that, but she didn't argue. "I'm going to take part of this back to the hospital," she said. "Dr. Mills wanted blood samples. They've got a lot of cool equipment there, he can give us detailed information we can't get here."
Myrnin shrugged, clearly uninterested in Dr. Mills or any human beyond Claire. "Do as you like," he said. "What kind of equipment?"
"Oh, all kinds. Mass spectrometers, blood-chemistry analyzers - you know."
"We should get those things."
"Why?"
"How can we possibly operate as we should if we don't have the most current equipment?"
Claire blinked at him. "Myrnin, you don't exactly have room down here. And I don't think your current dinky little power situation is going to let you plug in an electron microscope. That's not the way scientists work anymore, anyway. The equipment's too expensive, too delicate. The big hospitals and universities buy the equipment. We just rent time on it."
Myrnin looked surprised, then thoughtful. "Rent time? But how can you schedule such a thing when you don't know what you're looking for or how long it will take?"
"You have to learn to schedule your epiphanies. And be patient."
That got a laugh out of him. "Claire, I am a vampire. We aren't known for patience, you know. Your Dr. Mills - maybe we should pay him a visit. I'd like to meet him."
"He'd - probably like to meet you, too," she said slowly. She wasn't at all sure how Amelie was going to feel about that, but she could tell that Myrnin had it in his head to do it whether she went along or not. "Next time, okay?"
They both glanced at the countdown clock. "Yes," Myrnin said. "Next time. Ah! I meant to ask you. What did you hear about Bishop and the welcome feast?"
"Not much. I think Michael and Eve are going. Shane - Shane says he has to go."
"With Ysandre?"
Claire nodded. Myrnin turned away from her, shoved over a stack of books with restless enthusiasm, then another. He gave a raw cry of delight and scrambled over the piled volumes to retrieve one that, to Claire's eyes, looked just like any other.
He threw it to her. Claire managed to grab it before it smacked into her chest. "Ow!" she complained. "Not so hard, please."
"Sorry." He wasn't, really. There was a subversive, dark streak in him today.
"What is this, anyway?"
Myrnin came back to her side, took the book, opened it, and flipped pages. He paused around the middle and handed it back.
"Ysandre," he said.
The book was written in English, but it was from the eighteenth century, and not easy to make out, considering the stains on the pages.
She was of a beauty so unusual and so marvelous that her grandfather was fascinated by the dazzling sight, and mistook her for an angel that God had sent to console him on his deathbed. The pure lines of her fine profile, her great black liquid eyes, her noble brow uncovered, her hair shining like the raven's wing, her delicate mouth, the whole effect of this beautiful face on the mind of those who beheld her was that of a deep melancholy and sweetness, impressing itself once and for ever. Tall and slender, but without the excessive thinness of some young girls, her movements had that careless supple grace that recalls the waving of a flower stalk in the breeze.
"Oh," Claire said, surprised. That was Ysandre; he was right. "She was - "
"A very famous murderess. She helped her husband and cousins kill a king shortly after her grandfather's death. She was hanged, in the end, but that was after she'd been made a vampire. Lucky timing, for her."
The book contained a gruesome account of the king's murder, and a whole lot of others. Claire shivered and closed the book. "Why did you show me this?"
"I don't want you to do what her grandfather did - underestimate her because she has the look of an angel. Ysandre has destroyed more lives than you can begin to imagine, starting with her own." Myrnin's eyes were dark and very, very serious. "If she wants Shane, let her have him. She'll be done with him soon enough. Amelie won't allow her to kill him."
"I think she wants other things," Claire said.
"Ah. Sexual, then. Or some version of it. Ysandre has always been a bit - odd."
"How do I stop her?"
Myrnin slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry. I can't help you. My only suggestion - which I'm quite certain you won't like - is to let