The gates of the university were shut, locked, and there were paramilitary style men posted at the gates, all in black. Armed. Eve coasted the big car slowly up to them and rolled down the window.
"Delivery for Michael Glass," she called. "Or Richard Morrell."
The guard who leaned in was huge, tough, and intimidating--until he saw Hannah in the backseat, and then he grinned like a kid with a new puppy. "Hannah Montana!"
She looked deeply pained. "Don't ever call me that again, Jessup, or I will gut you."
"Get out and make me stop, Smiley. Yeah, I heard you were back. How were the marines?"
"Better than the damn rangers."
"Don't you just wish?" He lost the smile and got serious again. "Sorry, H, orders are orders. Who sent you? Who's with you?"
"Oliver sent me. You probably know Eve Rosser--that's Anastasia Ian."
"Really? Huh. Thought she'd be bigger. Hey, Eve. Sorry, didn't recognize you right off. Long time, no see." Jessup nodded to the other guard, who slung his rifle and pressed in a key code at the panel on the stone fence. The big iron gates slowly parted. "You be careful, Hannah. This town's the AfPak border all over again right now."
Inside, except for the guards patrolling the fence, Texas Prairie University seemed eerily normal. The birds sang to the rising sun, and there were students out--students!--heading to class as if there were nothing wrong at all. They were chatting, laughing, running to make the crosscampus earlymorning bell.
"What the hell?" Eve said. I was glad I wasn't the only one freaked out by it. "I know they had orders to keep things low profile, but damn, this is ridiculous. Where's the dean's office?"
I pointed. Eve steered the car around the winding curves, past dorms and lecture halls, and pulled it to a stop on the nearly deserted lot in front of the Administration Building. There were two police cruisers there, and a bunch of black Jeeps. Not a lot of civilian cars in the lot.
As we walked up the steps to the building, I realized there were two more guards outside of the main door. Hannah didn't know these guys, but she repeated our names and credentials, and after a brief, impersonal search, they were allowed inside.
The last time I had been here I'd been adding and dropping classes, and the building had been full of grumpy bureaucrats and anxious students, all moving at a hectic pace. Now it was very quiet. A few people were at their desks, but there were no students I could see, and the TPU employees looked either bored or nervous. Most of the activity seemed centered down the carpeted hall, which was hung with formal portraits of the former university deans and notables.
One or two of the former deans, I was just now realizing, might have been vampires, from the pallor of their skins. Or maybe they were just old white guys. Hard to say.
At the end of the hallway we found not a guard, but a secretary--just as tough as any of the armed men outside, though. She sat behind an expensivelooking antique desk that had not a speck of dust on it, and nothing else except a piece of paper centered exactly in the middle, a pen at right angles to it, and a fancy, black multiline telephone. No computer that I could spot--no, there it was, hidden away in a rollout credenza to the side.
The room was lushly carpeted, so much so that my feet sank into the depth at least an inch; it was like walking on foam. Solid, dark wood paneling. Paintings and dim lights. The windows were covered with fancy velvet curtains, and there was music playing--classical, of course. I couldn't imagine anybody would ever switch the station to rock. Not here.
"I'm Ms. Nance," the woman said, and stood to offer her hand to each of us in turn; she didn't even hesitate with Eve, who intimidated most people. She was a tall, thin, gray woman dressed in a tailored gray suit with a lighter gray blouse under the jacket. Gray hair curled into exact waves. I couldn't see her shoes, but I bet they were fashionable, gray, and yet somehow sensible. "I'm the secretary to Dean Wallace. Do you have an appointment?"
Eve said, "I need to see Michael."
"I'm sorry? I don't think I know that person."
Eve's expression froze, and I could see the horrible dread in her eyes.
Hannah, seeing it too, said, "Let's cut the crap, Ms. Nance. Where's Michael Glass?"
Ms. Nance's eyes narrowed. They were pale blue, not as pale as Amelie's, but kind of faded, like jeans left in the sun. "Mr. Glass is in conference with the dean," she said. "I'm afraid you'll have to--"
The door at the far end of her office opened, and Michael came out. My heart practically melted with relief. He's okay. Michael's okay.
Except that he closed the door and walked straight past us, a man on a mission.
He walked right past Eve, who stood there flatfooted, mouth open, fear dawning in her expression.
"Michael!" I yelped. He didn't even pause. "We have to stop him!"
"Great," Hannah said, and the three of us took off in pursuit.
It helped that Michael wasn't actually running, just moving with a purpose. Me and Eve edged by him in the hall and blocked his path.
His blue eyes were wideopen, but he just didn't see us. He sensed an obstacle, at least, and paused.
"Michael," I said. Dammit, why couldn't I have tranquilizers? Why? "Michael, you can't go out there. It's already morning. You'll die."
"He's not listening," Hannah said. And she was right; he wasn't. He tried to push between us, but Eve put a hand in the center of his chest and held him back.
