Lord of Misrule (10 page)

Claire was no general, but she knew that fighting a war on two fronts and dividing their forces wasn’t a great idea. “We have to find Amelie.”

“Wherever she’s gotten herself off to,” Eve snorted. “If she’s even still—”

“Don’t,” Claire whispered. She restlessly rubbed the gold bracelet on her wrist until it dug into her skin. “We need her.”

More than ever, she was guessing.

 

By the time they’d dropped off the next to last radio, at their own home, which was currently inhabited by a bunch of freaked-out humans and a few vampires who hadn’t yet felt whatever was pulling some of them off, the dawn was starting to really set in. The horizon was Caribbean blue, with touches of gold and red just flaring up like footlights at a show. Claire delivered the radio, the code, and a warning to the humans and vampires alike. “You have to watch the vamps,” she pleaded. “Don’t let them leave. Not in the daylight.”

Monica Morrell, who was clutching the walkie-talkie in her red-taloned fingers, frowned at her. “How are we supposed to do that, freak? Give them a written warning and scold them really hard? Come on!”

“If you let them go, they may not get wherever it is they’re being called before sunrise,” Hannah said. She shrugged, a fluid flow that emphasized her muscles, and smiled. “Hey, no skin off my nose or anything, but we may need ’em later. And you could get blamed for not stepping up.”

Monica kept on frowning, but she didn’t seem inclined to argue with Hannah. Nobody did, Claire noticed. The former marine had an air about her, a confidence that somehow didn’t come off at all like arrogance.

“Great,” Monica finally said. “Wonderful. Like I needed another problem. By the way, Claire, your house really sucks ass. I hate it here.”

It was Claire’s turn to smile this time. “It probably hates you right back. I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” she said. “You’re a natural leader, right?”

“Oh, bite it. Someday, your boyfriend won’t be around to—” Monica widened her eyes. “Oh, snap! He’s
isn’t
around, is he? Won’t be back, ever. Remind me to send flowers for the funeral.”

Eve grabbed the back of Claire’s shirt. “Whoa, Mini-Me, chill out. We’ve got to get moving. Much as I’d like to see the cage match, we’re kind of on a schedule.”

The hot crimson haze disappeared from Claire’s eyes, and she took in a breath and nodded. Her muscles were aching. She realized she’d managed to clench just about every muscle, iron-hard, and tried to relax. Her hands twinged when she stretched them out of fists.

“See you soon,” Monica said, and shut the door on them. “Wait, probably not, loser. And your clothes are pathetic, by the way!”

That last part came muffled, but clear—as clear as the sound of the locks snapping into place.

“Let’s go,” Hannah said, and herded them off the porch and down the walk toward the white picket fence.

Walking on the street, heading vaguely north, was a vampire. “Oh, crap,” Eve said, alarmed, but the vamp didn’t seem to care about them, or even know they were there. He was wearing a police uniform, and Claire remembered him; he’d been riding with Richard Morrell, from time to time. Didn’t seem like a bad guy, apart from the whole vampire thing. “That’s Officer O’Malley. Hey! Hey, Officer! Wait up!”

He ignored them and kept walking.

Claire looked east. The sun’s golden glow was heating up the sky, fast. It wasn’t over the horizon yet, but it would be in a matter of seconds, minutes at most. “We’ve got to get him,” she said. “Get him inside somewhere.”

“And do what, babysit him the rest of the day? O’Malley’s not like Myrnin,” Eve said. “You can’t stake him. He’s not that old. Seventy, eighty, something like that. He’s only a little older than Sam.”

“We could run him over,” Hannah said. “It wouldn’t kill him.”

Eve sent her a wide-eyed look. “Excuse me? With my
car
?”

“You’re asking for something nonlethal. That’s all I’ve got right now. The three of us aren’t any kind of match for a vampire who wants to get somewhere, if he fights us.”

Claire took off running toward the vampire, ignoring their shouts. She looked back. Hannah was after her, and gaining.

She still got to Officer O’Malley first, and skidded into his path.

He paused for a second, his green eyes focusing on her, and then he reached out and moved her aside. Gently, but firmly.

And he kept on walking.

“You have to get inside!” Claire yelled, and got in front of him again. “Sir, you have to! Right now! Please!”

