soon.’”

  “But—Shane!’” Claire looked at him pleadingly. “We kept our part of the bargain—please, can’t you just let him go?’”

  Mayor Morrell frowned at her. “Our agreement was that I’d let him go if you brought my daughter back. Well, he’s free. If he gets himself killed trying to save his no-good father, that’s no business of mine,’” the mayor said. He put his arm around Monica and Richard. “Come on, kids. You can tell me what happened.’”

  “I’ll tell you what happened,’” Eve said angrily. “We saved both of their lives. You can thank us for that anytime, by the way.’”

  From the glare he threw Eve, the mayor really didn’t find that funny. “If you hadn’t put them in danger in the first place, none of this would have happened,’” he said. “Consider yourselves lucky that I don’t toss you in jail for aiding and abetting a vampire hunter. Now, if you want my advice, go home.’” He kissed his daughter’s filthy hair. “Come on, princess.’”

  “Dad,’” Richard said. “She’s right. They did save our lives.’”

  The mayor looked more than just annoyed now, at this minor rebellion in the family ranks. “Son, I know that you may feel some gratitude toward these girls, but—’”

  “Just tell us where Shane is,’” Claire said. “Please. That’s all we want.’”

  The two Morrell men exchanged long looks, and then Richard said, “You know the old hospital? The one on Grand Street?’”

  Eve nodded. “Our Lady? I thought they tore that thing down.’”

  “Scheduled for demolition at the end of the week,’” Richard said. “I’ll take you there.’”

  Claire almost cried; she was so relieved. Not that the problem was solved—it wasn’t—but at least they had another step to take.

  “Richard,’” the mayor said. “You don’t owe them anything.’”

  “I do, though.’” Richard looked from Eve, to Claire. “And I won’t forget it.’”

  Eve grinned. “Awww. Don’t worry, Officer. We won’t let you.’”

  There were vampires out in the daytime. Claire figured that was unusual, but she realized just how unusual when Richard Morrell, slowing the police car to a crawl, whistled. “Oliver’s called out the troops,’” he said. “Not good for your friend. Or his father.’”

  The streets around the massive bulk of the old hospital were lined with cars…big cars, dark-tinted windows. Lots of police cars, too, but it was those other autos that looked…menacing.

  As did the people standing in shadows, surrounding the building. Some wore heavy coats and hats, even in the oppressive heat. There had to be at least a hundred gathered, and a lot of them were vampires.

  And right in the center, standing right at the edge of the border of sunlight and shadow, stood Oliver. He was wearing a long black leather coat, and a leather broad-brimmed hat, and his hands were cased in gloves.

  “Oh, man. I don’t think you guys are going to do any good here,’” Richard said. Oliver’s head turned toward them, and he stepped out into the sunlight. The vampire approached, moving at a slow, leisurely pace. “Maybe I ought to take you on home.’”

  In less time than it took to tell Richard no, Oliver had crossed the open space and jerked open the back door of the police cruiser. “Maybe you should join us instead,’” Oliver said, and bared his teeth in a smile. “Ah, Michael. Out of the house at last, I see. Felicitations on your birthday. I would suggest, for your own safety, that you stay strictly in the shadows this morning. Not that you’ll have the strength to do anything else.’” />
  And he grabbed Claire, who was sitting nearest the door, by the throat.

  Claire heard Michael and Eve yelling, and felt Eve trying to hold on to her, but there was no way Eve could match Oliver’s strength. He simply pulled Claire out of the car like a rag doll, his fingers wrapped cruelly tight around her throat, and dragged her out into the street.

  “Shane! Shane Collins!’” he shouted. “I have something for you! I want you to watch this very carefully!’”

  Claire grabbed at his hand with both of her own, trying to pry his grip free, but it was no good. He knew just how tightly to hold on without quite crushing her throat or cutting off her breathing. She fought back another panicked bout of coughing, and tried to think of something, anything, to do.

  “I’m going to kill this girl,’” Oliver continued, “unless she swears herself to me and my service, in front of all of these witnesses. Shane, you can save her by making the same deal. You have two minutes to consider your decision.’”

