Morganville Vampires 06 - Carpe Corpus Part 11

"No!" Claire yelled. "Shane, stop!"

He didn't, but he also didn't have to. Michael flashed across the room and got in his way, wrapping Shane in a bear hug and bringing him to a sudden halt.

"Let go!" Shane's voice was ragged, splitting and tearing under the strain of his anger. "Screw you, Michael; let go!"

He tried to break free. Michael didn't let him. He pushed him back, all the way to the wall, and held him there. Claire couldn't see Michael's face, but she could see part of Shane's, and she saw something change in it. Shane stopped fighting, as if he'd received some message she hadn't seen.

"I am a good master," Bishop said, as if none of that had happened. "You asked me for a birthday favor, Claire. I granted you a visit. Today, I have decided that it was a poor gift. I will give you what you want. Shane will be free to go."

Claire didn't dare to breathe, blink, move. She knew this was a trick, a cruel way to crush her hopes, and Shane's, too. "Why?"

she finally said. Her lips felt numb. "Why now?"

"Because I intend to teach you both what it means to defy me, once and for all, and let you carry the tale for me," Bishop said.

"Michael. Hold them, but make sure the two of them see everything. I won't have my students failing their lessons."

Bishop's control let go, and Claire stumbled backward into Michael. His arm went around her waist, and she felt the pressure of his lips close to her ear. "Stay still," he whispered. "No matter what happens, just stay still. Please. I'll protect you."

On Michael's other side, Shane was very, very quiet. He wasn't looking at Bishop. He was looking across at Claire, and he was scared-scared that something was going to happen to her, she realized. She tried for a smile, but wasn't sure how it came out.

Shane opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, a vampire guard came in, bringing a thin, scraggly man with a mess of graying, curling hair and a nasty scar down his face.

Shane's dad. He looked older, thinner, and even more vulnerable than he had back in his cell-nothing like the big, scary monster who'd terrified her when she'd first met him.

"Are you watching, Shane?" Bishop asked. "I want you to learn, so that you don't make the same mistakes again."

"Dad," Shane said. "Dad?"

Frank Collins put his hand out to stop Shane from trying to break free. "It's all right. Nothing he can do to me now." He faced Bishop straight on. "Been there, done that, not scared of anything you can bring to this party, bloodsucker. So just kill me and get it over with."

Bishop slowly rose from his chair, staying behind the desk.

"But, Mr. Collins, you mistake me. I'm not going to kill you. I'd never do such a thing. You're far too valuable to me."

His pale hands flashed out, grabbed Shane's dad, and jerked him forward over the desk. Claire shut her eyes as the fangs came out, and Bishop's eyes flashed red. She didn't see the actual biting, but she heard Shane screaming.

It was over in about thirty seconds. Shane never stopped fighting to get free of Michael's hold.

Claire didn't fight at all. She just couldn't.

She heard a thud as Mr. Collins's body hit the floor, and when she opened her eyes she realized that she'd been wrong about everything. Very wrong.

Bishop wasn't finished.

He gnawed at his wrist, pried open Frank Collins's mouth, and poured blood into it as he spread his other hand over the top of the man's head. Claire had seen this before-Amelie had done it to Michael-but Amelie had found it difficult and exhausting to make a new vampire.

For Bishop, it seemed easy.

"No," Shane said. "No, stop."

Right there, right in front of them, Frank Collins coughed, choked, and came back to life. It looked painful, and it seemed to take forever for the thrashing and screaming to stop.

When it did, he wasn't Frank Collins. Not anymore.

He opened his eyes, and they were red.

"You see?" Bishop said, and wiped excess blood from his wrist on his black jacket. "I am not cruel. You'll never lose your father, Shane. Never again."

Claire could hear Shane's breath coming fast and ragged-more sobbing than gasping-but she couldn't look at him. She knew him; she knew he wouldn't want her to see him like this. That's Shane. Always trying to protect me.

Michael let Claire go. After a quick glance at her, he turned to Shane. "Don't freak out on me," he said. "Don't. This isn't the time, and it isn't the place."

Shane wasn't even looking at him. He was looking at his dad.

Frank Collins, standing next to Bishop, kept staring back at his son, and Claire didn't think that look was concern.

More like hunger.

