Carpe Corpus tmv-6

by Rachel Caine

  More like Sam than ever.

  Eve was still unmistakably Eve. She twirled the stake in her fingers, lifted the crossbow in her right hand. “How often do I get to go vamp stalking?” she asked, and smiled. “Let’s do it.”

  “Shane?”

  He’d been uncharacteristically quiet. Now, he just nodded. “Watch yourself,” he said, and brushed the back of his hand gently across her cheek. “You scare me.”

  She burst out laughing, shakily. “You’re insane.”

  There was a short hallway outside of the room, deserted and dark; at the end of the hallway was a fire door, and one of the doors was still open a little. Myrnin had gone that way, Claire figured.

  She set out after him.

  As she stepped outside into the cool evening air, something grabbed her. Not Myrnin.

  Bishop.

  He looked bad—unsteady, but still stronger than a mere human. He fumbled at her clothes; for a second she thought, Oh my God, he’s going to rape me, and then his flailing hand brushed the book she’d shoved into her pocket. She’d forgotten about it.

  Now, as he tried to pull it away from her, she fought back. Hard. Bishop was weaker than he’d ever been, and she was panicked. Bishop heard Shane calling her name, and pulled her farther into the darkness—then he headed for a nearby building, and dragged her up as he climbed. They ended up on the flat roof of the maintenance shed.

  “Over there!” she heard Michael shout, and then he was heading toward them in a blur, with Shane and Eve in hot pursuit.

  Bishop had his fingers on the book. No! She couldn’t let it happen. Claire didn’t fully understand what was in those pages, but she’d seen how he could use it. She felt it, in that tattoo.

  She wasn’t going to take the chance there was more he could do with it.

  Bishop screamed something at her, and his fangs came down. Claire planted both feet in his chest and heaved with all her strength.

  Bishop tumbled away from her, skidding on the loose roof gravel. Claire flipped over and scrambled to her feet, running for the edge. She had no idea what she’d do when she got there. Fly, maybe. Or take the fall, no matter how hard it was.

  She didn’t have to. Michael swooped in, grabbed her by the waist, and jumped with her. He landed lightly on the ground, let her slide down him, and looked up.

  Bishop was leaning over, breathing hard. His fangs and crazy eyes caught the moonlight.

  “Oh, crap,” Eve said. “He’s still not exactly Mr. Fluffy.”

  Shane summed it up. “Run!”

  They did. Shane took Claire’s hand; she had the shortest legs, but the most motivation, and she kept up with them as they raced out into the open green soccer field in front of the Admin Building.

  Bishop landed on the grass behind them and began to chase them.

  “He’s going to catch us!” Eve yelled. “Head for the library!”

  The TPU library was a big, columned building catty-corner to the Administration Building. It had its lights on, and there were still students coming and going up the steps, oblivious to what was coming their way. “Get out of here!” Claire shouted, and ran full speed to the top of the stairs. Shane was just ahead of her, Eve somewhere behind.

  Michael had stopped at the foot of the steps, and was turning to face Bishop. When Claire hesitated, Eve grabbed her by the collar of her T-shirt and yanked her forward. “Don’t stop!” she said, panting. “Damn, I need more exercise. Head into the stacks. Don’t stop for anything, Claire!”

  As they blew through the metal detectors, sirens went off. Students popped out of study carrels and up from tables like prairie dogs, then yelped and scattered as they realized something bad was heading their way, leaving a trail of notebooks and open computers. As they flashed past rows of library books, Shane skidded to a halt, grabbed two volumes with black covers, and tossed one to Eve. She nodded and shoved it in the waistband of her pants.

  There was a crash somewhere behind them, and the glass doors blew into a million jagged pieces that flew across the marble floor. Students scrambled for cover. Somebody yelled to call the campus cops; somebody smarter yelled to shut up and hide.

  Michael hit the marble floor and rolled, leaving trails of blood. He landed on his hands and knees, facing Claire, Shane, and Eve, who’d paused halfway down the stacks. “Go!” he told them, and got to his feet as Bishop stepped inside. He didn’t seem as unsteady now.

