Feast of Fools (29 page)

She froze, eyes widening. Amelie, who couldn't be surprised, had been completely taken for a ride this time. ‘‘The book.''

‘‘You think I want your pathetic town? Your ridiculous peasants?'' Bishop's contemptuous gaze swept over Claire, over the room beyond. ‘‘I want my
property
. Give it to me, and I'll leave. There. Now all our cards are up, child. What say you?''

‘‘The book isn't yours,'' Amelie said.

‘‘I took it from the dead hands of a rival,'' Bishop said. ‘‘That makes it mine. Right of conquest.'' He gave her a cold, slow stare. ‘‘The same way you took it from me, if you remember, except that I wasn't quite dead enough. A pity you didn't make sure, eh?''

It was all going wrong. Myrnin had run away, and he was supposed to stay, supposed to fight. Amelie couldn't do this on her own; he'd said it himself.

The other vampires were all standing by and letting it happen.

‘‘Amelie,'' Bishop said, ‘‘I'll destroy you if you refuse. Don't you know that? Haven't you known it from the moment I came to town?''

Claire moved up beside her. ‘‘She wants you to leave,'' she said. ‘‘You need to go. Now.''

Bishop laughed. ‘‘A threat from a little yapping dog. Will you make me, mongrel?''

‘‘No,'' said Sam Glass. He jumped from the banquet floor up to the table in one lithe, easy motion, and then down to stand on Amelie's other side. ‘‘Not by herself, anyway.'' He'd taken off his Huck Finn straw hat, but even if he'd been wearing it, his expression was one that demanded to be taken seriously.

Michael joined him, crossing the distance with a leap, while Eve and Shane took the stairs.

There was a second's breathless pause, and then others began to move. Oliver. Monica. Charles and Miranda.

Claire's dad came up to take her mother's hands and lead her off to the side, out of danger.

More kept coming.

The vampires and humans of Morganville stood together, crowding the stage in front of Bishop, Ysandre, and François. Not all of them—but more than half the room.

‘‘You're not welcome here,'' Oliver said, ‘‘
Master
Bishop. This is our town. Our people. It's time for you to leave.''

‘‘A rebellion,'' Bishop said. ‘‘How refreshingly modern.''

He nodded to Ysandre and François. François yanked Jennifer out of her seat on the dais.

Ysandre feinted toward Shane, then grabbed hold of Jason Rosser and sank her fangs deep into his neck.

Pandemonium. Sam and Michael both hit François, bearing him backward as he tried to get his teeth into a screaming Jennifer, and Claire lost sight of them almost immediately. Bishop was on his feet, struggling hand to hand with Oliver.

Amelie, eyes the color and hardness of diamond, grabbed Ysandre by the back of the neck and yanked her backward, away from Jason.

‘‘My property,'' she snapped, and held Ysandre at arm's length as she hissed and struggled. ‘‘Boy.
Boy!
'' She bent over Jason, her pale fingers touching his face.

Jason opened his eyes. He was crying, Claire thought, but then she saw his face, and she knew that wasn't crying at all.

That was
laughter.

‘‘Sucker,'' he said.

‘‘No!'' Claire cried, but it was too late.

Jason took a stake out of the folds of his brown monk's robe and stabbed Amelie, right in the heart.

Everything stopped.

Amelie staggered backward. The wooden stake in her chest looked unreal, obscene, wrong.

Amelie was invulnerable. Couldn't be hurt.

A rim of blood spread into the white cloth around the stake, growing before Claire's eyes.

Sam screamed. He abandoned François as Amelie fell, and caught her, easing her down to the wooden stage. The look on his face—Claire had never seen that much pain, ever.

Oliver punched Bishop so hard that the old man staggered backward and fell over the side of the throne; then Oliver moved to Amelie's side.

‘‘No!'' Oliver snapped as Sam took hold of the stake to pull it out. ‘‘She's old. She'll survive until we get her to safety. Take her!''

And then he turned as Jason lunged at him, crazy-eyed, with another stake. Oliver grabbed him in midair and snapped his arm with an effortless twist, tossing him across the stage to crash into François, who had Michael down on the ground.

‘‘Mom! Dad!
Get out of here!
'' Claire yelled. Her dad beckoned her to come with them, but she shook her head. She wasn't leaving her friends behind. Not the way Myrnin had left her.

