Lord of Misrule

“Michael? Mayor Morrell? Richard?”

It was a queen’s room, and somebody had completely wrecked it. Most of the furniture was overturned, some kicked to pieces. Mirrors smashed. Fabrics ripped.

Claire froze.

Lying on the remaining long, delicate sofa was François, Bishop’s other loyal vampire buddy, who’d come to Morganville along with Ysandre as his entourage. The vampire looked completely at ease—legs crossed at the ankles, head propped on a plump satin pillow. A big crystal glass of something in dark red rested on his chest.

He giggled and saluted them with the blood. “Hello, little friends,” he said. “We weren’t expecting you, but you’ll do. We’re almost out of refreshments.”

“Out,” Shane said, and shoved Eve toward the door.

It slammed shut before she could reach it, and there stood Mr. Bishop, still dressed in his long purple cassock from the feast. It was still torn on the side, where Myrnin had slashed at him with the knife.

There was something so ancient about him, so completely uncaring, that Claire felt her mouth go dry. “Where is she?” Bishop asked. “I know you’ve seen my daughter. I can smell her on you.”

“Ewww,” Eve said, very faintly. “So much more than I needed to know.”

Bishop didn’t look away from Claire’s face, just pointed at Eve. “Silence, or be silenced. When I want to know your opinion, I’ll consult your entrails.”

Eve shut up. François swung his legs over the edge of the sofa and sat up in one smooth motion. He downed the rest of his glass of blood and let the glass fall, shedding crimson drops all over the pale carpet. He’d gotten some on his fingers. He licked them, then smeared the rest all over the satin wall.

“Please,” he said, and batted his long-lashed eyes at Eve. “Please, say something. I love entrails.”

She shrank back against the wall. Even Shane stayed quiet, though Claire could tell he was itching to pull her to safety. You can’t protect me, she thought fiercely. Don’t try.

“You don’t know where Amelie is?” Claire asked Bishop directly. “How’s that master plan going, then?”

“Oh, it’s going just fine,” Bishop said. “Oliver is dead by now. Myrnin—well, we both know that Myrnin is insane, at best, and homicidal at his even better. I’m rather hoping he’ll come charging to your rescue and forget who you are once he arrives. That would be amusing, and very typical of him, I’m afraid.” Bishop’s eyes bored into hers, and Claire felt the net closing around her. “Where is Amelie?”

“Where you’ll never find her.”

“Fine. Let her lurk in the shadows with her creations, until hunger or the humans destroy them. This doesn’t have to be a battle, you know. It can be a war of attrition just as easily. I have the high ground.” He gestured around the ruined apartment with one lazy hand. “And of course, I have everyone here, whether they know it or not.”

She didn’t hear him move, but flinched as François trailed cold fingers across the back of her neck, then gripped her tightly.

“Just like that,” Bishop said. “Just precisely like that.” He nodded to François. “If you want her, take her. I’m no longer interested in Amelie’s pets. Take these others, too, unless you wish to save them for later.”

Claire heard Shane whisper, “No,” and heard the complete despair in his voice just as Bishop’s follower wrenched her head over to the side, baring her neck.

She felt his lips touch her skin. They burned like ice.

“Ah!” François jerked his head back. “You little peasant.” He used a fold of her shirt to take hold of the silver chain around her neck, and broke it with a sharp twist.

Claire caught the cross in her hand as it fell.

“May it comfort you,” Bishop said, and smiled. “My child.”

And then François bit her.

“Claire?” Somewhere, a long way off, Eve was crying. “Oh my God, Claire? Can you hear me? Come on, please, please come back. Are you sure she’s got a pulse?”

“Yes, she’s got a pulse.” Claire knew that voice. Richard Morrell. But why was he here? Who called the police? She remembered the accident with the truck—no, that was before.

Bishop.

Claire slowly opened her eyes. The world felt very far away, and safely muffled for the moment. She heard Eve let out a gasp and a flood of words, but Claire didn’t try to identify the meaning.

I have a pulse.

That seemed important.

My neck hurts.

Because a vampire had bitten her.

Claire raised her left hand slowly to touch her neck, and found a huge wad of what felt like somebody’s shirt pressed against her neck.

“No,” Richard said, and forced her hand back down. “Don’t touch it. It’s still closing up. You shouldn’t move for another hour or so. Let the wounds close.”

“Bit,” Claire murmured. “He bit me.” That came in a blinding flash, like a red knife cutting through the fog. “Don’t let me turn into one.”

“You won’t,” Eve said. She was upside down—no, Claire’s head was in her lap, and Eve was leaning over her. Claire felt the warm drip of Eve’s tears on her face. “Oh, sweetie. You’re going to be okay. Right?” Even upside down, Eve’s look was panicked as she appealed to Richard, who sat on her right.

“You’ll be all right,” he said. He didn’t look much better than Claire felt. “I have to see to my father. Here.” He moved out of the way, and someone else sat in his place.

Shane. His warm fingers closed over hers, and she shivered when she realized how cold she felt. Eve tucked an expensive velvet blanket over and around her, fussing nervously.

Shane didn’t say anything. He was so quiet.

“My cross,” Claire said. It had been in her hand. She didn’t know where it was now. “He broke the chain. I’m sorry—”

Shane opened her fingers and tipped the cross and chain into her hand. “I picked it up,” he said. “Figured you might want it.” There was something he wasn’t saying. Claire looked at Eve to find out what it was, but she wasn’t talking, for a change. “Anyway, you’re going to be okay. We’re lucky this time. François wasn’t that hungry.” He closed her fingers around the cross and held on.

His hands were shaking. “Shane?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t move. I just stood there.”

“No, he didn’t,” Eve said. “He knocked Franny clear across the room and he would have staked him with a chair leg, except Bishop stepped in.”

That sounded like Shane. “You’re not hurt?” Claire asked.

“Not much.”

Eve frowned. “Well—”

“Not much,” Shane repeated. “I’m okay, Claire.”

She kind of had to take that at face value, at least right now. “What time—”

“Six fifteen,” Richard said, from the far corner of the small room. This, Claire guessed, had been some kind of dressing area for Amelie. She saw a long closet to the side. Most of the clothes were shredded and scattered in piles on the floor. The dressing table was a ruin, and every mirror was broken.

François had had his fun in here, too.

“The storm’s heading for us,” Eve said. “Michael never got to Richard, but he got to Joe Hess, apparently. They evacuated the shelters. Bishop was pretty mad about that. He wanted a lot of hostages between him and Amelie.”

“So all that’s left is us?”

“Us. And Bishop’s people, who didn’t leave. And Fabulous Frank Collins and his Wild Bunch, who rolled into the lobby and now think they’ve won some kind of battle or something.” Eve rolled her eyes, and for an instant was back to her old self. “Just us and the bad guys.”

Did that make Richard—no. Claire couldn’t believe that. If anyone in Morganville had honestly tried to do the