Lord of Misrule

now,” he said. “Because I’m about to break that trust most grievously.”

He dropped Claire’s hand, grabbed Shane by the shirt, and kicked open the door.

He dragged Shane through with him, and the door slammed behind him before any of them could react—even Michael, who hit the wood just an instant later, battering at it. It was built to hold out vampires, Claire realized. And it would hold out Michael for a long, long time.

“Shane!” She screamed his name and threw herself against the wood, slamming her hand over and over into the Founder’s Symbol. “Shane, no! Myrnin, bring him back. Please, don’t do this. Bring him back. . . .”

Michael whirled around, facing the other direction. “Stay behind me,” he said to Eve and Claire. Claire looked over her shoulder to see doors opening, up and down the hall, as if somebody had pressed a button.

Vampires and humans alike came out, filling the hallway between the three of them, and any possible way out.

Every single one of them had fang marks in their necks, just like the ones in Claire’s neck.

Just like the ones in Michael’s neck.

There was something about the way he was standing there, so still, so quiet. . . .

And then he walked away, heading for the other vampires.

“Michael!” Eve started to lunge after him, but Claire stopped her.

When Michael reached the first vampire, Claire expected to see some kind of a fight— something—but instead, they just looked at each other, and then the man nodded.

“Welcome,” he said, “Brother Michael.”

“Welcome,” another vampire murmured, and then a human.

When Michael turned around, his eyes had shifted colors, going from sky blue to dark crimson.

“Oh hell,” Eve whispered. “This isn’t happening. It can’t be.”

The door opened behind them. On the other side was a big stone hall, something straight out of a castle, and the wooden throne that Claire remembered from the welcome feast was here, sitting up on a stage. It was draped in red velvet.

Sitting on the throne was Mr. Bishop.

“Join us,” Bishop said. Claire and Eve looked at each other. Shane was lying on the stone floor, with Myrnin’s hand holding him facedown. “Come in, children. There’s no point anymore. I’ve won the night.”

Claire felt like she’d stepped off the edge of the world, and everything was just . . . gone. Myrnin wouldn’t look at her. He had his head bowed to Bishop.

Eve, after that first look, returned her attention to Michael, who was walking toward them.

It was not the Michael they knew—not at all.

“Let Shane go,” Claire said. Her voice trembled, but it came out clearly enough. Bishop raised one finger, and Michael lunged forward, grabbed Eve by the throat, and pulled her close to him with his fangs bared. “No!”

“Don’t give me orders, child,” Bishop said. “You should be dead by now. I’m almost impressed. Now, rephrase your request. Something with a please.”

Claire licked her lips and tasted sweat. “Please,” she said. “Please let Shane go. Please don’t hurt Eve.”

Bishop considered, then nodded. “I don’t need the girl,” he said. He nodded to Michael, who let Eve go. She backed away, staring at him in disbelief, hands over her throat. “I have what I want. Don’t I, Myrnin?”

Myrnin pulled up Shane’s shirt. There, stuffed in his waistband at the back, was the book.

No.

Myrnin pulled it free, let Shane up, and walked to Bishop. I’m about to break that trust most grievously, he’d said to Claire. She hadn’t believed him until this moment.

“Wait,” Myrnin said, as Bishop reached for it. “The bargain was for Theo Goldman’s family.”

“Who? Oh, yes.” He smiled. “They’ll be quite safe.”

“And unharmed,” Myrnin said.

“Are you putting conditions on our little agreement?” Bishop asked. “Very well. They go free, and unharmed. Let all witness that Theo Goldman and his family will take no harm from me or mine, but they are not welcome in Morganville. I will not have them here.”

Myrnin inclined his head. He lowered himself to one knee in front of the throne, and lifted the book in both hands over his head, offering it up.

Bishop’s fingers closed on it, and he let out a long, rattling sigh. “At last,” he said. “At last.”

Myrnin rested his forearms across his knee, but didn’t try to rise. “You said you also required Amelie. May I suggest an alternative?”

“You may, as I’m in good humor with you at the moment.”

“The girl wears Amelie’s sigil,” he said. “She’s the only one in town who wears it in the old way, by the old laws. That makes her no less than a part of Amelie herself, blood for blood.”

Claire stopped breathing. It seemed as if every head turned toward her, every pair of eyes stared. Shane started to come toward her.

He never made it.

Michael darted forward and slammed his friend down on the stones, snarling. He held him there. Myrnin rose and came to Claire, offering her his hand in an antique, courtly gesture.

His eyes were still dark, still mostly sane.

And that was why she knew she could never really forgive him, ever again. This wasn’t the disease talking.

It was just Myrnin.

“Come,” he said. “Trust me, Claire. Please.”

She avoided him and walked on her own to the foot of Bishop’s throne, staring up at him.

“Well?” she asked. “What are you waiting for? Kill me.”

“Kill you?” he repeated, mystified. “Why on earth would I do such a foolish thing? Myrnin is quite right. There’s no point in killing you, none at all. I need you to run the machines of Morganville for me. I have already declared that Richard Morrell will oversee the humans. I will allow Myrnin the honor of ruling those vampires who choose to stay in my kingdom and swear fealty to me.”

Myrnin bowed slightly, from the waist. “I am, of course, deeply grateful for your favor, my lord.”

“One thing,” Bishop said. “I’ll need Oliver’s head.”

This time, Myrnin smiled. “I know just where to find it, my lord.”

“Then be about your work.”

Myrnin gave a bow, flourished with elaborate arm movements, and to Claire’s eyes, it was almost mocking.

Almost.

While he was bowing, she heard him whisper, “Do as he says.”

And then he was gone, walking away, as if none of it meant anything to him at all.

Eve tried to kick him, but he laughed and avoided her, wagging a finger at her as he did.

They watched him skip away down the hall.

Shane said, “Let me up, Michael, or fang me. One or the other.”

“No,” Bishop said, and snapped his fingers to call Michael off when he snarled. “I may need the boy to control his father. Put them in a cage together.”

Shane was hauled up and marched off, but not before he said, “Claire, I’ll find you.”

“I’ll find you first,” she said.

Bishop broke the lock on the book that Myrnin had given him, and opened it to flip the pages, as if looking for something in particular. He ripped out a page and pressed the two ends together to make a circle of paper, thickly filled with minute, dark writing. “Put this on your arm,” he said, and tossed it to Claire. She hesitated, and he sighed. “Put it on, or one of the many hostages to your good behavior will suffer. Do you understand? Mother, father, friends, acquaintances, complete strangers. You are not Myrnin. Don’t try to play his games.”

Claire slipped the paper sleeve over her arm, feeling stupid, but she didn’t see any alternatives.

The paper felt odd against her skin, and then it sucked in and clung to her like something alive. She panicked and tried to pull it off, but she couldn’t get a grip on it, so closely was it sticking to her arm.

After a moment of searing pain, it loosened and slipped off on its own.