He moved her again, this time without as much care. He didn’t say a word.

“Oh, God,” Hannah said. “Too late.”

The sun came up in a fiery burst, and the first rays of sunlight hit the parked cars, Eve’s standing figure, the houses . . . and Officer O’Malley’s back.

“Get a blanket!” Claire screamed. She could see the smoke curling off him, like morning mist. “Do something!”

Eve ran to get something from the car. Hannah grabbed Claire and pulled her out of his way.

Officer O’Malley kept walking. The sun kept rising, brighter and brighter, and within three or four steps, the smoke rising up from him turned to flames.

In ten more steps, he fell down.

Eve ran up breathlessly, a blanket clutched in both hands. “Help me get it over him!”

They threw the fabric over Officer O’Malley, but instead of smothering the flames, it just caught fire, too.

Hannah pulled Claire back as she tried to pat out the flames. “Don’t,” she said. “It’s too late.”

Claire turned toward Hannah in a raw fury, struggling to get free. “We can still—”

“No, we can’t,” Hannah said. “There’s not a damn thing we can do for him. He’s dying, Claire. You tried your best, but he’s dying. And he’s not going to take our help. Look, he’s still trying to crawl. He’s not stopping.”

She was right, but it hurt, and in the end, Claire wrapped her arms around Hannah for comfort and turned away.

When she finally looked back, Officer O’Malley was a pile of ash and smoke and burned blanket.

“Michael,” Claire whispered. She looked at the sun. “We have to find Michael!”

Hannah went very still for a second, and then nodded. “Let’s go.”

T
he gates of the university were shut, locked, and there were paramilitary-style men posted at the gates, all in black. Armed. Eve coasted the big car slowly up to them and rolled down the window.

“Delivery for Michael Glass,” she called. “Or Richard Morrell.”

The guard who leaned in was huge, tough, and intimidating—until he saw Hannah in the backseat, and then he grinned like a kid with a new puppy. “Hannah Montana!”

She looked deeply pained. “Don’t
ever
call me that again, Jessup, or I
will
gut you.”

“Get out and make me stop, Smiley. Yeah, I heard you were back. How were the marines?”

“Better than the damn rangers.”

“Don’t you just wish?” He lost the smile and got serious again. “Sorry, H, orders are orders. Who sent you? Who’s with you?”

“Oliver sent me. You probably know Eve Rosser—that’s Claire Danvers.”

“Really? Huh. Thought she’d be bigger. Hey, Eve. Sorry, didn’t recognize you right off. Long time, no see.” Jessup nodded to the other guard, who slung his rifle and pressed in a key code at the panel on the stone fence. The big iron gates slowly parted. “You be careful, Hannah. This town’s the Af-Pak border all over again right now.”

Inside, except for the guards patrolling the fence, Texas Prairie University seemed eerily normal. The birds sang to the rising sun, and there were students out—
students!
—heading to class as if there were nothing wrong at all. They were chatting, laughing, running to make the cross-campus early-morning bell.

“What the
hell
?” Eve said. Claire was glad she wasn’t the only one freaked out by it. “I know they had orders to keep things low profile, but damn, this is ridiculous. Where’s the dean’s office?”

Claire pointed. Eve steered the car around the winding curves, past dorms and lecture halls, and pulled it to a stop on the nearly deserted lot in front of the Administration Building. There were two police cruisers there, and a bunch of black Jeeps. Not a lot of civilian cars in the lot.

As they walked up the steps to the building, Claire realized there were two more guards outside of the main door. Hannah didn’t know these guys, but she repeated their names and credentials, and after a brief, impersonal search, they were allowed inside.

The last time Claire had been here she’d been adding and dropping classes, and the building had been full of grumpy bureaucrats and anxious students, all moving at a hectic pace. Now it was very quiet. A few people were at their desks, but there were no students Claire could see, and the TPU employees looked either bored or nervous. Most of the activity seemed centered down the carpeted hall, which was hung with formal portraits of the former university deans and notables.

One or two of the former deans, Claire was just now realizing, might have been vampires, from the pallor of their skins. Or maybe they were just old white guys. Hard to say.

