by Rachel Caine
“I’m not drunk!”
Shane steered Claire away, then across the street to the other sidewalk. Alex just stood there, shouting at them like a crazy man. Shane shook his head. “Man. Frat guys. They really can screw up their lives.”
“I don’t think he was drunk,” Claire said doubtfully. “He didn’t really look drunk.”
“Yeah, because you’d be the expert on that.” Shane sent her an ironic look, and she remembered, with a flash of shame, that he was the expert; his dad had been a drunk, and so had his mom, toward the end. Shane wasn’t exactly a saint, either. “Okay, maybe he wasn’t drinking, but he was definitely wrecked. What are the fratties taking these days? Maybe it was meth.”
Well, Claire really didn’t know anything much about drugs. It wasn’t that she was a prude; she just had a fear of anything that would screw up the way she thought. “This is your brain on drugs” and all that. “He probably needs help,” she decided, and pulled out her phone to dial Chief Moses. She told Hannah about the boy, feeling more than a little like maybe she ought to have minded her own business, but still. That had not been the Alex she’d met at school.
As she put the phone away, Claire remembered hearing that voice—Michael’s voice—through the bathroom door this morning. Mom?
She shivered as a cool breeze skittered by.
But really, it was a beautiful day, and she didn’t know why she was feeling so weird.
Visiting her folks was every bit as awkward as Claire had imagined. First, her mom opened the door, got a look of delight on her face as she saw Claire, and then immediately dimmed it down to a strained welcome when she spotted Shane standing behind her. “Claire, honey, so glad you’re here! And Shane, of course.” Somehow, that last part sounded like a total lie. “Come in; I was just cleaning up the kitchen. I’m grilling chicken for lunch; can you stay?”
That was Mom all over, offering food in the second breath. It made Claire feel at home. She traded a quick look with Shane, and then said, “Well, actually, we’ve already got plans, Mom, but thanks.”
“Oh. Of course.” Her mother was looking better these days—not as thin and haunted as she had been when they’d first come to Morganville. In fact, she looked like she’d gained a little weight, which was good, and she was dressing a bit less like a character in one of those black-and-white movies where women wore pearls to vacuum—more normal. Claire actually kind of liked her shirt. For Mom clothes.
“How’s Dad?” Claire asked, as they followed her down the hall and turned right into the kitchen. It was the exact same layout as the Glass House, since they were both Founder Houses, but the Danvers house had an open entrance to the kitchen, and her mother had painted the room in sunny yellows that cheered it up a lot. Ugh, she still liked the ducks, though. Lots of ceramic ducks. Well, at least it wasn’t the cheesy ceramic roosters; that was an awful memory. Claire and Shane took seats at the small kitchen table—a lot nicer than the battered one they had back at the Glass House—and Mom fussed around with cups and saucers (Shane held up a saucer with his eyebrows raised, like he’d never seen one) and got them coffee.
“Mom? How’s Dad?”
Her mom poured coffee without meeting her eyes. “He’s doing all right, honey. I wish you’d come see us more often.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It’s been . . . kind of busy these last few days.”
Her mom straightened up, frowning. “Is anything wrong?”
“No.” Claire slurped coffee, which was too hot, and her mom never made it strong enough. It tasted like coffee-flavored milk. “Not now. There was some trouble in town; that was all.”
“Claire killed a vampire,” Shane said. “She had to, but it could have gone bad for her with Amelie. As it was, she had to do a job for the vamps that almost killed her.”
She could not believe that he’d just blurted that out. Shane raised his eyebrows at her again in a silent, What? Like he couldn’t believe she wasn’t going to say all of that herself.
Her mother just stood there, mouth open, holding the steaming pot of coffee.
“It’s not that bad,” Claire said in a rush. “Really. I was just trying to help some people who were in trouble, including Eve. It just turned out . . . well, it turned out okay, in the end.”
Worst. Speech. Ever. And it didn’t seem to reassure her mother at all.
