by Rachel Caine
Oh no.
Claire bit her lip and stared at the bracelet for a long time, then snapped the lid shut, put it back in the envelope, and went to join Eve and Michael in the kitchen.
‘‘So?’’ Eve was getting down pots, and Michael was rummaging in the refrigerator. ‘‘Spaghetti okay with you?’’
‘‘Fine,’’ Claire said. She wondered if she looked spooked. She hoped not, but even if she did, Eve was looking at Michael, and he was looking back, and she was safe from any kind of major inspection while they were making eyes at each other.
Until she turned, and ran into Shane, who’d come in the kitchen door behind her. The package felt hot and heavy in her right hand, and she took an involuntary step back.
Which hurt him. She saw the flash of it in his eyes. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘You all right?’’
She nodded, unable to speak, because if she said anything, it would have to be a lie. Shane stepped closer and put a warm hand on her face; it felt good, so very good that she leaned into it, then further, into his arms. He made her feel small and loved, and for just a second, what was in the package in her hand didn’t matter.
‘‘You’re working too hard,’’ he said. ‘‘You look pale. School okay?’’
‘‘School’s fine,’’ she said. That wasn’t a lie, school was definitely not what scared her anymore. ‘‘I guess I need more sleep.’’
‘‘Just a few more days until the weekend.’’ He kissed the top of her head, bent closer, and whispered, ‘‘My room. I need to talk to you.’’
She blinked, but he was already stepping back and heading out the door. She looked over her shoulder at Eve and Michael, but they were happily talking as Eve adjusted the flame under the pots, and they hadn’t noticed anything.
Claire shoved the package into her backpack, zipped it up, and followed Shane upstairs.
Shane’s room was very utilitarian—his bed was never made, though he made an attempt as she came in to straighten out the sheets and toss the blanket over it. A couple of posters on the wall, nothing special. No photos, no mementos. He didn’t spend a lot of time here, except to sleep. Most of his stuff was crammed into the closet.
Claire leaned her backpack against the wall and sat down next to him on the bed. ‘‘What?’’ she asked. If she’d expected a wild predinner make-out session, she was disappointed. He didn’t even put his arm around her.
‘‘I’m thinking of leaving,’’ he said.
‘‘Leaving? But Eve’s making dinner—’’
He turned and made eye contact. ‘‘Leaving Morganville.’’
She felt a surge of utter panic. ‘‘No. You can’t!’’ ‘‘Done it before. Look, this place, it’s—I didn’t come back here because I missed it. I came back because my dad sent me, and now that he’s been and gone and I’m not doing his dirty work anymore . . .’’ Shane’s eyes were begging her to understand. ‘‘I want a life, Claire. And you don’t belong here. You can’t stay. They’ll kill you. No, worse. They’ll make you into one of them, one of the walking dead. I’m not talking about the vampires, either. Nobody who lives here has a pulse, not really.’’
‘‘Shane—’’
He kissed her, and his lips were warm and damp and soft and urgent. ‘‘Please,’’ he whispered. ‘‘We need to leave this town. It’s going to get bad. I can feel it.’’
God, why was he doing this? Why now? ‘‘I can’t,’’ she said. ‘‘I—school, and—I just can’t, Shane. I can’t leave.’’ Her signature on a piece of paper. Her soul on a platter. It had been the price to keep them safe, but she’d have to keep on paying, right? As apprentice to Myrnin. And she guessed that wouldn’t be a long-distance study course.
‘‘Please.’’ It was barely a whisper from him, his lips brushing hers, and honestly, she would have done almost anything for him when he used that tone, but this time . . .
‘‘What happened?’’ she asked.
‘‘What?’’
‘‘Was it something with Michael? Did he—did you—?’’ She didn’t even know what she was asking, but something had deeply disturbed Shane, and she had no idea what it was.
He looked at her for a long few seconds, then pulled away, stood up, and walked to his window to look down on the backyard they never really used. ‘‘My dad called,’’ he said. ‘‘He told me that he was coming back, and he wanted me to be prepared to take out some vampires. If I stay, I’m going to have to kill Michael. I don’t want to be here, Claire. I can’t.’’
He didn’t want to make the choice, not again. Claire bit her lip, hard; she could hear the pain in his voice, although he wasn’t going to let her see it in his expression. ‘‘You really think your dad will come back?’’
