Michael joined him, crossing the distance with a leap, while Eve and Shane took the stairs.
There was a second’s breathless pause, and then others began to move. Oliver. Monica. Charles and Miranda.
Claire’s dad came up to take her mother’s hands and lead her off to the side, out of danger.
More kept coming.
The vampires and humans of Morganville stood together, crowding the stage in front of Bishop, Ysandre, and François. Not all of them—but more than half the room.
‘‘You’re not welcome here,’’ Oliver said, ‘‘Master Bishop. This is our town. Our people. It’s time for you to leave.’’
‘‘A rebellion,’’ Bishop said. ‘‘How refreshingly modern.’’
He nodded to Ysandre and François. François yanked Jennifer out of her seat on the dais.
Ysandre feinted toward Shane, then grabbed hold of Jason Rosser and sank her fangs deep into his neck.
Pandemonium. Sam and Michael both hit François, bearing him backward as he tried to get his teeth into a screaming Jennifer, and Claire lost sight of them almost immediately. Bishop was on his feet, struggling hand to hand with Oliver.
Amelie, eyes the color and hardness of diamond, grabbed Ysandre by the back of the neck and yanked her backward, away from Jason.
‘‘My property,’’ she snapped, and held Ysandre at arm’s length as she hissed and struggled. ‘‘Boy. Boy!’’ She bent over Jason, her pale fingers touching his face.
Jason opened his eyes. He was crying, Claire thought, but then she saw his face, and she knew that wasn’t crying at all.
That was laughter.
‘‘Sucker,’’ he said.
‘‘No!’’ Claire cried, but it was too late.
Jason took a stake out of the folds of his brown monk’s robe and stabbed Amelie, right in the heart.
Everything stopped.
Amelie staggered backward. The wooden stake in her chest looked unreal, obscene, wrong.
Amelie was invulnerable. Couldn’t be hurt.
A rim of blood spread into the white cloth around the stake, growing before Claire’s eyes.
Sam screamed. He abandoned François as Amelie fell, and caught her, easing her down to the wooden stage. The look on his face—Claire had never seen that much pain, ever.
Oliver punched Bishop so hard that the old man staggered backward and fell over the side of the throne; then Oliver moved to Amelie’s side.
‘‘No!’’ Oliver snapped as Sam took hold of the stake to pull it out. ‘‘She’s old. She’ll survive until we get her to safety. Take her!’’
And then he turned as Jason lunged at him, crazy-eyed, with another stake. Oliver grabbed him in midair and snapped his arm with an effortless twist, tossing him across the stage to crash into François, who had Michael down on the ground.
‘‘Mom! Dad! Get out of here!’’ Claire yelled. Her dad beckoned her to come with them, but she shook her head. She wasn’t leaving her friends behind. Not the way Myrnin had left her.
Her parents got out, all the way out the door. Others were running, mostly the ones who’d elected not to go up against Bishop in the first place. Claire saw Maria Theresa slipping out the side door, tugging her human tribute by the arm. He looked horrified, and he was trying to break free.
Out in the darkness, she heard screaming.
Amelie blinked, pulled in a breath, and whispered something to Sam. He looked up at Claire, and his face was as hard and pale as polished marble. ‘‘Endgame, ’’ he said. ‘‘Bishop’s counterattack.’’
Claire looked out and saw that some of those who’d held back were turning on their humans, or attacking other vampires. Bishop had brought his own sleeper agents with him, and it was only a matter of time before they made their way up to the stage. It was going to be a free-for-all.
Michael joined them. His clothes were ripped, and he had a bloodless cut along one cheekbone.
‘‘Get them out of here!’’ Oliver yelled to him. ‘‘Now!’’
Oliver lunged for Bishop, drove the older vampire back against the throne, and reached into his scarecrow costume. He pulled out a long, needle-pointed dagger, and shoved it through Bishop’s chest to pin him to the wood.
It annoyed Bishop more than hurt him. Bishop wrenched free and pulled the dagger out, then back-handed Oliver so hard the other vampire went completely off the stage and out into the darkness of the banquet hall.
‘‘Sam!’’ Michael yelled. Sam gathered up Amelie in his arms and jumped off the stage. Most of the others followed him. Michael grabbed Eve and Shane, and Claire turned to follow as they clattered down the stairs.
Ysandre stopped her.
