by Rachel Caine
Claire tried to remember what Eve had said. Nothing, really. “Why did they do that?”
“She wouldn’t take Protection from their Patron when she turned eighteen. Plus, she started dressing Goth when she was about your age. Said she was never going to kiss any vampire ass, no matter what.” Michael made a helpless gesture with his hands. “At eighteen, they threw her out. Had to, or it would have cost the whole family their Protection. So she’s on her own. She’s done okay—she’s safe here, and she’s safe at the coffee shop. It’s only the rest of the time she has to be careful.”
Claire couldn’t think of anything to say. She looked away from Michael, around the room. His bed was made. Oh my God, that’s his bed. She tried to imagine Michael sleeping there, and couldn’t. Although she could imagine some other things, and shouldn’t have because it made her feel hot and embarrassed.
“Claire,” he said quietly. She looked back at him. “Brandon’s too young to be out before dark, so you’re safe in the daytime, but don’t stay out after dark. Got it?”
She nodded.
“About the other thing…”
“I won’t tell,” she said. “I won’t, Michael. Not if you don’t want me to.”
He let out his breath in a long, slow sigh. “Thanks. I know it sounds stupid, but…I just don’t want them to know yet. I need to figure out how to tell them.”
“It’s your business,” Claire said. “And Michael? If you start, you know, getting this craving for red stuff…?”
“You’ll be the first to know,” he said. His eyes were steady and cool. “And I expect you to do whatever you have to do to stop me.”
She shivered and said yes, okay, she’d stake him if she had to, but she didn’t mean it.
She hoped she didn’t, anyway.
8
Shane’s turn for cooking dinner, and he came up with chili dogs—more chili, but at least he did a good job with it. Claire had two, watching in amazement as Michael and Shane downed four each, and Eve nibbled one. She smiled at Shane, and shot back barbs whenever he sent one sailing her way, but Claire noticed something else.
Eve couldn’t keep her eyes off of Michael. At first, Claire thought, She knows something, but then she saw the flush in Eve’s cheeks showing through the pale makeup, and the glitter in her eyes.
Oh. Well, she guessed Michael had looked pretty hot, grabbing her out of danger like that and dragging her out of harm’s way. And now that she thought about it, Eve had been making little glances his direction every time they’d been together.
Eve finally shoved her plate away and claimed dibs on the bathroom for a long, hot, soaking bubble bath. Which Claire wished she’d thought of first. She and Michael did the dishes while Shane practiced his zombie-fighting skills on Xbox.
“Eve likes you, you know,” she said casually as she was rinsing off the last plate. He nearly dropped the one he was drying.
“What?”
“She does.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No.”
“I don’t think you understand Eve, then.”
“Don’t you like her?”
“Of course I like her!”
“Enough to…?”
“I am not talking about this.” He put the plate into the drainer. “Jesus, Claire!”
“Oh, come on. You like her, don’t you?”
“Even if I did—” He stopped short, glancing toward the doorway and lowering his voice. “Even if I did, there are a few problems, don’t you think?”
“Everybody’s got problems,” she said. “Especially in this town. I’ve only been here six weeks, and I already know that.”
Whatever he thought about that, he dried his hands and walked out. She heard him talking to Shane, and when she went out the two of them were deep into the video game, elbowing each other and fighting for every point.
Boys. Sheesh.
She was on her way to her room, passing the bathroom, when she heard Eve crying. She knocked quietly, and looked in when Eve muffled her sobs. The door wasn’t locked.
Eve was dressed in a black fluffy robe, sitting on the toilet; she’d stripped off her makeup and let her hair down, and she looked like a little girl in a too-large adult outfit. Fragile. She gave Claire a shaky grin and wiped tear tracks from her face. “Sorry,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Kind of a suck-ass day, you know?”
“That guy. That vampire. He acted like he knew you,” Claire said.
“Yeah. He—he’s the one who gives my family Protection. I turned him down. He’s not too happy.” She gave a hollow little laugh. “Guess nobody likes rejection.”
