“He was nicer to me,” Ada said sulkily. “He gave me better blood.”
“Better than mine? I believe I’m offended.”
Ada’s giggle sounded like a rattle of tinfoil. “Well, you haven’t been yourself, you know. But you taste much better now, Myrnin. Almost like your old self.”
“Imagine that. Well, then, I promise that you’ll get all the lovely sweet blood you’d like from me, if you will block Bishop from access, my sweet.”
Ada made a long, drawn-out humming sound, as if she was thinking, and then she finally said, “Well . . . all right. But you have to give me a full pint.”
“I haven’t moved my hand at all, my dear. Drink away.” He let almost a minute go by, then gestured to Claire to come closer. “Nearly done, Ada?”
“Mmmmmm.” Ada sighed. “Yes. Delicious. I feel ever so much—What are you doing?”
He yanked his hand off the panel, grabbed Claire’s, and slammed it down on the needle. She knew better than to try to fight him this time, just winced and bit her lip and tried not to wonder if, say, having Myrnin’s blood infecting hers would have any nasty side effects, like a sudden craving for blood and an allergy to the sun.
“Sorry,” he said, not as if he was, and altered his voice again to that velvety, dark, seductive tone. “Ada, my love?”
No answer.
“Ada, Claire is my very good friend, and I really must insist that she have the same access I do.”
Ada made a retching sound.
“Ada.”
“No.”
He sighed. “List for me who has access to the system, please.”
Ada said, “There are currently six individuals with full access to the portals, not including you. I have removed Mr. Bishop, because you asked so very nicely. That leaves Amelie, Oliver, Michael, Claire, Jason, and Dean. Although Claire is no good for you, Myrnin. You should eat her immediately.”
“Thank you, I shall think that over.” He frowned down at the console. “Jason. Jason Rosser? Why did I not know this? And who is Dean?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Ada said, and laughed. Myrnin blinked.
“She’s not supposed to do that, right?” Claire asked.
“Right. Oh dear. I think that my blood might have carried an infection deep into her systems. This may be a very bad thing.”
“Can’t you give her the cure?”
“It’s not quite that simple,” Myrnin said, and shifted his focus again. “Ada, my love? Can you tell me how Jason and Dean have access to the system?”
“Sam Glass gave it to Jason,” she said. “But not full access, of course. Just to use open portals. Dean is Jason’s friend. I revoked Sam’s access, obviously. Because he’s no longer functional.”
Claire fidgeted uncomfortably. The white-hot pain in her hand was starting to eat away at her calm. “Um—Myrnin, can I please stop now?” She figured that Ada must have drained at least a pint by now.
“Please,” Ada said. “I don’t like your blood anyway.” She made a computerized spitting sound. Claire yanked her hand away in relief and cradled it against her chest, squeezing her fist tight to stop the bleeding. “Disgusting. Too sweet.”
Claire stuck her tongue out at the computer.
“I saw that.”
“Good,” she snapped. “Where did Bishop go?”
“Why should I—”
“Ada!” Myrnin’s voice cracked across the computer’s sulky response, and she went quiet. “I want you to block access to the portals for anyone except me, Amelie, Oliver, Michael, and Claire. Do you understand?”
“I’m not your slave.” Ada’s image flickered, then went out completely.
“I’m sorry,” Myrnin said, and put his hands on the machine, almost like a caress. “My dear, I will come back and talk to you soon, and we’ll work all this out. But you must promise me this. It’s important.”
Ada’s sigh echoed through the speakers. “I can never say no to you,” she said. “All right. I’ve locked out Dean and Jason, too.”
“I guess that’s it,” Claire said, and felt a little bubble of relief that quickly popped when Myrnin shook his head.
“One more thing. I need to know where Bishop went when he traveled the last portal. Ada, love, can you do that for me?”
Behind them, Claire felt the subtle warping of a portal forming. She and Myrnin both turned to look. Ada’s ghost reappeared, and then drifted off to the side, hands clasped behind her back. Definitely sulking.
Michael stepped through, holding Eve’s hand. Behind him came Shane.
“Really.” Ada sighed. “There’s just no getting rid of any of you, is there?”
“Ada! Tell me where Bishop is!” Myrnin was out of patience, and she must have heard it in his voice. She shrugged.
“The university,” she said. “I expect he can hide there for some time without detection. Plenty of snacks, after all.”
If by snacks she meant students, then Claire supposed she was right. And the university was full of cavernous buildings, many of which were deserted at night. She was right. It was the perfect hiding place for Bishop, if he wanted to regain his strength and regroup.
They had to get him before that happened.
Myrnin was already on it. He stepped up to the portal Michael and the others had come through, tapped the surface, and listened. Claire heard it, too, faintly—a kind of ringing sound. A frequency. Of course. The portal worked on frequencies, like a radio—tune in to the right one, and you arrived at the correct destination. She’d been doing it without understanding consciously how, but now that she focused, she could hear the tone clearly.
“Here,” Myrnin said, and stepped through. Claire reached back for Shane’s hand, and walked into the unknown with him.
10
They came out in the Administration Building, in a deserted room that Claire remembered. Myrnin was already gone, but the door was still swinging on its hinges from where he’d headed through it. Claire made sure everybody was through, then took a second to look at the other three.
“You guys sure you want to do this?” she asked them. Michael looked more adult than she’d ever seen him—and more like Sam. He’d lost his grandfather, she realized—someone who wasn’t supposed to be lost, ever. And that had fired up something in him that made him different.
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 th
ose 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 fold
ed. “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.”
Carpe Corpus Page 21
