Lord of Misrule

Claire caught the cross in her hand as it fell.

“May it comfort you,” Bishop said, and smiled. “My child.”

And then François bit her.

“Claire?” Somewhere, a long way off, Eve was crying. “Oh my God, Claire? Can you hear me? Come on, please, please come back. Are you sure she’s got a pulse?”

“Yes, she’s got a pulse.” Claire knew that voice. Richard Morrell. But why was he here? Who called the police? She remembered the accident with the truck—no, that was before.

Bishop.

Claire slowly opened her eyes. The world felt very far away, and safely muffled for the moment. She heard Eve let out a gasp and a flood of words, but Claire didn’t try to identify the meaning.

I have a pulse.

That seemed important.

My neck hurts.

Because a vampire had bitten her.

Claire raised her left hand slowly to touch her neck, and found a huge wad of what felt like somebody’s shirt pressed against her neck.

“No,” Richard said, and forced her hand back down. “Don’t touch it. It’s still closing up. You shouldn’t move for another hour or so. Let the wounds close.”

“Bit,” Claire murmured. “He bit me.” That came in a blinding flash, like a red knife cutting through the fog. “Don’t let me turn into one.”

“You won’t,” Eve said. She was upside down—no, Claire’s head was in her lap, and Eve was leaning over her. Claire felt the warm drip of Eve’s tears on her face. “Oh, sweetie. You’re going to be okay. Right?” Even upside down, Eve’s look was panicked as she appealed to Richard, who sat on her right.

“You’ll be all right,” he said. He didn’t look much better than Claire felt. “I have to see to my father. Here.” He moved out of the way, and someone else sat in his place.

Shane. His warm fingers closed over hers, and she shivered when she realized how cold she felt. Eve tucked an expensive velvet blanket over and around her, fussing nervously.

Shane didn’t say anything. He was so quiet.

“My cross,” Claire said. It had been in her hand. She didn’t know where it was now. “He broke the chain. I’m sorry—”

Shane opened her fingers and tipped the cross and chain into her hand. “I picked it up,” he said. “Figured you might want it.” There was something he wasn’t saying. Claire looked at Eve to find out what it was, but she wasn’t talking, for a change. “Anyway, you’re going to be okay. We’re lucky this time. François wasn’t that hungry.” He closed her fingers around the cross and held on.

His hands were shaking. “Shane?”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I couldn’t move. I just stood there.”

“No, he didn’t,” Eve said. “He knocked Fra

That sounded like Shane. “You’re not hurt?” Claire asked.

“Not much.”

Eve frowned. “Well—”

“Not much,” Shane repeated. “I’m okay, Claire.”

She kind of had to take that at face value, at least right now. “What time—”

“Six fifteen,” Richard said, from the far corner of the small room. This, Claire guessed, had been some kind of dressing area for Amelie. She saw a long closet to the side. Most of the clothes were shredded and scattered in piles on the floor. The dressing table was a ruin, and every mirror was broken.

François had had his fun in here, too.

“The storm’s heading for us,” Eve said. “Michael never got to Richard, but he got to Joe Hess, apparently. They evacuated the shelters. Bishop was pretty mad about that. He wanted a lot of hostages between him and Amelie.”

“So all that’s left is us?”

“Us. And Bishop’s people, who didn’t leave. And Fabulous Frank Collins and his Wild Bunch, who rolled into the lobby and now think they’ve won some kind of battle or something.” Eve rolled her eyes, and for an instant was back to her old self. “Just us and the bad guys.”

Did that make Richard—no. Claire couldn’t believe that. If anyone in Morganville had honestly tried to do the right thing, it was Richard Morrell.

Eve followed Claire’s look. “Oh. Yeah, his dad got hurt trying to stop Bishop from taking over downstairs. Richard’s been trying to take care of him, and his mom. We were right about Sullivan, by the way. Total backstabber. Yay for premonitions. Wish I had one right now that could help get us out of this.”

“No way out,” Claire said.

“Not even a window,” Eve said. “We’re locked in here. No idea where Bishop and his little sock monkey got off to. Looking for Amelie, I guess. I wish they’d just kill each other already.”

Eve didn’t mean it, not really, but Claire understood how she felt. Distantly. In a detached, shocked kind of way.

“What’s happening outside?”

“Not a clue. No radios in here. They took our cell phones. We’re”—the lights blinked and failed, putting the room into pitch darkness—“screwed,” Eve finished. “Oh man, I should not have said that, should I?”

“Power’s gone out to the building, I think,” Richard said. “It’s probably the storm.”

Or the vampires screwing with them, just because they could. Claire didn’t say it out loud, but she thought it pretty hard.

Shane’s hand kept holding hers. “Shane?”

“Right here,” he said. “Stay still.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“What for?”

“I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, before, about your dad. . . .”

“Not important,” he said very softly. “It’s okay, Claire. Just rest.”

Rest? She couldn’t rest. Reality was pushing back in, reminding her of pain, of fear, and most important, of time.

There was an eerie, ghostly sound now, wailing, and getting louder.

“What is that?” Eve asked, and then, before anybody could answer, did so herself. “Tornado sirens. There’s one on the roof.”

The rising, falling wail got louder, but with it came something else—a sound like water rushing, or—

“We need to get to cover,” Richard said. A flashlight snapped on, and played over Eve’s pallid face, then Shane’s and Claire’s. “You guys, get her over here. This is the strongest interior corner. That side faces out toward the street.”

Claire tried to get up, but Shane scooped her in his arms and carried her. He set her down with her back against a wall, then got under the blanket next to her with Eve on his other side. The flashlight turned away from them, and in its sweep, Claire caught sight of Mayor Morrell. He was a fat man, with a politician’s smooth face and smile, but he didn’t look anything like she remembered now. He seemed older, shrunken inside his suit, and very ill.

“What’s wrong with him?” Claire whispered.

Shane’s answer stirred the damp hair around her face. “Heart attack,” he said. “At least, that’s Richard’s best guess. Looks bad.”

It really did. The mayor was propped against the wall a few feet from them, and he was gasping for breath as his wife (Claire had never seen her before, except in pictures) patted his arm and murmured in his ear. His face was ash gray, his lips turning blue, and there was real panic in his eyes.

Richard returned, dragging another thick blanket and some pillows. “Everybody cover up,” he said. “Keep your heads down.” He covered his mother and father and crouched next to them as he wrapped himself in another blanket.

The wind outside was building to a howl. Claire could hear things hitting the walls—dull thudding sounds, like baseballs. It got louder. “Debris,” Richard said. He focused the light on the carpet between their small group. “Maybe hail. Could be anything.”

The siren cut off abruptly, but that didn’t mean the noise subsided; if anything, it got louder, ratcheting up from a howl to a scream—and then it took on a deeper tone.

“Sounds like a train,” Eve said shakily. “Damn, I was really hoping that wasn’t true, the train thing—”

“Heads down!” Richard yelled, as the whole building started to shake. Claire could feel the boards vibrating underneath her. She could see the walls bending, and cracks forming in the bricks.