Claire forgot to breathe. She hadn't expected Myrnin, of all of them, to speak up, even if his support had been more crazy than useful. But he'd given Bishop pause, and she kept very still, letting him think it over.
Bishop gestured, and Michael paused on his way to the door. "Wait, Michael," Bishop said. "Claire. I have a task for you to do, if you want to keep the boy alive another day."
Claire felt a trembling sickness take hold inside. This wasn't the first time, but she always assumed - had to! - that it would be the last time. "What kind of task?"
"Delivery." Bishop walked to the desk and flipped open a carved wooden box. Inside was a small pile of paper scrolls, all tied up with red ribbon and dribbled with wax seals. He picked one seemingly at random to give her.
"What is it?"
"You know what it is."
She did. It was a death warrant; she'd seen way too many of them. "I can't - "
"I can order you to take it. If I do, I won't feel obliged to offer you any favors. This is the best deal you are going to get, little Claire: Shane's life for the simple delivery of a message," Bishop said. "And if you won't do it, I will send someone else, Shane dies, and you have a most terrible day."
She swallowed. "Why give me the chance at all? It's not like you to bargain."
Bishop showed his teeth, but not his fangs - those were kept out of sight, but that didn't make him any less dangerous. "Because I want you to understand your role in Morganville, Claire. You belong to me. I could order you to do it, with a simple application of will. Instead, I am allowing you to choose to do it."
Claire turned the scroll in her fingers and looked down at it. There was a name on the outside of it, written in old-fashioned black calligraphy. Detective Joe Hess.
She looked up, startled. "You can't - "
"Think very carefully about the next thing you say," Bishop interrupted. "If it involves telling me what I can or can't do in my own town, they will be your last words, I promise you."
Claire shut her mouth. Bishop smiled.
"Better," he said. "If you choose to do so, go deliver my message. When you come back, I'll allow you to see the boy, just this once. See how well we can get along if we try?"
The scroll felt heavy in Claire's hand, even though it was just paper and wax.
She finally nodded.
"Then go," Bishop said. "Sooner started, sooner done, sooner in the arms of the one you love. There's a good girl."
Michael was looking at her. She didn't dare meet his eyes; she was afraid that she'd see anger there, and betrayal, and disappointment. It was one thing to be forced to be the devil's foot soldier.
It was another thing to choose to do it.
Claire walked quickly out of the room.
By the time she hit the marble steps and the warm sun, she was running.
Chapter Three
Detective Joe Hess.
Claire turned the scroll over and over in sweaty fingers as she walked, wondering what would happen if she just tossed it down a storm drain. Well, obviously, Bishop would be pissed. And probably homicidal, not that he wasn't mostly that all the time. Besides, what she was carrying might not be anything bad. Right? Maybe it just looked like a death warrant. Maybe it was a decree that Friday was ice cream day or something.
A car cruised past her, and she sensed the driver staring at her, then speeding up. Nothing to see here but a sad, stupid evil pawn, she thought bitterly. Move along.
The police station was in City Hall as well, and the entire building was being renovated, with work crews ripping out twisted metal and breaking down stone to put in new braces and bricks. The side that held the jail and the police headquarters area hadn't been much damaged, and Claire headed for the big, high counter that was manned by the desk sergeant.
"Detective Joe Hess," she said. "Please."
The policeman barely glanced up at her. "Sign in; state your name and business."
She reached for the clipboard and pen and carefully wrote her name. "Claire Danvers. I have a delivery from Mr. Bishop."