Her parents got out, all the way out the door. Others were running, mostly the ones who'd elected not to go up against Bishop in the first place. Claire saw Maria Theresa slipping out the side door, tugging her human tribute by the arm. He looked horrified, and he was trying to break free.

Out in the darkness, she heard screaming.

Amelie blinked, pulled in a breath, and whispered something to Sam. He looked up at Claire, and his face was as hard and pale as polished marble. ‘‘Endgame, '' he said. ‘‘Bishop's counterattack.''

Claire looked out and saw that some of those who'd held back were turning on their humans, or attacking other vampires. Bishop had brought his own sleeper agents with him, and it was only a matter of time before they made their way up to the stage. It was going to be a free-for-all.

Michael joined them. His clothes were ripped, and he had a bloodless cut along one cheekbone.

‘‘Get them out of here!'' Oliver yelled to him.
‘‘Now!''

Oliver lunged for Bishop, drove the older vampire back against the throne, and reached into his scarecrow costume. He pulled out a long, needle-pointed dagger, and shoved it through Bishop's chest to pin him to the wood.

It annoyed Bishop more than hurt him. Bishop wrenched free and pulled the dagger out, then back-handed Oliver so hard the other vampire went completely off the stage and out into the darkness of the banquet hall.

‘‘Sam!'' Michael yelled. Sam gathered up Amelie in his arms and jumped off the stage. Most of the others followed him. Michael grabbed Eve and Shane, and Claire turned to follow as they clattered down the stairs.

Ysandre stopped her.

‘‘Not so fast,'' she said. Her voice no longer sounded like a purr; it was a growl, low and vicious. ‘‘
You
I want.''

Claire fumbled for a weapon. She came up with a fork from a fallen place setting, and stabbed it into Ysandre's arm. The vampire yelped, plucked it out, and fastened her hand around Claire's throat, bending her back over the table. Claire couldn't breathe. She battered at the vampire's iron hand, and tried to twist free, but it was no use.

She was dying.

Oliver hit Ysandre in a flying leap. He knocked her into Bishop, and they both went down. Before they hit the floor, he'd grabbed Claire's wrist and pulled her toward the stairs. She wasn't moving fast enough for him. He scooped her into his arms, and the world blurred around them.

Vampire speed.

Screams smeared into noise, and Claire heard crashes and sirens, and then nothing.

Strange, to feel safe in Oliver's arms.

When she woke up, her head was in Shane's lap, and he was stroking her hair. She heard the hushed murmur of voices. ‘‘What—'' Her throat hurt. Hurt a
lot.
And her voice sounded funny.

‘‘Hey,'' Shane said, and smiled down at her. It didn't look right, that smile. ‘‘Don't talk. We're home— we've got everything secured. It's okay.''

She doubted that. She could hear sirens outside, racing past on the street. Voices inside the house, lots of them. She tried to sit up, but Shane held her back. ‘‘Sam's upstairs with Amelie, in the rec room.'' Which was Shane's term for Amelie's hidden lair. ‘‘The city's in lockdown. Bishop had a lot of people on his payroll already. Lots of surprises. He's been busy.''

She mouthed,
Who's here?

‘‘Yeah, well, we've got guests tonight,'' he said. ‘‘Couldn't get them to their own places, so they're taking refuge here. Your mom and dad are right here—''

And there they were, pushing Shane out of the way. Mom was crying as she stroked Claire's face. Her dad was more stoic, but his face was flushed and his jaw was tightly clenched.

‘‘How you doing, kiddo?'' he asked.

‘‘Fine,'' she whispered, and pointed at them.

‘‘We're just fine, sweetheart,'' her mother said, and kissed her on the forehead. She was still wearing the long white dress, but the angel wings looked battered and off center. ‘‘When Oliver brought you in, I thought—I thought it was too late. I thought—''

They'd thought she was dead. Claire felt guilty, even though passing out hadn't been her idea, exactly. ‘‘I'm okay,'' she managed to say. She tried to swallow, and found that was not just a bad idea; it was a
terrible
idea. She coughed. That hurt worse.

Pitiful.

‘‘Oliver?'' she whispered. Her dad nodded to someplace behind the couch, where she was stretched out.

