Claire bit back words that probably would have gotten her expelled, and skipped the rest of her classes to go home.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, a clock was ticking. Counting down to Bishop's masked ball.
There was one comforting thing about the theory of complete apocalypse: at least it meant she wouldn't have to fail any classes.
Just when she thought her Friday couldn't get any worse, visitors dropped by the house at dinnertime.
Claire peered out the peephole, and saw dark, curling hair. A wicked smile.
"Better invite me in," Ysandre said. "Because you know I'll just go hurt your neighbors until you do."
"Michael!" Claire yelled. He was in the living room, working out some new songs, but she heard the music stop. He was at her side before the echoes died. "It's her. Ysandre. What should I do?"
Michael opened the door and faced her. She smiled at him. Fran?ois was with her, both of them sleek and smug and so arrogant it made Claire's teeth itch.
"I want to talk to Shane," Ysandre said.
"Then you're going to be disappointed."
Fran?ois raised his eyebrows, reached down, and pulled a bound human form from the bushes on the side of the steps. Claire gasped.
It was Miranda, looking completely terrified. Tied hand and foot, and gagged.
"Let's put it another way," Ysandre said. "You can let us in to talk, or we have our dinner alfresco, right here on your veranda."
There was absolutely no right answer to that, Claire thought, and saw Michael struggle with it, too. He let the silence stretch for so long that Claire was really afraid Miranda would be killed - Fran?ois seemed glad to have the chance - but then Michael nodded. "All right," he said. "Come in."
"Why, thank you, honey," Ysandre said, and strolled in. Fran?ois dropped Miranda on the wooden hallway floor and followed her. Claire knelt next to the girl and untied her hands.
"Are you okay?" she whispered. Miranda nodded, eyes as big as saucers. "Get out of here. Run home. Go."
Miranda stripped off the ropes around her ankles, scrambled up, and escaped.
Claire shut the door and hurried to the living room.
Fran?ois had shoved Michael's guitar out of the way and taken the chair. Ysandre sat on the couch, as comfortable as if she owned the world and everything in it. "How kind of you to ask us in, Michael. I didn't think we got off to a very good beginning. I want to start over."
Fran?ois laughed. "Yes," he said. "We should be friends, Michael. And you shouldn't be living with cattle."
"Is this all you have? Because if it is, I think we're all done."
"Oh, not quite," Ysandre said.
"They're making dinner," Fran?ois said. "That's ironic, don't you think? When they let ours go."
"These humans, all they do is eat," Ysandre said. "No wonder they're all fat and lazy."
Shane came out of the kitchen. He wasn't surprised, Claire saw; he must have heard them. "You're not invited, " Shane said. Ysandre kissed her lips toward him.
"Oh, Shane, I really don't care whether I am or not, and you aren't anywhere near powerful enough to make me leave," she said. "It's Friday, my love. You received the costume I want you to wear for tomorrow?"
Shane nodded unwillingly, like his neck had frozen stiff. His eyes were more than a little crazy.
"You need to go," Claire said to Ysandre, with a bravado she really didn't feel.
"What do you think, Michael? Do I?" Ysandre locked gazes with him, and there was something awful in her eyes. "Do I have to go?"
"No," he said. "Stay."
Claire gaped.
They make you feel things. Do things, whether you want to do them or not. Shane had said it, but Claire hadn't imagined that they could do it to other vampires. Even one as young and inexperienced as Michael.
"Michael!"
He didn't look at her. He seemed completely caught in the web of Ysandre's attraction.
Claire dug her cell phone out of her pocket. She hesitated over the address book.
"Deciding who to call for help?" Fran?ois yanked the cell phone out of her hands and threw it across the room. "Amelie won't thank you for distracting her from all her preparations. She's busy, busy, busy, making sure everything goes just right to welcome our beloved father properly."
"Maybe you ought to ask Michael what to do," Ysandre said, and laughed, showing fang. She pronounced it like Michelle. "I'm sure he'll help dispatch us. So fierce, isn't he?"
Michael's eyes were slowly turning crimson.
They can make you feel things. Do things.
"Shane," Claire said. "We need to get out of here. Now."
"I'm not leaving Michael."
"Michael's the problem."
Ysandre laughed. "You really are clever, ma cherie."
Fran?ois snapped his fingers in front of Michael's face. "Dinner's ready."
Michael opened his mouth and snarled. Full fangs.
And he turned and fixed his gaze on Claire.
"Oh, crap," Shane breathed. He grabbed Claire's arm. "Kitchen!"
They retreated. Shane shoved the table against the swinging door, for all the good it would do, and they backed up toward the rear door.
Claire opened the refrigerator and took Michael's last two sealed bottles out of the back of the refrigerator. Have to tell Michael to pick up more, she thought, and how weird was that? Running short of blood was getting as normal as needing Coke or butter.
She was gibbering in her head, that was it. And yet, oddly calm.
Michael burst into the room and headed straight for them.