Carpe Corpus

and shut him up so she could go first. “No way. I’m not going anywhere, Hannah. End of story.”

Shane added, “I’m not going anywhere if Claire stays here.”

“Then she goes, too,” Hannah said. “I was going to do that anyway.”

But both Michael and Myrnin were shaking their heads. “She can’t,” Michael said. “Faded or not, that tattoo links her directly to Bishop. He’d still be able to track her down—and all the others who went with her.”

“Not necessarily,” Myrnin said. “There are vampires who could block his perception of her, if they traveled with her. But they are not available at present.”

“Patience Goldman,” Claire said. “Right?”

“If Theo had only waited one more day, this could have been avoided. I had planned to use her for that very purpose. But I suppose the fault is ours; if we’d kept him closer in our plans, he would not have acted so stupidly.” Myrnin shrugged.

“I still wouldn’t have gone,” Claire said. “I’m not leaving Michael all by himself, pretending to be Bishop’s best friend.”

“Oh, thanks for that. Glad I inspire such confidence.”

“Well, you don’t. You’re not a spy, Michael. You’re a musician.”

“The two,” Myrnin said dryly, “are not mutually exclusive. But Michael is right. Our little Claire cannot leave the boundaries of Morganville, as matters stand just now. Besides, I need her at my side.”

“Well, if she’s not going,” Shane said, “count me out of the running away party.”

“Ditto,” from Eve.

Hannah gave them both looks that should have made suitcases magically appear in their hands, but then she gave up and shook her head. “I can’t promise you I’ll be able to keep you safe. Understand?”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Have we ever asked for that? Like, ever? You know us, Hannah. We all went to the same high school—well, except for Claire. We Morganville kids have dodged vamps our whole lives. Not like it’s new territory.”

“Not true,” Myrnin said, very soberly. “You might have played games with Morganville’s tamed vampires, restrained by rules and laws. You’ve never really faced someone like Bishop, who has no conscience and no restraint.”

“Don’t care,” Eve shot back. “That just means it’s more important that we all stick together.”

“Always some crazy fool who stays with a hurricane coming. Can’t save everybody.” Hannah drained her orange juice down to a pale froth on the bottom of the glass. “All right. I’m moving on. We’re pulling people from the Founder Houses first, then anybody who has ties to Amelie, then people who were in the old Morrell administration. And yeah, the Morrells, too.”

“Isn’t Richard missing?”

“No,” Hannah said. “Richard’s just been working with us to get people lined up for evacuation. I told his damn sister to cool it, but she’s still ringing every alarm bell she can find. Wish I could find a special bus just for her. A stinky, slow one. Preferably with a backed-up toilet.”

Claire smiled at that, then remembered someone else. “The Goldmans,” she said. “They need help, too. Can you get them?”

“No idea where they are,” Hannah said.

“I know.” Myrnin looked thoughtful.“I’m not sure, but I can try,” he said. “They have no blood ties to Amelie or to Bishop, so they would be safe enough if we could get them on their way. But it’s a risk including vampires in your evacuation.”

“Then again, it means that we have some vampires fighting on our side if things go wrong outside of town,” Hannah pointed out. “Not a bad thing.”

“Provided the Goldmans will alight.” He seemed about to say something else, but then he shook his head and made his hands into fists. “No, that isn’t what I meant. Will fight. No. Provided that . . . provided . . . ”

He was losing it. Claire got up and opened her backpack. She took out a small box of red crystals and handed it over; for most vampires, it would have been a massive dose. For a human, it was certain, gruesome death.

For Myrnin, it was like taking a handful of candy. He choked, swallowed, and nodded as he tossed the empty box back to her. Then he turned away, face to the corner, and braced himself with outspread arms, head down. His whole body shook.

That’s not supposed to happen.

Then he spasmed so badly she thought he was going to fall. “Myrnin!” Claire touched his shoulder; she’d never seen this happen before—not this bad, anyway. “What’s wrong?”

He whispered, “Get away. Get them all away from me, now.”

“But—”

“Everything smells like blood. Get them away.”

Claire let go and backed up, gesturing for Hannah and even Michael to follow. Nobody said a word. Shane held open the kitchen door, and they all left.

All except Claire, who stayed at the exit, watching Myrnin fight for his life and sanity, one slow second at a time.

She saw his shoulders relax, and felt her tide of worry begin to recede—until he turned toward her.

His eyes weren’t red. They were white. Just . . . white, with the faint shadow of an iris and pupil showing through. The eyes of a corpse.

“Claire,” he said, and took a step toward her.

Then he fell, hit the ground, and went completely limp.

“We could take him to the hospital,” Hannah said, but not as if she thought it was a good idea. Claire was kneeling next to Myrnin, with Michael hovering near her, ready to yank her out of the way if Myrnin should suddenly surge back to bloodsucking life.

He was quiet. He looked dead.

“I think this is a little beyond the hospital,” Claire said. “It’s part of the disease. It’s in his notes—he charted the progress; sometimes this happens. They just . . . collapse. They revive, but usually when they do, they’re not—” Her voice failed her, and she had to clear her throat. “Not the same.” Myrnin’s notes, what she could remember of them, seemed to indicate that when—or if—the vampire recovered from the coma, he didn’t have much left of his original personality.

Myrnin had been sick a long time. He’d lost the ability to create other vampires more than a hundred years ago; he’d begun behaving weirdly about another fifty years after, and from there it had progressed rapidly. Amelie, by contrast, was just now getting to the early physical symptoms—the occasional loss of emotional control, and the shakes. Oliver . . . well. Who knew if Oliver’s problem was the disease or just a bad attitude?

The fact that Myrnin had held out longer than at least thirty other vampires confined underground in cells was either proof that the disease didn’t work the same way in everyone, or that Myrnin was incredibly determined. He hadn’t wanted to take the cure . . . but there wasn’t a choice now. He had to take it.

And she had to get him to Dr. Mills.

* * *

They carried him through the portal—well, Michael and Hannah carried him; Claire concentrated on getting them to their target location, the basement of Morganville High. “Stay here,” Claire said. “I’m going to get the doctor.”

“We can carry him up,” Michael said. He was being charitable; he could have done it on his own, no problem, but he was letting Hannah take half the weight.

“I know,” Claire said. “I just don’t want to lead a really obvious parade to a secret hideout.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just dashed up the steps, through the broken-locked door, and out into the hallways, dodging around oblivious teens her own age who were hustling to and from class. It was early morning, but Morganville High was in full session, and Claire had to shove her way through the crowd with a little more force than usual.

Somebody grabbed her by the back of her shirt and hauled her to a sudden stop. She flailed for escape, but it was just like always—she was too small, and he was way too big.

Her captor was wearing a shirt and tie, and had the drill sergeant hairstyle of school officials everywhere. He glared at her as if she was some bug he’d caught scurrying across his dinner table. “What do you think you’re