  “Why?’” Claire whispered. It came out as a mouse squeak, barely audible. Oliver, who was staring at the decaying facade of the old hospital, with its weather-stained weeping angels and molding baroque stonework, turned his attention briefly to her. The morning was warm and cloudless, the sun a hot brass penny in a bright blue sky. It seemed wrong for a vampire to be out here.

  He wasn’t even sweating.

  “Why what, Claire? It’s an imprecise question. You have a better mind than that.’”

  She fought for breath, helplessly clawing at his fingers. “Why…kill Brandon?’”

  He lost his smile, and his eyes turned wary. “Clever,’” he said. “Cleverness may not be good for you after all. The question you should be asking is, why do I want your service?’”

  “All right,’” she wheezed. “Why?’”

  “Because Amelie has some use for you,’” he said. “And I am not accustomed to giving Amelie what she wants. It has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with history. But, sadly, I’m making it your problem. Cheer up; if your boyfriend swears on your behalf, I’ll keep him alive. Let you see him from time to time. Star-crossed lovers are so entertaining.’”

  Amelie didn’t seem to have much of a use for her, Claire reflected, but she didn’t argue about it. Couldn’t, in fact. Couldn’t do much of anything but stand on tiptoe, gag for each breath, and hope that somehow, she’d figure a way out of this stupid situation that she’d gotten herself into. Again.

  “One minute!’” Oliver called. There was movement inside of the building, flickers at the windows. “Well. It appears we have a domestic disturbance.’”

  What he meant was, Shane’s dad was kicking the crap out of him. Claire struggled to see what was going on, but Oliver’s grip was too tight. She could see only from the corner of her eye, and what she could see wasn’t good. Shane was in the doorway of the hospital, trying to get free, but someone dragged him back.

  “Thirty seconds!’” Oliver announced. “Well, this is coming down to the wire. I’m a bit surprised, Claire. The boy really is fighting for the chance to save you. You should be very impressed.’”

  “You should take your hands off of her, Oliver,’” said a voice from behind them, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a shotgun being pumped. “Seriously. I’m not in a good mood, I’m tired, and I just want to go home.’”

  “Richard,’” Oliver said, and turned to regard him. “You look like hell, my friend. Don’t you think you should go be with your family, instead of worrying about these—outcasts?’”

  Richard stepped forward and put the shotgun under Oliver’s chin. “Yeah, I should. But I owe them. I said—’”

  Oliver backhanded him. Richard went flying and rolled to a limp stop on the pavement, the shotgun clattering to the ground.

  “I heard you the first time,’” Oliver said mildly. “My, you do make friends in strange places, Claire. I suppose you’ll have to tell me all about that later.’” He raised his voice. “Time’s up! Claire Danvers, do you swear your life, your blood, and your service to me, now and for your lifetime, that I may command you in all things? Do say yes, my dear, because if you don’t, I’ll simply close my hand. It’s a very messy way to go. Takes minutes for you to choke to death, and Shane gets to watch the whole thing.’”

  Claire couldn’t believe she’d ever thought Oliver was kind, or reasonable, or human. She stared at his cold, cold eyes, and saw a thin, blood-colored trickle of sweat run down his face under the hat.

  She was no longer standing on tiptoe, she realized. Her feet were flat on the ground.

  He’s getting weaker!

  Not that it would do her any good.

  “Wait.’” Shane’s voice. Claire breathed in a shallow gasp and saw him limping across the open ground from the hospital building toward her. His face was bloody, and there was something wrong with his ankle, but he wasn’t stopping. “You want a servant? How about me?’”

  “Ah. The hero appears.’” Oliver turned toward him, and as he did, Claire got a better look at Shane. She saw the fear in his eyes, and her heart just broke for him. He’d been through so much; he didn’t deserve this, too. Not this. “I thought you might say that. What if I take you both, then? I’m a generous, fair boss. Ask Eve.’”

