He reached in the pocket of his rope-belted Huck Finn blue jeans and pulled out a blood pack.
Ysandre leaped from her seat. So did Fran?ois. "You dare!" Fran?ois snarled, and knocked the blood pack out of Sam's hand. "Take that filthy thing away!"
Ysandre grabbed hold of Sam's date by the hair and yanked her away. "She's the tribute," Ysandre said, "and you have no right to deny her to him."
"He has no right," Amelie said. Every word was clear as crystal. "But I do."
Bishop's eyes locked with hers, and for a long, long moment, nobody moved.
Then Bishop smiled, sat back in his chair, and waved. "Take her, Samuel," he said. "I find she's not to my taste, after all."
Sam grabbed the girl's hand, shoved Fran?ois out of the way, and descended the steps back to the banquet-hall floor. Murmurs bloomed in the darkness as he passed. He headed straight for the table where Michael sat, leaned over, and said something. Michael replied, looking strained and a little bit desperate. Whatever the argument was about, it was ripping Michael apart to take the other side.
Sam yanked Michael to his feet, and this time Claire heard what he said. "Just come with me!"
Whether Michael might have or not, it was too late, because John of Leeds said, "Michael Glass of Morganville, " and everybody waited to see what the youngest vampire in town was going to do.
Michael took Monica's hand and walked to the dais. He mounted the steps, nodded to Amelie, and nodded to Bishop. Not much in the way of obedience either direction.
"Ah, the Morrell girl," Bishop said. "I've heard so much about you, child."
Monica, the idiot, seemed pleased about that. She risked her tall wig by doing a deep curtsy in those mile-wide Marie Antoinette skirts. "Thank you, sir."
"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.