Carpe Corpus
Page 5
Claire snorted out a bitter little laugh. “Sure he did.”
“You’re all alive, I believe, unlike most who’ve crossed Bishop throughout his life. You might think on how unlikely that is, so long after he should have lost interest and torn you and my town apart.” Amelie’s face was as hard as carved marble. “My father has no interest in administering. Only in destroying. Myrnin has been persuading him to at least try to keep Morganville alive, and putting himself at constant risk to do so.”
Claire didn’t want to believe it, but when she actually thought about it, she remembered how often Bishop had ordered people killed, and how often Myrnin—or Myrnin and Michael!—had managed to distract him from carrying it out. “Michael,” Claire said slowly. “You turned Michael back, didn’t you? He’s not really Bishop’s anymore.”
Amelie and Oliver exchanged looks, and Oliver shrugged very slightly. “She is a quick study,” he said. “I never said otherwise. Unless the boy’s a bad actor.”
“If he were a bad actor, he’d be long dead by now,” Amelie said. “Claire—you must not treat Michael any differently. For his life’s sake, you must not. Now, I need you to go with Myrnin. The serum you’ve cultured from Bishop’s blood is of vital importance to us now; we need to treat all those we can reach, and we must have enough of a supply to do the job. I rely upon you for that, Claire.”
“Why should I help you at all?” Claire asked, and felt a tremor of pure chill along the back of her neck when Amelie’s gray eyes sharpened their focus on her. “You haven’t promised me anything. I want you to swear you’ll get Shane and his father out of there alive.”
Oliver growled, and from her peripheral vision she saw the ivory flash of his fangs. “You’re going to permit this puppy to bark at you?”
“What I do is my affair, Oliver.” Amelie let a long, long moment pass before she said, “Very well, Claire, you have my word that we will retrieve Shane and his father before they are executed. What else?”
Claire hadn’t really been prepared to win that argument. She blinked, searched for another demand, and came up with nothing in particular.
Then she did. “I . . . want you to promise me that when this is over, you’re going to change things in Morganville.”
Amelie looked, for a moment, perplexed. “Change things? What sort of things?”
“No more hunting humans,” she said. “No more owning people. You’ll make everybody equal around here.”
“You’re speaking of things you don’t understand. These things are required for us to survive in relative security. I won’t put my people at further risk, nor leave them at the whims and mercies of yours. I’ve seen too many centuries of death and destruction.” Amelie shook her head. “No, if that is your price, then it’s too high for me to pay, Claire. Do as you will, but I won’t betray all we’ve built here to accommodate your sentimental idea of modern life.”
Claire had been raised to be kind, to agree, to help, and for just a second, locked in a stare with the Founder of Morganville, she wanted to give up.
The only thing that stopped her was imagining what Shane would have said, if he’d been standing in her place.
“No,” she said, and felt her heart flutter madly in panic. Her whole body was shaking, pleading for her to run, avoid the confrontation. “You hear what you’re saying, right? You want to save your people at the cost of human lives. I won’t agree to that; I can’t. Deal’s off. I’m not helping you anymore. And the first chance I get, I tell Bishop about Myrnin, too.”
Amelie turned on her hard and fast, and before she knew what was happening Claire felt a cold hand around her throat, and she was smashed up against the wall. Claire screamed and slammed her eyes shut, but not fast enough to block out the rage on Amelie’s face, or the wicked-sharp white fangs and staring eyes.
She felt Amelie’s cool breath on her throat, and heard Myrnin murmur something under his breath, something in a language she couldn’t understand. He sounded horrified.
Amelie’s hard, cold hands let go of her throat. Instead, they fastened around Claire’s shoulders and shook her. Claire’s skull bounced off of brick, and she winced and saw stars. “Open your eyes!” Amelie barked. Claire did, blinking away confusion. “I have never met such a vexing, foolish human being in my entire life. There are eight hundred vampires in the world, Claire. In the world. Fewer each day. We are hunted, we are sick, we are dying. There are billions of you! I will not put you first!” That last was a raw, furious hiss, and it sparked something terrible in Amelie’s eyes, something out of control and hungry. “I will save my people!”
