Lord of Misrule tmv-5 Page 13

  “Fascinating,” Shane lied. “Gimme.” He plucked the book from her hands and put it aside, on the other side of the bed. When she grabbed for it, he got in her way; they tangled, and somehow, he was lying prone on the bed and she was stretched awkwardly on top of him. His hands steadied her when she started to slide off.

  “Oh,” she murmured. “We shouldn’t—”

  “Definitely not.”

  “Then you should—”

  “Yeah, I should.”

  But he didn’t move, and neither did she. They just looked at each other, and then, very slowly, she lowered her lips to his.

  It was a warm, sweet, wonderful kiss, and it seemed to go on forever. It also felt like it didn’t last nearly long enough. Shane’s hands skimmed up her sides, up her back, and cupped her damp hair as he kissed her more deeply. There were promises in that kiss.

  “Okay, red flag,” he said. He hadn’t let her go, but there was about a half an inch of air between their lips. Claire’s whole body felt alive and tingling, pulse pounding in her wrists and temples, warmth pooling like light in the center of her body.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I swear. Trust me.”

  “Hey, isn’t that my line?”

  “Not now.”

  Kissing Shane was the reward for surviving a long, hard, terrifying day. Being enfolded in his warmth felt like going to heaven on moonbeams. She kicked off her shoes, and, still fully dressed, crawled under the blankets. Shane hesitated.

  “Trust me,” she said again. “And you can keep your clothes on if you don’t.”

  They’d done this before, but somehow it hadn’t felt so . . . intimate. Claire pressed against him, back to front under the covers, and his arms went around her. Instant heat.

  She swallowed and tried to remember all those good intentions she’d had as she felt Shane’s breath whisper on the back of her neck, and then his lips brushed her skin. “So wrong,” he murmured. “You’re killing me, you know.”

  “Am not.”

  “On this, you’ll have to trust me.” His sigh made her shiver all the way to her bones. “I can’t believe you brought Monica back here.”

  “Oh, come on. You wouldn’t have left her out there, all alone. I know you better than that, Shane. Even as bad as she is—”

  “The satanic incarnation of evil?”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t see you letting them get her and . . . hurt her.” Claire turned around to face him, a squirming motion that made them wrestle for the covers. “What’s going to happen? Do you know?”

  “What am I, Miranda the teen screwed-up psychic? No, I don’t know. All I know is that when we get up tomorrow, either the vampires will be back, or they won’t. And then we’ll have to make a choice about how we’re going to go forward.”

  “Maybe we don’t go forward. Maybe we wait.”

  “One thing I do know, Claire: you can’t stay in the same place, not even for a day. You keep on moving. Maybe it’s the right direction, maybe not, but you still move. Every second things change, like it or not.”

  She studied his face intently. “Is your dad here? Now?”

  He grimaced. “Truthfully? No idea. I wouldn’t be surprised. He’d know that it was time to move in and take command, if he could. And Manetti’s a running buddy from way back. This kind of feels like Dad’s behind it.”

  “But if he does take over, what happens to Michael? To Myrnin? To any other vampire out there?”

  “Do you really need me to tell you?”

  Claire shook her head. “He’ll tell people they have to kill all the vampires, and then, he’ll come after the Morrells, and anybody else he thinks is responsible for what happened to your family. Right?”

  “Probably,” Shane sighed.

  “And you’re going to let all that happen.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t say you weren’t, either. Don’t tell me it’s complicated, because it isn’t. Either you stand up for something, or you lie down for it. You said that to me one time, and you were right.” Claire burrowed closer into his arms. “Shane, you were right then. Be right now.”

  He touched her face. His fingers traced down her cheek, across her lips, and his eyes—she’d never seen that look in his eyes. In anyone’s, really.

  “In this whole screwed-up town, you’re the only thing that’s always been right to me,” he whispered. “I love you, Claire.” She saw something that might have been just a flash of panic go across his expression, but then he steadied again. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I do. I love you.”

