by Rachel Caine
“What the hell?” Michael had gotten up even faster than Claire. Shane and Eve were still trying to wake up from where they’d been dozing in their chairs.
Her mother was nowhere to be seen.
“It’s in the hall,” Claire said. Michael moved to the doorway and looked out, then shook his head.
“Some crazy dude,” he said. “He thinks he’s a doctor here, I guess. He’s yelling about how they’re not following his orders. Security’s got him.”
“Weird.”
“Well, it’s a hospital. People aren’t generally here because they’re all good and normal.”
Michael had a point, but it still felt weird, again. That could have just been waking up like she did, of course, and the generally freaky nature of the past few days.
All Claire knew was that she was glad, so glad, that her friends were with her.
“Where’s your mom?” Shane asked. Claire shook her head.
“Bathroom, maybe? Which is where I need to go.”
“Ooh, me, too,” Eve said. The boys rolled their eyes, like they’d planned it. “What? It’s what girls do. Get over it.”
“I was never on it,” Michael said, straight-faced. “Don’t take all day.”
Eve took Claire’s arm as they walked down the hall toward the bathroom. No more shouting, so the crazy guy had been detained and taken off to the padded rooms, Claire guessed. There weren’t very many people in the halls right now, and as she looked at the clock, she realized why; they’d been here for hours, waiting. She’d slept through most of it.
Mom wasn’t in the bathroom, but Claire was relieved (no pun intended) to get there anyway. She and Eve chatted about nothing, really, during the entire process, and then Claire kept on talking while Eve checked her makeup, which took a lot longer.
Finally, Eve met her eyes in the mirror and said, “You think your dad’s going to be okay?” It was a direct question, an honest question, and Claire felt her breath catch in her throat for a second.
“I don’t know,” she said, just as honestly. “He’s . . . he’s been weak for a while. I hope this is just . . . something they can fix.”
Eve nodded slowly. “Oliver said they could get the hell out of here. They should, Claire. They should go find one of those world-class heart places and never come back, like Michael’s parents. Talk to your mom about it. Promise me.”
“I will,” Claire said, and sighed. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For not just telling me everything’s going to be all right.”
Eve paused in the act of fixing her lipstick. “Are you kidding me? It’s Morganville. Of course everything isn’t going to be all right. We’re lucky when something is all right.” She finished the lipstick, made kissy lips at the mirror, and said, “Okay, ready.”
As they left the bathroom, they saw Michael and Shane in the hallway, and Claire’s mother, and a doctor in a white lab coat with his name embroidered over the pocket. Claire hurried to join them, and Eve joined just a few seconds later.
“Dad?” Claire blurted out. Her mother took her hand.
“Your father is alive,” the doctor said. “He’s got a serious issue with his heart, and I’ve already spoken with Oliver to tell him we don’t feel we can give him the care he needs here. I’d like to transfer him to a facility in Dallas. They’ve got the best possible specialists and facilities to treat him there.”
“But . . . is he going to be—”
The doctor—not one she was familiar with, from her various stays and visits here—was older, tall, with a long, mournful face and graying hair. He wasn’t especially warm. “I can’t give you a good estimate of his chances, Ms. Danvers. I can only say that they’re worse if he stays here.”
Claire’s mom, who’d been taking it all in silently, said, “When are you transferring him?”
“Early morning. You’re welcome to ride with him.”
“I will. I have to . . . go home and pack some things. Claire—”
“Mom, if you want me to come with you . . .” Of course, Oliver hadn’t said she could leave, but Claire wasn’t in any mood to think about that.
“No, honey, it wouldn’t be safe for you to try; we both know that. I’ll let you know as soon as we arrive, and I’ll call every day. As soon as we can, we’ll be back here. All right?” Her mother kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back. “Stay here. Stay safe, with your friends. He’s stable right now, and I’ll let you know if you need to come up and see him. There’s no telling how long all this will take.”
“Can I see him? Before you take him?” Claire asked the doctor. He nodded.
