“Why, you’re right—we do.” Myrnin snapped his fingers, and the purple fire went out. Bishop toppled to the stone floor of the empty fountain, too weak to escape.
Myrnin jumped down from the statue, pinned Bishop to the ground, and bit him. He didn’t drain him—not quite—and rose, wiping blood from his lips. “I’ve got all his blood I need,” he said. “Now I have something for you, Bishop. Don’t worry—I won’t kill you. I won’t even allow you to die.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out another syringe, this one filled with blood. He injected Bishop with it, straight into the heart. “My blood,” Myrnin said. “Before you cured me. Now I hope you can enjoy a long, slow decline into madness, just like mine. I wish you the joy of it.”
Bishop didn’t move. He blinked up at the moon, the cold stars, and finally closed his eyes.
Not dead, though.
Claire wasn’t sure thatwas a great idea.
“Hey,” Eve said, and sat up, holding her head. “Ow. What is that smell—Oh. Is he—”
“No,” Michael said, and stepped over the rim to help Eve to her feet. “He’s alive.” He looked up at Claire and smiled, and it was a full-on Michael Glass special smile, one that turned on the sun and made the stars dance. “We’re all alive.”
“Relatively speaking,” Myrnin said. “Ah. Your white knight has arrived. A bit dinged, but intact.”
Shane. He was more than a little dinged, but Claire knew he’d be okay with that. They’d all given up hope of coming out of this alive, at some point; she could see in his smile, like Michael’s, the joy of being wrong.
“Wish I had a camera,” Shane said, staring up at her. “Is this some kind of college thing? Like flagpole sitting or something?”
“Shut up,” she said, and jumped.
He caught her.
The kiss was worth the fall.
Two days passed in a blur. Claire spent most of it sleeping; she’d never felt so exhausted, or so glad to simply be alive.
On the third day, when she came down for dinner, she found the others sharing a massive platter of chili dogs and looking somber. Shane stood up when he saw her, which made her heart turn cartwheels, and he pulled out her chair. Eve and Michael shared an amused look.
“So cute,” Eve said. When Shane glared, she smiled. “No, really. It is. Dude, chill.”
There was something forced about it, and Claire didn’t know why; she didn’t get the sense that she’d walked in on an argument or anything like that. “What’s going on?” she asked as she loaded her plate with a couple of hot dogs. She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know. She’d just gotten used to the idea of not being marked for death. Please don’t let it be about Bishop escaping, or something horrible like that . . .
It wasn’t. Michael took a shallow sip of whatever was in his coffee mug and said, “Sam’s funeral is tonight.”
Oh God.Somehow, she hadn’t expected that, and she really didn’t even know why. The chili dog lost its taste, and she had to work to swallow it.
“They haven’t had one before,” Eve put in. “A funeral, I mean. For a vampire. At least, not one that’s been open to the public. But this one was posted in the newspaper, and they ran it on the nightly news, too. Everybody’s invited.”
Most people would come out of curiosity, but for the four of them, it would be real loss. Under the table, Claire saw that Eve was holding Michael’s hand. He was taking care not to look at any of them.
“It’s in a couple of hours,” Eve continued. “The three of us were going to go . . .”
“Sure,” Claire said. “I want to go.” She didn’t, because it already hurt to think about it, but she thought they ought to be there for Michael. “I should find something to wear.”
“You should finish your dinner first,” Eve said. “One bite does not equal a balanced meal.”
“Neither does a whole chili dog,” Claire said.
“Do not diss the dog,” Shane said. “It’s right up there with mom and apple pie when it comes to cultural icons.”
“You forgot Chevrolets,” Eve said.
“Never been a Chevy man, myself.”
“Heretic.” Eve broke off to give Claire a fierce look. “Eat. I’m not kidding.”
Claire managed to choke down the rest of her chili dog, but one was all she could manage. Despite Shane and Eve’s bantering, there was a sadness that hung around Michael like a second skin. He didn’t say much, except, “My parents are here. They flew in to El Paso and drove from there.”
Wow. Claire had never heard much about Michael’s parents, except that they’d moved away, and he’d never expected to see them back in town again. She finally said tentatively, “I guess that’s good . . . ?”
“Sure,” he said, and got up from the table. “I’m going to get ready.” He walked out, and the rest of them watched him leave. Eve looked very sad, suddenly. And very adult.
“His mom had cancer, you know,” she said. “That’s why they got to leave Morganville. Because she needed serious treatments. Sam made sure she got them. This is the first time they’ve been back.”
“Oh,” Claire said. “Is Michael okay?”
“He just won’t let it out,” she said. “Guys. What is it with you and emotions, anyway?”
“They’re like Kryptonite,” Shane said. “He’ll deal. Just give him time.”
Claire wasn’t too sure about that.
Michael drove, and nobody had much to say, really. It felt sad and uncomfortable.
As soon as the car stopped at the church, vampire escorts were at the doors to open them. The undead valet service. Under normal circumstances that might have been creepy, but there was something almost comforting about it tonight. Claire looked up and realized that the vampire offering a hand to her was, of all people, Oliver. She froze, and his eyebrows tilted sharply upward.
“Today, if you please,” he said. “I’m here as a courtesy. Don’t take it personally.”
“Oh, I don’t,” she promised, and accepted his strong, ice-cold touch to help her out of the car. Shane quickly took her arm, giving Oliver a go-away glare, which was a little funny, and then they fell in behind Michael and Eve.
It was bizarre, Claire thought. The church was full, standing room only to the back, but the crowd parted as they walked in, led by Oliver. And every head turned to follow them.
“Okay, this is weird,” Claire whispered. She felt like she had a target painted on her back at first, but then she realized that most of the people looking at them weren’t angry—they were interested. Or sympathetic. Or even proud.
“Very weird,” Shane whispered back.
The front row held Amelie, sitting alone, dressed in a white suit so cold and perfect that it made her look like an ice sculpture, head to toe. Behind her sat a man and woman in their late forties, and as soon as she saw them, Claire saw the family resemblance. The woman must have been really beautiful when she was younger; she was now very handsome, the way older women got, and her hair was a faded shade of gold with red highlights. They both stood up as Michael let go of Eve and came toward them.
“Honey,” Michael’s mother said, and Michael fell into a three-way embrace with both of his parents. “Oh, honey—”
“Mom, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do anything . . .” Michael’s voice failed, and Claire saw his shoulders shake. His mother smoothed his hair gently, and the smile she offered him was kind and full of understanding.
“Just like him,” she said. “Just like your grandfather. Don’t you apologize, Michael. Don’t you dare. I know you did everything you could. He’d never blame you, not for a second.”
Claire hadn’t realized that Michael felt guilty, but looking back on it now, she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t. His mom was right—he was just like Sam, really.
He’d feel responsible.
Mrs. Glass looked past Michael, and her eyes focused on the rest of them. Claire first, then Shane, then Eve. She took a deep breath, moved toward them, and held out her hands to Eve for a hug. “I haven’t seen you in years, Eve. You look wonderful. And Shane . . .” She moved on to him. Shane wasn’t a hugger, not like Eve, but he tried his best. “I’m so glad you’re here for Michael.”