Lord of Misrule

He reached out and grabbed her arm as she flung it toward him, and then she was suspended in midair, wind and dust rushing up around her, as the floor underneath fell away. Michael pulled, and she almost flew, weightless, into his arms.

“Oh,” she whispered faintly. “Thanks.”

He held on to her for a minute without speaking, then said, “Is there another way in?”

“I don’t know.”

They backed up and found the next office to the left, which had suspicious-looking cracks in its walls. Claire thought the floor felt a little unsteady. Michael pushed her back behind him and said, “Cover your eyes.”

Then he began ripping away the wall between the office and Amelie’s apartments. When he hit solid red brick, he punched it, breaking it into dust.

“This isn’t helping keep things together!” Claire yelled.

“I know, but we need to get them out!”

He ripped a hole in the wall big enough to step through, and braced himself in it as the whole building seemed to shudder, as if shifting its weight. “The floor’s all right here,” he said. “You stay. I’ll go.”

“Through that door, to the left!” Claire called. Michael disappeared, moving fast and gracefully.

She wondered, all of a sudden, why he wasn’t downstairs. Why he wasn’t fighting, like all the others of Amelie’s blood.

A couple of tense minutes passed, as she stared through the hole; nothing seemed to be happening. She couldn’t hear Michael, or Shane, or anything else.

And then she heard screaming behind her, in the hall. Vampires, she thought, and quickly opened the door to look.

Someone fell against the wood, knocking her backward. It was François. Claire tried to shut the door, but a bloodstained white hand wormed through the opening and grabbed the edge, shoving it wider.

François didn’t look even remotely human anymore, but he did look absolutely desperate, willing to do anything to survive, and very, very angry.

Claire backed up, slowly, until she was standing with her back against the far wall. There wasn’t much in here to help her—a desk, some pens and pencils in a cup.

François laughed, and then he growled. “You think you’re wi

“I think you’re the one who has to worry,” Michael said from the hole in the wall. He stepped through, carrying Mayor Morrell in his arms. Shane and Eve were with him, supporting Richard’s sagging body between them. Mrs. Morrell brought up the rear. “Back off. I won’t come after you if you run.”

François’ eyes turned ruby, and he threw himself at Michael, who was burdened with the mayor.

Claire grabbed a pencil from the cup and plunged it into François’ back.

He whirled, looking stu

“That won’t kill him,” Michael said.

“I don’t care,” Eve said. “Because that was fierce.”

Claire grabbed the vampire’s arms and dragged him out of the way, careful not to dislodge the pencil; she wasn’t really sure how deep it had gone, and if it slipped out of his heart, they were all in big trouble. Michael edged around him and opened the door to check the corridor. “Clear,” he said. “For the moment. Come on.”

Their little refugee group hurried into the rainy hall, squishing through soggy carpet. There were people hiding in the offices, or just pressed against the walls and hoping not to be noticed. “Come on,” Eve said to them. “Get up. We’re getting out of here before this whole thing comes down!”

The fighting in the stairwell was still going on—snarling, screams, bangs, and thuds. Claire didn’t dare look over the railing. Michael led them down to the locked second-floor entrance. He pulled hard on it, and the knob popped off—but the door stayed locked.

“Hey, Mike?” Shane had edged to the end of the landing to look over the railing. “Can’t go that way.”

“I know!”

“Also, time is—”

“I know, Shane!” Michael started kicking the door, but it was reinforced, stronger than the other doors Claire had seen. It bent, but didn’t open.

And then it did open . . . from the inside.

There, in his fancy but battered black velvet, stood Myrnin.

“In,” he said. “This way. Hurry.”

The falling sensation warned Claire that the door was a portal, but she didn’t have time to tell anybody else, so when they stepped through into Myrnin’s lab, it was probably kind of a shock. Michael didn’t pause; he pushed a bunch of broken glassware from a lab table and put Mr. Morrell down on it, then touched pale fingers to the man’s throat. When he found nothing, he started CPR again. Eve hurried over to breathe for him.

Myrnin didn’t move as the refugees streamed in past him. He was standing with his arms folded, a frown grooved between his brows. “Who are all these people?” he asked. “I am not an i

“Shut up,” Claire said. She didn’t have any patience with Myrnin right now. “Is he okay?” She was talking to Shane, who was easing Richard onto a threadbare rug near the far wall.

“You mean, except for the big piece of metal in him? Look, I don’t know. He’s breathing, at least.”

The rest of the refugees clustered together, filtering slowly through the portal. Most of them had no idea what had just happened, which was good. If they’d been part of Frank’s group, intending to take over Morganville, that ambition was long gone. Now they were just people, and they were just scared.

“Up the stairs,” Claire told them. “You can get out that way.”

Most of them rushed for the exit. She hoped they’d make it home, or at least to some kind of safe place.

She hoped they had homes to go back to.

Myrnin glared at her. “You do realize that this was a secret laboratory, don’t you? And now half of Morganville knows where it is?”

“Hey, I didn’t open the door; you did.” She reached over and put her hand on his arm, looking up into his face. “Thank you. You saved our lives.”

He blinked slowly. “Did I?”

“I know why you weren’t fighting,” Claire said. “The drugs kept you from having to. But . . . Michael?”

Myrnin followed her gaze to where Eve and Michael remained bent over the mayor’s still form. “Amelie let him go,” he said. “For now. She could claim him again at any time, but I think she knew you needed help.” He uncrossed his arms and walked over to Michael to touch his shoulder. “It’s no use,” he said. “I can smell death on him. So can you, if you try. You won’t bring him back.”

“No!” Mrs. Morrell screamed, and threw herself over her husband’s body. “No, you have to try!”

“They did,” Myrnin said, and retreated to lean against a convenient wall. “Which is more than I would have.” He nodded toward Richard. “He might live, but to remove that metal will require a chirurgeon.”

“You mean, a doctor?” Claire asked.

“Yes, of course, a doctor,” Myrnin snapped, and his eyes flared red. “I know you want me to feel some sympathy for them, but that is not who I am. I care only about those I know, and even then, not all that deeply. Strangers get nothing from me.” He was slipping, and the anger was coming back. Next it would be confusion. Claire silently dug in her pockets. She’d put a single glass vial in, and miraculously, it was still unbroken.

He slapped it out of her hand impatiently. “I don’t need it!”

Claire watched it clatter to the floor, heart in her mouth, and said, “You do. You know you do. Please, Myrnin. I don’t need your crap right now. Just take your medicine.”

She didn’t think he would, not at first, but then he snorted, bent down, and picked up the vial. He broke the cap off and dumped the liquid into his mouth. “There,” he said. “Satisfied?” He shattered the glass in his fingers, and the red glow in his eyes intensified. “Are you, little Claire? Do you enjoy giving me orders?”

“Myrnin.”

His hand went around her throat, choking off whatever she was going to say.