‘‘Yeah. Eventually. Maybe not this month, maybe not this year, but . . . someday. And next time, he’ll have what he needs to start a real war around here.’’ Shane shivered; she saw the muscles in his back tense up under the tight gray shirt he was wearing. ‘‘I need to get you out of here before you get hurt.’’
Claire got up, walked to him, and put her arms around him from behind. She leaned against him, her head on his back, and sighed. ‘‘I’m more worried about you,’’ she said. ‘‘You and trouble . . .’’
‘‘Yeah.’’ She heard the smile in his voice. ‘‘We’re like that.’’
4
The spaghetti was good, and a little pleading got Shane to sit down and eat. He sat across from Michael, but they didn’t talk, and they didn’t make eye contact. All in all, pretty polite. Claire was just starting to relax when Shane asked, blandly, ‘‘You put extra garlic in this, Eve? You know how I like the garlic.’’
She shot him a dirty look. ‘‘Oh, the neighborhood knows.’’ And then an apologetic one toward Michael. ‘‘It’s okay, right? Not too much?’’ Because garlic wasn’t something vampires were especially fond of. That was why Shane tended to use it as garnish on everything he ate.
‘‘It’s fine,’’ Michael said, but he was picking at his food, and he looked a little pale. ‘‘Monica stopped by today. Looking for you, Claire.’’
Both Shane and Eve groaned. For once, all three of her housemates were entirely in agreement. And they were all looking at her.
‘‘What?’’ she asked. ‘‘I swear, it’s not—I’m not sucking up to her or anything! She’s just—crazy, okay? I’m not her friend. I don’t know why she’s coming around.’’
‘‘She’s probably going to set you up again,’’ Eve said, and scooped more spaghetti into her bowl. ‘‘Like she did at the frat dance. Hey, she’s throwing a party this Friday, did you hear? Superexclusive, flying in out of towners and everything. I guess it’s her birthday, or Daddy-gave-me-money day, or whatever. We should crash.’’
‘‘I like the sound of that,’’ Shane said. ‘‘Crashing Monica’s party.’’ He glanced at Michael, then quickly away. ‘‘What about you? That break some kind of vampire rules of conduct or something?’’
‘‘Blow me, Shane.’’
‘‘Boys,’’ Eve said primly. ‘‘Language. Minor at the table.’’
‘‘Well,’’ Shane said, ‘‘I wasn’t actually planning to do it.’’
Claire rolled her eyes. ‘‘Not like it’s the first time I’ve heard it. Or said it.’’
‘‘You shouldn’t say it,’’ Michael said, all seriousness. ‘‘No, I mean it. Girls should say ‘eat me,’ not ‘blow me.’ Wouldn’t recommend ‘bite me,’ though. Not around here.’’
Eve choked on her spaghetti. Shane pounded her on the back, but he was laughing, too, and so was Michael, and Claire glared at them for a little bit before giving in and admitting it was funny, after all.
Everything was all right.
‘‘So. Friday night?’’ Eve asked, wiping her eyes and gasping through her giggles. ‘‘Par-tay? Because I could so use a good blowout.’’
‘‘I’m in,’’ Michael said, and took a manful bite of spaghetti. Claire wondered if it burned him. ‘‘I t
hink if I’m with you, there’s no way she can keep us out. Vampire VIP status. Might as well be good for something.’’
Shane looked at him, and for a second there was that warmth that Claire missed so much, but then it was gone again, and the wall was back firmly in place between the two of them.
‘‘Must be nice,’’ he said. ‘‘We should all go, if it’s going to ruin Monica’s night.’’
They finished the rest of the meal in uncomfortable silence. Claire realized that she kept thinking about that red velvet box sitting upstairs in her room, and struggled not to look guilty. Probably didn’t succeed. She caught Michael watching her with a strange intensity; whether he was picking up on her discomfort or still wondering about why she didn’t jump at the chance to go to Monica’s party.
She ate too fast, cleaned her dishes, and dashed upstairs with a mumbled excuse about homework. Well, it wasn’t as though they weren’t used to her studying. It was Shane’s turn for dishes, so that would keep him busy for a while. . . .