  The poison was wearing off, way too fast.

  Shane pushed Claire into a run. Eve stumbled after them, looking over her shoulder to see if Michael was going to follow.

  He didn’t.

  The aisle ended in a brick wall, with windows way up high, but there was an exit sign pointing to the left. The three of them turned the corner and headed for it, dodging past students wearing headphones, oblivious to the trouble in the stacks.

  Shane hit the fire door first, setting off another alarm, and they raced down another flight of concrete steps.

  This side of the library faced the big fountain—only the fountain was gone, and had been for a couple of months. What was in its place, at the center of six converging sidewalks, was the big concrete rim of what had been the pool, and in the center, a bronze statue of Mr. Bishop, holding a book in his hand.

  There was one of those eternal flames burning in front of his statue—the light of knowledge, or something stupid like that. Claire had been revolted by the statue when it went up.

  Now, she had an idea.

  “Split up!” she yelled. “Make sure he sees that you have the books!”

  Shane and Eve peeled off, heading right and left.

  Claire went straight for the statue.

  When Bishop emerged from the library, there was no sign of Michael. He paused on the steps, and he must have realized that two of the three of them were obvious decoys—but which two? Claire was betting that he’d assume she’d switched books with Shane.

  She guessed right. Bishop jumped off of the stairs to the grass, and headed at a run after Shane. That gave Claire precious time to reach the stone rim of the fountain, climb over, and get to the eternal flame of knowledge—which was just a gas jet, really.

  That was all she needed.

  Claire pulled the book from her pocket and held it over the flame. Yes. Finally.

  “Hey!” she distantly heard Eve shouting. “Hey, Bishop! Tag!” When she looked up, Eve was jumping up and down, waving her leather-bound book like a demented Goth cheerleader.

  Bishop ignored her.

  Shane zigzagged, doing the best broken field running Claire had seen outside of a football field, but Bishop was faster and more agile, and he cut him off and bowled Shane over.

  Claire looked at the book in her hand.

  It wasn’t burning. She frantically turned it, trying the side with the gilded pages. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” she yelped, and kept trying.

  It wouldn’t even scorch.

  Bishop took the book from Shane, examined it, and flung it away in disgust. He headed straight for Claire. Eve saw him coming, and got to Claire first, leaping over the rim of the fountain and skidding to a halt. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, panting. “Burn the damn thing already!”

  “Trying!” Claire gritted out, and out of desperation, grabbed a handful of paper in the middle of the book and twisted.

  The pages ripped out. When she held them out over the flames, they immediately caught like flash paper.

  “Yes!” Eve cheered and jumped up and down, pumping her fists. “Go!”

  Claire tore loose more pages and flung them into the fire.

  Bishop landed flat-footed in front of her, red-eyed and growling, and backhanded Eve as she tried to get between him and Claire.

  Claire ripped more pages and burned them. She’d done about half the book.

  “You evil little beast,” Bishop said, and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  She ripped pages and backed away, dodging around the other side of
the brazier. Most of the paper made it to the fire. What didn’t drifted lazily around her feet in the breeze. Sparks drifted on the wind and landed on her clothes.

  Bishop lunged for her as she tore more pages free. She thrust the handful into the fire a second before he hit her, driving her back against his bronze statue. She landed hard enough to make the metal ring, not to mention her ears.

  Bishop reached out to take the ragged remains of his book.

  A shadow flashed by them, barely visible in the moonlight, and then Claire felt the statue shake as something leaped on top.

  Myrnin, sitting on the shoulders of Bishop’s statue, reached down and plucked the book from Claire’s hand an instant before Bishop grabbed it. “Ah, ah, ah,” he said. “Don’t be rude, old man. This was never yours in the first place.” He ripped loose a page, balled it up, and pitched it neatly into the brazier, where it burst into flame and was consumed. “Leave the girl alone. You’re finished now.”

  Bishop grabbed Claire and pulled her against his chest, claws out and at her throat. “Give me the book or I kill her!”

