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"Did I tell you to speak?" he asked, and transferred his attention to Michael again. "Your kinsman refused to swear fealty. What say you, Michael?"
"I'm here," Michael said. "But I'm not swearing anything."
There was a long, tense moment, and then Bishop impatiently waved him offstage.
Monica dragged her feet, simpering at the big, bad vampire. "What an idiot," Claire muttered under her breath, and Myrnin chuckled.
"There are always a few," he said. "Thankfully." The next vampire was already onstage. He was a little more politic than Michael - he welcomed Bishop as a guest to Morganville, but again, no pledges of loyalty. Bishop looked sour. "Well, this is taking a turn for the interesting. I wonder how long he'll tolerate it."
Not long, it seemed, because Oliver was next. And even though Oliver bowed, there was something forced about it. Something militant. Bishop sensed it.
"What say you, Oliver of Heidelberg?"
"I bid you welcome," Oliver said. "And nothing more." He bowed again, mockingly. "Your days of ordering us about are done, Master Bishop. Haven't you noticed?"
Bishop stood up. So did Fran?ois and Ysandre. "Bring your tribute," Bishop said. "And walk away, while I allow you to walk at all."
And Oliver, the coward, dropped Eve's hand and left the stage. Abandoning her.
Michael, down on the floor, tried to go to her rescue, but Sam tackled him and held him down. "Get off me!" Michael yelled, and the two of them rolled into a table and sent the expensive china and glasses flying. "You can't let him - "
Fran?ois and Ysandre were closing in on Eve like hunting tigers. And she was standing, petrified, caught in Bishop's stare.
Shane stood up and took off the dog mask Ysandre had made him wear. He walked over to stand next to Eve, unhooked the leash, and let it fall to the floor in a slither of leather.
"I'm so done with this crap," he said, and extended his elbow toward Eve. "How about you?"
"So done," she agreed. "Though I do love a good dress-up party. Can I have the collar when you're done with it?"
"Knock yourself out."
They were trying to be cool, but Claire could feel the menace up there, the hair-trigger violence just waiting to erupt. And Shane couldn't win. He couldn't even hurt them. All he could do was get himself killed.
She fought to get out of her chair. Myrnin's hand crushed her shoulder hard, forcing her down again. "No," he said. "Wait."
"They're my friends!"
"Wait!"
He was right. Amelie stepped forward, between Shane and Eve and Bishop. "They belong to me," she said. "They are not Oliver's to give."
"That argument could be made for anyone in this town," Bishop said. "Will you deny me any tribute at all?"
She smiled slowly. "I never said that. Be careful, Father. You sound desperate."
Claire saw Bishop's eyes flare red, then white-hot.
Amelie didn't back down. She turned her head slightly, and nodded at Shane and Eve. Shane hustled Eve off the stage and down to the banquet-hall floor. Fran?ois seemed to get some silent message from Bishop, because he backed out of their way.
Sam let Michael up, and in seconds, Michael was across the room to join them as Shane and Eve descended the stairs from the dais.
Sam followed. That made a small group in the noman's -land in the center of the tables on the floor.
"It's starting," Myrnin said. "We're at the tipping point now. He knows he's losing. He'll have to act."
And John of Leeds said, in that perfectly calm voice, "Lord Myrnin of Conwy."
There was that head-turning thing again. Myrnin got up from his chair and held out his hand to Claire. His eyes were bright, a little too bright. A little too manic.
His smile scared her, and she didn't think it was just the makeup. "Ready?" he asked.
She didn't really have a choice. She stood and put her hand in his, and walked toward the last thing in the world she wanted to do.
Chapter Twelve
Going up the steps felt like the proverbial march to the gallows. Amelie stood to one side, glittering like a chandelier, and she was glaring at Myrnin with fierce displeasure.
He took her pale, perfect hand and kissed it. "Oh, don't look so distressed, my old friend," he told her. "I'm perfectly fine."
"No," Amelie said. "You're not. And you're about to be a good deal less so." She turned to Bishop. "I regret that Lord Myrnin is unwell. He must leave, for his own health."
"He looks well enough," Bishop replied. "Let him come forward."
"You fool," Amelie whispered as Myrnin did his Pierrot twirl and ended in a dancer's perfect floor-scraping bow. "Oh, my lovely fool." Claire couldn't tell if she was appalled, angry, or sad. Maybe all three.
Bishop seemed amused. "It's been years," he said. "And how have you fared, Myrnin?"
"As well as you'd expect," Myrnin said.
"Pierrot. How . . . odd for you. You're much more the Harlequin, I should think."
"I've always thought that Pierrot was the secretly dangerous one," Myrnin said. "All that innocence must hide something."
Bishop laughed. "I've missed you, fool."
"Truly? Odd. I haven't missed you at all, my lord."
That stopped Bishop's laughter in its tracks, and Claire felt the fear close around her, like suffocating cold. "Ah, I remember now why you ceased to amuse, Myrnin. You use honesty like a club."
"I thought it more like a rapier, lord."
Bishop was all done with the witty conversation. "Will you swear?"
And Myrnin said, shockingly, "I will." And he proceeded to, a string of swearwords that made Claire blink. He ended with, " - frothy fool-born apple-john! Cheater of vandals and defiler of dead dogs!" and did another twirl and bow. He looked up with a red, red grin that was more like a leer. "Is that what you meant, my lord?"
Claire gasped as hands closed cold around her throat from behind. She was pulled backward. It was Ysandre holding her, and the vampire woman bent to whisper, "Yes, please do struggle. I lost your boyfriend before I could get a taste. I'll have you instead."
Claire didn't hesitate. She reached under her tunic, got out the ancient glass perfume bottle that Myrnin had given her, and thumbed off the cap.
And she dumped the holy water right on Ysandre's head.
Ysandre screamed in registers so high the crystal on the tables shivered. She spun away clawing at her hair, shedding drops that landed on Fran?ois, who was moving toward her. He screamed, too. Where the drops touched, they ate away into skin. Claire stared, appalled. She'd hurt them, all right. Badly.