“Mrs. Danvers,” Shane said, and held out his cup for a refill on his coffee, with a smile that, Claire thought, he’d probably learned from Michael; even her mother seemed to warm up to it. “The point is, Claire did something really brave, and probably really important, so you should be proud of her.”
“I’m always proud of Claire.” And that, Claire thought, was true; her mother was always proud of her. Except maybe when it came to Shane, of course. “But it sounds very dangerous.”
“Shane was with me,” Claire said, before he could open his mouth again. “We look out for each other.”
“I’m sure you do. Oh, let me go see what’s keeping your father. I can’t believe he hasn’t been down for coffee yet; that’s a violation of the laws of physics. I know he’s awake.”
Her mother set the pot back on the coffee machine and left the kitchen, heading for the stairs. Shane leaned over to Claire and said, “Does it give you déjà voodoo how alike the houses are?”
“That’s déjà vu, and I hate you right now.”
“For narcing on you to your mom? Wait until you hear what I tell your dad.” From the sly grin on his face, she knew what he was thinking.
“Don’t you even think about it.”
“I could tell him about that time we—”
“Hell, no.”
They were whispering, and on the verge of giggles, when a scream cut through the house like the sound of shattering glass. Claire dropped her cup and jumped to her feet, running for the stairs; Shane was just a couple of steps behind her, and caught up quickly on the stairs as he jumped them three at a time.
Claire’s mom was nowhere in sight, but the door to her dad’s office—which was Shane’s bedroom in the Glass House—was open. Claire dashed for it and skidded to a halt in the opening.
Her mother was on her knees.
Her dad was lying on the carpet, looking small and weak and fragile, and she felt absolute terror shoot through her like lightning. Her knees went weak, and she felt Shane’s hands close around her shoulders.
“Mom?” she asked in a small, shaking voice. Then she swallowed, got it together, and hurried the last few steps to drop down next to her parents.
Her mom had her hand pressed to her dad’s neck, feeling for a pulse, but as badly as her hand was shaking, Claire was sure she couldn’t tell even if she found one. She looked up miserably at Shane, who nodded and got on one knee next to her mom. “Let me,” he said, and gently moved her mother’s hand to feel for a pulse with his own, steadier fingers. It seemed to take forever, but he finally nodded. “He’s okay. He’s breathing, too. I think he just passed out.”
Claire’s mother was crying, but Claire thought she probably didn’t even know she was doing it. She had a frozen, blank expression that Claire thought was scarier than the scream had been. “Th-thank you, Shane. I don’t think we should move him.”
“We should turn him on his side,” Shane said. “Recovery position.”
Claire’s mother looked at him oddly, as if she wondered how exactly he knew all of this. Claire knew, all too well. He’d come home to find his parents passed out a lot, during that nightmare time when they’d been on the road, running from Morganville and memories. Checking for pulse and breathing and making sure they didn’t choke on vomit was just a normal thing to do, for him.
Shane rolled her father onto his side and settled him as comfortably as possible, then sat back and said, “Better call an ambulance. You’ll probably want him to go to the hospital, right? Mrs. Danvers?”
She blinked and slowly nodded, then got up and used the desk phone to call 911. While she did, Claire
stared down at her dad’s still, pale face. He looked awful. Now that the adrenaline shock was fading, tears were threatening to drown her, and she didn’t want to cry, couldn’t cry, not now. Her mom needed her to be strong.
Her dad opened his eyes. His pupils looked huge, but then they shrank back to normal size. Having his eyes open didn’t actually make her feel that much better, because he looked at them like they were strangers.
Even Claire.
When he tried to sit up, Shane put a big hand on his shoulder and said, “Sir, you’d better stay down until the ambulance gets here, okay? Just rest. Do you remember what happened?”
Her dad blinked, very slowly, and focused on Shane’s face. “Do I know you?” he asked. He sounded . . . confused. Claire’s throat went tight and hot, and she choked back tears again.
“Yes, sir, I’m Shane, Claire’s boyfriend. We had a talk last week about your daughter.”
