Monica surveyed the busy room disdainfully, snapped her fingers, and sent Gina to stand in the coffee line. Then she and Jennifer made a beeline for the table where Claire and Shane sat.
Nobody spoke. It was a war of stares.
“Bitch, please,” Shane said finally. “You can’t be serious. Out of all the people in here, you pick us to evict? Really not in the mood today.”
“I’m not evicting you,” Monica said, and slid into the chair next to him. Jennifer looked deeply shocked, then put out, but she bullied some poor freshman out of his chair at the next table, and yanked it over to plop down as well. “I thought since you had extra chairs, you wouldn’t be a complete dick about it. Should have known you’d be a bad winner or something.”
He blinked.
“Not that you won,” she said quickly. “Just that you’re, you know, still here. Which is a form of winning. Not the best one.”
Shane and Claire exchanged looks. Claire shrugged. “Oliver take you back?” she asked. Monica traced some old carving on the tabletop with a perfectly manicured fingernail, and then flipped her still-dark hair over her shoulders.
“Of course,” she said. “What would Morganville be without the Morrell family?”
“Wouldn’t I like to know?” Shane muttered. Monica sent him a freezing glare. “Kidding.” Not.
“I heard you’re working,” she said. “Wow. Good for you. Shane Collins, actually earning a paycheck. Somebody should alert the press.”
He flipped her off, then checked his watch. “Speaking of the job, damn,” he said. “Claire—”
“I know. Time to go.”
He leaned over and kissed her. He made it extraspecial good, with Monica watching, which made Claire warm all the way down to her toes; he took his time, to the extent that people at other tables started clapping and hooting.
“Watch your back,” he murmured, his lips still against hers. “Love you.”
“Watch yours,” she said. “Love you, too.”
She watched him walk away with an expression she was sure made her look like a total fool, and she didn’t care. Other girls watched him go, too—they always did, and he rarely noticed these days.
Monica made a retching noise into the coffee that Gina thumped down in front of her. “God, you two are disgusting. You know it’s not going to last, right?”
“Why, because you’re going to take him away?” Claire asked, and smiled slowly. “Too much car for you, rich girl.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Sure. Knock yourself out. No, really. Hammer to the head, works every time.” Claire drained the rest of her mocha as Gina settled into Shane’s vacated chair. “Hey, kid. Here.” Claire scooted her chair back over to the bewildered freshman Jennifer had bullied out of a seat; he settled gratefully into it, nodded, and put his headphones back on. Studying.
Claire had a stack of that to do, too. She’d aced the semester, but that was just the beginning of her challenges. Ada had a lot to teach her, although the computer still hated her and probably always would. Myrnin . . . Myrnin had absorbed so much of Bishop’s blood that he was a walking serum factory, to Dr. Mills’s delight; the vampires of Morganville were being cured, one by one.
All except Sam. Sam’s absence was a hole in everyone’s life. Amelie hadn’t left her home except for official appearances; she’d become a hermit again, dressed in formal white, back to being the ice queen Claire had first met. If she grieved, she didn’t show it to the unwashed public.
But Claire knew she did.
She knew Amelie always would.
As Claire headed for the door, someone caught the strap on her backpack. “Hey, Claire!” The voice wasn’t familiar, but it seemed cheerful and happy to see her. She turned. It took her a few seconds to place the face barely visible over a pile of books.
It was the awkward boy with the emo haircut—the one she and Eve had met at the University Center before everything had blown up in Morganville. The one who’d once been friends with Shane.
“It’s Dean, remember? Do you have a minute?”
She wasn’t too sure it was a good idea. There was something odd about him, something she’d filed away in her memory . . . Oh yeah. “Before we get into that, how do you know Jason Rosser?” she asked.
Dean froze in the act of clearing his backpack from the chair next to him. “Oh. Uh . . . busted, I guess. When I moved here, me and Jason hung out when he got out of jail. I mean, my theory was his sister was living in the house with Shane, so he’d be a way to keep track. Only he was kind of nuts, you know?”