‘‘Not so fast,’’ she said. Her voice no longer sounded like a purr; it was a growl, low and vicious. ‘‘You I want.’’
Claire fumbled for a weapon. She came up with a fork from a fallen place setting, and stabbed it into Ysandre’s arm. The vampire yelped, plucked it out, and fastened her hand around Claire’s throat, bending her back over the table. Claire couldn’t breathe. She battered at the vampire’s iron hand, and tried to twist free, but it was no use.
She was dying.
Oliver hit Ysandre in a flying leap. He knocked her into Bishop, and they both went down. Before they hit the floor, he’d grabbed Claire’s wrist and pulled her toward the stairs. She wasn’t moving fast enough for him. He scooped her into his arms, and the world blurred around them.
Vampire speed.
Screams smeared into noise, and Claire heard crashes and sirens, and then nothing.
Strange, to feel safe in Oliver’s arms.
When she woke up, her head was in Shane’s lap, and he was stroking her hair. She heard the hushed murmur of voices. ‘‘What—’’ Her throat hurt. Hurt a lot. And her voice sounded funny.
‘‘Hey,’’ Shane said, and smiled down at her. It didn’t look right, that smile. ‘‘Don’t talk. We’re home— we’ve got everything secured. It’s okay.’’
She doubted that. She could hear sirens outside, racing past on the street. Voices inside the house, lots of them. She tried to sit up, but Shane held her back. ‘‘Sam’s upstairs with Amelie, in the rec room.’’ Which was Shane’s term for Amelie’s hidden lair. ‘‘The city’s in lockdown. Bishop had a lot of people on his payroll already. Lots of surprises. He’s been busy.’’
She mouthed, Who’s here?
‘‘Yeah, well, we’ve got guests tonight,’’ he said. ‘‘Couldn’t get them to their own places, so they’re taking refuge here. Your mom and dad are right here—’’
And there they were, pushing Shane out of the way. Mom was crying as she stroked Claire’s face. Her dad was more stoic, but his face was flushed and his jaw was tightly clenched.
‘‘How you doing, kiddo?’’ he asked.
‘‘Fine,’’ she whispered, and pointed at them.
‘‘We’re just fine, sweetheart,’’ her mother said, and kissed her on the forehead. She was still wearing the long white dress, but the angel wings looked battered and off center. ‘‘When Oliver brought you in, I thought—I thought it was too late. I thought—’’
They’d thought she was dead. Claire felt guilty, even though passing out hadn’t been her idea, exactly. ‘‘I’m okay,’’ she managed to say. She tried to swallow, and found that was not just a bad idea; it was a terrible idea. She coughed. That hurt worse.
Pitiful.
‘‘Oliver?’’ she whispered. Her dad nodded to someplace behind the couch, where she was stretched out.
‘‘On the phone,’’ he said. ‘‘He’s quite the take-charge guy, isn’t he?’’
The lights in the house went out, and people screamed. Almost immediately, flashlights clicked on; Eve and Shane had them ready, and so did Michael.
‘‘Calm down,’’ Michael said. ‘‘Everybody relax. The house is secure.’’
Nothing was secure from Bishop, Claire wanted to tell him. Ysandre and François had been here, and they’d get in again i
f they wanted. The gloom felt thick and oily around her. If there were ghosts in the house—other than the one Michael had been—they were coming out in force tonight, drawn by the fear and fury.
‘‘Hey,’’ Eve said. She was standing at the front windows, looking out. ‘‘Something’s on fire out there.’’
A fire truck roared by, screaming, chased by a fleet of patrol cars. Busy night for city services, Claire thought dizzily. She got up, despite her mother’s attempts to keep her flat. The room spun a little, then steadied. She joined Eve at the window. Eve put an arm around her and hugged her, eyes still on the fire. It was a big one, maybe three streets away. Flames were leaping a dozen feet into the air.
‘‘How you doing?’’ Eve asked her.
Claire gave her a silent thumbs-up, and saw Eve smile.
‘‘Yeah, you went all Spartacus up there. I was proud, you know. Well, until you kind of got your ass kicked.’’
Claire tried to choke out an indignant ‘‘Hey!’’
‘‘Okay, so, maybe not your fault.’’ Eve hugged her again. ‘‘Holy water. Nice touch. I was almost impressed.’’
‘‘Whose house?’’ Two words, Claire managed in one whisper. That was progress. ‘‘On fire?’’
