Carpe Corpus (24 page)

“Too late,” Shane said. “Last bus already left, man. And we’re thirty minutes away from Bishop’s big town hall meeting. You can run, but you can’t hide. Anybody who isn’t there is dead. He’s going to send out hunters. It’ll be open season.”

“I could stay here,” Jason said quickly. “Upstairs. In the secret room, right?”

They all looked at one another.

“Oh, come
on,
it’s not like I’m going to run up your phone bill and watch pay-per-view. Besides, if I was going to kill you in your sleep, I would have already done it.” He made a kissy-face at Shane. “Even you, asswipe.”

“Jesus, Jason.” Eve sighed. “Do you
want
to end up in the landfill, or what?” She touched Michael on the arm, and he glanced back at her and took her hand. “Can you tell if he lies to us?”

“Uh, no. Drinking blood doesn’t make me a lie detector.”

Sam spoke up somberly. “I can.” He shrugged when Michael gave him an odd look. “It’s just a skill. You pick it up, over time. People can’t control their bodies the way vampires can. I can usually tell when they’re lying.”

“No offense, but you’ve been wrong plenty of times, Sam. Like, deciding that you could trust this little weasel as far as you can throw him,” Michael said, then caught a devastating pleading look from Eve. “All right. Go ahead. Ask him whatever you want.”

Eve took in a deep breath, looked her brother in the eyes, and said, “Please tell me the truth. Did you kill those girls?”

Because that had been Jason’s rep. Murdered girls, dumped all over town, a string of killings that had begun right after Jason had gotten out of jail, just about the time Claire had moved to Morganville. One body had been put here in their own house, in an attempt to implicate Shane and Michael.

Jason blinked, as if he somehow hadn’t really expected her to ask. “The truth?”

“Of course, the truth, idiot.”

“I’ve done bad things,” he said. “I’ve hurt people. I need help.”

Eve’s face fell. “You really did do it.”

“It wasn’t my fault, Eve.”

“Never is, is it? I really thought—”

“He’s lying,” Michael said. He sounded as surprised as Claire felt. “Right, Sam?” Sam nodded. “My God. You really didn’t do it, did you?”

Jason looked away from them. “Might as well have.”

“What the hell does
that
mean?” Eve snapped. “Either you did, or you didn’t!”

“No,” her brother said. “Either I did, I didn’t, or I was there when it happened and didn’t stop it. Figure it out.”

“Then who—”

“I’m not saying. People think I’m a killer; they leave me the fuck alone. They think I’m just some sad-ass ride-along clown. They’ll kill me quick.” Jason looked up now, right at Eve, and for the first time, Claire thought he looked sincere. “I never killed anybody. Not on my own, anyway. Well, I came close with you, Collins.”

“But you won’t tell us who did kill them?”

He shook his head.

“Are you afraid?” Eve asked, very gently.

Silence.

“You know what?” Shane said. “Don’t care. Street him before we wake up with our throats cut by him
or
his imaginary playmate.”

And they might have, except that the doorbell rang. Michael flashed to the window and looked out. “Crap. Our ride’s here. We don’t have time for this.”

“Michael,” Eve said. “Please. Let him stay, at least for now.
Please.
”

“All right. Get him upstairs and lock him in. Sam, can you stay with him?

“No,” Sam said. “I have to go back to Amelie.”

“We have to leave. Claire, can you shut down the portal that leads here?”

“I can try, sure.”

As Sam hustled Jason up the stairs to the second floor, Claire touched the bare wall at the back of the living room, and felt the slightly pliable surface of the portal lying on top of it. It was invisible, but definitely active.

“Ada,” she whispered, and felt the surface ripple.

Her phone rang. Claire answered it. No incoming caller ID had appeared on the display, just random numbers and letters. She answered.

“What?” the computer snapped. “I’m busy, you know. I can’t just be at your constant beck and call.”

“Shut down the portal to the Glass House.”

“Oh, bother. Do it yourself.”

“I don’t know how!”

“I hardly have time to school you,” Ada said primly. God, she reminded Claire of Myrnin—not in a good way. “Very well. I shall do it for you this one time. But you’ll have to turn it on again yourself. And stop calling me!”

