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 Claire Danvers."
"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. Claire was glad she 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?"
Claire 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 they walked up the steps to the building, Claire realized there were two more guards outside of the main door. Hannah didn't know these guys, but she repeated their names and credentials, and after a brief, impersonal search, they were allowed inside.
The last time Claire had been here she'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 Claire 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, Claire 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 they 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 Claire could spot--no, there it was, hidden away in a rollout credenza to the side.
The room was lushly carpeted, so much so that Claire's 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. Claire 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 them 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. Claire couldn't see her shoes, but she 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 Claire 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. Claire's heart practically melted with relief. He's okay. Michael's okay.
Except that he closed the door and walked straight past them, a man on a mission.
He walked right past Eve, who stood there flatfooted, mouth open, fear dawning in her expression.
"Michael!" Claire yelped. He didn't even pause. "We have to stop him!"
"Great," Hannah said, and the three of them took off in pursuit.
It helped that Michael wasn't actually running, just moving with a purpose. Claire and Eve edged by him in the hall and blocked his path.
His blue eyes were wideopen, but he just didn't see them. He sensed an obstacle, at least, and paused.
"Michael," Claire 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 them, 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 Claire a quick, commanding look. "Get help. Now. I'll try to hold him."
Claire hesitated, but Hannah was without any doubt better equipped to handle a potentially hostile Michael than she was. She 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," she 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 Claire. She took it--it was heavier than the walkietalkies-- and pressed the button to talk. "Richard? It's Claire. We have a big problem. We need to stop Michael and anybody else . . ." How could she 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 her mind, and she caught her breath on a sob. "Help us. They're going out in the sun."
"Give the radio back," he ordered. She handed it to the blackuniformed man. "I need you to go with this girl and help her. No questions."