Carpe Corpus

“Maybe he’d try.” Frank shrugged. “He wouldn’t hurt you, though. I know my boy well enough to know how head over heels he is for you. He’d never touch a hair on your pretty little head. You’re his weakness, Claire.”

That was sickeningly true. Shane would do anything to save Claire. He’d even let his father turn him into a vampire—which might be what Freaky Frank was thinking about.

She couldn’t let that happen. No way.

Claire slowly let the duffel bag she was holding thump down to the floor, and took stock of what she had to work with. Not much. Frank Collins had been turned by Bishop; he wasn’t sick. She had no hope of curing him, or even treating him. This was his natural state of crazy.

Her backpack.

Claire let it slide down her arm, hoping that he’d think she was getting ready to make a run for it. It’d be useless to do that; she’d never make it.

Plus, he’d enjoy the chase.

As her backpack caught in the crook of her elbow, she grabbed the front zipper. Gravity helped her pull it down as the weight sagged forward.

Oh, crap.

The stakes weren’t in the front pocket. She’d put them in the bigger interior, with her books. There was nothing in the front pocket but some paper clips, a highlighter, and half a candy bar. She didn’t think bribing him with chocolate would get it done.

“Relax,” Shane’s dad said. “I’ll let you go.”

That seemed . . . too good to be true, but Claire was willing to take it and run. “Thanks,” she said, and bent to grab Dr. Mills to pull him toward the portal.

“I didn’t say he could go,” Frank said, his smile full-tilt crazy. “I deserve a little bonus for being so accommodating.”

Claire could feel her heart pounding now, even through the layers of calming drugs that Ha

There were a lot of books in there, and physics was something not even vampires could ignore, especially when it hit them full force. Frank went sprawling. Claire grabbed Dr. Mills by one arm and dragged him toward the spot where Ada had been standing.

Ada flickered back into existence as she approached. The speaker in Claire’s phone activated and Ada shouted, “Leave the man; get the bags!”

“Bite me,” Claire snapped. She heaved, got Dr. Mills up to a sitting position, and rolled him through the portal.

Then she dashed back for the duffel bags.

Frank Collins’s pale hand grabbed her wrist. She looked up, right into his scarred face and silvery eyes, and screamed. There was no way she could break free, not without leaving her hand behind. He was just that strong.

Shane’s dad yanked her down to her knees on the floor. He pulled the strap of her backpack off her shoulder and ripped the tough fabric open, spilling the contents all over the floor. Advanced Particle Physics slipped off into the dark, along with Fundamentals of Matrix Computations . Out spilled two sharp-pointed wooden stakes. Out of sheer desperation, she made a grab for them, but his foot came crashing down to pin them to the floor before she could get there.

He stood there, staring at the stakes, and she saw something move over his face, like a ripple of real human pain. “Christ,” he murmured. “I used to carry some just like that when I was starting out hunting them. What the hell am I doing?”

She knew what that pain was, and all of a sudden she knew how to hurt him. “You’re hunting,” Claire said. Her heart was beating so hard, it felt as if it would break her ribs. “That’s what vamps do. Hunt people.”

He shook his head silently, then looked up at her. He almost looked sane again, or as sane as Shane’s father ever got. “I’ve been fighting vampires a long time,” he said. “Killed a couple; did you know that?”

She knew. He and Shane had almost been executed for killing Brandon, even though Shane hadn’t had anything to do with it. He stared down again at the hand-carved stakes sticking out from under his big, scuffed boot.

“Never ended up using stakes all that much,” he said, and looked her right in the eyes. “You know why?”

She was afraid to ask.

“Because if you don’t kill a vampire, it just makes them angrier,” he said. “You think you can kill me with something like this?”

She swallowed hard. “Sure. Not that you’re going to let me try.”

“Truth is, the worst thing I ever feared was this. Being this. Shane tell you that?” She slowly nodded. “I’m sorry he had to see what happened to me. I’m sorry for all the things I did to make his life hell over the years. You understand?”

She shook her head, because she really didn’t.

“You tell Shane I love him,” Frank said. “I always did. Didn’t show it right, I know that, but that was never his fault. I’m glad he found you. He deserves something good in his life.”

And then he lifted up his boot and picked up the stakes. Claire opened her mouth, but her voice caught in her throat.

He didn’t hurt her.

“You go home,” he said. “You tell my son his father says good-bye. Wish I’d gotten to see him one more time, but you’re right. It’s probably not a good idea.”

He turned away toward the darkness, with the stakes in his hand.

“I guess you should know that he loves you, too. He can’t help it.” Her voice echoed from the stone. She didn’t know why she said it, except that she knew, with sad certainty, that she wouldn’t see him again.

She thought Shane’s dad hesitated, but then he shuffled on, until he was out of sight.

The instant he was gone, Claire grabbed the duffel bags, and lunged to her feet, heading for the open portal.

She stumbled out on the other side, tripped over Dr. Mills’s motionless body, and fell into Oliver’s arms.

He looked at her with an absolutely disgusted expression, and dropped her on her butt on the plushly carpeted floor of Amelie’s study.

“It’s gone,” Claire said for the four hundredth time, as Oliver turned her arm this way and that, holding it under a light so bright it felt like a laser cutting into her skin. “Hey! I said it’s gone!”

Oliver held her in place with a grip so hard she knew it would leave its own kind of tattooing. In blue, purple, and black. “And I said that Bishop would very much like us to think that it’s gone,” he snapped. “You were told to stay where you were. As usual, you ignored that instruction, and now you’ve placed us all at extreme risk of—”

“Let her go, Oliver,” Amelie said from the other side of the vast, polished desk. She drummed her perfect fingernails on the surface, making a light, dry tapping sound like bones dropped on marble. “The girl could have betrayed us a dozen times or more by now. She hasn’t. I believe we can give her the benefit of the doubt, for now.”

He let Claire go and stalked away, arms folded. This, Claire thought, was Amelie’s war council—Sam Glass sat next to her in a side chair, looking more like Michael all the time as his red hair grew out into a mess of waves and curls. Oliver paced. Richard Morrell stood nearby, looking as if he wanted to pace, but was too tired to make the attempt.

Michael moved up next to Claire, put his hand on her shoulder, and led her off to the side, near where Ha

“Where’s Myrnin?” Claire whispered. Michael shook his head. “Isn’t he here? Somewhere?”

“No idea,” Michael whispered back. “Amelie stashed him someplace; I just don’t know where. He’s not—”