Claire looked at Shane then, because that was the first she’d heard of any talk. Not that it was a bad thing, but she couldn’t believe he’d gone off and talked to her dad without her. What a . . . medieval thing to do.
“Oh,” Dad said, and turned his head to look at Claire. “You’re too young to be dating, Claire. You should at least wait a couple of years.”
That was . . . random. And odd. She blinked and said, “Okay, Dad, don’t—We’ll talk about it later, all right?”
The response time of ambulances in Morganville was fast—after all, it wasn’t that big a town—so Claire wasn’t surprised to hear sirens already in the distance. “You’re going to be okay, Daddy,” she said, and took his hand in hers. “You’re going to be fine.”
He tried to smile. “I have to be, don’t I? I have to see you go to college.”
“But—” But I’m in college. No, she must have misunderstood him. He probably meant he wanted to see her graduate from college.
Because otherwise, what sense did that make? Anyway, it was probably normal for him to be a little confused. He’d passed out, and it was almost certainly his heart; she knew the doctors had been treating him for a while. Maybe this time they could fix it.
“I love you, baby,” he said. “I love you and your mom very much; you know that, right?”
He put his hand on her cheek, and finally the tears just spilled over in a hot mess down her face. She put her fingers around his. “I know,” she whispered. “Don’t leave, Daddy.”
The ambulance sirens were loud now, right in front of the house, and Claire’s mom dropped down next to Shane again, touched his shoulder, and said, “Would you go let them in, honey?”
He was gone in seconds, pounding down the stairs, racing to the front door. It didn’t seem long at all before Claire heard the rattle of metal and heavy footsteps, and then the room was crowded with two big paramedics, one male, one female, who moved her and her mom out of the way so they could lay out all their kits. Claire backed up to the wall and, now that she had nothing to do, started to shake like she might come apart. Her mom put her arm around her, and they waited. Shane stayed out in the hall, looking in. When Claire wiped her eyes and glanced his direction, he mouthed, Hang in there. She smiled weakly.
The paramedics talked to her dad, then talked to each other, and finally the woman got up and came over to Claire and her mom. “Okay, it looks like he’s stable right now, but we need to get him into the hospital. I’ll need somebody to come along to fill out the paperwork.”
“I’ll . . . I’ll get my purse,” Claire’s mom murmured. The male paramedic had her dad sitting up now, and was taking his blood pressure. Shane moved out of the way as Mom headed out to get her things, and then came in to stand with Claire. He took her hand and held it tight.
“See, he’s okay,” Shane said. “Maybe he just passed out. Lucky he didn’t hit his head.”
“Lucky,” Claire whispered. She didn’t feel lucky. Not at all. Right now, she felt . . . cursed.
As they helped her dad to the waiting gurney, he looked over, and she was relieved when he said, “Shane. Thanks for being here with my girls.”
“No problem,” Shane said. “Feel better, sir.”
“Keep your hands off my daughter.”
The paramedics grinned, and the woman said, “I think he’s feeling better. You can meet us at the hospital if you’d like. Your mother may need you.”
“I’ll go,” Claire said. “Shane—”
“I’m not leaving you. You’re going to need someone to fetch hamburgers, right? I’m your man.”
Yes, he was, she thought. Definitely her man.
The hospital wasn’t Claire’s favorite place, not ever, but now that it was her dad being wheeled into tests, it definitely was worse than usual. At least when she’d been the patient she didn’t have to just . . . sit and wait.
She felt useless. Her mom had filled out all the sheets and sheets of paper, answered questions, made phone calls, done everything useful she could, but now she just sat, looking empty-eyed at a television playing in the corner of the waiting room. Claire kept bringing her magazines, and her mother glanced at them, thanked her, and put them aside.
It was awful.
Michael and Eve showed up a couple of hours later, bearing pizza, which by then was really welcome. Father Joe from the local Catholic church stopped in, too, and spoke to Claire’s mother in private. They prayed, too. Claire wasn’t in the habit, really, but she got up and joined them. Silently, her friends followed her, and it felt better having them with her. At the end, Michael crossed himself and hugged her, and Eve did, too. Shane just stayed with her, quiet and there.