‘‘I think it’s the Melville house.’’ Eve angled for a different view. ‘‘Crap. I see some more. This isn’t good.’’
Michael joined them. ‘‘It’s part of Bishop’s plan,’’ he said. ‘‘Or at least, that’s what I’d guess. Create chaos. Keep Amelie off-balance.’’
Claire bet the power failure was all part of the plan too. ‘‘How many are here?’’
‘‘In our house? About thirty.’’ Eve rolled her eyes. ‘‘Half of them vampires. Great, huh? After all that.’’
Claire stared at her. ‘‘Thirty?’’
Eve nodded. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Makes us a good target.’’
‘‘She’s right,’’ Michael said. ‘‘We need to stay alert.’’
Shane pressed in next to Claire. He was still wearing his leather pants, but he’d thrown on a grotty old Marilyn Manson T-shirt that looked rescued from the bottom of the laundry bag.
She didn’t care. She collapsed against him, and felt his arms go around her, and just for a second, it was all right.
‘‘Killer rabbit,’’ Shane said fondly, and kissed her. ‘‘What’s with the outfit?’’
‘‘Harlequin,’’ she croaked. ‘‘Myrnin—’’ The memory of what Myrnin had done came flooding back. He’d taunted Bishop. He’d set Amelie up to take the fall, and he’d run. He’d left her there, too, to die.
‘‘That’s Myrnin? The crazy one? Claire. How could you trust him in the first place?’’ Shane cupped her face in his hands. ‘‘He talked you into it, didn’t he?’’
Not exactly. She’d wanted to believe Myrnin. She wanted to believe in that sweet, innocent soul that she glimpsed in him from time to time—but now she wasn’t at all sure it even existed at all.
Or if it had, maybe her cure had destroyed it.
‘‘I couldn’t—’’ Claire tried to put the words together, but it was too hard, and Shane’s eyes were too forgiving. He kissed her, and even under the circumstances, with her parents right there, with a house full of vampires and half of Morganville in danger, she thought she could stand here all night and all day, in his arms.
‘‘I know,’’ he murmured, with his damp, sweet lips on hers. ‘‘I know.’’
She almost thought he did.
‘‘Sorry to break this up,’’ Michael said drily from behind Claire, ‘‘but I’m thinking we need to do a little perimeter patrolling.’’
‘‘Not a bad idea,’’ Shane said, and stepped back, ‘‘if they’re torching houses to drive people out in the streets. Easier to pick them off that way, I’ll bet.’’
‘‘Exactly.’’ Michael handed him a crowbar. Shane twirled it and captured it under his arm. ‘‘Like Claire said, we’re a good target. All the Founder Houses are. I’ll take the back; you go to the front.’’
‘‘I’ll do it,’’ Claire offered. Shane and Michael both grabbed her arms and towed her back to the couch, where she was unceremoniously dumped. ‘‘Hey!’’
Shane turned to her parents. ‘‘Make sure she stays in.’’
‘‘We will,’’ her mother said, and sat down beside Claire. ‘‘Honestly, Claire, what are you thinking? It’s dangerous out there!’’
That was exactly what Claire was thinking, in relation to Shane. But she knew that in her present condition, she wasn’t much use. Not for this, at least.
‘‘Bathroom,’’ she sighed, and there was no arguing with that. Her parents exchanged a look. Dad shrugged.
‘‘I’ll go with you,’’ Mom offered.
‘‘Mom, I’m old enough to go to the bathroom alone.’’ Her voice was getting stronger all the time; she only had to hesitate a couple of times getting all that out. She still sounded like she had a pack-a-day cigarette habit, though. But husky was sexy, right?
Mom had her doubts about the whole old-enough theory, but she stayed where she was, on the couch. She and Dad exchanged shrugs. Claire stepped around a knot of strangers—all vampires, with cool, suspicious eyes—and took the stairs.
Miranda was sitting on the landing with her Medusa-snaked head cradled in her hands. ‘‘Hey,’’ Claire said, and hunkered down next to her. ‘‘You okay?’’
Miranda nodded. ‘‘Told you,’’ she said. ‘‘Blood. Fire. It’s all going away.’’
‘‘Can you see anything about us? About the house?’’
Miranda shook her head. ‘‘Too tired.’’ She sounded like it—almost catatonic, slurring her words. ‘‘Head hurts.’’