"I hope everyone learned something today," Mr. Bishop said. "First, I know everything that goes on in Morganville. Second, I don't tolerate foolish attempts at rebellion. Third . . . well. I am so kind and merciful that no one else will die for it today. No, not even the Goldmans, before you bleat the question at me. They have been confined somewhere safe, for now, until I decide on a fitting punishment." He flicked his fingers at Michael. "See your friends home, boy. It would be a dreadful irony if they should be drained along the way by some pa.s.sing stranger. Or relative."

Emphasis on the dreadful, Claire thought. She grabbed Shane's cold, shaking hand and forced him to look at her.

"Let's go," she said. "We have to go, Shane. Right now."

She wasn't really sure he understood her, but Michael helped nudge him along when he slowed down.

It was a long ten seconds until they were on the other side of the closed door, being eyed by Bishop's vampire guards. Claire felt like the last sandwich on the lunch counter.

Shane broke out of his trance when they got into the elevator.

Unfortunately.

Michael was pushing the garage b.u.t.ton on the elevator panel, and he didn't quite see it coming. Shane got in a lucky shot to his face, fast and vicious, as Michael turned. It was hard enough that Michael, even with vampire strength, felt it, and crashed back against the wall, denting it in an uneven outline of his shoulders.

When Shane tried to follow up with a second punch, Michael caught his fist in an open palm. "There was nothing I could do, Shane," he said, but there was something behind the words. Something far kinder. "Let's wait to do the cage match when Claire isn't trapped in the middle, all right?"

She wasn't exactly in the middle, but close enough. No way could she come out of it unbruised if Shane and Michael decided to really go at it in a small, enclosed s.p.a.ce.

Shane stopped, and, as if he'd forgotten that she was there at all, he turned to look at her. For a second there was no expression on his face, and then it all flooded in-pain, fury, relief.

And then horror.

He lowered his fist, gave Michael a look that pretty clearly said, Later, and turned toward Claire. There were two feet of s.p.a.ce between them, and about a mile of separation.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "G.o.d, Shane, I am so sorry."

He shuddered and stepped forward to put his arms around her. As hugs went, it was everything wrapped together in a tangled mess-tight, a little desperate, filled with need. He needed her. He really did.

He didn't say anything as the elevator slowly descended. She listened to his breathing, and finally, he made a faint, wordless sound of pain, and pulled away from her. She held on to his hand.

"Come on," she said, and Michael held the door as the two of them stepped out into the darkened garage. Claire knew there were probably threats out there in the dark, but she didn't care. She was tired, and right now, she hated all of them so much for hurting Shane that she would have staked anybody. Amelie. Sam. Michael. She couldn't believe he hadn't done anything to stop it from happening. She was just now realizing that he'd stood by and . . . watched.

Shane was eerily quiet. Michael moved around them and opened the back door of his Morganville-standard vampmobile; Claire climbed in with Shane, leaving Michael alone in the front seat.

If he had any objections to the seating arrangements, he kept them to himself.

Shane held her hand tightly all the way-through the dark tunnels, then as they traveled the darkened streets. She didn't pay attention to where they were going. Right now, one place was as good as the next, as long as she still had his hand in hers. As long as they stayed together. His misery was a thick black cloud, and it felt like it was smothering them both, but at least they could cling to each other in the middle of it. She couldn't imagine what it would be like all alone.

When Michael braked the car and opened the back door, though, Claire realized that he'd taken Bishop's instructions literally.

He'd brought them home. The decaying Victorian glory of the Gla.s.s House stretched up into the night. Live oaks fluttered their stiff little leaves in the breeze, and in the distance black, shiny grackles set up a loud racket of shrieks and rattles in a neighbor's tree. Grackles loved dusk, Claire remembered. It was their noisiest time of the day. The whole neighborhood sounded like broken gla.s.s in a blender.

She got Shane out of the car and opened the front gate. As they moved up the steps, the front door opened, and there stood Eve-not in black tonight, but in purple, with red leggings and clunky black platform shoes. She had a stake in one hand and a silver knife in the other, but as she saw them coming up the steps, she dropped both to the floor and lunged to throw herself on Shane.

He caught her in midair, out of self-defense.

"You're out!" she cried, and gave him an extra-hard squeeze before jumping back to the top of the steps and doing a victory dance that was a cross between something found in an end zone and a chorus line. "I knew you'd beat the rap, Collins! I just knew it!