Claire kept watching him. He seemed honest enough. “He must have shown you some things. Secrets, I mean. About the town.”
Dean’s ears turned red. “You mean—yeah. The short-cuts ? The ones that take you from one place to another? Honestly, I never used them except that once. Scared the holy crap out of me.”
He sounded ashamed of himself, but Claire could fully get behind the concept of finding Morganville terrifying. Granted she thought it was kind of fascinating, but then, she was a freak of nature.
Dean looked pathetic. “Let me guess. I blew it, right? You’ll never talk to me again.”
“No, it’s okay.” She sighed and slid into the chair. “It’s just that Jason’s not what I would call a great character reference.”
“I hear you. But then, I was working for Frank Collins, and my brother was a crazy biker dude, so it really wasn’t that much of a stretch.” He shrugged. “Thanks for cutting me some slack, Claire.”
“Everybody deserves a second chance. Hey, did you see Shane? I thought you wanted to talk to him.”
“I did. Where is he?”
“Gone to work. He just left.”
“I missed him?” Dean looked around, as if Shane would just materialize out of thin air. He looked disappointed when that didn’t happen. “Damn.”
“Well, it’s pretty busy in here. If you didn’t see him, he probably didn’t see you, either. It’s not like he’s avoiding you or anything.”
“Yeah, probably. So. You’re, ah, staying on? In Morganville?”
“Yes.” She left it at that. Between her new, completely amazing relationship with Shane, and the fact that Myrnin was teaching her physics so advanced that most Nobel Prize-winners would weep, no way was she leaving now. “You?”
He shrugged. “Got no place else to be. You still living at the Glass House?”
“Uh, no. I made a deal with my parents. I have to live at home with them until I’m eighteen, and then I can move back. Eve promised that they’d keep my room for me, though.” The truth was, she pretty much still lived there, and she looked forward to the time she spent with her friends—shared dinners, board games, zombie-smashing video games, and Wii tennis . . . And Eve doing dramatic readings from her favorite vampire books as Michael squirmed in embarrassment.
She looked forward to everything.
Morganville wasn’t perfect. It would never be perfect. But Amelie had kept her promise, and humans were starting to feel like equal citizens, not possessions. Not walking blood banks.
It was a start. Claire had plans for more, in time.
“Hey,” she said. “Maybe you could come over tonight, to the Glass House? Have dinner with us? I’m sure Shane would love to see you. It’d be a great surprise.”
“It would,” Dean said, and gave her a matching grin. “Yeah, okay. Seven o’clock?”
“Fine,” she said. “Listen, I have to get to work. See you then!”
He hastily stood up and shoveled his books and papers into his backpack. “I’m going too,” he said. “Just a sec.”
Is he hitting on me? Claire wondered. She knew what Eve would say, but she couldn’t quite believe it. Dean seemed like a nice guy—but there was a glint in his eye when he looked at her.
She wondered if she should just take off, but that seemed rude.
Oliver was watching her from his place at the bar. She nodded to him, and he gave her a coo
l look that told her just what he thought of her. No, they were never going to be friends. And that was fine with Claire. She still thought he was a creep.
Dean stumbled over his own feet getting up, jostled the arm of a jock at the next table, and had to apologize his way out of trouble, backing into Claire as he did so. She sighed, grabbed his backpack, and towed him toward the door.
She was surprised he didn’t fall over the cracks in the sidewalk, but once he was out of public view, he seemed to straighten up and be a little more coordinated. Huh. He was taller than she’d thought. Broader, too. Not Shane-broad, but solid, after all. It was the hair that fooled her—emo hair always made guys look kind of wimpy.
“Where are you heading?” she asked Dean. He adjusted the weight of his backpack on his shoulder.
“Oh, you know,” he said vaguely, and pointed down the street. She was starting to think that he really was trying to hit on her. The going-my-way routine must have been old when Rome was still building roads. “You all done with classes and stuff?”