‘‘Come on,’’ Claire said, and got Miranda to her feet. ‘‘I’ve got a bed. No reason somebody shouldn’t be using it.’’
She saw the girl tucked in, already dozing off, and then—as she’d promised Mom and Dad—visited the bathroom. There was a line. Once that was done, she felt free to investigate other options.
She’d never promised to come right back.
The way she wanted to go was blocked by one of Amelie’s bodyguards—the one who’d nodded to her during an earlier visit, in fact. He was marginally less stone-faced than the rest of her staff, but definitely intimidating. Claire looked up at him, well aware that the bruising around her throat was turning purple.
‘‘Can I go up?’’ she asked. The bodyguard seemed to consider her for a long second before giving her a nod and moving aside. He knocked. The hidden door popped open, and Claire slipped inside and closed it behind her.
There was another vampire bodyguard at the foot of the stairs, and he wasn’t as friendly, but after a whispered conversation at the top of the stairs, he let her go up.
Upstairs it was only Amelie, lying in a frozen waterfall of white silk on the couch, and Sam, and Oliver.
The stake was still in her chest, and her eyes were open and blank.
Oliver snapped at Claire the second she cleared the stairs. ‘‘Go away!’’
She nearly did, but Sam jumped in quickly. ‘‘No,’’ he said. ‘‘She’s earned the right. She was the first one to stand next to Amelie, not you. Not even me.’’
Oliver seemed harassed, but he refocused on Amelie’s still, pale face. His long fingers were on her temples, unexpectedly gentle. He’d stripped off his scarecrow costume, or most of it, but there were still bits of straw in his hair, and smudges of greasepaint on his skin.
He leaned close, staring into her open eyes, and held there. Seconds ticked by, and Sam waited.
‘‘Now,’’ Oliver whispered.
Sam grabbed the stake and pulled, one swift yank. Amelie’s body followed it upward in a spasm, and her mouth opened wide. Her vampire teeth glittered, sharp and deadly in the light.
She didn’t make a sound.
Sam looked tormented. Oliver was whispering something, too faint for Claire to catch, and he bent his head so c
lose to Amelie’s they were almost touching. When Sam reached out toward her, Oliver looked up and shook his head sharply. Sam froze.
‘‘Take her,’’ Oliver said, and removed his hands from her head. Sam quickly took over, sliding into his place. Oliver skinned back his gray shirtsleeve, took in a deep breath, and put his forearm to Amelie’s mouth.
Claire flinched as Amelie bit deep. Oliver didn’t. Sam’s gaze alternated between Amelie and Oliver, looking for something Claire didn’t quite understand, and then he let go of Amelie and grabbed Oliver’s arm to pull it away from her.
Oliver staggered and collapsed, and covered his eyes with both hands. The open wounds on his arm trailed blood drops, pattering on the floor, then slowing. Stopping as he healed.
Amelie blinked and turned her head toward Claire. She looked dead, except for the fact that she was moving; her eyes were still fixed, pupils gone wide, and her skin was an eerie blue white.
‘‘The girl,’’ she whispered. ‘‘Must go. Hungry.’’
Sam nodded and looked over his shoulder at Claire. ‘‘Go get her some blood,’’ he said. ‘‘There should be some in the refrigerator.’’
And Claire realized with a shock that there wasn’t. They were all out of blood.
‘‘Crap,’’ Shane breathed as they stood together looking into the fridge. The shelves held leftover chili, some pasta stuff, hamburger patties. Enough for them, for a couple of days. Not enough for anywhere near the number of people in the house, even for the humans. ‘‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’’
‘‘I’m thinking we have about fifteen vampires and no blood,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Is that it?’’
‘‘No, I was thinking we’re out of chips. Of course that’s what I was thinking.’’ Shane moved some condiment bottles again, in a three-time-loser search for some elusive hidden blood bottle. ‘‘Did I say crap?’’
‘‘More than once, yeah. Shouldn’t you get back outside?’’
‘‘I traded shifts with a vampire. Better to have them walking around in the dark than us, you know? Besides, the fewer of them there are in here right now—’’
‘‘The better,’’ she finished. ‘‘I don’t disagree. But Sam said Amelie needs to feed, and that means blood. She’s not the only one, either. What about the Donation Center?’’
Feast of Fools Page 22