High five . . . "

She held up her hand for him to smack, but he just looked at her. Eve's smile and upraised palm faltered, and she looked quickly at Claire, then Michael.

"Oh G.o.d," she said, and lowered her hand. "What is it? What happened?"

"Not out here. Let's get inside," Michael said. "Now."

Shane didn't make it very far. In fact, five steps down the hallway, he gave up and just . . . stopped. He put his back to the wall, slid down to a sitting position, and sat there, staring down at his hands.

Claire didn't know what she ought to do, other than stay with him. Before she could sit down next to him, though, Eve grabbed her by the elbow and shook her hard. "Hey! What happened? You called the house but you got cut off. I've been out looking for you ever since, calling everybody I could think of. Hannah's out looking for you, too. What is it?"

"It's Shane's dad," Claire said. Eve let go and covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide. She already had a sense of what was coming. "Bishop . . . he . . . he turned him into a vampire. Right in front of us." Claire looked down at Shane. "Right in front of him."

Eve didn't know what to say. She just looked at them, and finally at Michael. "You couldn't do anything about it?"

He kept his head down. "No."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

Michael turned and slammed his fist into the wall with so much violence the whole house seemed to shake. Eve yelped and jumped back, and almost tripped over Shane in her stacked heels.

"No," Michael said, with a kind of forced calm that made Claire ache inside. "Nothing at all. If I had, Bishop would have known he didn't have me anymore, and that was what he was waiting for. This wasn't about Shane and Claire, or about Shane's dad. This was more about finding out if I was still his b.i.t.c.h."

Shane slowly raised his head, and the two boys stared at each other for a long, quiet moment.

Michael crouched down. "I'd have killed him if I could have," he said. "I'm not strong enough, and he knows it. That's why he likes to keep me right there, because he knows that deep down I want to rip his head off. It's fun for him."

"So my dad was just your object lesson," Shane said. "Is that it?"

Michael reached out and put his hand on Shane's knee. He'd split the skin over his knuckles, and there was plaster dust all over his skin.

It wasn't bleeding.

"We're going to get him, Shane. We will."

"Who's we?" Shane asked wearily, and let his head fall back against the wall as he shut his eyes. "Just leave me alone, man. I'm tired. I just can't . . . I'm tired."

Eve put her hand on Michael's shoulder. "Come on," she said. "Leave him alone. He needs time."

Shane laughed dryly. It was a rattle in his throat, like the sound the grackles were making outside. "Yeah. Time. That's what I need." He didn't sound like himself. Not at all.

Michael didn't want to go, but Eve insisted, tugging on his hand until he stood up and followed her out into the living room.

Leaving Shane sitting alone on the floor.

"Hey," Claire said, and sat down beside him, arms wrapped around her knees. "You going to sit here all night?"

"Maybe."

"I just thought-"

"What? I'd snap out of it and go play some video games? Eat a taco? It's not that easy, Claire. He's my-" Shane's voice broke, then got stronger. "He was my dad. There was one thing in the world he was afraid of, and I just watched it happen to him. I can't even think about this right now."

"I know," she said, and leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

They sat there together for a long time. Eve and Michael looked in on them from time to time. After a while, they quit looking, and Claire saw them head upstairs.

The house grew quiet."It's cold," Shane finally said. She was getting a little drowsy, despite the discomfort; his voice shocked her back upright again.

"Yeah, kinda. Well, it's the floor." Although it wasn't really the floor's fault, Claire supposed.

He considered that in silence for a few long seconds. "I guess it's pretty stupid to sit here all night."

"Maybe not. If it makes you feel better . . ."

He stretched out his legs with a sudden thump and sighed. "I don't see how getting cold and losing feeling in my body is going to help. Also, I need a bed that isn't a bunk, and hasn't been the previous property of some dude named Bubba with a farting problem."

That was-almost-the old Shane. Claire sat up straight and looked up at him. After a second, he met her eyes. He didn't look happy, but he looked . . . better.

He was trying to be better.

"I forgot to say h.e.l.lo," he said. "Back in Bishop's office, when I saw you."

"Given the circ.u.mstances, I think we can let that slide." She swallowed, because he wasn't looking away. "It's been a while.

Since . . . you know. Bishop put you behind bars."

"I did notice," he said, deadpan. "Are you asking if I have any wild men-behind-bars stories to tell you?"