“He’s awake, but ten minutes only. Don’t tire him out. He needs rest.”
“Want me to . . . ?” Shane asked. Claire hesitated, but shook her head. She didn’t think Shane would be especially restful for her dad, much as he meant well.
Her dad’s room was quiet and very white, even though they’d tried to make it more cheerful with pictures on the walls. He was lying propped up on the bed, playing with a remote control, and he looked better. Not well, but better. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I gave you such a scare.”
Claire laughed, but it tasted wrong in her mouth. “You’re apologizing? Next thing, you’ll be telling Mom you’re sorry for messing up the carpet by falling on it.”
He acknowledged that with a wry little twist of his mouth. “So, they’re taking us to Dallas tomorrow. I hear they’ve told us we don’t have to come back.” Her dad always seemed to see too much, Claire thought. Like he could see right through her. “But you’re going to stay here, aren’t you?”
“I don’t think they’ll let me leave, Dad.”
Her father took her hand. His fingers were warm and strong, and she was so glad to feel that, after holding his limp, cool hand when he was lying on the floor. “I want you out of here, Claire. I want you safe. I want you to get on with your life like you’d planned, go to MIT. It’s my fault you came here at all, you know; your mother and I wanted you to stay close, and . . . this is what happened.” He took in a deep breath. “You’re meant for something better. That’s what I was trying to tell you before. It’s what I told Shane, too.”
“You mean better than him,” Claire said.
Her father looked away. “I know you think the world of him, but he’s not the kind of boy who’s right for you, sweetheart. I know he’s got a good heart; I see it every time he looks at you. But he’s going to hurt you in the end, because he’s not the kind of boy who stays. I don’t want to see that happen. And I don’t want you to stay here for him and destroy your chances.”
Claire raised her chin. “I’m not, Dad. If I stay, it’s not about Shane.” Well, it was, partly, but she wasn’t going to say that now. “I wanted to go to MIT because that was where I was going to find people who could teach me different ways to think, and would understand me, and work with me. I found that here, in Morganville. Myrnin does that. And he’s got so much more to teach me. He’s brilliant, Dad. He’s not like anybody else.”
“Claire—”
“Dad, you’re supposed to rest.” She put her head down, her chin on their clasped hands. “Please. I need you to rest, and I need you to get better. I can do this. I know what I’m doing now, and I know it’s not what other people might think is right, or popular. But it’s right for me. I can make a difference. I can’t just run away. I want you and Mom out of here, and safe, and trust me, someday I’ll do all that stuff you talked about.”
He gazed at her for a long, long moment, and then sighed. “That’s my stubborn girl,” he said. “Come see me in Dallas. Promise.”
“I promise,” she said. It felt like good-bye, and she hated it, but she knew she couldn’t leave Morganville now. Even if Amelie wigged out and let her go . . . she couldn’t just leave.
The time was up sooner than she expected, but a nurse came in and stood there, clearly waiting to hustle her out. Claire stood up and kissed her dad. “I love you, Daddy.
Please—”
“I heard you, you know,” he said. “When you were talking to me, on the floor. You said, ‘Don’t leave me.’ But I am leaving you, honey.”
“No, you’ll be one phone call away,” she said. “That’s not leaving. That’s just . . . transposition.”
She kissed him again, and then the nurse’s glare sent the message that her time was definitely, completely up.
She left the room feeling lighter, somehow; he’d looked better, and he’d sounded clear.
He was going to be okay. She could feel it, deep inside.
They were all waiting for her, all her friends. Her mom went in, after a silent hug and kiss, to sit with her dad.
Shane looked at her with those warm eyes that—like her dad’s—saw maybe a little too deeply. “You okay?” he asked her quietly, as he took her hand.
“I’m okay,” she said, and took a deep, trembling breath. “My parents are going to leave Morganville. That’s what I wanted—to keep them safe.” The euphoria she’d felt on leaving her dad’s room was fading now, and she felt shaky again. “It’s funny, but I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think I’d miss them at all if they left. Is that awful? But I will. As much as I wanted them to go . . . Maybe I should ask Amelie if I can go with them.”