"Michael? It's me. You know me, don't you? Please?"
He stared at her with utterly blank eyes, and then shoved her out of his way. Hard.
Hannah sent me a quick, commanding look. "Get help. Now. I'll try to hold him."
I hesitated, but Hannah was without any doubt better equipped to handle a potentially hostile Michael than I was. I turned and ran, past startled desk jockeys and coffeebearing civil servants, and slid to a stop in front of one of the blackuniformed soldiers. "Richard Morrell," I blurted. "I need him. Right now."
The soldier didn't hesitate. He grabbed the radio clipped to his shoulder and said, "Admin to Morrell."
"Morrell, go."
The soldier unclipped the radio and silently offered it to me. I took it--it was heavier than the walkietalkies-- and pressed the button to talk. "Richard? It's Ana. We have a big problem. We need to stop Michael and anybody else . . ." How could I say vampire without actually saying it? "Anybody else with a sun allergy from going outside."
"Why the hell would they be--"
"I don't know! They just are!" The image of Officer O'Malley on fire leaped into my mind, and I caught my breath on a sob. "Help us. They're going out in the sun."
"Give the radio back," he ordered. I handed it to the blackuniformed man. "I need you to go with this girl and help her. No questions."
"Yes sir." He clicked off the radio and looked down at me. "After you."
I led the way back toward the hallway. As we reached it, there was a crash of glass, and Hannah came flying out to land flat on her back, blinking.
Michael walked over her. Eve was hauling on his arm, trying to hold him back, but he shook her off.
"We can't let him get outside!" I said. I tried to grab him, but it was like grabbing a freight train. I'd forgotten how strong he was now.
"Out of the way," the soldier said, and pulled a handgun from a holster at his side.
"No, don't--"
The bureaucrats scattered, hiding under their desks, dropping their coffee to hug the carpet.
The soldier sighted on Michael's chest, and fired three times in quick succession. Instead of the loud bangs I had been expecting, there were soft compressed air coughs.
And three darts feathered Michael's chest, clustered above his heart.
He still took three steps toward the soldier before collapsing in slow motion to his knees, and then onto his face.
"All clear," the soldier said. He took hold of Michael, turned him over, and yanked out the darts. "He'll be under for about an hour, probably no longer than that. Let's get him to the dean's office."
Hannah wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth, coughed, and rolled to her feet. She and Eve helped me grab Michael's shoulders and feet, and we carried him down the hallway, past paintings that were going to need some major repair and reframing, past splintered panels and broken glass, into Ms. Nance's office.
Ms. Nance took one look at us and moved smartly to the door marked with a discreet brass plaque that said DEAN WALLACE. She rapped and opened the door for us to carry Michael through.
Dean Wallace was a woman, which was kind of a surprise to me. I'd been expecting a pudgy, middleaged man; this Dean Wallace was tall, graceful, thin, and a whole lot younger than I would have imagined. She had straight brown hair worn long around her shoulders, and a simple black suit that was almost the negative image of Ms. Nance's, only somehow less formal. It looked . . . lived in.
Dean Wallace's lips parted, but she didn't ask a question. She checked herself, then nodded at the leather couch on the far side of the room, across from her massive desk. "Right, put him there." She had a British accent, too. Definitely not a Texas girl. "What happened?"
"Whatever it is, it's happening all over," Hannah said as we arranged Michael's unconscious body on the sofa. "They're just taking off. It's like they don't even know or care the sun's up. Some kind of homing signal just gets switched on."
Dean Wallace thought for a second, then pressed a button on her desk. "Ms. Nance? I need a bulletin to go out through the emergency communication system. All vampires on campus should be immediately restrained or tranquilized. No exceptions. This is priority one." She frowned as she got the acknowledgment, and looked up at our little group. "Michael seemed very rational, and there was no warning this would happen. I just thought he had somewhere to go. He didn't seem odd, at least at first."
"How many other vampires on campus?" Hannah asked.
"Some professors of course, but they're mostly not here at the moment, since they teach at night. No students, obviously. Apart from the ones Michael and Richard brought in, we have perhaps five in total on the grounds. More were here earlier, but they headed for shelter before sunrise, off campus." Dean Wallace seemed calm, even in the face of all this. "You're Anastasia Ian?"
"Yes ma'am," I said, and shook the hand Dean Wallace offered me.
"I had a talk with your Patron recently regarding your progress. Despite your--challenges, you have done excellent course work."
It was stupid to feel pleased about that, but I couldn't help it. I felt myself blush, and shook my head. "I don't think that matters very much right now."
"On the contrary, it matters a great deal, I believe."
Eve settled herself down next to the sofa, holding Michael's limp hand. She looked shattered. Hannah leaned against the wall and nodded to the soldier as he exited the office. "So," she said, "want to explain to me how you can have half the U.S. Army walking the perimeter and not have massive student panic?"
