Chapter 9 - "Morganville goes for the multifarious look"

Claire's POV

There was something wrong with her. Something really, really wrong. Claire's head thumped harder than a hundred simultaneous headaches, which made it harder for her to figure out what had happened. Each little impact stunned her, dragged her backwards, threw her into the empty oblivion, and back to the start; a never-ending roundabout of pain. Nothing she had ever faced - not the acid on her back, or being bitten by Mrynin in one of his episode, that deadly broken neck from Magnus or watching Eve's face as Michael kissed her – nothing compared to this.

Claire's body felt like it had been injected with a huge overdose of morphine, or leaked of all her blood. That last theory probably wasn't true, she admitted to herself, since she could feel the blood blasting against the temporal part of her skull with every hit of headache. She couldn't feel anything but pain, she could not see or smell or hear. It was delightful, to say the least. Even though she – Claire Danvers, major nerd and self-appointed ruler of all nerds – could not think clearly, she knew that there were several options. As a logophile (noun: a lover of words), Claire also knew that on a normal day she would be able to come up with a few choice words to describe her situation. Maybe it was all the time she had spent with Shane, or just being away from school or books for so long. The only words that came to mind were: 'Holy Crap' and 'ouch'.

Anyway, Claire figured there were some reasons that she was now locked in the darkness of her own mind:

a) Claire was some kind of prodigal child with an allergy to vampire blood

b) Her previous death had meant it was impossible to turn her

c) She didn't swallow enough of Amelie's blood or,

d) There was something massively wrong with Amelie's blood.

And none of those options seemed particularly promising. Typical Claire Danvers, she really knew how to get life right.. Don't you Claire? She inwardly sighed and just lay wherever she was hoping that the others knew what to do. Prayed that they were doing something.

Myrnin's POV

Erudite was an adjective how many who knew me had described me in the past; a man whom characterized by his great knowledge, learned and scholarly. If only they would see me at that very resplendent moment, they would see how I have grown. My vituperative clearing of the piles and piles of somewhat desultory papers off Amelie's desk would tell them that I, Myrnin the ancient and mad, truly did care for a mere human girl. A girl who, upon turning into a vampire, appeared to die.

She cannot be dead, I could feel a pulse. The erratic rate did none to please me, but it was enough to be hopeful. I had found hope in much, much less in my long and dull life. I lay her directly on to the now empty desk.

"My lady! This girl is in need of urgent help!" The silence that answered me gave the premonitions that something was utterly and irrevocably wrong. It was hard to turn away from Claire's haggard face, but it was a necessity. On the ground, with a similar expression to match that of Julius Caesar on his bloody deathbed, was Amelie. I rushed to her side. Alike Claire she had a distorted pulse and haggard face. Unlike Claire, she had a minute healed cut at the edge of a finger. Such a cut could easily be created without a blink for such an aged vampire. Was this an illness, or a plague? Had the curse upon Amelie returned?

As a wise man once said, participating in this world can teach you many things but only upon stopping to watch the world go round can you learn the many hidden truths. Scratch that... I just said that.

Luckily, I knew for a fact that this was not the case as being the smartest person in town meant that I could easily predict when other's were becoming restless and impatient. The stale air around town ever since the Magnus attack told me the humans, vampires, and other unknown groups had decided collectively that Our Founder was no longer fitted to run this dysfunctional constitution Therefore, I soon become a member belonging to the cabals in this god's forsaken town. There was a reason Frank morphed into the image of myself, he had been a spy in each one of the splinter groups for months. He was with Oliver, under the pretense of disliking the rule of Amelie. With Shane, under the pretense of protect Claire from the "big, evil" vampires. With many new players in town. Frank was well-acquainted enough with my mannerisms to play-act as myself, which was a feat he was not proud of. The only message I had given him was to be laconic, although my magniloquent language was most likely at a loss to him. Simple man, a brave man, but a very simple one too. But why was this important?

There was an obvious explanation as to why Claire, my beloved Claire, and Amelie, to whom I have always been the most loyally delinquent servant, were currently laying half-dead. Impossible, many would say. I laugh to myself and glance around the room. The mess I have made is quite contrasting to how it all was before, such was the pretense of order Amelie had created for herself. Then I see it in my peripherals: a letter. A letter which may have been opened with a pen knife, or some sort of opener - then I spot such an item by the shining metal. Yes, there are small drops of blood on the delicious silver. The letter itself is lovely, in terms of paper quality. Holding it to my somewhat pointed nose, I sniff in deeply. Circa early 1700s. The only villain in town old enough to own such paper would be Oliver. Although upon opening the letter I see it is signed 'with love, Oliver' or some similar smut.

Many would say that to find the cure of this disease would be impossible. The trick to doing the impossible, I have often found, is to simply never think past the furthest reach of your fingertips. Do the thing in front of you. Then the next. Then the next. In such ways have men built the pyramids, or climbed mountains, or raced to the moon on rockets. Or in my case, fall in love when you are nowt but an old cobbler with a wayward mind focused upon nothing but science. I strode to a nearby wall and willed a portal to open, such things are quite simple when you use the effort of a full capacity brain. The brain is like a flowing river, I think as I drape little Claire over one shoulder, it bubbles and bounces but it can never really reach the freedom of escaping the confinement the river's bank traps it in. The water, with enough rain and power, can then flood the plains nearby and leave the prison it was once in.

Oliver had drugged the paper. Once the letter reached Amelie's surface skin cells, all that was needed was for her to create an incision for the poison to seep into the blood stream and flow around the entirely of her body. The wound would then heal, trapping the jeopardised blood inside. Until another blood-deep wound opened, the poison would be dormat as the levels of oxygen in the blood where low enough to not cause anything. However, when Claire bit into Amelie's wrist, enough oxygen from the air triggered the posion, infecting both Claire and Amelie.

I stepped through the now ready portal into my lab and place Claire upon my bed as she had been merely a day before. Frank stood behind me. One of my hand involuntarily stroked a loose strand of her hair to behind her ear. Frank coughed. I ignored him.

"What's up with you, gloomy Dracula?" The hologram asked, sounding gruff and utterly banal in his 'tough-guy' act.

"There's been an incident. Oliver has attacked."

"The heck? I swear he wasn't doing much but telling that Monica kid off."

"My dear friend, will you ever become less narrow minded and stop the pedantic sermons that do bore me to death? Oliver would never show his whole plan to us - and by that I mean, me."

"I still don't gettit, why is my son's girlfriend in a coma, then?"

Tired of the man's stupidity, I stared at Claire's face. It was so young, so fresh, with the odd red pimple that caused the adolescent of this age to scream in fear. Not Claire, she took such superficial things into her stride. Her face... whenever I am in trouble I always see her, and it always calms me. Profound. The back of my hand caresses the contours of her face; a nondescript face with so many countless imperfections that it is perfect. It is Claire. My Claire.

"She's not your son's to possess. Claire is mine." I said. Frank remained silent. My eyes left Claire for a moment to look him in the eye. There was nothing there. Nothing but alacrity.

"That's what I wanted to hear. I hate the idea of my son caught up love's lust when there's vamps to kill."

It wasn't until the words kill and vamps registered in my mind that I realised that Michael Glass had not been in the room. And I also came to realise that I had left Amelie unattended. Vulnerable. I rushed to the closest portal and flew into the room like a vampire on drugs.

It was empty.