  He said something else, but the world had narrowed around her. Shane’s lips kept moving, but all she heard were the same words echoing over and over inside her head like the tolling of a giant brass bell: I love you.

  He sounded like it had taken him completely by surprise—not in a bad way, but more as if he hadn’t really understood what he was feeling until that instant.

  She blinked. It was as if she’d never really seen him before, and he was beautiful. More beautiful than any man she’d ever seen in her entire life, ever.

  Whatever he was saying, she stopped it by kissing him. A lot. And for a very long time. When he finally backed up, he didn’t go far, and this look in his eyes, this intense and overwhelming need—that was new, too.

  And she liked it.

  “I love you,” he said, and kissed her so hard he took her breath away. There was more to it than before—more passion, more urgency, more . . . everything. It was as if she were caught in a tide, carried away, and she thought that if she never touched the shore again, it would be good to drown like this, just swim forever in all this richness.

  Red flag, some part of her screamed, come on, red flag. What are you doing?

  She wished it would just shut up.

  “I love you, too,” she whispered to him. Her voice was shaking, and so were her hands where they rested on his chest. Under the soft T-shirt, his muscles were tensed, and she could feel every deep breath he took. “I’d do anything for you.”

  She meant it to be an invitation, but that was the thing that shocked sense back into him. He blinked. “Anything,” he repeated, and squeezed his eyes shut.

  “Yeah. I’m getting that. Bad idea, Claire. Very, very bad.”

  “Today?” She laughed a little wildly. “Everything’s crazy today. Why can’t we be? Just once?”

  “Because I made promises,” he said. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, and she felt a groan shake his whole body. “To your parents, to myself, to Michael. To you, Claire. I can’t break my word. It’s pretty much all I’ve got these days.”

  “But . . . what if—”

  “Don’t,” he whispered in her ear. “Please don’t. This is tough enough already.”

  He kissed her again, long and sweetly, and somehow, it tasted like tears this time. Like some kind of good-bye.

  “I really do love you,” he said, and smoothed away the damp streaks on her cheeks. “But I can’t do this. Not now.”

  Before she could stop him, he slid out of bed, put on his shoes, and walked quickly to the door. She sat up, holding the covers close as if she were naked underneath, instead of fully clothed, and he hesitated there, one hand gripping the doorknob.

  “Please stay,” she said. “Shane—”

  He shook his head. “If I stay, things are going to happen. You know it, and I know it, and we just can’t do this. I know things are falling apart, but—” He hitched in a deep, painful breath. “No.”

  The sound of the door softly closing behind him went through her like a knife.

  Claire rolled over, wretchedly hugging the pillow that smelled of his hair, sharing the warm place in the bed where his body had been, and thought about crying herself to sleep.

  And then she thought of the dawning wonder in his eyes when he’d said, I love you.

  No. It was no time to be crying.

  When she did finally sleep, she felt safe.


  10

  The next day, there was no sign of the vampires, none at all. Claire checked the portal networks, but as far as she could tell, they were down. With nothing concrete to do, she helped around the house—cleaning, straightening, running errands. Richard Morrell came around to check on them. He looked a little better for having slept, which didn’t mean he looked good, exactly.

  When Eve wandered down, she looked almost as bad. She hadn’t bothered with her Goth makeup, and her black hair was down in a lank, uncombed mess. She poured Richard some coffee from the ever-brewing pot, handed it over, and said, “How’s Michael?”

  Richard blew on the hot surface in the cup without looking at her. “He’s at City Hall. We moved all the vampires we still had into the jail, for safekeeping.”

  Eve’s face crumpled in anguish. Shane put a hand on her shoulder, and she pulled in a damp breath and got control of herself.

  “Right,” she said. “That’s probably for the best, you’re right.” She sipped from her own battered coffee mug. “What’s it like out there?” Out there meant beyond Lot Street, which remained eerily quiet.