“Mostly. I have a couple of labs still to finish out, extra credit stuff, really. You looked like you were studying hard.”
“Not really,” Dean said. “I mostly carry the books around just to make stupid girls like you think I’m safe to be around.”
She blinked, not sure she’d heard that right. He’d said it exactly the same way he’d said everything else. Like a nice, normal guy.
They were just passing an alley between the buildings. Nobody in sight.
“What—”
She turned her head toward him, and the last thing she saw was his backpack, full of books, heading at full speed toward her head.
Claire woke up not really sure she was waking up at all—everything seemed weird, smeared, dreamlike. She couldn’t move, and her head hurt so bad she started to cry.
She heard voices.
“. . . can’t believe you brought her here,” one said—she knew the voice, but she couldn’t place it; the headache was too huge to think around. “Are you mental? That’s not just anybody. She’s going to be missed, Dean!”
“That’s the point.” Dean. That was Dean’s voice. “I want them to miss her. I want them to look all over. They won’t find her until I want them to. Come on, Jason. Man up, already.”
“Dude, I knew you were crazy. I didn’t know you were stupid, too. We have to let her go.”
Sound of scuffling. Feet on wood. Grunts. Two men fighting.
One went down.
“Shut up,” Dean snapped. “You’re always whining. All you ever had to do was carry the bodies. I’m not even asking you to get your hands dirty.”
“No! Look, I know her. You can’t—”
“That’s why she’s perfect. Everybody knows her. C’mon, man, get it together. She’s just a girl. Worse, she’s a vamp lover. We’re making the world a better place, and having fun while we do it.” Dean laughed. It was the worst sound she’d ever heard from a human—and a good match for the worst sound she’d ever heard, period.
Jason must be Jason Rosser, Eve’s brother. The one Dean said he barely knew. Maybe this was some horrible dream. It made sense that she’d put Jason’s brother in a dream about being abducted and tied up, right? Because Jason had been accused of those murders . . .
Claire opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of what looked like an old, abandoned house. Spackle was peeling off in sad sheets, hanging down, waving in a slight breeze through a broken window.
Jason had been accused of those murders. But he’d told Amelie, straight up, that he hadn’t killed anybody.
He’d just seen it happen. He’d never said who was behind it. Dean.
Claire felt short of breath. This is bad; this is really, really bad. . . . Her head felt like it had been smashed with a brick. She felt sick enough to barf, and when she tried to move, the pain got worse. She couldn’t do much, anyway. She was tied up, ankles and wrists.
There was sunlight coming in the window, but it was at a low angle. She’d been out for hours, and there was a bitter, nasty taste in her mouth. They’d given her something, on top of knocking her in the head. Maybe chloroform.
By twisting her wrist, she could see her watch.
Five o’clock.
The sun would be down soon. Nobody would have missed her yet; it wasn’t dinnertime, and she’d been casually intending to drop in at Myrnin’s lab to see how far he’d gotten with setting it back up. But he hadn’t been expecting her.
Nobody had been expecting her. Shane had gone to work, and wouldn’t be home until dark.
Phone.
It wasn’t in her pocket. They’d taken it.
She blinked, and she must have lost time, because when she opened her eyes again, Dean Simms was sitting next to her, staring down. In the doorway of the decaying room stood Jason Rosser, looking sick and ill at ease.
Dean was smiling like he owned the world.
“Hey,” he said. “So, you’re up and around, right? Good. I thought you’d be tougher. I mean, they all talk about you like you’re something special, but you went down just like the others. No problem at all.”
“I . . . ” Nausea boiled up inside when she tried to talk, and she stopped and swallowed helplessly until she could talk again. “My friends will look for me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. So when they find you drained like some sad little vamp quickie outside of Oliver’s back door . . . well. They won’t be real happy, will they?” Dean’s eyes practically glowed. “Man, you were so easy. Frank thought you had backbone. Guess not.”
