your lesson, old man."
Claire swallowed. She couldn't stand to watch him burn, and shut her eyes. "I thought . . . I thought we needed his blood for the cure," she said. She didn't want to save him. She just hated to see anyone suffer.
"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 that was 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