  “Not so good,” Richard said. His voice sounded hoarse and dull, as if he’d yelled all the edges off it. “About half the stores are shut down, and some of those are burned or looted. We don’t have enough police and volunteers to be everywhere. Some of the store owners armed up and are guarding their own places—I don’t like it, but it’s probably the best option until everybody settles down and sobers up. The problem isn’t everybody, but it’s a good portion of the town who’s been down and angry a long time. You heard they raided the Barfly?”

  “Yeah, we heard,” Shane said.

  “Well, that was just the beginning. Dolores Thompson’s place got broken into, and then they went to the warehouses and found the bonded liquor storage. Those who were inclined to deal with all this by getting drunk and mean have had a real holiday.”

  “We saw the mobs,” Eve said, and glanced at Claire. “Um, about your sister—”

  “Yeah, thanks for taking care of her. Trust my idiot sister to go running around in her red convertible during a riot. She’s damn lucky they didn’t kill her.”

  They would have, Claire was certain of that. “I guess you’re taking her with you . . . ?”

  Richard gave her a thin smile. “Not the greatest houseguest?”

  Actually, Monica had been very quiet. Claire had found her curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep. She’d looked pale and tired and bruised, and much younger than Claire had ever seen her. “She’s been okay.” She shrugged. “But I’ll bet she’d rather be with her family.”

  “Her family’s under protective custody downtown. My dad nearly got dragged off by a bunch of yahoos yelling about taxes or something. My mom—” Richard shook his head, as if he wanted to drive the pictures right out of his mind. “Anyway. Unless she likes four walls and a locked door, I don’t think she’s going to be very happy. And you know Monica: if she’s not happy—”

  “Nobody is,” Shane finished for him. “Well, I want her out of our house. Sorry, man, but we did our duty and all. Past this point, she’d have to be a friend to keep crashing here. Which, you know, she isn’t. Ever.”

  “Then I’ll take her off your hands.” Richard set the cup down and stood. “Thanks for the coffee. Seems like that’s all that’s keeping me going right now.”

  “Richard . . .” Eve rose, too. “Seriously, what’s it like out there? What’s going to happen?”

  “With any luck, the drunks will sober up or pass out, and those who’ve been running around looking for people to punish will get sore feet and aching muscles and go home to get some sleep.”

  “Not like we’ve had a lot of luck so far, though,” Shane said.

  “No,” Richard agreed. “That we haven’t. But I have to say, we can’t keep things locked down. People have to work, the schools have to open, and for that, we need something like normal life around here. So we’re working on that. Power and water’s on, phone lines are back up. TV and radio are broadcasting. I’m hoping that calms people down. We’ve got police patrols overlapping all through town, and we can be anywhere in under two minutes. One thing, though: we’re getting word that there’s bad weather in the forecast. Some kind of real big front heading toward us tonight. I’m not too happy about that, but maybe it’ll keep the crazies off the streets for a while. Even riots don’t like rain.”

  “What about the university?” Claire asked. “Are they open?”

  “Open and classes are running, believe it or not. We passed off some of the disturbances as role-playing in the disaster drill, and said that the looting and burning was part of the exercise. Some of them believed us.”

  “But . . . no word about the vampires?”

  Richard was silent for a moment, and then he said, “No. Not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “We found some bodies, before dawn,” he said. “All vamps. All killed with silver or decapitation. Some of them—I knew some of them. Thing is, I don’t think they were killed by Bishop. From the looks of things, they were caught by a mob.”

  Claire caught her breath. Eve covered her mouth. “Who—?”

  “Bernard Temple, Sally Christien, Tien Ma, and Charles Effords.”

  Eve lowered her hand to say, “Charles Effords? Like, Miranda’s Charles? Her Protector?”

  “Yeah. From the state of the bodies, I’d guess he was the primary target. Nobody loves a pedophile.”

  “Nobody except Miranda,” Eve said. “She’s going to be really scared now.”