Behind her, another vampire stepped out of the shadows and said, very quietly, “Amelie. None of this is Claire’s fault. You know that. And she’s right. It’s the same thing I told you fifty years ago. You got mad then, too, as I recall.”
The vampire taking Claire’s side was Sam Glass, Michael’s grandfather; he still looked college-age, even after all these years. He was probably the only one of the nonbreathing who could have stepped in on Claire’s behalf—or would have.
He touched Amelie’s shoulder.
She turned on him, but he wrapped her in his arms, and for a second, one second, Amelie let herself be held before she pushed him away and stalked to the far corner of the room, agitation in every movement. “Oh, just get her out,” she said. “Myrnin, get her out. Now! Before I do something I regret. Or possibly, which I don’t.”
Claire could hardly breathe, much less protest. Myrnin took her hand in his and yanked, hard. She brushed by Oliver, whose eyes were flaring in hunting-vampire colors, and felt a low-decibel growl fill the room.
Myrnin shoved her toward what looked like a blank wall, and for an instant of panic Claire thought she was going to hit it face-first . . . and then she felt the telltale tingle of one of Myrnin’s stable wormhole portals, his alchemical travel network that led to some of the most dangerous places in Morganville. The wall dissolved in a swirl of mist, and Claire had the feeling of helplessly falling into the dark, with no idea of where she’d land. It seemed to last forever, but then she was stumbling out . . . into her home.
4
The Glass House was pretty much as she’d last left it, when she’d packed her pitifully few belongings and moved in with her parents after they’d been brought to Morganville. The house seemed quiet, lonely, somehowto sad and colorless. That was just its mood. Shane’s things were still strewn around—a new game console that he’d only just gotten hooked up, games piled in the corners along with his Wii controllers, his ratty old black sweatshirt crumpled on the corner of the couch. Claire walked to it, sat down, and pulled it into her lap like a pet, then held it up to her face and breathed.
I’m home. It felt wonderful and sad and horrible, all at the same time.
Holding Shane’s shirt was like having him holding her, just for a moment.
When she looked up, Myrnin was watching her. “What?” she demanded. He shrugged and turned away. “Why did you bring me here?”
“I had to bring you somewhere,” Myrnin said. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy this more than, say, the sewage treatment plant.”
Michael’s guitar lay in its case on the floor near the bookcases. Some of Eve’s magazines still littered the coffee table, edges curling up from neglect more than use.
It still smelled so familiar, and Claire felt the loss of Shane, of her friends, hit her hard once again.
“Is Eve here?” she asked him, but Myrnin didn’t answer.
Eve did, from the kitchen doorway. “Where else would I be?” she asked. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms, staring at them. “What are you doing in my house, freaks?”
“Hey, it’s my house, too!” Claire knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. From the very first time they’d met, Eve had been on her side—always in her corner, always believing her. Believing in her, which was even more important.
It hurt that all that had changed now.
Eve was ready to kick ass, and she wouldn’t bother to take names while she was at it.
“I’m serious,” Eve said. “I’m giving you about five seconds to get out of my house. And take your pet leech with you before I play a game of Pin the Stake in the Vamp.”
Claire held Shane’s sweatshirt in her arms for comfort. “Aren’t you going to at least ask how they are?”
Eve stared at her with eyes like burned black holes. “I’ve got sources,” she said. “My boyfriend’s still evil. Your boyfriend’s still in jail. You’re still sucking up to the Dark Lord of Mordor. By the way, I’m going to start calling you Gollum, you little creep.”
“Eve, wait. It’s not like that—”
“Actually, it is exactly like that,” Myrnin said. “We should go, Claire. Now.”
