Feast of Fools

“Hi.” She hung back, watching him. He seemed calm enough, but Myrnin wasn’t all that predictable. “How are you?”

“Bored,” he said, and laughed. “Bored, bored, bored. I had no idea a cell could be such a prison.”

His eyes opened, and his pupils were huge. There was a fey look in his eyes that made the skin along her backbone shiver and tighten.

“Did you bring me anything to eat?” he asked. “Someone juicy?”

He was definitely not right. She hated it when he got this way—cruel and lazy, willing to say or do anything. It was as if the Myrnin she liked had just . . . disappeared, leaving behind nothing but the dark shell.

Myrnin slithered off his bed, boneless and silent as a reptile. He took hold of the bars in his white, strong fingers and fixed his black-hole eyes on her face.

“Sweet, sweet Claire,” he murmured. “So brave, to come here. Come on, Claire. Come closer. You’ll have to if you want to help.”

He smiled, and even though he wasn’t showing vampire teeth, she felt the predator’s breath on the back of her neck.

“I have some new medicine,” she said, and set her backpack down. She unzipped it and took out the bottle with the crystals—a plastic bottle, thankfully, so she could throw it without fear of breakage. She tossed it underhand through the bars of the cage. It skidded to a stop against Myrnin’s pale feet. “I need you to take it, Myrnin.”

He didn’t even bend down for it. “I don’t think I like your tone,” he said. “You don’t order me, slave. I order you.”

“I’m not your slave.”

“You’re property.”

Claire opened up her backpack, took out the dart gun that Dr. Mills had given her, and shot him.

Myrnin staggered back, staring down at his stomach, and brushed his fingers over the yellow bristle of a hypodermic dart. “You little bitch,” he said, and sat down heavily on the bed.

His eyes rolled back as the drug delivered itself into his bloodstream, and he slumped back flat on the mattress.

“I may be a bitch, but I’m not your property,” Claire said. She didn’t move from where she stood as she loaded a second dart, just in case. She watched his body as his muscles twitched and contracted, then relaxed. “Myrnin?”

His eyes blinked, and she saw the pupils begin to shrink down to normal-sized black dots. “Claire?” He reached down and pulled the dart from his stomach. “Ouch.” He examined the dart curiously, then laid it carefully aside. “That was interesting.”

Well, he sounded saner, anyway. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore?” He brushed his fingers over the healing puncture wound. “Ashamed?” His dark gaze lifted to brush across hers. “I have the feeling I’ve been—unpleasant.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Claire said. “I just got here. Hey, who brought you all the stuff?”

Myrnin glanced around, frowning. “I—to be honest, I’m not really certain. I think it might have been one of Amelie’s creatures.” He didn’t sound at all sure. “I was cruel to you just now, wasn’t I?”

“A little,” she agreed. “But then again, I did shoot you.”

“Ah, yes. By the way, is there any particular reason you shot me in the stomach rather than the chest?”

“Less bone,” she said. “And my hands were shaking. How are you now?”

He sighed and sat up. “Better,” he said. “Don’t trust me, though. We don’t know how long this will last, do we?”

“No.” Claire put the gun away, and came closer to the bars. Not close enough to grab, though.

“That’s a new formulation? In liquid?”

She nodded. “It’s stronger, but I’m not sure it will last as long. Your body may break it down faster, so we have to be careful.”

“Start the clock,” he said. He looked down at himself and laughed softly. “My dark side dresses better than I do.” He stood up and reached for clothes folded neatly on a table to the side as he loosened the tie on his robe. He hesitated, smiled, and raised his eyebrows. “If you don’t mind, Claire . . . ?”

“Oh. Sorry.” Claire turned her back. She didn’t like turning her back on him, even with the cell door locked. He was better behaved when he knew she was watching. She focused on the faint, distorted image of his reflection on the TV screen as he shed the dressing gown and began to pull on his clothing. She couldn’t see much, except that he was very pale all over. Once she was sure his pants were up, she glanced behind her. He had his back to her, and she couldn’t help but compare him with the only other man she’d really studied half-naked. Shane was broad, strong, solid. Myrnin looked fragile, but his muscles moved like cables under that pale skin—far stronger than Shane’s, she knew.

Myrnin turned as he buttoned his shirt. “It’s been a while since a pretty girl looked at me with such interest,” he said. She looked away, feeling the blush work its heat up through her neck and onto her cheeks. “It’s all right, Claire. I’m not offended.”

She cleared her throat. “Any side effects from the new mixture?”

“I feel warm,” he said, and smiled. “How pleasant.”

“Too warm?”

“I have no idea. It’s been so long since I felt anything like it, I’m not sure I’d be able to tell the difference. ” He looped his hands loosely around the bars. “How long are you going to wait?”

“The first time, we wait until the effects start to fade, so we can have a good baseline and we’ll know how long it’ll allow you to be out. Safely.”

“And you’ll keep your dart pistol ready at all times, yes?” He leaned casually against the bars, elegant and relaxed. There was still a faint glow in his eyes, just a little unsettling. “What shall we talk about, then? How are your studies, Claire?”

She shrugged. “You know.”

“They’re still too simple, I would expect.”

“See? You do know.” Claire hesitated. “We have visitors in town.”

“Visitors?” Myrnin didn’t seem overly interested. “Is it homecoming already? Why on earth Amelie tolerates these human traditions, I’ll simply never understand—”

“Vampire visitors,” she said. That got his full attention.

For a frozen second, he didn’t speak, only stared, and then he said, low in his throat, “In the name of God, who?” His fingers tightened on the bars, squeezing so tightly she was afraid his bones might snap. Or the steel. “Who?”

She hadn’t expected that reaction. “His name is Bishop,” she said. “He says he’s Amelie’s father—”

Myrnin’s face went as still and pale as a plaster mask. “Bishop,” he repeated. “Bishop’s—here. No. It can’t be.” He took in a deliberate breath—one he didn’t need—and let it slowly out. His hands relaxed on the bars. “You said visitors. Plural.”

“He brought two people with him. Ysandre and François.”

Myrnin said something soft and vicious under his breath. “I know them both. What’s happened since his arrival? What does Amelie say?”

“She said we should stay out of it. So do Sam and Oliver, for that matter.”

“Has she made any public a

“Shane got an invitation,” she said. “To some kind of ball. He—it says he has to go as Ysandre’s escort.”

“Jesu,” Myrnin said. “She’s doing it. She’s acknowledging his status with a welcome feast.”

“What does that mean?”

Myrnin suddenly rattled the bars. “Let me out. Now.”

Claire swallowed. “I—can’t, I’m sorry. You know how this works. The first time we test a new formulation you have to stay—”

“Now,” he snarled, and his eyes took on that terrifying vampire sheen. “You have no idea what’s happening out there, Claire! We can’t afford to be cautious.”

“Then tell me what’s going on! Please! I want to help!”

Myrnin visibly controlled himself, let go of the bars, and sat down on the bed. “All right. Sit down. I’ll try to explain.”

Claire nodded. She pulled over a steel industrial chair—left over from this facility’s use as a prison, she thought—and took a seat herself. “Tell me about Bishop.”