  “Don’t believe anything he says. He’s working with your dad,’” Claire wheezed. “He’s been working with him the whole time. He arranged for Brandon to be killed. Shane—’”

  “I know all that,’” Shane said. “Politics, right, Oliver? Mind games, you and Amelie. We’re just pawns to you. Well, she’s not a pawn. Let her go.’”

  “All right, my young knight,’” Oliver said, and smiled. “If you insist.’”

  He was going to kill her, he really was….

  Shane had something in his hand, and he threw it right in Oliver’s eyes.

  It looked like water, but it must have burned like acid. Oliver let go of Claire and screamed, stumbling backward, tearing the hat from his head and bending over, clawing at his face….

  Shane grabbed Claire’s hand, and pulled her with him in a limping run.

  Straight into the old hospital building.

  With a roar, the cops, the vampires, and their servants came rushing across the open sunlit parking lot. Some of the vampires went down, hammered by the hot sun, but not all of them. Not nearly all of them.

  Shane pushed Claire through the doorway and yelled, “Now!’”

  A huge, heavy wooden desk dropped down on its side, blocking the doorway with a crash, and then another one dropped on top of it from the balcony above.

  Shane, breathing hard, grabbed Claire and pulled her into a hug. “You okay?’” he asked. “No fang marks or anything?’”

  “I’m fine,’” she gasped. “Oh, God, Shane!’”

  “So this charcoal look, that’s just fashion. You’re okay.’”

  She clung to him tightly. “There was a fire.’”

  “No kidding. Dad makes one hell of a diversion.’” Shane swallowed and pushed her back. “Did you get Monica out of there? Dad told me—well, he meant to leave her in there.’” She nodded. Shane’s eyes glittered with relief. “I tried to stop this, Claire. He won’t listen to me.’”

  “He never did. Didn’t you know that?’”

  He shrugged, and looked around. “Funny, I keep thinking he will. Where’s Eve? In the police car?’”

  With Michael, she almost said, and realized it probably wasn’t the best moment to announce that Shane’s best friend was now a full-fledged vampire. Shane was just barely warming up to the whole ghost issue. “Yeah. In the police car.’” She took a corner of his shirt and lifted it to wipe at the blood on his face.

  “Ouch.’”

  “Where’s your dad?’”

  “They’ve been moving out,’” he said. “He tried to get me to go. I said I’d damn well go when I had you back. So…I guess now would be a good time.’”

  There was a clatter of metal off to
the side, and Claire’s world gradually expanded past the miracle of seeing Shane again to take in the room where she stood. It was a big lobby, floored in scarred, ugly green plastic tile. What little furniture remained in the room was mostly bolted down, like the reception desk; the walls were black and furry with thick streaks of mold, and lights hung at odd angles overhead, clearly ready to fall at the slightest jolt. There was a creaky-looking second floor overlooking the lobby, and around it dented filing cabinets blocked the windows.

  It smelled like dead things—worse, it felt that way, like terrible things had been done here over the years. Claire was reminded of the Glass House, and the energy stored inside of it…. What kind of energy was stored here? And what had it come from? She shuddered even thinking about it.

  “They’re coming!’” someone called from up above, and Shane raised a hand in acknowledgment. “Time to get the hell out, man!’”

  “Coming.’” He grabbed Claire’s hand. “Come on. We have a way out.’”

  “We do?’”

  “Morgue tunnels.’”

  “What?’”

  “Trust me.’”

  “I do, but…morgue tunnels?’”

  “Yeah,’” Shane said. “They were sealed off in the mid-fifties, but we opened up one end. It’s not on the maps. Nobody’s watching it.’”

  “Then who’s in here with you?’”

  “Couple of Dad’s guys,’” Shane said.

  “That’s it?’” She was horrified. “You know there are about a hundred angry people outside, right? And they have guns?’”

  Behind them, the battering at the doors strengthened. The desks blocking access grated across the floor, one torturous inch at a time. She could see daylight spilling inside.

  “We’d better move,’” Shane said. “Come on.’”

  Claire let him tow her along, and looked back over her shoulder to see the desks shuddering under the impact of bodies. They slid across the tile with another groan, and one of them cracked in half, drawers spilling out in a noisy clatter.