The box was right where she’d left it, sitting on the dresser. She grabbed it, put her back against the wall, and slid down to a cross-legged sitting position as she weighed the box in her hand.
‘‘You’re wondering whether or not to wear it,’’ Amelie said, and Claire yelped in surprise. The elegant older vampire, completely at her ease, was seated in the antique old velvet chair in the corner, her hands folded primly in her lap. She looked like a painting, not a person; there was something about her—now more than ever—that seemed antique and cold as marble.
Claire scrambled to her feet, feeling stupid about it, but you just didn’t sit like that in Amelie’s presence. Amelie acknowledged the courtesy with a graceful nod, but didn’t otherwise move.
‘‘I apologize for surprising you, Claire, but I needed to speak with you alone,’’ she said.
‘‘How can you get in here? I mean, this is our house; aren’t vampires . . . ?’’
‘‘Prevented from entry? Not into another vampire’s home, and even were you all human, this house ultimately belongs to me. I built it, as I built all of the Founder Houses. The house knows me, and so I need no permissions to enter.’’ Amelie’s eyes glinted in the dark. ‘‘Does that disturb you?’’
Claire swallowed and didn’t answer. ‘‘What did you want?’’
Amelie raised one long, slender finger and pointed at the velvet box in Claire’s hand. ‘‘I want you to put that on.’’
‘‘But—’’
‘‘I am not asking. I am instructing.’’
Claire shivered, because although Amelie’s voice stayed level, it sounded . . . hard. She opened the box and shook the bracelet out. It felt heavy and warm in her hand, and she peered at it carefully.
There wasn’t a catch, but it was clearly too small to fit over her hand. ‘‘I don’t know how—’’
She saw a flash in her peripheral vision, and by the time she looked up, Amelie was taking the bracelet out of her palm, and cold strong fingers were holding her arm.
‘‘It’s made for you,’’ Amelie said. ‘‘Hold still. Unlike the bracelets most of the other children wear, yours cannot be removed. The contract you signed gives me this right, do you understand?’’
‘‘But—no, I don’t want—’’
Too late. Amelie moved, and the bracelet seemed to pass through Claire’s skin and bone, and settle heavily around her wrist. Claire tried to yank free, but there was no way, not as strong as Amelie was. Amelie smiled and held her still for another second, just to make the point, before she let go. Claire turned the bracelet frantically, pressing, looking for the trick.
It looked seamless, and it wasn’t coming off.
‘‘It must be done this way, the old way,’’ Amelie said. ‘‘This bracelet will save your life, Claire. Mark me. It is a favor I have given rarely in my life. You should be grateful.’’
Grateful? Claire felt like a dog on a leash, and she hated it. She glared at Amelie, and the vampire’s smile intensified. She couldn’t really say it brightened— there was something in it that undermined the whole concept of comfort.
‘‘Perhaps you’ll be grateful at a later date,’’ Amelie said, and raised her eyebrows. ‘‘Very well. I’ll leave you now. No doubt you have studies.’’
‘‘How am I supposed to hide this from my friends?’’ Claire blurted, as the vampire walked toward the door.
‘‘You aren’t,’’ Amelie said, and opened the door without unlocking it. ‘‘Don’t forget. You should be well prepared for Myrnin tomorrow.’’ She stepped out into the hall and closed it behind her. Claire lunged forward and turned the knob, but it refused to open. By the time she twisted the thumb lock and swung it back, Amelie was gone. The hall was empty. Claire stood there, listening to the clatter of dishes from downstairs, the distant laughter, and wanted to cry.
She scrubbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and went to her desk to try to study.
The next day was a busy whirl of classes, quizzes, and discussion groups, and Claire was grateful for the afternoon break when it finally arrived. She felt stupid, dressed in her long-sleeved T, but it was the only thing she had that could hide the bracelet, and she desperately wanted to hide it. So far, so good. Eve hadn’t noticed, Shane hadn’t been awake when they’d left for school. No sign of Michael, either. She’d gotten desperate last night and tried a couple of ways to break the gold band—scissors, then a pair of rusty old bolt-cutters from the basement—but she broke the blade on the scissors, and the bolt-cutters were clumsy and slid right off the metal. She couldn’t do it alone, and she couldn’t ask for help.
Can’t hide it forever.
Well, she could try.