“Why?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this?” She really wanted to know. Somehow, if she had to die, she felt like she wanted to understand. She wanted it to make sense.
“Look, it’s not personal.” Dean dragged a fingernail down her cheek, scratching her. “Well, maybe a little personal, because, you know, fun. But this is about setting this town free. Fighting evil. It’s what Frank Collins wanted. It’s what I want. It’s what you want, right, Claire? I know it’s what Shane wants, too. So you’re doing everybody a favor by dying.”
Dean hadn’t come to Morganville just to have Shane’s back; he’d come to have his fun. If he even knew Frank Collins at all, he’d just been using Frank. Once he’d come to Morganville, he’d realized it was open season, and he could do whatever he wanted.
Still could, Claire realized sickly. Nobody suspected him at all.
She certainly hadn’t.
“What?” he asked her. “You’re not going to tell me I’m making a mistake? Beg me not to do it?”
“Why bother?” she whispered. “You’ll do what you want, right?”
“Always do.” Dean leaned back. “Jase. Hold her feet. I don’t want her kicking me.”
“It’s not right. This isn’t right, man.”
“Shut up or I’ll make it two bodies tonight. It just makes my point better.”
Claire kicked out, but it was no use; Jason leaned on her ankles and held them down. Dean forced her arm down and opened up a rusting medical kit. He took out one of those hollow needles doctors used to draw blood, but instead of connecting it to a sample tube, he stuck on some rubber tubing.
The rubber tubing ended in a big empty gallon jug that had once held milk.
“Little stick.” He smirked and slid the needle into her vein.
Claire screamed. Jason looked away, guilt written all over his face, but Dean just kept on smiling. Red flooded out into the tube, ran along the coils, and began pumping out into the milk jug.
“How’s it feel?” he asked her. “You like vampires. How’s it feel to have your life drained out of you, just like they do it? I hate vampires. I really, really do. And if I can get this town to rise up and kill even one more by doing you, it’s a bargain.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something she could do.
Blood.
A black-and-white ghost flickered into view at the far end of the room. Ada’s
image looked quiet and composed, and just a little bit pleased. She’d come to watch Claire die.
“Get help,” Claire whispered. “Please, go get help!”
Jason and Dean, at least, had no idea who she was talking to, since Ada had manifested behind them. “Who are you talking to, idiot? Jason’s not on your side. Jesus, Jason, hold her feet! Come on, man! I’m not asking you for much, here!”
Ada raised thin eyebrows. Her image flickered. Claire didn’t want to look at the red line rising in the milk jug; she could feel herself getting weaker, her heart pounding harder to keep up.
“Myrnin,” Claire panted. “I need Myrnin.”
Ada flickered out. Claire had no idea whether or not she’d even make the effort.
Outside, the sun settled below the window.
Twilight.
Jason jumped up at a sound from outside. “What the hell is that?”
“Nothing,” Dean said. He was watching Claire’s face. She was breathing too fast, and she tried to slow down; her heart was racing, and she was losing too much blood. Ada, please. Please. “Don’t worry about it. It’s the wind.”
Jason let go of Claire’s feet. She was too weak to move much, anyway. “No, it’s not. There’s somebody out there. Dude, leave her. Let’s go!”
“No frickin’ way. We’re almost done here. Five more minutes. Keep it together, bro.”
“I’m not your bro!” Jason snarled. “You’re on your own, asshole!”
He took off. No—please wait. Claire tried not to cry, but she was losing track of why she ought to be strong. Was somebody coming? No, she had to save herself. Nobody was coming to save her.
“Dean,” she said. “You know about the portals, don’t you?”
That got his attention. Full on.
“I can tell you something about them you don’t know. If you stop this.”
His dark eyes took on a strangely stubborn look; he didn’t like being robbed of his pleasure. “What kind of something? Because it’d have to be really good.”
“Oh, it is,” she said. “I can tell you how to make your own portals. How to go anywhere. Do anything. Imagine what you could do with that, Dean.”
Carpe Corpus Page 23