He tried to take her hand; she shook him off and moved closer to Eve, who straightened from her slouch and slipped one hand into a pocket on her cargo pants. “I’m not screwing around, Claire. Get out of my house!”
“I live here!”
“No, you used to live here!” That came out of Eve’s blackened lips in a raw, vicious snarl. “This is still Michael’s house, and no matter what’s happened to him, I’m going to defend it, do you understand? I’m not letting you—”
“Michael’s not evil,” Claire blurted out desperately. “He’s working for Amelie.”
Eve stopped, lips parted, eyes wide.
“Claire,” Myrnin warned softly from behind her. “Secrets are best kept cold.”
“Not from her.” Claire tried again, desperate to see some of that anger leave her friend. “Michael’s working for Amelie. He’s not on Bishop’s side. He’d want me to tell you that. He never left us, Eve. He never left you.”
Silence. Dead, cold silence, and in it, Claire could hear Eve’s breathing. Nothing else.
Eve took her hand out of her pocket. She was holding a knife.
“So this is Bishop’s latest game? Taunt the loser? See how crazy you can make me? Because honestly, that’s not much of a challenge—I’m pretty crazy already.” Her dark eyes sparkled with tears. “Runs in my family, I guess.”
“Claire isn’t lying to you,” Myrnin said, and stepped around Claire to block any threatening moves Eve might make. “Do you have to be so full of—”
Eve lunged at him. Myrnin didn’t seem to move at all, but suddenly he had her from behind, arms pinned, and the knife was spinning on the floor and skidding to bump into Claire’s feet. Eve didn’t even have time to scream. Once he had her, she wasn’t able to, because his hand was across her mouth, muffling any sounds.
Myrnin’s eyes sparked an unholy color of red, and he brushed his lips against Eve’s pale neck. “—so full of useless bravado?” he finished, in exactly the same tone as before. “She didn’t lie to you. She’s an awful liar, when it comes down to it. That’s what makes her so terrifyingly useful to us—we always know where we stand with little Claire. Now play nicely, make-believe dead girl. Or I will fulfill your darkest wishes.”
He shoved Eve away, toward Claire, who kicked the knife far out of anybody’s reach. Eve whirled, evidently (and understandably) finding Myrnin more of a threat. Under the rice-powder makeup, her face was flushed, her eyes shining with fear.
Myrnin circled like a hyena. He grinned like one, too.
“Call him off,” Eve said. “Claire, call him off!”
“Myrnin, leave Eve alone. Please?” Which was about the closest Claire dared come to telling Myrnin to do anything, especially when he had that particular glow in his eyes. He was enjoying this. “I need to talk to her, and I can’t do that if you’re scaring the crap out of her. Please.”
He paced a few more steps, and she saw him get control of himself with a real physical effort. He sat down in a chair at the dining table and put his dirty feet up. “Fine,” he said, and crossed his arms. “Talk. I’ll just wait, shall I? Because my mission to save this town is of no importance whatsoever next to your girl talk.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, you medieval drama queen.” Now that he was sitting down and the glow was gone from his eyes, she could say it, and he could acknowledge it with a snort and a roll of his shoulders.“Eve, I tried to call. I tried to come by and see you.” She was talking to her friend now, and Eve was staring right at her, not at Myrnin, as if Claire were the actual threat in the room. “Eve?”
“I heard you.”
“And?”
“And I’m thinking,” she said. “Because you’ve been awfully chummy with Fang-Daddy Bishop. You’re his little pet, scurrying around all over town, delivering his little love notes. Right?”
Claire couldn’t really dispute that. “Not like I had a choice,” she said. “Believe me, I’d rather not be in the middle of this, but he knew I belonged to Amelie. I was just another thing to take away from her, that’s all. He likes making her squirm by using me.”
Eve thawed just a tiny bit. “Sucks to be the object lesson.”
“You have no idea.”
“He hasn’t, you know . . . ?” Eve mimed the fang thing, just in case Claire thought she meant something else. Then she looked worried about that, too.