The phone clicked off, and under Claire’s fingers, the surface turned cold and still, like glass.

Blocked.
Quantum stasis
, she thought, fascinated, and wondered how that worked, for about the millionth time. She wanted to take Ada apart and figure it out.
Yeah, if you live long enough.
It had taken Myrnin three hundred years to put Ada together; it might take her that long just to figure out the basic principles he’d used.

Michael came back into the living room, leading two other vampires—Ysandre, that smug little witch, and her occasional partner François, an equally nasty reject from some Eurotrash vampire melodrama.

They were walking clichés, but they were also deadly. Claire couldn’t even look at François without remembering how he’d ripped the cross off of her neck and bitten her. She still had the scars—faint, but they’d always be there. And she couldn’t forget how that had felt, either.

A hot flood of emotion came over her when she saw him smirking at her—hate, fear, loathing, and fury. She knew he could feel it coming off of her in sick waves.

She also knew he enjoyed it.

François gave her an elaborate bow and blew her a kiss. “
Chérie
,” he said. “The exquisite taste of you still lingers in my mouth.”

Shane’s hands closed into fists. François saw that, too. Claire touched Shane’s arm; his muscles were tensed and hard. “Don’t let him bait you,” she whispered. “I was a snack. Not a date.”

François closed his eyes and made a point of sniffing the air. “Ah, but you smell so different now,” he said, with elaborate disappointment. “Rich and complex, not simple and pure anymore. Still, I was the first to taste your blood, wasn’t I, little Claire? And you never forget your first.”

“
Don’t!
” she hissed to Shane, and dug her fingernails in as deep as she could. It was all she could do. If Shane decided to go for him, she knew how it would end.

Luckily, so did Shane. He slowly relaxed, and Claire saw Michael’s tension ease as well. “We talking, or are we walking?” Shane asked. “I thought we had someplace to be.”

Claire felt a sunburst of pride in him, and a longing that came with it—she wanted all of this to just
stop
; she wanted to go back to the night, the silence, the touch of his skin and the sound of his whispers. That was real. That was important.

It was a reason to live through all this.

She took Shane’s hand and squeezed it. He sent her a look. “What?”

She whispered, “You’re just full of awesome; did you know that?”

François made a face. “Full of something. In the car, fools.”

Founder’s Square at twilight was full of people—rock-concert full. Claire didn’t even know this many people lived in Morganville. “Did they grab the students, too?” she asked Michael.

“Bishop’s not quite that stupid. It’s residents only. University gates were closed. The place is under lock-down.”

“What, again? Even the stoners are going to figure out something’s going on.” Claire certainly would have, and she knew most of the students weren’t that gullible. Then again, knowing and wanting to push the status quo were two very different things. “You think they’ll stay on campus?”

“I think if they don’t, the problem’s going to solve itself,” Michael said somberly. “Amelie will try to protect them, but we’ve got a much bigger issue tonight.”

Technically, that challenge was saving Morganville, and everybody in it.

There were no chairs down on the grassy area, but Bishop’s vampires were out and about, and they were separating people at the entrances to the park and sending them to special holding areas. Or, Claire, thought,
pens.
Like sorting cattle. “What are they doing?”

“Dividing people according to their Protectors,” François said. “What else?”

Bishop had kept the Protection system, then—or at least, he hadn’t bothered to really dismantle it. People were being questioned at the gate. If they didn’t name a Protector, they got slapped with a big yellow sticker and herded into a big open area in the middle. “What if their Protector is one of Amelie’s rebels?” She knew the answer to that one. “Then they’re no longer Protected. They go in the middle, too?”

Michael looked pallid—not just vampire-pale, really stressed and upset, as if he knew what was coming before she did. Claire didn’t get it until François said, “Just like your friends,” and he grabbed Shane. Ysandre took hold of Eve. They both fought and cursed and tried to get free, but it was no use—they were shoved apart from Michael and Claire.

They were both dragged away to the big cordoned- off area in the center of the square. Claire tried to follow them, but Michael held her back. “Don’t,” he said. “Bishop may not know you’re out of his control yet. Tell him you were drugged by Hannah to keep you out of the way. It’s the truth; he’ll probably sense that.”