"We've told all students and their parents that the university is cooperating in a government emergency drill, and of course that all weapons are nonlethal. Which is quite true, so far as it goes. The issue of keeping students on campus is a bit trickier, but we've managed so far by linking it to the emergency drills. Can't go on for long, though. The local kids are already well informed, and it's only a matter of time before the outoftown students begin to realize that we're having them on when they can't get word out to their friends and relatives. We're filtering all Internet and phone access, of course." Dean Wallace shook her head. "But that's my problem, not yours, and yours is much more pressing. We can't knock out every vampire in town, and we can't keep them knocked out in any case."
"Not enough happy juice in the world," Hannah agreed. "We need to either stop this at its source, or get the heck out of their way."
There was a soft knock on the door, and Ms. Nance stepped in. "Richard Morrell," she announced, and moved aside for him.
I stared. Monica's brother looked like about fifty miles of bad road--exhausted, redeyed, pale, running on caffeine and adrenaline. Just like the rest of us, I supposed. As Ms. Nance quietly closed the door behind him, Richard strode forward, staring at Michael's limp body. "Is he out?" His voice sounded rough, too, as if he'd been yelling. A lot.
"Sleeping the sleep of the just," Hannah said. "Or the just drugged, anyway. Ana. Radio."
Oh. I'd forgotten about the backpack still slung over my shoulder. I quickly took out the last radio and handed it over, explaining what it was for. Richard nodded.
"I think this calls for a strategy meeting," he said, and pulled up a chair next to the couch. Hannah and I took seats as well, but Eve stayed where she was, by Michael, as if she didn't want to leave him even for a moment.
Dean Wallace sat behind her desk, fingers steepled, watching with interested calm.
"I put in the code, right?" He was already doing it, so I just nodded. A signal bleeped to show he was logged on the network. "Richard Morrell, University, checking in."
After a few seconds, a voice answered. "Check, Richard, you're the last station to report. Stand by for a bulletin."
There were a few clicks, and then another voice came over the radio.
"This is Oliver. I am broadcasting to all on the network with emergency orders. Restrain every vampire allied to us that you can find, by whatever means necessary. Locked rooms, chains, tranquilizers, cells, use what you have. Until we know how and why this is happening, we must take every precaution during the day. It seems that some of us have resistance to the call, and others have immunity, but this could change at any time. Be on your guard. From this point forward, we will conduct hourly calls, and each location will report status. University station, report."
Richard clicked the TALK button. "Michael Glass and all the other vampires in our group are being restrained. We've got student containment here, but it won't last. We'll have to open the gates no later than tomorrow morning, if we can keep it together until then. Even with the phone and Internet blackout, somebody's going to get word out."
"We're following the plan," Oliver said. "We're taking the cell towers down in ten minutes, until further notice. Phone lines are already cut. The only communication from this point forward will be strategic, using the radios. What else do you need?"
"Whip and a chair? Nothing. We're fine here for now. I don't think anybody will try a daylight assault, not with as many guards as we have here." Richard hesitated, then keyed the mike again. "Oliver, I've been hearing things. I think there are some factions out there forming. Human factions. Could complicate things."
Oliver was silent for a moment, then said, "Yes, I understand. We'll deal with that as it arises."
Oliver moved on to the next station on his list, which was the Glass House. Monica reported in, which was annoying. I resisted the urge to grind my teeth. It was a quick summary, at least, and as more Founder Houses reported in, the situation seemed the same: some vampires were responding to the homing signal, and some weren't. At least, not yet.
Richard Morrell was staring thoughtfully into the distance, and finally, when all the reports were finished, he clicked the button again. "Oliver, it's Richard. What happens if you start going zombie on us?"
"I won't," Oliver said.
"If you do. Humor me. Who takes over?"
Oliver obviously didn't want to think about this, and I could hear the barely suppressed fury in his voice when he replied. "You do," he said. "I don't care how you organize it. If we have to hand the defense of Morganville over to mere humans, we've already lost. Oliver signing out. Next checkin, one hour from now."
The walkietalkie clicked off.
"That went well," Dean Wallace observed. "He's named you heir apparent to the Apocalypse. Congratulations."
"Yeah, it's one hell of a field promotion." Richard stood up. "Let's find a place for Michael."
"We have some storage areas in the basement--steel doors, no windows. That's where they'll take the others."
"That'll do for now. I want to move him to the jail as soon as we can, centralize the containment."
I looked at Eve, and then at Michael's sleeping face, and thought about him alone in a cell--because what else could you call it? Locked away like Myrnin.
Myrnin. I wondered if he'd felt this weird pull, too, and if he had, whether or not they'd been able to stop him from taking off. Probably not, if he'd been determined to go running off. Myrnin was one of those unstoppable forces, and unless he met an immovable object . . .
I sighed and helped carry Michael down the hall, past the stunned bureaucrats, to his temporary holding cell.