Claire studied her. “You okay, though?”
“Sure. Peachy.” Eve waved her out. “Go study. Get smart enough to blow this town. I’m just a little bit down. Don’t worry about it.”
Later, when Michael started playing, Claire heard Eve crying through the wall again.
She didn’t go investigate, and she didn’t watch Michael vanish. She didn’t think she had the courage.
Shane went with her the next day to buy some clothes. It was only three blocks to the colorless retail section of town, with all its dingy-looking thrift stores; she didn’t want his company, but he wasn’t letting her go alone.
“You let Eve go alone,” she pointed out as he sat on the couch putting on his shoes.
“Yeah, well, Eve has a car,” he said. “Besides, I wasn’t up. You get escorted. Live with it.”
She felt secretly pleased about it. A little. It was another typically sunny day, the sidewalks almost vibrating with heat. Not a lot of pedestrians, but then, there rarely were. Shane walked with a long, loping stride, hands in his pockets; she had to hurry to keep up. She kept waiting for him to say something, but he didn’t. After a while, she just started talking. “Did you have a lot of friends, growing up here?”
“Friends? Yeah, I guess. A few. Michael. I kind of knew Eve back then, but we hung with different crowds. Couple of other kids.”
“What—what happened to them?”
“Nothing,” Shane said. “They grew up, got jobs, claimed Protection, kept right on going. That’s how it works in Morganville. You either stay in, or you run.”
“Do you ever see them?” Because she’d been amazed how much she’d missed her friends back home, especially Elizabeth. She’d always thought she was a loner, but…maybe she wasn’t. Maybe nobody really was.
“No,” he said. “Nothing in common these days. They don’t want to hang with somebody like me.”
“Somebody who doesn’t want to fit in.” Shane glanced at her and nodded. “Sorry.”
He shrugged. “Nobody’s fault. So what about you? Any friends back home?”
“Yeah. Elizabeth, she’s my best friend. We talked all the time, you know? But…when she found out I was going away to school, she just…” Claire decided a shrug was about the best opinion she could offer about it.
“Ever call her?”
“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s like we don’t know each other anymore. You know? We have to think about what to say. It’s weird.”
“God, I know what you mean.” Shane suddenly stopped and took his hands out of his pockets. They were in the middle of the block, in between two stores, and at first she thought he was going to look in a window, but then he said tensely, “Turn around and walk away. Just go into the first store you see, and hide.”
“But—”
“Do it, Claire. Now.”
She backed away and turned, walked as fast as she dared to the store they’d already passed. It was a skanky-looking used-clothing store, nowhere she’d willingly shop, but she pushed open the door and looked back over her shoulder as she did.
A cop car was gliding to the curb next to Shane. He was standing there, hands at his sides, looking bland and respectful, and the cop who was driving leaned out of the window to say something to him.
Claire nearly fell forward as the door was jerked open, and stumbled ov
er the threshold into a darkened, musty-smelling interior.
“Hey there,” the uniformed cop who’d opened the door said to her. He was an older man, blond, with thinning hair and a thick mustache. Cold blue eyes and crooked teeth. “Claire, right?”
“I—” She couldn’t think what to say to that. All her life she’d been told not to lie to the police, but…“Yes, sir.” She could tell he already knew, anyway.
“My name’s Gerald. Gerald Bradfield. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand. She swallowed hard, wiped her sweaty palm, and shook. She half expected that he’d click handcuffs around her wrists, but he just half crushed her hand as he pumped it twice, up and down, and let go. “People been looking for you, you know.”
“I—didn’t know that, sir.”
