Rachel Caine - Feast of Fools

“Take care of her,” Claire said. “Call me if you need anything.”

He kissed her on the lips, and in a few minutes she heard the front door bang shut. Locks clicked. Claire sat by the phone and waited.

She’d rarely felt so alone.

The phone rang after ten minutes. “He’s coming home,” Sam said, and hung up. No explanation.

Claire gritted her teeth and settled in to wait.

It took another twenty minutes for Michael’s car to pull into the driveway. He crossed the short distance from garage to back door in a few fast strides, covering his head with a black umbrella he left by the steps. Even then, when he entered the kitchen, Claire smelled a faint burned reek coming from him, and he was shivering.

His eyes looked hollow and exhausted.

“Michael? You okay?”

“Fine,” he said. “I need to rest, that’s all.”

“I—where were you? What happened?”

“I was with Amelie.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Look, there’s a lot going on. I should have left a note for you guys. I’m sorry. I’ll try to keep you in the loop next time—”

“Eve’s at the hospital,” Claire blurted. “Her dad’s dying.”

Michael slowly straightened. “What?”

“Something about his liver, I guess because of his drinking. Anyway, they say he’s dying. She and Shane went to see him.” Claire studied him for a few seconds. “I told her I’d call when you got home. If you don’t want to go—”

“No. No, I’ll go. She needs—” He shrugged. “She needs people who love her. It’s going to be hard, facing her parents.”

“Yeah,” Claire agreed. “She seemed upset.” Of course she was upset. What a stupid thing to say. “I think she’d like it if you were there for her.”

“I will be.” Michael raised his eyebrows. “What about you? You okay to stay here?”

Claire glanced at the clock on the wall. “Could you drop me off somewhere?”

“Where?”

“I need to see Myrnin. Sorry, but I promised.”

Not that visiting her crazy vampire mentor was going to be any more pleasant than going to the hospital.

Someone had done a makeover on Myrnin’s cell, and it wasn’t Claire; she’d thought about it, but she hadn’t been sure about what Amelie would allow him to have.

So when she stepped through the doorway from the laboratory to the cells, where the sickest and most disturbed vampires of Morganville were warehoused, she was surprised to see the glow of electric light coming from the end . . . from Myrnin’s cell. As she got closer, she noted other things. Music. Something classical was playing softly, from a stereo set up outside the bars. There was a television, as well, currently turned off.

Myrnin’s cell, which had been as bare as a monk’s in the beginning, was floored with a plush, expensive-looking Turkish rug. His narrow cot had been replaced with a much more comfortable bed. There were books stacked waist-high in the corners of the cell.

Myrnin was lying on the bed, hands folded across his stomach. He looked young—as young as Michael, really—but there was something indefinably old about him, too. Long, curling black hair, a sense of style far out-of-date. He was dressed in a blue silk dressing gown with dragons on it—neat and clean.

Someone had been here before her to take care of him. She felt guilty.

His eyes didn’t open, but he said, “Hello, Claire.”

“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.