Feast of Fools Page 0,86

not kidding. Oh my God." A short pause. "Yeah, man, I get it. I get it. Okay, right. Take care."

That, she thought, was definitely the most civil she'd ever heard Richard and Shane. It was almost friendly.

Shane folded up the phone and threw it back to her, and his face was a study in self-control.

"What?"

"Donation Center's burning," he said. "How do you feel about blood drives?"

The Bloodmobile arrived in front of the house exactly fifteen minutes later - glossy, black, and intimidating. It came with a flanking guard of squad cars and police wearing protective vests who took up posts on either end of the street.

Claire looked at the clock. It was nearly four a.m. - still hours until dawn, although the fires were making it hard to tell day from night. The Morganville Fire Department was outmatched. Whatever serial arsonists Bishop had employed were definitely doing their jobs.

Claire wondered what Bishop was doing. Waiting, probably. He didn't really have to do anything else. Morganville was coming apart, with strikes at the communications hubs, the Donation Center, and - as she heard by word of mouth from some of the others - the hospital. So far, the university seemed safe. There was a blood supply on campus, but it would be tough to get to in the chaos.

Michael went out to meet the vampire driving the Bloodmobile. He came back shaking his head. "Nothing left," he said. "He'd already dropped off the day's collections at the Center. There's nothing in storage. He says he's heard the supplies at the hospital have been sabotaged, too."

"Unless we go door-to-door and gather up bottles and bags, that's all there is," said the stern-looking vampire. "I told the Council there should be more backup supplies."

"What about the university storage?"

"Enough for a couple of days," the Bloodmobile driver said. "I don't know of anything else."

"I do," Claire said, and swallowed painfully as they all looked at her. "But I need to get permission from Amelie to take you there."

"Amelie's not in any shape to give permission. What about Oliver?"

Claire shook her head. "It has to be Amelie. I'm sorry."

The Bloodmobile driver looked tired and very frustrated. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine," he said. "But before she can begin to give consent, she needs feeding. And I need donors."

Eve, who'd been uncharacteristically quiet, stepped forward. "I'll do it," she said.

"Me, too." That was Monica Morrell. She stripped off her heavy Marie Antoinette wig and dropped it on the ground. Claire thought about what Richard Morrell had told her about the mayor wanting to return the costume for credit, and almost laughed. So much for that plan. "Gina! Jennifer! Get over here! And bring everybody you can!"

Monica, as imperious as a real French queen, put her ability to threaten and intimidate to good use for a change. Within ten minutes, they had a line of donors ready, and all four Bloodmobile stations were working.

Claire slipped back inside. The vampires were all facing the windows, watching for surprises. Most of the humans were outside, giving blood.

She faced the blank wall in the living room, next to the table. Got to do this fast.

It faded into mist, and she stepped through and was gone almost before the portal opened.

She stepped out into the prison, reached under her Harlequin top, and pulled out the sharpened cross that Myrnin had given her. Use it only in self-defense.

She was ready to do that.

Myrnin's cell was empty, and the television was on and tuned to a game show. Claire checked the prison refrigerator. There was a good stockpile of blood there, if she could get it out where it was needed.

Myrnin could be anywhere.

No, she thought. Myrnin could be only in about twenty places in Morganville, at least if he was using the doorways.

She went back to the portal wall and concentrated, formed the wormhole tunnel to the lab, and stepped through.

And there he was.

He was feverishly working, and every lamp and candle in the room burned at full capacity. He hadn't stopped to change, though he'd lost the cone-head cap somewhere; as Claire watched, he got one of his full white sleeves too close to a candle and caught it on fire.

"Cachiad!" he blurted, and ripped off his sleeve to throw it on the ground and stomp out the blaze. Irritated, he stripped off the whole billowy top and dumped it, too.

He looked up, half-naked, wild, and saw Claire watching him.

For a second neither of them moved,