“What about Shane? Eve? God, how can you just
stand there
?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I have to. Claire, don’t screw this up. You won’t help them, and you’ll only get yourself killed.” He gave her a grim smile. “And me, because I’d have to get in the middle.”

Claire stopped fighting him, but she still couldn’t accept it. She saw why Richard had wanted people out of town who were at the highest risk; Bishop intended this to be a public spectacle.

His final act to make himself the undisputed ruler of Morganville. In the bad old days, that meant executing lots of people.

François took Claire’s arm and marched her up to the front, past angry, scared men and women she knew by sight, and some she’d never seen before. That section had a symbol taped to the barrier that surrounded it— she vaguely recognized it as the symbol for a vampire named Valerie, who’d joined Bishop in the first round of fighting. And yes, there was Valerie, standing inside the barricade with her humans, but looking very much as if she wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Past Valerie’s barricades was a big raised stage, at least twenty feet off the ground, with steps leading up to it. There were plush chairs, and carpet, and a red velvet backdrop behind it. Spotlights turned the sunset pale in contrast. The stage was empty, but there was a knot of people standing at the foot of the steps.

Richard Morrell was there, dressed in a spotless dark blue suit, with a sky blue tie. He looked like he was running for office, not about to fight for his life; apparently, he and Amelie had the same philosophy on looking good for the Apocalypse. Next to him, Hannah still wore her police uniform, but no belt—and no gun, handcuffs, baton, stakes, or pepper spray. They’d taken away the human cops’ weapons. There were other people, too—mostly vampires, but Claire recognized Dean Wallace, the head of TPU, and a few of the other prominent humans in town, including Mr. Janes, who was the CEO of the biggest bank in town. Mr. Janes had decided to stay. She’d seen his name on Richard’s evac list, and she’d seen him driving away from the warehouse instead of getting on the bus.

She wondered how Mr. Janes was feeling about that decision right now. Not too good, she was guessing. He kept looking out at the crowd, probably trying to find friends and family.

She knew how he felt.

Richard Morrell nodded to her. “You okay?”

Why did everybody always ask that? “Sure,” she lied. “What’s going to happen?”

“Wish I knew,” Richard said. “Stay close to Michael, whatever happens.”

She was going to do that regardless, but she appreciated that he cared. He patted her on the back, and under cover of shaking her hand, he pressed something into her hand.

It was a silver knife, no bigger than her finger. Razor-sharp, too. She tried not to cut herself—the last thing she wanted was for the vamps around her to smell blood—and managed to get it in the pocket of her hoodie without stabbing herself. From Richard’s warning look, she got that it was a weapon of last resort.

She nodded to let him know she understood.

A cordon of vampires closed in around them, including the tall, thin, sexless dude whom she’d last seen with the Goldmans. What was his name? Pennywell. Ugh. He had a thin smile, like he knew what was going to happen, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Up,” he said, and jerked his chin to indicate that they were supposed to climb the steps. Richard went first—trying to set a good example, Claire supposed—and she followed, along with Hannah and Michael. It seemed like a long climb, and it reminded her of nothing else than those old stories about people getting hanged, or walking the last mile to the electric chair.

Up on the stage, it was a whole lot worse. There were hisses and boos from the crowd, quickly hushed, and Claire was blinded by the white spotlights, but she could feel thousands of people staring at her.
I’m nobody,
she wanted to shout.
I don’t want to be up here!

They wouldn’t care about her motives, or her choices, or anything else. She was working for Bishop. That made her the enemy.

Richard took one of the chairs, and Dean Wallace sat next to him. Hannah stayed standing next to Richard’s chair, arms folded. Claire didn’t quite know what to do, so she stuck close to Michael as Mr. Janes claimed the last plush chair.

Two vampires came up the steps carrying Bishop’s massive carved throne, which they set right in the exact center of the carpeted stage.

Mr. Pennywell—if he was a he; Claire still couldn’t really tell—stood next to the throne, along with Ysandre and François. The old friends, Claire thought. The clique.

Bishop came through the curtains at the back of the stage. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and a colorful red pocket square. In fact, he was dressed better than Mr. Janes. No ornate medieval robes, which was kind of what Claire had expected. He didn’t even have a crown.