Claire headed for the UC and the coffee bar, and she found Eve harassed, pink-cheeked under the rice-powder makeup, all alone behind the counter. ‘‘Where’s Amy?’’ Claire asked, and handed over three dollars for a mocha. ‘‘I thought she was working all week?’’
‘‘Yeah, no kidding, me too. I called my boss, but he’s sick and so’s Kim, so it’s just me today. Not enough coffee in the world to make this easy.’’ Eve blew hair from her sweaty forehead and zipped over to the espresso machine, where she pulled shots. ‘‘Ever have one of those dreams where you’re running and everybody else is standing still, but you can’t catch up?’’
‘‘No,’’ Claire said. ‘‘Usually mine are about being naked in class.’’
Eve grinned. ‘‘For that, you get a free caramel shot. Go sit down. I don’t need you hovering like the rest of these vultures.’’
Claire claimed a study desk and spread out her books, got her mocha when Eve called her name, and yawned as she cracked open Last Will and Testament again. She’d spent most of the night memorizing the symbols, but they were tricky. She’d gotten all of the Egyptian ones down, but these were a whole lot less straightforward, and she had the sense that Myrnin wouldn’t be too forgiving of mistakes.
A shadow fell over her book. She looked up and saw Detective Travis Lowe, and his partner, Joe Hess, standing close behind him. She knew both of them pretty well; they’d helped her during that crazy time when Shane’s dad had been skulking around Morganville, trying to kill vampires (and succeeding). They didn’t wear bracelets, and they weren’t Protected; as she understood it, they’d earned some kind of special status. She wasn’t sure how they’d managed that, but it had to be something really brave.
‘‘Morning, Claire,’’ Hess said, and pulled up a chair. Lowe did the same. They weren’t all that similar in body types—Hess was tall and kind of wiry, with a long face; Lowe was chubby and balding. But the expressions in their eyes were identical—careful, hidden, wary. ‘‘How have you been?’’
‘‘Fine,’’ she said, and resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to touch her bracelet, fiddle with it. She looked from one to the other, feeling less secure all the time. ‘‘What’s going on? Is something wrong?’’
‘‘Yeah,’’ Lowe said. ‘‘You could say that.
Look, Claire, there’s—I’m sorry to tell you this, but there was a dead girl out back of your house. She was found this morning by the trash collectors.’’
A dead girl? Claire swallowed hard. ‘‘Who is she?’’
‘‘Amy Callum,’’ Hess said. ‘‘She’s a local girl. Family lives just a few blocks from you. Her people are pretty broken up about it.’’ He shifted his gaze toward the coffee bar. ‘‘She worked here.’’
Amy? Coffee Bar Amy? Oh no . . . ‘‘I knew her,’’ Claire said faintly. ‘‘She worked with Eve. She was supposed to be here today. Eve was saying—’’ Eve. Claire looked over and saw that Eve was still chattering away brightly, filling orders, taking cash. They hadn’t told her yet. ‘‘You’re sure it was our house?’’
‘‘Claire . . .’’ The two detectives exchanged a look, not a good one. ‘‘Her body was stuffed inside your trash can. We’re sure.’’
Claire felt faint. That close . . . she’d put out trash just two days ago, right? Dumped garbage bags into the can. Amy had been alive then. And now . . .
‘‘Did you see anything last night?’’ Hess continued.
‘‘No, I was—it was dark when I got home. And then I studied all night.’’
‘‘Hear anything, maybe some racket out by the garbage cans?’’
‘‘No, sir. I had headphones on. I’m sorry.’’
Shane had been looking out the window, she remembered. Maybe he’d seen someone. But he’d have said, right? He wouldn’t hide something like that.
An awful thought struck her, and she looked up into Joe Hess’s calm, impartial eyes. ‘‘Was it—’’ Too many people around. She mimed fangs in the neck. He shook his head.
‘‘It’s the same as the last one we found,’’ Lowe said. ‘‘Can’t rule out our toothy friends, but it doesn’t fit their style. You know whose style it fits, though?’’
‘‘Jason’s,’’ Claire said numbly. ‘‘Eve’s brother. He’s still out?’’
‘‘Haven’t caught him doing anything illegal yet. But we will. He’s too crazy to live sane.’’ Lowe studied her. ‘‘Haven’t seen him, have you?’’
