Bishop had kept the Protection system, then—or at least, he hadn’t bothered to really dismantle it. People were being questioned at the gate. If they didn’t name a Protector, they got slapped with a big yellow sticker and herded into a big open area in the middle. “What if their Protector is one of Amelie’s rebels?” She knew the answer to that one. “Then they’re no longer Protected. They go in the middle, too?”
Michael looked pallid—not just vampire-pale, really stressed and upset, as if he knew what was coming before she did. Claire didn’t get it until François said, “Just like your friends,” and he grabbed Shane. Ysandre took hold of Eve. They both fought and cursed and tried to get free, but it was no use—they were shoved apart from Michael and Claire.
They were both dragged away to the big cordoned- off area in the center of the square. Claire tried to follow them, but Michael held her back. “Don’t,” he said. “Bishop may not know you’re out of his control yet. Tell him you were drugged by Hannah to keep you out of the way. It’s the truth; he’ll probably sense that.”
“What about Shane? Eve? God, how can you just stand there?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I have to. Claire, don’t screw this up. You won’t help them, and you’ll only get yourself killed.” He gave her a grim smile. “And me, because I’d have to get in the middle.”
Claire stopped fighting him, but she still couldn’t accept it. She saw why Richard had wanted people out of town who were at the highest risk; Bishop intended this to be a public spectacle.
His final act to make himself the undisputed ruler of Morganville. In the bad old days, that meant executing lots of people.
François took Claire’s arm and marched her up to the front, past angry, scared men and women she knew by sight, and some she’d never seen before. That section had a symbol taped to the barrier that surrounded it— she vaguely recognized it as the symbol for a vampire named Valerie, who’d joined Bishop in the first round of fighting. And yes, there was Valerie, standing inside the barricade with her humans, but looking very much as if she wished she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
Past Valerie’s barricades was a big raised stage, at least twenty feet off the ground, with steps leading up to it. There were plush chairs, and carpet, and a red velvet backdrop behind it. Spotlights turned the sunset pale in contrast. The stage was empty, but there was a knot of people standing at the foot of the steps.
Richard Morrell was there, dressed in a spotless dark blue suit, with a sky blue tie. He looked like he was running for office, not about to fight for his life; apparently, he and Amelie had the same philosophy on looking good for the Apocalypse. Next to him, Hannah still wore her police uniform, but no belt—and no gun, handcuffs, baton, stakes, or pepper spray. They’d taken away the human cops’ weapons. There were other people, too—mostly vampires, but Claire recognized Dean Wallace, the head of TPU, and a few of the other prominent humans in town, including Mr. Janes, who was the CEO of the biggest bank in town. Mr. Janes had decided to stay. She’d seen his name on Richard’s evac list, and she’d seen him driving away from the warehouse instead of getting on the bus.
She wondered how Mr. Janes was feeling about that decision right now. Not too good, she was guessing. He kept looking out at the crowd, probably trying to find friends and family.
She knew how he felt.
Richard Morrell nodded to her. “You okay?”
Why did everybody always ask that? “Sure,” she lied. “What’s going to happen?”
“Wish I knew,” Richard said. “Stay close to Michael, whatever happens.”
She was going to do that regardless, but she appreciated that he cared. He patted her on the back, and under cover of shaking her hand, he pressed something into her hand.
It was a silver knife, no bigger than her finger. Razor-sharp, too. She tried not to cut herself—the last thing she wanted was for the vamps around her to smell blood—and managed to get it in the pocket of her hoodie without stabbing herself. From Richard’s warning look, she got that it was a weapon of last resort.
She nodded to let him know she understood.
A cordon of vampires closed in around them, including the tall, thin, sexless dude whom she’d last seen with the Goldmans. What was his name? Pennywell. Ugh. He had a thin smile, like he knew what was going to happen, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.
“Up,” he said, and jerked his chin to indicate that they were supposed to climb the steps. Richard went first—trying to set a good example, Claire supposed—and she followed, along with Hannah and Michael. It seemed like a long climb, and it reminded her of nothing else than those old stories about people getting hanged, or walking the last mile to the electric chair.
Up on the stage, it was a whole lot worse. There were hisses and boos from the crowd, quickly hushed, and Claire was blinded by the white spotlights, but she could feel thousands of people staring at her. I’m nobody,she wanted to shout. I don’t want to be up here!
They wouldn’t care about her motives, or her choices, or anything else. She was working for Bishop. That made her the enemy.
Richard took one of the chairs, and Dean Wallace sat next to him. Hannah stayed standing next to Richard’s chair, arms folded. Claire didn’t quite know what to do, so she stuck close to Michael as Mr. Janes claimed the last plush chair.
Two vampires came up the steps carrying Bishop’s massive carved throne, which they set right in the exact center of the carpeted stage.
Mr. Pennywell—if he was a he; Claire still couldn’t really tell—stood next to the throne, along with Ysandre and François. The old friends, Claire thought. The clique.
Bishop came through the curtains at the back of the stage. He was wearing a black suit, white shirt, black tie, and a colorful red pocket square. In fact, he was dressed better than Mr. Janes. No ornate medieval robes, which was kind of what Claire had expected. He didn’t even have a crown.
But he had a throne, and he settled into it. His three favorite henchpersons knelt in front of him, and he gave them a lazy blessing.
Then he said, “I will speak with the town’s mayor.”
Claire didn’t know how it was possible, but Bishop’s voice echoed from every corner of the square—a pocket microphone, she guessed, broadcasting to amplified speakers hidden in the trees. It was eerie, though. She squinted. Out behind the lights, she saw that Shane and Eve had squeezed their way through the crowd and were standing at the front of the group in the center of the square. Shane had his arm around Eve, but not in a boyfriend way—just for comfort.
The way Michael had his arm around Claire.
Richard Morrell got up and walked over to stand in front of Bishop.
“I demanded loyalty,” Bishop said. “I received defiance. Not just from my daughter and her misguided followers, but from humans.Humans under your control, Mayor Morrell. This is not acceptable. It cannot continue, this blatant defiance of my rule.”
Richard didn’t say anything, but then, Claire had no idea what he really couldsay. Bishop was just stating the obvious.
And it was just a warm-up to what was coming.
“Today, I learned that you personally authorized the removal from our town of several of our most valued citizens,” Bishop said. “Many members of your own town council, for instance. Leaders of industry. People of social standing. Tell me, Mayor Morrell, why did you spirit these people away, and leave so many of your common citizens here to bear the punishment? Were you thinking only of the rich and powerful?”
Clever. He was trying to make the town think that Richard was like his dad—corrupt, in it for his own sake.
It would probably work, too. People liked to believe that sort of thing.
Richard said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. If anyone left town, I’m sure they must have had your permission, sir. How could they have left if you didn’t authorize it?”
Which was a direct slap in the face for Bishop on the subject of his authority. And his power.