  “Yeah, about that . . .” Richard hesitated, then plunged forward. “Miranda’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Disappeared. We’ve been looking for her. Her parents reported her missing early last night. I’m hoping she wasn’t with Charles when the mob caught up to him. You see her, you call me, okay?”

  Eve’s lips shaped the agreement, but no sound came out.

  Richard checked his watch. “Got to go,” he said. “Usual drill: lock the doors, check IDs on anybody you’re not expecting who shows up. If you hear from any vampire, or hear anything about the vampires, you call immediately. Use the coded radios, not the phone lines. And be careful.”

  Eve swallowed hard, and nodded. “Can I see Michael?”

  He paused, as if that hadn’t occurred to him, then shrugged. “Come on.”

  “We’re all going,” Shane said.

  It was an uncomfortable ride to City Hall, where the jail was located, mainly because although the police cruiser was large, it wasn’t big enough to have Richard, Monica, Eve, Shane, and Claire all sharing the ride. Monica had taken the front seat, sliding close to her brother, and Claire had squeezed in with her friends in the back.

  They didn’t talk, not even when they cruised past burned-out, broken hulks of homes and stores. There weren’t any fires today, or any mobs that Claire spotted. It all seemed quiet.

  Richard drove past a police barricade around City Hall and parked in the underground garage. “I’m taking Monica to my parents’,” he said. “You guys go on down to the cells. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  It took a lot more than a minute for them to gain access to Michael; the vampires—all five of those the humans still had in custody—were housed in a special section, away from daylight and in reinforced cells. It reminded Claire, with an unpleasant lurch, of the vampires in the cells where Myrnin was usually locked up, for his own protection. Had anyone fed them? Had anyone even tried?

  She didn’t know three of the vampires, but she knew the last two. “Sam!” she blurted, and rushed to the bars. Michael’s grandfather was lying on the bunk, one pale hand over his eyes, but he sat up when she called his name. Claire could definitely see the resemblance between Michael and Sam—the same basic bone structure, only Michael’s hair was a bright gold, and Sam’s was red.

  “Get me out,” Sam said, and lunged for the door. He rat
tled the cage with unexpected violence. Claire fell back, openmouthed. “Open the door and get me out, Claire! Now!”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Michael said. He was standing at the bars of his own cell, leaning against them, and he looked tired. “Hey, guys. Did you bring me a lockpick in a cupcake or something?”

  “I had the cupcake, but I ate it. Hard times, man.” Shane extended his hand. Michael reached through the bars and took it, shook solemnly, and then Eve threw herself against the metal to try to hug him. It was awkward, but Claire saw the relief spread over Michael, no matter how odd it was with the bars between the two of them. He kissed Eve, and Claire had to look away from that, because it seemed like such a private kind of moment.

  Sam rattled his cage again. “Claire, open the door! I need to get to Amelie!”

  The policeman who’d escorted them down to the cells pushed off from the wall and said, “Calm down, Mr. Glass. You’re not going anywhere; you know that.” He shifted his attention to Shane and Claire. “He’s been like that since the beginning. We had to trank him twice; he was hurting himself trying to get out. He’s worse than all the others. They seem to have calmed down. Not him.”

  No, Sam definitely hadn’t calmed down. As Claire watched, he tensed his muscles and tried to force the lock, but subsided in panting frustration and stumbled back to his bunk. “I have to go,” he muttered. “Please, I need to go. She needs me. Amelie—”

  Claire looked at Michael, who didn’t seem to be nearly as distressed. “Um . . . sorry to ask, but . . . are you feeling like that? Like Sam?”

  “No,” Michael said. His eyes were still closed. “For a while there was this . . . call, but it stopped about three hours ago.”

  “Then why is Sam—”

  “It’s not the call,” Michael said. “It’s Sam. It’s killing him, knowing she’s out there in trouble and he can’t help her.”

  Sam put his head in his hands, the picture of misery. Claire exchanged a look with Shane. “Sam,” she said. “What’s happening? Do you know?”