‘‘On the phone,'' he said. ‘‘He's quite the take-charge guy, isn't he?''

The lights in the house went out, and people screamed. Almost immediately, flashlights clicked on; Eve and Shane had them ready, and so did Michael.

‘‘Calm down,'' Michael said. ‘‘Everybody relax. The house is secure.''

Nothing was secure from Bishop, Claire wanted to tell him. Ysandre and François had been here, and they'd get in again if they wanted. The gloom felt thick and oily around her. If there were ghosts in the house—other than the one Michael had been—they were coming out in force tonight, drawn by the fear and fury.

‘‘Hey,'' Eve said. She was standing at the front windows, looking out. ‘‘Something's on fire out there.''

A fire truck roared by, screaming, chased by a fleet of patrol cars.
Busy night for city services,
Claire thought dizzily. She got up, despite her mother's attempts to keep her flat. The room spun a little, then steadied. She joined Eve at the window. Eve put an arm around her and hugged her, eyes still on the fire. It was a big one, maybe three streets away. Flames were leaping a dozen feet into the air.

‘‘How you doing?'' Eve asked her.

Claire gave her a silent thumbs-up, and saw Eve smile.

‘‘Yeah, you went all Spartacus up there. I was proud, you know. Well, until you kind of got your ass kicked.''

Claire tried to choke out an indignant ‘‘Hey!''

‘‘Okay, so, maybe not your fault.'' Eve hugged her again. ‘‘Holy water. Nice touch. I was almost impressed.''

‘‘Whose house?'' Two words, Claire managed in one whisper. That was progress. ‘‘On fire?''

‘‘I think it's the Melville house.'' Eve angled for a different view. ‘‘Crap. I see some more. This isn't good.''

Michael joined them. ‘‘It's part of Bishop's plan,'' he said. ‘‘Or at least, that's what I'd guess. Create chaos. Keep Amelie off-balance.''

Claire bet the power failure was all part of the plan too. ‘‘How many are here?''

‘‘In our house? About thirty.'' Eve rolled her eyes. ‘‘Half of them vampires. Great, huh? After all that.''

Claire stared at her. ‘‘Thirty?''

Eve nodded. ‘‘What?''

‘‘Makes us a good target.''

‘‘She's right,'' Michael said. ‘‘We need to stay alert.''

Shane pressed in next to Claire. He was still wearing his leather pants, but he'd thrown on a grotty old Marilyn Manson T-shirt that looked rescued from the bottom of the laundry bag.

She didn't care. She collapsed against him, and felt his arms go around her, and just for a second, it was all right.

‘‘Killer rabbit,'' Shane said fondly, and kissed her. ‘‘What's with the outfit?''

‘‘Harlequin,'' she croaked. ‘‘Myrnin—'' The memory of what Myrnin had done came flooding back. He'd taunted Bishop. He'd set Amelie up to take the fall, and he'd
run.
He'd left her there, too, to die.

‘‘That's Myrnin? The crazy one? Claire. How could you trust him in the first place?'' Shane cupped her face in his hands. ‘‘He talked you into it, didn't he?''

Not exactly. She'd
wanted
to believe Myrnin. She wanted to believe in that sweet, innocent soul that she glimpsed in him from time to time—but now she wasn't at all sure it even existed at all.

Or if it had, maybe her cure had destroyed it.

‘‘I couldn't—'' Claire tried to put the words together, but it was too hard, and Shane's eyes were too forgiving. He kissed her, and even under the circumstances, with her parents
right there
, with a house full of vampires and half of Morganville in danger, she thought she could stand here all night and all day, in his arms.

‘‘I know,'' he murmured, with his damp, sweet lips on hers. ‘‘I know.''

She almost thought he did.

‘‘Sorry to break this up,'' Michael said drily from behind Claire, ‘‘but I'm thinking we need to do a little perimeter patrolling.''

‘‘Not a bad idea,'' Shane said, and stepped back, ‘‘if they're torching houses to drive people out in the streets. Easier to pick them off that way, I'll bet.''

‘‘Exactly.'' Michael handed him a crowbar. Shane twirled it and captured it under his arm. ‘‘Like Claire said, we're a good target. All the Founder Houses are. I'll take the back; you go to the front.''