had a miniature guillotine in her hand. She was clinging to the arm of . . . Michael. Who looked, even with the mask, like he wished he was far, far away and anywhere but next to Monica. He was dressed as a priest, in a plain black cassock and white collar. No cross visible.
Claire followed Michael's eyeline across the room to a tall scarecrow - straight out of the scariest corn-field movie she could imagine - and a girl dressed as Sally from Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas . . . Oliver, and Eve. Eve looked like the perfect Sally - wistful, sad, stitched together by nothing but hope.
And she was staring at Michael, too.
Oliver, on the other hand, was ignoring her to focus on everyone else. Looking around, Claire slowly picked out a few more she recognized. Her mother wasn't anywhere to be seen, but her father was dressed in a bear costume, looking intensely uncomfortable as he stood next to a middle-aged woman - vampire? - dressed as a witch.
"Do you see Shane?" Claire asked Myrnin anxiously. He nodded toward the other side of the room. She'd already looked there, but she tried again, and after skipping over him three times, she finally figured it out.
Does your costume involve leather? she'd asked. And he'd said, Actually, yeah, it might.
It really did. It involved a leather dog collar, leather pants and a leash, and the leash was held by Ysandre, who was in skintight red rubber, from neck to thigh-high boots. She'd topped it off with a pair of devil horns and a red trident.
She'd made Shane her dog, complete with furry dog mask.
"Breathe," Myrnin said. "I'm not much for it myself, but I hear it's quite good for humans."
Claire realized he was right; she'd been holding her breath. As she let it out, her shock faded, letting in a cascade of rage. That bitch!
No wonder Shane had looked so sick.
"She hasn't hurt him," Myrnin said, speaking softly next to her ear. "And you may be wearing the costume of Harlequin, but Ysandre is most definitely more of a devil. So be cautious. Bide your time. I'll let you know when we can engage with our enemy."
Claire nodded stiffly. If she'd had any doubts at all about this, that was done now. She was going to get her friends and her family out of this, and she was going to personally take that leash out of Ysandre's hand and - do something violent with it.
"I'm ready when you are," she said.
Myrnin shot her a mad, smiling look. "Yes," he said. "I think you might be, little one."
They stayed to themselves, watching the others, and although others eyed them curiously, no one approached. Claire asked - better late than never - if people wouldn't recognize Myrnin, even with the makeup, but he shook his head.
"I'm hardly a social fixture," he said. "Amelie, Sam, Michael, Oliver, a few more might know me by sight. But very few others, and none of them would expect to see me here. Especially as" - he twirled theatrically, the white tunic billowing out around him - "Pierrot."
Which made zero sense to her, since she still had no idea who Pierrot was, but she nodded. Myrnin saw one of the vampire women nearby watching him, and made an elaborate low bow in her direction. "Do a cartwheel," he said under his breath to Claire.
"Do a what?"
"I would ask you to do a backflip, but I'm almost certain that would be a problem. Cartwheel. Now."
She felt like a total idiot, but she fastened the elastic string on her matador hat under her chin and did a cartwheel, coming off it and bouncing to her feet with a bright, trembling smile.
People clapped and laughed, then turned back to their own conversations. All except Oliver, who stared intently.
But at least he kept his distance.
There was no sign of Bishop or Amelie, but Claire gradually identified most of the vampires she knew. Sam arrived, dressed as Huckleberry Finn, which went well with his red hair and freckles. He'd brought a girl Claire knew slightly from Common Grounds, one of Oliver's employees. Probably the one who'd replaced Eve when she'd quit. For Sam's sake, Claire hoped she was someone Oliver could afford to lose.
Miranda was there, dressed in ancient Greek robes with snakes for hair, and with her was a faded, small man in a Sherlock Holmes costume. "Charles," Myrnin confirmed when Claire asked. "He always did have