“He’s not interested in me at all,” Claire assured her. “I’m just some pawn for him to move around on the chessboard. And besides, Myrnin looks after me.” Myrnin waved his hand in the air, halfway between a dismissal and a prince’s lazy wave of acknowledgment. “He won’t let Bishop hurt me.” Well . . . not much. If he was paying attention. “How about you?”
“It’s been quiet,” Eve said, and looked away for a moment. “My brother’s been coming around to check on me.”
“Jason?” Wow, that was not the most comforting thing Claire could think of. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
“No, he’s . . . I think he finally has his head on straight. He seems . . . different. Besides, I need somebody on my side, and he’s the only one still around.”
“Jason is the one who sold us out at the feast; do you remember that? He kicked this whole thing off! Talk about me being Bishop’s favorite—at least I didn’t choose it!” Not until today, anyway.
Eve sent her a fierce glare. “Jason’s still my brother. Hey, I wish he wasn’t, but it’s not like I got to pick my family!”
“You sound like Shane talking about his dad.”
“Did you just come here to insult me, or do you have a point? Because if you don’t, I need to get to work.” Eve pushed away from the doorway and snatched up a patent-leather backpack and a set of keys, which she rattled impatiently. “That’s Latin for get the hell out, by the way. I’d think a college girl like you would know that.”
Myrnin slowly sat up, eyes going wider. “I’m sorry, little pale creature—did you just give us an order?”
“Not so much you as her, but yeah, if you want to take it that way. Sure, you knockoff Lestat. Get the hell out of my house.” Eve waited expectantly, but nothing happened. “Damn, that really doesn’t work anymore, does it?”
“Not since the owner of the house turned vampire,” Myrnin said, and stood up in that eerie way he had, as if gravity had just been canceled in his neighborhood. “Please feel free to try to make me leave. I’d quite enjoy it.”
“Myrnin.” Claire sighed. “Eve. We’re not enemies, okay? Stop poking at each other.”
That got her stares from both of them. Not nice ones.
“We’re just . . . passing through,” Claire said, and felt a surge of real regret. “On our way to . . . Where are we going?”
“Somewhere remote,” Myrnin said. “And I don’t intend to tell your angry little friend about it in any case. Finish your babble. It’s time to
go.”
As if it was his idea, and they weren’t getting tossed out. Claire couldn’t resist rolling her eyes.
She caught Eve doing the same thing, and they shared sudden, sheepish grins.
“Sorry,” Claire murmured. “Honest, Eve. I miss you.”
“Yeah,” Eve said. “Miss you, too, freak. Wish I didn’t, sometimes, but there you go.”
Claire wasn’t sure which of them moved first, but it really didn’t matter; they both put their arms out, and the hug felt warm and good and real. Eve kissed her quickly on the cheek, then let go and hurried out, hiding her tears. “I’m leaving!” she shouted back, and disappeared into the hallway. “That means you should, too!” The front door slammed.
As Myrnin opened the portal in the wall, Claire grabbed up Shane’s sweatshirt and pulled it on over her clothes. It was huge on her. She rolled up the sleeves, and couldn’t resist lifting the neck to smell it one more time.
Myrnin smirked. “There is no drama so great as that of a teenage girl,” he said.
“Except yours.”
“Did no one ever teach you to respect your elders?” He grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her through the portal. “Mind the gap. Oh, and you have black lipstick on your cheek.”
They came out in a dim, damp basement—a generic sort of place, full of molding boxes. “You take me to the nicest places,” Claire said, and sneezed. Myrnin shoved boxes out of his way without bothering to answer, uncovering a set of iron steps that looked to be more rust than actual iron. Claire followed him up, testing every tread carefully along the way. The whole thing seemed ready to collapse, but they made it to the top, which featured . . . a locked door.
Myrnin patted his pockets, sighed, and punched the lock with his fist. It shattered. The door sagged open, and he bowed to her like an old-school gentleman. Which he was, she supposed, on his good days.