Feast of Fools Page 0,33

again at a stumble down the steps. "It's this or the Donation Center. Those are your choices, you know that. I was trying to make it easier."

Claire swallowed hard and hurried down the steps. She got in front of Shane, blocking his path, and met his eyes. He was furious, and scared, and something else, something she couldn't really understand.

"What's wrong?"

"People get in that damn thing and don't come out," he said flatly. "I'm not doing it. They strap you down, Claire. They strap you down and nobody can see inside."

She felt a little ill herself at the mental image. Richard Morrell's face was carefully blank. "Sir?"

He didn't much care for her asking him; she could tell. "I can't give you an opinion, but one way or another, he has to do this."

"What if you drive us both to the Donation Center instead?"

Richard thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. He unhooked the radio from his shoulder again, muttered some quiet words, and the engine on the Bloodmobile started up with a smooth hum.

It glided away like a shark, looking for prey. All of them watched it go.

"Crap, I hate that thing," Shane said. His voice trembled a little.

"Me, too," said Richard, to Claire's surprise. "Now get in the car."

Chapter Six

The Donation Center was still open, even though it was getting dark. As Richard pulled his police cruiser to the curb, two people Claire vaguely recognized came out, waved to each other, and set off in separate directions. "Does everybody come here?" she asked.

"Everybody who doesn't use the Bloodmobile," Richard answered. "Every human who's Protected has to donate a certain number of pints per year. Donations go to their Patron first. The rest goes to whoever needs it. Vampires who don't have anyone to donate for them."

"Like Michael," Claire said.

"Yeah, he's our most recent charity project." Richard got out and opened the back door for her and Shane. She slid out. Shane, after a hesitation long enough to make her worry, followed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and stared up at the glowing red cross sign above the door. The Donation Center didn't look exactly inviting, but it was far less terrifying than the Bloodmobile. For one thing, there were bright windows that offered a clear view of a clean, big room. Framed posters on the wall - the same kind you could find in any town, Claire thought - listed the virtues of giving blood.

"Does any of it get to other humans?" she asked as Richard held the door open for Shane. He shrugged.

"Ask your boyfriend," he said. "They used quite a few units on him after his stabbing, as I remember. Of course it gets used for humans. It's our town, too."

"You're dreaming if you really think that," Shane said, and stepped inside. As Claire followed, she felt a definite change of atmosphere - not just the air, which was cool and dry, but something else. A feeling, barely contained, of desperation. It reminded her of the way hospital waiting areas felt - industrial, impersonal, soaked with large and small fears. But it was still clean, well lit, and full of comfortable chairs.

Nothing at all scary about the place. Not even the motherly-looking older lady sitting behind the wooden desk at the front, who gave them all the same bright, welcoming smile.

"Well, Officer Morrell, it's nice to see you!"

He nodded to the lady. "Rose. Got a truant for you here."

"So I see. Shane Collins, isn't it? Oh, dear, I'm so sorry to hear about your mother. Tragedy has come to your door too often." She was still smiling, but it was muted. Respectful. "Can I put you down for two pints today? To make up some of what you're behind?"

Shane nodded. His jaw was clenched, his eyes brilliant and narrowed. He was fighting for control, Claire thought. She slipped her fingers in his where they were handcuffed behind his back.

"You remember me, don't you?" Rose continued. "I knew your mother. We used to play bridge together."

"I remember," Shane choked out. Nothing else. Richard raised his eyebrows, got a mirrored look from Rose, and tugged on Shane's elbow to lead him away to one of the empty chairs. They were all empty, Claire noticed. She'd seen a couple of people leaving the building, but nobody coming inside.

One thing about the Donation Center, they were better than most medical places about keeping their magazines up-to-date. Claire found a brand-new edition of Seventeen and began reading.