“Didn’t you?” Cold, cold eyes, no matter what the smile said. “Can’t imagine that, little girl. Fact is, the mayor’s daughter was worried about where you might have got off to. Asked us to find you. Make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine, sir.” She could barely talk. Her mouth had gone dry. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
He laughed. “Why would you be in trouble, Claire? No, you don’t have to worry about that. Fact is, we already know where you are. And who you’re running with. You should be more careful, honey. You’re brand-new here, but you already know a hell of a lot more than you ought. And your friends aren’t exactly the kind that guarantee a peaceful life in this town. Troublemakers. You don’t look like a troublemaker to me. Tell you what, you move back into the dorm, be a good girl, go to classes, I’ll personally make sure nothing happens to you.”
Claire wanted to nod, wanted to agree, wanted to do anything to get away from this man. She looked around the store. There were other people in there, but she couldn’t get any of them to look at her. It was like she didn’t even exist.
“You don’t think I can do it,” he said. “I can. Count on it.”
She looked back at him, and his eyes had gone white, with little dots of pupils in the middle. When he smiled, she saw a flash of fangs.
She gasped, backed away, and grabbed for the door handle. She lunged out into the street, running, and saw Shane standing right where he’d been, watching the police car pull away from the curb. He turned and grabbed her as she practically crashed into him. “Vampire!” she gasped. “V-vampire cop. In the store!”
“Must have been Bradfield,” Shane said. “Tall guy? Kind of bald, with a mustache?”
She nodded, shaking all over. Shane didn’t even look surprised, much less alarmed. “Bradfield’s okay,” he said. “Not the worst guy in town, that’s for sure. He hurt you?”
“He—he just shook my hand. But he said he knew! He knew where I was living!”
Again, Shane didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, well, that was just a matter of time. They pulled over to ask me your full name. They added it to inventory.”
“Inventory?”
“That’s what they call it. It’s like a census. They always know how many are living in a place. Look, just walk, okay? And don’t look so scared. They aren’t going to jump us in broad daylight.”
Shane had a lot more confidence in that than she did, but she got control of her shaking and nodded, and followed him up another block to a thrift shop that looked brighter, friendlier, and less likely to have vampires lurking inside. “This is Mrs. Lawson’s place. She used to be a friend of my mom’s. It’s okay.” Shane held open the door for her, like a gentleman. She supposed his mom had taught him that. Inside, the place smelled nice—incense, Claire thought—and there were lots of lights burning. No dark corners here, and a bell rang with a pleasant little tinkling sound when Shane let the door shut behind them.
“Shane!” A large woman in a brightly colored tie-dyed shirt and big, swirly skirt hustled over from behind the counter at the back, gathered Shane up in a hug, and beamed at him when she stepped back. “Boy, what the hell are you doing back here? Up to no good?”
“Up to no good, ma’am. Just like always.”
“Thought so. Good for you.” The woman’s dark eyes landed on Claire. “Who’s your little friend?”
“This is Claire. Claire Danvers. She’s—she’s a student at the college.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire. Now. I’ll bet you didn’t come in here just to say ‘hey,’ boy, so what can I do for you?”
“Clothes,” Claire said. “I’m looking for some clothes.”
“Those we got. You’re about a size four, right? Come with me, honey. I’ve got some really nice things just your size. Shane, you look like you could use some new clothes, too. Those jeans are raggedy.”
“Supposed to be.”
“Lord. Fashion. I just don’t understand it anymore.”
Maybe she didn’t, but Mrs. Lawson had all kinds of cute tops and jeans and things, and cheap, too. Claire picked an armload and followed her to the counter, where she counted out a grand total of twenty-two dollars, including tax. As Mrs. Lawson was ringing it up, Claire looked behind her to the things on the wall. There was some kind of official-looking certificate hanging there, framed, with an embossed seal…. No, that wasn’t a seal. That was a symbol. The same symbol as the one on the bracelet Mrs. Lawson wore.
“You take care,” Mrs. Lawson said as she handed over the bag with the clothes. “Both of you. Tell Shane he needs to get himself right, and he needs to do it quick. They’ve been cutting him some slack, given what he went through, but that won’t last. He needs to be thinking about his future.”