“You already know what she’ll say. Look, if I thought you could leave, I’d be the first one stuffing you in the car and telling you to have a nice life,” Shane said. “But I think we both know it’s not that simple anymore.”
Nothing was, Claire thought. How had the world gotten so complicated?
EIGHT
Eventually, they all went home. Or at least homeward . . . Shane announced that he was starving, and Eve agreed, and Michael steered his car to one of Morganville’s two all-night diners. This one was Shane’s favorite, Marjo’s, although Claire guessed that Marjo herself—the rudest waitress ever—was off duty, since a woman with the nameplate HELEN came to take their orders. She wasn’t nearly as rude as Marjo, but she wasn’t nice, either. Claire supposed that being nice was against the rules. Or maybe being on the night shift in an all-night diner in Morganville tended to make you bitter.
The food, though, was delicious. Juicy burgers, crisp fries, milk shakes to die for, although Michael skipped that and ordered something in a covered to-go cup that Claire thought was probably not ice cream. The diner was packed with late-nighters . . . college students, although they were pushing the curfew, as well as lots of quiet, pale people who sat in groups and, when they looked at the humans, had a special glitter in their eyes.
Marjo’s, like Oliver’s Common Grounds, was a place where the two halves of Morganville had a kind of unofficial truce. Besides, who didn’t like hamburgers? Vegetarians, Claire supposed. But she didn’t think there were any vegetarian vampires. That would be like an atheist priest.
Speaking of priests, Father Joe came in and looked around for a seat. Michael gestured for him to come over, and he did, stopping to say hello to people (and vamps) along the way. Father Joe wasn’t a very large man, but he was . . . well, kind of cute. Eve had once had a monster crush on him (check that—from the wide-eyed look Eve was giving him now, she still had one). She’d claimed it was the cassock. Claire thought it was more the wavy red hair and cute smile.
“How’s your father, Claire?” Father Joe asked, even before he’d sat down in the chair he’d pulled over to their table. “I was planning to stop by again tonight before I went home.”
“He’s doing better,” she said. “They’re taking him to Dallas tomorrow.”
Father Joe nodded and sat back as Helen came over to take his order. Not surprisingly, he was having a hamburger, too. Claire wondered why they bothered to even have a menu, really. He favored strawberry milk shakes, which put him in solidarity with Eve. “I’ll keep your father in my prayers,” the priest said, handing his menu back. “And your mother, of course. And you. I assume you’re staying in Morganville?”
Claire sighed. “For now, anyway.”
“I hope to see you on Sunday, then, at the evening services. Amelie comes quite often.”
Huh, Claire had never considered that Amelie might be a churchgoer. “And Oliver?”
Father Joe chuckled, then sipped on the strawberry milk shake Helen thumped down on the table before him. “Oliver has . . . theological differences with the Roman Catholic Church. He attends a more nondenominational service we hold on Saturdays. Although he usually argues with me about formats.”
She could see Amelie in church, but Oliver? Really? That was . . . new.
Father Joe must have seen the confusion in her face, because he said, “Most of them attend some sort of service. After all, in the times they were born and lived, religion was a vital part of life and society. It’s a little less so today, but for many of them, it’s hugely important to still feel they have a path to God.” He grinned. “But I’m off duty right now. Seen any good movies lately?”
“Do not ask Shane,” Eve said. “He’s got awful taste.”
“Are you kidding? That last thing I took you to was totally sick!”
“If you mean, made me throw up, then yeah. Would it kill you to watch something where heads don’t explode?”
“Probably not, unless it’s one of those movies where everybody’s wearing poofy skirts and corsets and nobody does anything. That might actually kill me.”
Eve looked at Claire. “Really? Is he running for Worst Boyfriend Ever?”
