Feast of Fools Page 0,2

with Bishop. It was a nightmare, in every way.

"I could help you cook," Mom said, and made a feeble effort to get up. Eve glared at Claire and mouthed, Say something! Claire swallowed a cold bubble of panic and tried to make her voice sound at least partly under control.

"No, Mom," Claire said. "It's fine. We've got it covered. Look, we're making extra in case you and Dad are hungry. You just sit and relax."

Her mom, who was usually a control freak deluxe in the kitchen, prone to take command of something as error free as boiling water, looked relieved. "All right, honey. You let me know if I can help."

Michael opened the kitchen door, and ushered in Claire's father. If her mom looked tired, her dad just looked . . . blank. Puzzled. He frowned at Michael, like he was trying to work out exactly what was happening but couldn't put his finger on it.

"What's going on around here?" he barked at Michael. "Those people out there - "

"Relatives," Michael said. "From Europe. Look, I'm sorry. I know you wanted to spend some time with Claire, but maybe you should just go on home, and we'll - "

He paused, then turned, because someone was standing in the kitchen door behind him. Following him.

"Nobody's going anywhere," said the other one of Bishop's vampire companions - the guy. He was smiling. "One big happy family, eh, Michael? It's Michael, isn't it?"

"What, we're on a first-name basis now?" Michael got Claire's dad inside the kitchen and closed the door in the other vampire's face.

"Right. Let's get you guys out of here," he said to Claire's parents, and opened the back door, the one that led out into the backyard. "Where's your car? Out on the street?"

Outside the night looked black and empty, not even a moon showing. Claire's dad frowned at Michael again, then took a seat at the kitchen table with his wife.

"Close the door, son," he said. "We're not going anywhere."

"Sir - "

Claire tried, too. "Dad - "

"No, honey, there's something strange going on here, and I'm not leaving. Not until I know you're all okay." Her father transferred the frown back to Michael again. "Just who are these . . . relatives?"

"The kind nobody wants to claim," Michael said. "Every family's got them. But they're just here for a little while. They'll be leaving soon."

"Then we'll stay until they do," Dad said.

Claire tried to focus on the scrambled eggs she was making.

Her hands were shaking.

"Hey," Shane whispered, leaning close. "It's okay. We'll all be okay." He was a big, solid, warm presence next to her, stirring what could not possibly really be gravy. She knew this mainly because Shane's sole culinary ability came in the genre of chili. But at least he was trying, which was new and different, and probably showed just how seriously he was taking all this.

"I know," Claire said, and swallowed. Shane's arm pressed against hers, a deliberate kind of thing, and she knew if his hands weren't full, he'd have put his arms around her. "Michael won't let them hurt us."

"Weren't you listening?" Eve joined them at the stove, whispering fiercely. She scowled at the frying bacon. "He can't stop them. Best he can do is get himself really hurt in the process. So maybe you ought to call Amelie again and tell her to get her all-powerful ass over here now."

"Yeah, good idea, piss off the only vampire who can help. Look, if they were going to kill us, I don't think they'd ask for eggs first," Shane said. "Not to mention biscuits. If you ask for biscuits, clearly, you think you're some kind of a guest."

He had a point. It didn't really stop the trembling in Claire's hands, though.

"Claire, honey?" Her mom's voice, again. Claire jumped and nearly flipped a spatula full of eggs out onto the stove top. "Those people. What are they really doing here?"

"Mr. Bishop - he's, uh, waiting for his daughter to come pick him up." That wasn't a lie. Not at all.

Claire's father got up from the table and went to the coffeepot, which had wheezed itself full; he poured two mugs and took them back to the table. "Have some coffee, Kathy. You look tired," he said, and there was a gentle note in his voice that made Claire look at him sharply. Her dad wasn't the most emotional of guys, but he looked worried now, almost as worried as Mom.

Dad drained his coffee like it