Claire looked over her shoulder to where Shane was staring out the window, looking bored. Eyes half-closed.
“I’ll tell him,” she said doubtfully.
She couldn’t imagine Shane was thinking about anything else.
Days slipped away, and Claire just let them go. She was worried about class, but she was tired and her bruises had turned Technicolor, and the last thing she wanted to do was be the center of attention. It was better—Shane had convinced her—to do some home study and get back to class when she was better, and Monica had had some time to let things blow over.
The week slipped away. She fell into a regular routine—up late with Michael and Shane and Eve, sleep until noon, argue over bathroom rights, cook, clean, study, do it all again. It felt…good. Real, somehow, in a way that dorm life didn’t, exactly.
The following Monday, when she got up and made breakfast, she had to make it for two: Shane was awake, looking grumpy and groggy. He silently grabbed the bacon and fried some up while she did the eggs; there wasn’t any banter, as there had been between him and Eve a couple of mornings back. She tried a little conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood. He just grunted replies. She waited until he was done with his breakfast—which included a cup of coffee, brewed in the tiny little coffeemaker on the corner of the counter—before she asked, “What are you doing up so early?”
Shane leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing as he chewed. “Ask Michael.”
Can’t exactly do that… “You doing something for him?”
“Yeah.” He thumped his chair back down and brushed his hand over his hair, which still looked like a mess. “Don’t expect me to dress up or anything.”
“What?”
“What you see is what you get.” She just looked at him, frowning, trying to figure out what he was saying. “I’m taking you to class. You were going back today, right?”
“You’re kidding,” she said flatly. He shrugged. “You’re kidding. I’m not some six-year-old who needs her big brother to walk her to school! No way, Shane!”
“Michael thinks you should have an escort. Brandon was pretty pissed. He could find a way to take it out on you, even if he can’t do it himself. He’s got plenty of people who’d kick your ass on his say-so.” Shane’s eyes slid away from hers. “Like Monica.”
Oh, crap. “Monica belongs to Brandon?”
“The whole Morrell family does, far as I know. He’s their own personal badass. So.” H
e rubbed his hands together. “What exciting classes do we have today?”
“You can’t go to class with me!”
“Hey, you’re welcome to knock me out and stop me, but until you do, I’m your date for the day. So. What classes?”
“Calculus II, Physics of Sound, Chemistry III, chem lab, and Biochemistry.”
“Holy crap. You really are smart. Right, I’ll take some comics or something. Maybe my iPod.”
She kept glaring at him. It didn’t seem to do any good—if anything, it just made him more cheerful.
“I always wanted to be a big man on campus,” Shane said. “Guess this is my chance.”
“I’m dead,” she moaned, and rested her forehead on her hands.
“Not yet. And that’s kind of the point.”
She was afraid Shane would make a big deal out of it, but he didn’t. He even combed his hair, which turned out to make him look totally hot in ways that she was afraid to notice. Especially if she had to spend the whole day with him. He’d picked a plain white shirt and his best pair of blue jeans, which were still out at the knees and frayed at the hems. And plain running shoes. “In case we have to do any retreating,” he said. “Plus, kicking somebody when you’re wearing flip-flops hurts.”
“But you’re not kicking anybody,” she said quickly. “Right?”
“Nobody who doesn’t deserve it,” he said. “What else do I need to fit in?”
“Backpack.” She found her spare—she’d brought two—and tossed it to him. He stuck in some paperbacks, a PSP, and his iPod and headphones, then raided the cabinets for Twinkies and bottled water. “We’re not exactly going to the wilderness, Shane. You don’t have to take everything. There are vending machines.”
“Yeah? I didn’t see any lunch in that schedule. You’ll thank me later.”
In fact, she did feel better with Shane loping along beside her; he was watching the shadows, the dark alleys, the empty buildings. Watching everything. Even though he’d packed the iPod, he wasn’t listening to it. She missed hers, all of a sudden, and wondered if Monica had it.