At the end of the hallway they found not a guard, but a secretary—just as tough as any of the armed men outside, though. She sat behind an expensive-looking antique desk that had not a speck of dust on it, and nothing else except a piece of paper centered exactly in the middle, a pen at right angles to it, and a fancy, black multiline telephone. No computer that Claire could spot—no, there it was, hidden away in a roll-out credenza to the side.

The room was lushly carpeted, so much so that Claire’s feet sank into the depth at least an inch; it was like walking on foam. Solid, dark wood paneling. Paintings and dim lights. The windows were covered with fancy velvet curtains, and there was music playing—classical, of course. Claire couldn’t imagine anybody would ever switch the station to rock. Not here.

“I’m Ms. Nance,” the woman said, and stood to offer her hand to each of them in turn; she didn’t even hesitate with Eve, who intimidated most people. She was a tall, thin, gray woman dressed in a tailored gray suit with a lighter gray blouse under the jacket. Gray hair curled into exact waves. Claire couldn’t see her shoes, but she bet they were fashionable, gray, and yet somehow sensible. “I’m the secretary to Dean Wallace. Do you have an appointment?”

Eve said, “I need to see Michael.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t think I know that person.”

Eve’s expression froze, and Claire could see the horrible dread in her eyes.

Hannah, seeing it too, said, “Let’s cut the crap, Ms. Nance. Where’s Michael Glass?”

Ms. Nance’s eyes narrowed. They were pale blue, not as pale as Amelie’s, but kind of faded, like jeans left in the sun. “Mr. Glass is in conference with the dean,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to—”

The door at the far end of her office opened, and Michael came out. Claire’s heart practically melted with relief.
He’s okay. Michael’s okay.

Except that he closed the door and walked straight past them, a man on a mission.

He walked right past Eve, who stood there flat-footed, mouth open, fear dawning in her expression.

“Michael!” Claire yelped. He didn’t even pause. “We have to stop him!”

“Great,” Hannah said, and the three of them took off in pursuit.

It helped that Michael wasn’t actually
running
, just moving with a purpose. Claire and Eve edged by him in the hall and blocked his path.

His blue eyes were wide-open, but he just didn’t
see
them. He sensed an obstacle, at least, and paused.

“Michael,” Claire said.
Dammit, why couldn’t I have tranquilizers? Why?
“Michael, you can’t go out there. It’s already morning. You’ll die.”

“He’s not listening,” Hannah said. And she was right; he wasn’t. He tried to push between them, but Eve put a hand in the center of his chest and held him back.

“Michael? It’s me. You know me, don’t you? Please?”

He stared at her with utterly blank eyes, and then shoved her out of his way. Hard.

Hannah sent Claire a quick, commanding look. “Get help.
Now.
I’ll try to hold him.”

Claire hesitated, but Hannah was without any doubt better equipped to handle a potentially hostile Michael than she was. She turned and ran, past startled desk jockeys and coffee-bearing civil servants, and slid to a stop in front of one of the black-uniformed soldiers. “Richard Morrell,” she blurted. “I need him. Right
now.
”

The soldier didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the radio clipped to his shoulder and said, “Admin to Morrell.”

“Morrell, go.”

The soldier unclipped the radio and silently offered it to Claire. She took it—it was heavier than the walkie-talkies—and pressed the button to talk. “Richard? It’s Claire. We have a big problem. We need to stop Michael and anybody else . . .” How could she say
vampire
without actually saying it? “Anybody else with a sun allergy from going outside.”

“Why the hell would they be—”

“I don’t know! They just
are
!” The image of Officer O’Malley on fire leaped into her mind, and she caught her breath on a sob. “Help us. They’re going out in the sun.”

“Give the radio back,” he ordered. She handed it to the black-uniformed man. “I need you to go with this girl and help her. No questions.”

“Yes sir.” He clicked off the radio and looked down at Claire. “After you.”

She led the way back toward the hallway. As they reached it, there was a crash of glass, and Hannah came flying out to land flat on her back, blinking.

Michael walked over her. Eve was hauling on his arm, trying to hold him back, but he shook her off.

“We can’t let him get outside!” Claire said. She tried to grab him, but it was like grabbing a freight train. She’d forgotten how strong he was now.