  “Oh, go ahead, then,” Myrnin said, and ripped loose the last handful of pages. He studied the writing on them and smiled. “I remember this. Good times. Ah, well.” He flung them toward the fire. Bishop desperately grabbed at one of the fluttering leaves and managed to pluck it out of the air before it caught fire. “Oh, dear. Now you have a memoir of my secret relationship with Queen Elizabeth. The first one. I hope it does you a lot of good, Bishop. If you’re seeking spells and magic, you won’t find it on that page. Now, this one . . .” Myrnin produced, by sleight of hand, another sheet, neatly folded. “This one could easily give you rule of Morganville. Maybe even the entire human world. I promised Amelie I would never let it fall into evil hands, but then again, it’s in mine already, isn’t it? So that might already be a moot point.” He lost his smile. “Let the girl go, and you shall have it.”

  “Myrnin, don’t,” she whispered.

  “I’m not doing it for you,” he said. He quickly folded the paper into a toy airplane and sailed it toward Bishop, who snatched it out of the air with a greedy cry.

  Myrnin’s eyes flickered bright red. “Oh dear,” he said. “I might have given you the wrong page. Ardentia verba!”

  The page burst into purple fire, and it traveled from the page through Bishop’s skin, over his hand, onto his clothes. The paper was ash in seconds. Bishop staggered back, engulfed in fire.

  Myrnin reached down and grabbed Claire. He pulled her up and settled her safely on the metal arm of Bishop’s statue—the one holding the open book.

  “The goal of the wise,” Myrnin said softly, “is good works. Here endeth your lesson, old man.”

  Claire swallowed. She couldn’t stand to watch him burn, and shut her eyes. “I thought . . . I thought we needed his blood for the cure,” she said. She didn’t want to save him. She just hated to see anyone suffer.

  “Why, you’re right—we do.” Myrnin snapped his fingers, and the purple fire went out. Bishop toppled to the stone floor of the empty fountain, too weak to escape.

  Myrnin jumped down from the statue, pinned Bishop to the ground, and bit him. He didn’t drain him—not quite—and rose, wiping blood from his lips. “I’ve got all his blood I need,” he said. “Now I have something for you, Bishop. Don’t worry—I won’t kill you. I won’t even allow you to die.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another syringe, this one filled with blood. He injected Bishop with it, straight into the heart. “My blood,” Myrnin said. “Before you cured me. Now I hope you can enjoy a long, slow decline into madness, just like mine. I wish you the joy of it.”

  Bishop didn’t move. He blinked up at the moon, the cold stars, and finally closed his eyes.

  Not dead, though.

  Claire wasn’t sure that was a great idea.

  “Hey,” Eve said, and sat up, holding her head. “Ow. What is that smell—Oh. Is he—”

  “No,” Michael said, and stepped over the rim to help Eve to her feet. “He’s alive.” He looked up at Claire and smiled, and it was a full-on Michael Glass special smile, one that turned on the sun and made the stars dance. “We’re all alive.”

  “Relatively speaking,” Myrnin said. “Ah. Your white knight has arrived. A bit dinged, but intact.”

  Shane. He was more than a little dinged, but Claire knew he’d be okay with that. They’d all given up hope of coming out of this alive, at some point; she could see in his smile, like Michael’s, the joy of being wrong.

  “Wish I had a camera,” Shane said, staring up at her. “Is this some kind of college thing? Like flagpole sitting or something?”

  “Shut up,” she said, and jumped.

  He caught her.

  The kiss was worth the fall.

  Two days passed in a blur. Claire spent most of it sleeping; she’d never felt so exhausted, or so glad to simply be alive.

  On the third day, when she came down for dinner, she found the others sharing a massive platter of chili dogs and looking somber. Shane stood up when he saw her, which made her heart turn cartwheels, and he pulled out her chair. Eve and Michael shared an amused look.

  “So cute,” Eve said. When Shane glared, she smiled. “No, really. It is. Dude, chill.”

  There was something forced about it, and Claire didn’t know why; she didn’t get the sense that she’d walked in on an argument or anything like that. “What’s going on?” she asked as she loaded her plate with a couple of hot dogs. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. She’d just gotten used to the idea of not being marked for death. Please don’t let it be about Bishop escaping, or something horrible like that . . .