Oliver showed up an hour later, and exchanged guarded nods with Father Joe; it looked like the two of them had one of those frenemy relationships that were so common in Morganville. Oliver didn’t pray, at least not with the rest of them. He walked right over to Claire’s mother and said, “Your daughter has rendered the town a great service. There will be no charge for whatever treatments your husband may need. If it goes beyond what the doctors feel they can treat here, I will personally sign the paperwork to allow him to be transferred to another, larger facility out of town. And should one or both of you decide not to return, we will not object.”
That was . . . enormous, really. Claire sat, stunned, and just looked at him. He didn’t so much as spare her a glance. His luminous eyes were fixed on her mom, and there was a strange kind of gentleness in the way he spoke.
“I don’t know what to say,” Claire’s mom finally said. “I—Thank you.”
“My word is also the Founder’s word. Should you need anything, get word to me immediately. I’ll ensure it’s done.” He hesitated, then said, “Your daughter is impressive. Difficult, but impressive. I do not know you or your husband well, but I expect that you must be equally impressive to have such a child.”
Claire’s mom raised her chin, looked him in the eyes, and said, “What about my daughter?”
Oliver didn’t hesitate. “The offer doesn’t extend to Claire. She must remain in Morganville.”
“I’m not leaving her here alone.”
“She’s not alone,” Oliver said. “We can hardly pry her from those who care for her even at gunpoint. And your daughter is no helpless child. You’ll have to give her up to her own life, now or a year from now; what difference?”
Claire had never, ever seen her mother look like that—that focused, that fierce, that determined. Her mom put her arms around her, holding her in a tight, protective embrace. “I don’t have to give her up to you,” she said. “I know Claire’s capable of being on her own; I’ve known that for a long time. But she’s our child, now and always, and once my husband is better we’ll be back for her. You can’t keep her here forever.”
Shane took in a small breath, and Claire felt her heart beat a little faster. No, Mom, don’t. . . . But Oliver didn’t seem to take it badly. He inclined his head just a fraction and said, “Perhaps not. Time will tell. But you must do the right thing for your husband, mistress.
We will do the right thing for your daughter. For now.”
He took her hand, shook it, and walked out without ever saying a word to Claire, or anyone else.
Michael said, “Anyone else think that’s strange?”
“Well, I personally think it’s awesome that he’s letting them go, but strange? Not so much,” Eve said. “Why shouldn’t they leave? I mean, they shouldn’t have really been here in the first place, right? Bishop moved them here, and then Amelie just didn’t let them leave for her own reasons. They’re not cut out for this town.”
“Nobody’s cut out for this town,” Shane said. “Nobody sane, anyway.”
“Says the kid who came back.”
“Yeah, kind of proves my point.”
Claire didn’t say anything. She couldn’t think what to say, actually. Yes, she’d wanted her parents out of this mess; it had been horrible when they’d been dragged into it in the first place, and not a day had gone by that she hadn’t wished there were a way to smuggle them out to safety and get them a real life somewhere else.
But on the other hand, her mom and dad could be . . . leaving. And she wasn’t going with them; she knew that. Even if she wanted to go, Amelie wouldn’t let her go. That had already been made clear enough.
That her family might come back here, for her, when her dad was better—that was overwhelming and wrong. And, at the same time, weirdly comforting.
She and her mom didn’t talk about it, not at all.
The rest of the afternoon passed slowly, and without anything in the way of excitement, or even new information. Claire fell asleep lying awkwardly in a chair, and woke up to find Shane draping a blanket around her. “Shh,” he said. “Sleep. You still need it. I’ll wake you up if anything happens.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but the past few days were crushing her hard, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open, no matter how much she tried.
She woke up with a shock some time later—no idea when—to the sound of shouting voices.
Claire fought her way free of the blanket and stood, looking around for the danger, but there was nothing really visible in front of her. Oh, it was in the hall. She saw people running, including two security guards in full uniform, with guns.
