Lord of Misrule

“Let’s go,” Ha

Walking on the street, heading vaguely north, was a vampire. “Oh, crap,” Eve said, alarmed, but the vamp didn’t seem to care about them, or even know they were there. He was wearing a police uniform, and Claire remembered him; he’d been riding with Richard Morrell, from time to time. Didn’t seem like a bad guy, apart from the whole vampire thing. “That’s Officer O’Malley. Hey! Hey, Officer! Wait up!”

He ignored them and kept walking.

Claire looked east. The sun’s golden glow was heating up the sky, fast. It wasn’t over the horizon yet, but it would be in a matter of seconds, minutes at most. “We’ve got to get him,” she said. “Get him inside somewhere.”

“And do what, babysit him the rest of the day? O’Malley’s not like Myrnin,” Eve said. “You can’t stake him. He’s not that old. Seventy, eighty, something like that. He’s only a little older than Sam.”

“We could run him over,” Ha

Eve sent her a wide-eyed look. “Excuse me? With my car?”

“You’re asking for something nonlethal. That’s all I’ve got right now. The three of us aren’t any kind of match for a vampire who wants to get somewhere, if he fights us.”

Claire took off ru

She still got to Officer O’Malley first, and skidded into his path.

He paused for a second, his green eyes focusing on her, and then he reached out and moved her aside. Gently, but firmly.

And he kept on walking.

“You have to get inside!” Claire yelled, and got in front of him again. “Sir, you have to! Right now! Please!”

He moved her again, this time without as much care. He didn’t say a word.

“Oh, God,” Ha

The sun came up in a fiery burst, and the first rays of sunlight hit the parked cars, Eve’s standing figure, the houses . . . and Officer O’Malley’s back.

“Get a blanket!” Claire screamed. She could see the smoke curling off him, like morning mist. “Do something!”

Eve ran to get something from the car. Ha

Officer O’Malley kept walking. The sun kept rising, brighter and brighter, and within three or four steps, the smoke rising up from him turned to flames.

In ten more steps, he fell down.

Eve ran up breathlessly, a blanket clutched in both hands. “Help me get it over him!”

They threw the fabric over Officer O’Malley, but instead of smothering the flames, it just caught fire, too.

Ha

Claire turned toward Ha

“No, we can’t,” Ha

She was right, but it hurt, and in the end, Claire wrapped her arms around Ha

When she finally looked back, Officer O’Malley was a pile of ash and smoke and burned blanket.

“Michael,” Claire whispered. She looked at the sun. “We have to find Michael!”

Ha

7

The gates of the university were shut, locked, and there were paramilitary-style men posted at the gates, all in black. Armed. Eve coasted the big car slowly up to them and rolled down the window.

“Delivery for Michael Glass,” she called. “Or Richard Morrell.”

The guard who leaned in was huge, tough, and intimidating—until he saw Ha

She looked deeply pained. “Don’t ever call me that again, Jessup, or I will gut you.”

“Get out and make me stop, Smiley. Yeah, I heard you were back. How were the marines?”

“Better than the damn rangers.”

“Don’t you just wish?” He lost the smile and got serious again. “Sorry, H, orders are orders. Who sent you? Who’s with you?”

“Oliver sent me. You probably know Eve Rosser—that’s Claire Danvers.”

“Really? Huh. Thought she’d be bigger. Hey, Eve. Sorry, didn’t recognize you right off. Long time, no see.” Jessup nodded to the other guard, who slung his rifle and pressed in a key code at the panel on the stone fence. The big iron gates slowly parted. “You be careful, Ha

Inside, except for the guards patrolling the fence, Texas Prairie University seemed eerily normal. The birds sang to the rising sun, and there were students out—students!—heading to class as if there were nothing wrong at all. They were chatting, laughing, ru

“What the hell?” Eve said. Claire was glad she wasn’t the only one freaked out by it. “I know they had orders to keep things low profile, but damn, this is ridiculous. Where’s the dean’s office?”

Claire pointed. Eve steered the car around the winding curves, past dorms and lecture halls, and pulled it to a stop on the nearly deserted lot in front of the Administration Building. There were two police cruisers there, and a bunch of black Jeeps. Not a lot of civilian cars in the lot.

As they walked up the steps to the building, Claire realized there were two more guards outside of the main door. Ha

The last time Claire had been here she’d been adding and dropping classes, and the building had been full of grumpy bureaucrats and anxious students, all moving at a hectic pace. Now it was very quiet. A few people were at their desks, but there were no students Claire could see, and the TPU employees looked either bored or nervous. Most of the activity seemed centered down the carpeted hall, which was hung with formal portraits of the former university deans and notables.

One or two of the former deans, Claire was just now realizing, might have been vampires, from the pallor of their skins. Or maybe they were just old white guys. Hard to say.

At the end of the hallway they found not a guard, but a secretary—just as tough as any of the armed men outside, though. She sat behind an expensive-looking antique desk that had not a speck of dust on it, and nothing else except a piece of paper centered exactly in the middle, a pen at right angles to it, and a fancy, black multiline telephone. No computer that Claire could spot—no, there it was, hidden away in a roll-out credenza to the side.

The room was lushly carpeted, so much so that Claire’s feet sank into the depth at least an inch; it was like walking on foam. Solid, dark wood paneling. Paintings and dim lights. The windows were covered with fancy velvet curtains, and there was music playing—classical, of course. Claire couldn’t imagine anybody would ever switch the station to rock. Not here.

“I’m Ms. Nance,” the woman said, and stood to offer her hand to each of them in turn; she didn’t even hesitate with Eve, who intimidated most people. She was a tall, thin, gray woman dressed in a tailored gray suit with a lighter gray blouse under the jacket. Gray hair curled into exact waves. Claire couldn’t see her shoes, but she bet they were fashionable, gray, and yet somehow sensible. “I’m the secretary to Dean Wallace. Do you have an appointment?”

Eve said, “I need to see Michael.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t think I know that person.”

Eve’s expression froze, and Claire could see the horrible dread in her eyes.

Ha