  It wasn’t. Michael took a shallow sip of whatever was in his coffee mug and said, “Sam’s funeral is tonight.”

  Oh God. Somehow, she hadn’t expected that, and she really didn’t even know why. The chili dog lost its taste, and she had to work to swallow it.

  “They haven’t had one before,” Eve put in. “A funeral, I mean. For a vampire. At least, not one that’s been open to the public. But this one was posted in the newspaper, and they ran it on the nightly news, too. Everybody’s invited.”

  Most people would come out of curiosity, but for the four of them, it would be real loss. Under the table, Claire saw that Eve was holding Michael’s hand. He was taking care not to look at any of them.

  “It’s in a couple of hours,” Eve continued. “The three of us were going to go . . .”

  “Sure,” Claire said. “I want to go.” She didn’t, because it already hurt to think about it, but she thought they ought to be there for Michael. “I should find something to wear.”

  “You should finish your dinner first,” Eve said. “One bite does not equal a balanced meal.”

  “Neither does a whole chili dog,” Claire said.

  “Do not diss the dog,” Shane said. “It’s right up there with mom and apple pie when it comes to cultural icons.”

  “You forgot Chevrolets,” Eve said.

  “Never been a Chevy man, myself.”

  “Heretic.” Eve broke off to give Claire a fierce look. “Eat. I’m not kidding.”

  Claire managed to choke down the rest of her chili dog, but one was all she could manage. Despite Shane and Eve’s bantering, there was a sadness that hung around Michael like a second skin. He didn’t say much, except, “My parents are here. They flew in to El Paso and drove from there.”

  Wow. Claire had never heard much about Michael’s parents, except that they’d moved away, and he’d never expected to see them back in town again. She finally said tentatively, “I guess that’s good . . . ?”

  “Sure,” he said, and got up from the table. “I’m going to get ready.” He walked out, and the rest of them watched him leave. Eve looked very sad, suddenly. And very adult.

  “His mom had cancer, you know,” she said. “That’s why they got to leave Morganville. Because she needed serious treatments. Sam made sure she got them. Thi
s is the first time they’ve been back.”

  “Oh,” Claire said. “Is Michael okay?”

  “He just won’t let it out,” she said. “Guys. What is it with you and emotions, anyway?”

  “They’re like Kryptonite,” Shane said. “He’ll deal. Just give him time.”

  Claire wasn’t too sure about that.

  Michael drove, and nobody had much to say, really. It felt sad and uncomfortable.

  As soon as the car stopped at the church, vampire escorts were at the doors to open them. The undead valet service. Under normal circumstances that might have been creepy, but there was something almost comforting about it tonight. Claire looked up and realized that the vampire offering a hand to her was, of all people, Oliver. She froze, and his eyebrows tilted sharply upward.

  “Today, if you please,” he said. “I’m here as a courtesy. Don’t take it personally.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” she promised, and accepted his strong, ice-cold touch to help her out of the car. Shane quickly took her arm, giving Oliver a go-away glare, which was a little funny, and then they fell in behind Michael and Eve.

  It was bizarre, Claire thought. The church was full, standing room only to the back, but the crowd parted as they walked in, led by Oliver. And every head turned to follow them.

  “Okay, this is weird,” Claire whispered. She felt like she had a target painted on her back at first, but then she realized that most of the people looking at them weren’t angry—they were interested. Or sympathetic. Or even proud.

  “Very weird,” Shane whispered back.

  The front row held Amelie, sitting alone, dressed in a white suit so cold and perfect that it made her look like an ice sculpture, head to toe. Behind her sat a man and woman in their late forties, and as soon as she saw them, Claire saw the family resemblance. The woman must have been really beautiful when she was younger; she was now very handsome, the way older women got, and her hair was a faded shade of gold with red highlights. They both stood up as Michael let go of Eve and came toward them.

  “Honey,” Michael’s mother said, and Michael fell into a three-way embrace with both of his parents. “Oh, honey—”