Carpe Corpus

“Let them go,” she said. “Children! Come here!”

“Not so fast,” Ysandre said, and yanked on the hair she was holding. “Let’s talk about this first. Mr. Bishop is not too pleased with your family breaking its word to him. He allowed you to stay here, alive and free, and in return you were supposed to stay out of his business. Did you stay out of his business, sugar? Because it really doesn’t look like you did, since you sent these two fine children of yours to try to break his enemies out of jail.”

Claire stopped moving at all. She was curled on her side, still struggling to breathe, shaking, and now it felt like the whole world was crashing in on her. Try. Try to break his enemies out jail.

They hadn’t done it. Shane was still a prisoner.

Ysandre hadn’t come alone. She shoved the Goldman boy and girl over into the arms of their mother, and behind her a solid army of vampires filled the darkness. “Didn’t know about this place,” Ysandre remarked. “Didn’t know it had a tu

Claire tried to get up and almost fell. She wasn’t hurting yet, but she knew she would be. Bruises, mostly, maybe a couple of strained muscles.

Theo Goldman caught her. He’d gotten to his feet when she wasn’t looking, and now he helped her stand up. At close range, she saw the misery in his eyes before he put on a fake smile for Ysandre’s benefit.

“I suppose we will be going with you,” he said. “For another interview with our benevolent master.”

“Some of you will,” she agreed. “And some of you won’t.” She snapped her fingers and pointed at Claire. Two big, muscular vampire guys lunged from behind her and grabbed Claire by the arms to haul her off. When Theo protested, they shoved him back with his family. “I want to introduce you to an old friend of Mr. Bishop’s. This is Pe

As she was dragged out of the room, into the dark open area of Common Grounds, Claire passed the stranger she’d seen in Bishop’s office on her birthday. He—she? it was hard to tell—walked past Claire as if she didn’t exist, heading into the room where the Goldmans were being held.

“Wait!” Claire yelled. “What are you going to do?”

Pe

“Don’t you worry about any of this, now,” she cooed with false sympathy. “You’ve got plenty of your own problems to worry about. Good-bye, Claire.”

7

There was a hidden ladder down to a surprisingly large, well-lit tu

He shrugged, not like he didn’t know—more like he just flat didn’t care enough to tell her. The Goldmans didn’t mean much to him. Claire meant even less.

“What’s your name?” she asked, and surprised herself. But for some reason, she wanted to know. Dean’s brother—he hadn’t been just some nameless Bad Guy Number Four. This vampire wasn’t, either. He had a name, a history, maybe even people who cared what happened to him.

“My name is none of your business,” he said, and continued to stare out the window, even though there was nothing but blurry brick out there.

“Can I call you None for short?” It was an Eve joke, but Claire didn’t think she delivered it very well, because the vampire didn’t even blink. He just shut her out.

She concentrated on not thinking about what might have happened to Shane.

The car burst out of the tu

They didn’t slow down as the limousine sped through the streets. People got out of the way—bikes, cars, even one or two pedestrians hurrying home into the sunset. The vampire driver had a blacked-out windshield, but he was still wearing sunglasses, gloves, and had most of his face covered as well. Young, Claire thought. Older vampires wouldn’t care about the sun that much. It hurt them, but it wouldn’t kill them. So maybe Bishop had recruited some new guys.

Before she could think of anything else to say that wouldn’t get her killed, the limousine took a turn down a shaded wide street. At the end of it, Claire saw familiar buildings, and the big green expanse of Founder’s Square.

They were taking her to Bishop.

She slid over to the far side, taking her time about it, and as the car slowed for the next turn, she tried to open the door and throw herself out.

Locked. Of course. The vampire in the back didn’t even bother to look at her.

Another ramp, this one leading down under the streets, and thirty seconds later they were parked underground. Claire tried to come up with a plan, but honestly, she didn’t have much. She’d lost her cell phone when Theo had crashed into her, not that she had even a vague idea of who she could call, anyway. There was a stake hidden at the bottom of her backpack that maybe, maybe she could use—but only if it was one-on-one, and the one was a lot less scary than the two currently escorting her around.

“Get out,” the vampire in the back said, as the door locks clicked open. “Don’t try to run.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to save her strength for something more useful.

Whatever that useful thing was, it didn’t become clear as they headed for the elevator and crowded inside. Phony not-really-music was piped into the steel-and-carpet box, making it seem that much more like a nightmare.

The elevator doors opened in a big formal room, the round one where she and Myrnin had circulated in their costumes before Mr. Bishop’s welcome feast, the one that had been the starting point for everything going so wrong in Morganville. The doors to the banquet hall were closed, and her vampire guards marched her up the hallway to Bishop’s office instead.

Michael opened the door. He hesitated, and almost lost his cool, then nodded and stepped aside for the three of them to come inside. There was nobody else in the room.

Not even Mr. Bishop.

“What’s going on?” Claire asked. “I thought . . . Where is he?”

“Sit down and shut up,” her vampire backseat guardian snarled, and shoved her into a chair. Michael looked like he might have been tempted to come to her defense, but she shook her head. Not worth it. Not yet, anyway.

The office door opened, and Mr. Bishop came in, wearing what looked like the same black suit and white shirt he’d been wearing the day before. There was something savage in the look he threw Claire, but he didn’t pause; he walked to his desk and sat down.

He never did that. She couldn’t imagine it was a good sign.

“Come here,” he said. Claire didn’t want to, but she felt the power woven into the tattoo on her arm snap to life. It responded to Bishop’s voice—only to his—and the harder she tried to resist it, the worse it was going to hurt. But Patience Goldman was right . . . it hurt a lot less than it had before. Maybe it really was fading.