“In the subcategory of Completely Awesome,” Shane said, and stole some of her fries. Eve stabbed at him with a fork, but missed.
The bell over the door chimed, and it wasn’t that Claire was really looking, exactly; she was too busy laughing. But something about the woman who came in caught her eye. Maybe it was because she was clearly a vampire, and from the way she dressed and the hair, she’d probably last cared about fashion in the 1940s. She looked eerily out of place here, where most of the vamps were wearing casual, modern clothes, even if their hairstyles seemed a little iffy.
She looked around the diner as if she were trying to locate someone. The waitress Helen steered in her direction, and must have asked her if she needed help, because the woman focused in on her immediately.
And then she attacked her. Just . . . cold, flat-out bit her. It was so fast Claire couldn’t react at all, at first; it seemed so totally random, so wrong that her brain kept insisting she wasn’t seeing it.
Other people reacted, though. Father Joe, for one; he jumped up and raced to help. So did a tableful of vampires seated near the door. It took all of them to wrestle the vamp off of Helen, who collapsed back against the counter, holding a shaking hand to her bleeding throat. Her knees buckled, and she fell. Other diners bent down to check her as the vamps continued to fight with the stranger. She was acting crazy now, yelling in a language Claire didn’t recognize at all. Finally, they got her out the door and off into the night.
For some reason, Claire hadn’t moved at all. Most of the people hadn’t. Maybe they’d been afraid to draw attention. She felt, suddenly, like a small, defenseless animal in a room full of predators.
“Uh, Mike?” Shane asked. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” Michael said. “But it was freaking weird.”
Helen was okay, it appeared, although she wouldn’t have been if the vamp had been able to do her worst. Father Joe offered to drive her to the hospital, and the cook came out of the back to keep order and make sure nobody ran out on their checks. He was a vampire, which for some reason struck Claire as immensely odd. A vampire fry cook just seemed . . . wrong. But then again, they were really great burgers. Being immortal gave you lots of time to perfect your grilling technique, Claire guessed.
As they paid their check and headed for the door, Claire overheard one of the vampires saying to another, “Did you understand what she said?”
And the other vampire said, “She was screaming that it was all wrong.”
“What was all wrong?”
>
“I don’t know,” he said, and shrugged. “The world? She’s off her head.”
And once again, Claire felt that shiver.
Something wasn’t right in Morganville.
She just knew it.
She woke up early the next morning, and felt as if she could’ve slept for a dozen more days. Nobody else was stirring, and Claire decided not to wake them up; she showered and dressed as quietly as possible, and sneaked out the front door while the mist was still on the ground outside, and the sun was just coming up.
Morganville was pretty at this time of day—still, quiet, cleaner somehow than it seemed in full light. She’d always liked early mornings here better than any other time.
Mostly, though, she liked the fact that sunrise signaled most vampires to head for their beds. Except Myrnin, who hardly ever seemed to rest at all.
She walked the streets as lights came on in houses, cars began to move again, and people started their usual days. A construction crew had gotten busy early, lots of guys in flannel shirts, jeans, and work boots hammering and sawing in the clean morning light. It felt . . . new. And good.
There was a car parked in the middle of the street up ahead. Claire frowned and slowed, watching it—it wasn’t pulled to the curb; it was just sitting there, blocking whatever traffic might eventually come by. As she watched, a girl only a little older than she was—maybe nineteen or twenty—opened the driver’s-side door and got out. She stood there next to the car, looking around.
It was eerily familiar. It was like Alex, sitting by the side of the road, seeming so lost.
But this girl had clearly been heading somewhere. She was dressed for an office. Claire could see a laptop and a purse in the passenger seat. And there was a sealed cup steaming the scent of coffee into the air from the cup holder in the door.
The girl caught sight of Claire, and waved her over. Claire hesitated, remembering what kind of reception she’d had from Alex, but finally went. She stopped out of grabbing range and said, “Are you having car trouble?” Because that made the most sense, obviously.
