by Rachel Caine
Eve slowly raised her head, and her eyes narrowed. “You followed us. You thought we couldn’t handle it.”
“I knew where you were going. And I was right, wasn’t I?”
“No, you were not right! Michael—”
He put the bottle down, stepped forward, and caught her hands in his. Eve started to try to pull free, but he held on, willing her to look at him. It seemed really personal, somehow.
“I’m a vampire,” he said. “I’m never going to be anything else. You need to decide if you’re okay with that, Eve. I am.”
“What if I’m not?” Her voice sounded really small and wounded. “What if I just want you to be Michael, not—not Vampire Michael of the Clan, or whatever?”
“I can’t,” he said. “Because I’m not just Michael anymore. I haven’t been since before you moved in. You just didn’t know it.”
He let go of her hands, uncapped the sports bottle, and drank the blood down in long, thirsty gulps, making sure she was watching. His eyes turned ruby red, and he licked the drops from his lips. He put the empty bottle down, watching her.
She crossed her arms and turned away from him, and Michael closed his eyes in pain. When he opened them again, they were just human, and sad.
Claire wondered if she’d actually just witnessed a breakup. She hoped not.
Shane cleared his throat. “So. You turned up at a place where Kim goes, right? Let’s talk about that. Please.”
Michael walked over to the chair, where his guitar lay across the seat. He picked it up and cradled it in his arms, still watching Eve. After a few seconds, he began to softly play a series of chords. It was an aching kind of sound, gentle and full of emotion, and Claire saw Eve’s shoulders tense and shake as she suppressed tears.
“Kim used to work at KVVV,” Michael said. “She was an intern there before it shut down. The vampire said she interviewed him in a booth there at the old studios at the edge of town, by the transmission tower.”
Claire couldn’t help feeling a little spike of excitement. “That’s it. That’s got to be it, right? You said it was shut down?”
“Yeah, Amelie shut it down a few years back after—there was an incident,” Michael said. “The town council decided we didn’t need another radio station. It’s been locked up since then.”
“We need to go look!” Claire bounced to her feet, but Shane caught her shoulder and guided her back into the chair.
“Cool it. Not at night, we don’t. The last thing we need to do is go poking around an abandoned building in the middle of the night in a town full of vampires.”
“But what if she decides to close up shop? Cut her losses, take her goodies, and try to leave?” Eve said. “She could get killed. We have to warn her.”
“Warn her?” Claire felt short of breath, ready to burst out into wild laughter. “Eve, don’t you get it? She rigged our house. She was watching us. Watching everything, every private thing—”
“No,” Eve said. “No, she wouldn’t do that. You’re wrong.”
“I found cameras in the bedrooms!”
Eve’s mouth opened and closed, and Claire didn’t think she’d ever seen her look quite so devastated. She slumped down on the couch and covered her rice-powder-pale face with both hands.
Shane was staring at Claire with a frozen expression. “Which bedrooms?”
“Yours,” she said softly. “And Michael’s.”
For a second Shane didn’t move, and then he reached out, picked up the nearest thing—a DVD case—and hurled it across the room so hard that it dented the wall. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. “That little—”
Michael’s face had gone completely still, and he wasn’t playing anymore. He held the guitar as if he’d forgotten he had it. “She was recording us. Her own little Big Brother reality show, with vampires.”
Eve said nothing. Claire couldn’t even imagine what she was thinking, but she looked utterly miserable.
“We have to go,” Eve finally said. “We need to find where she keeps the recordings, and wipe them out. Every little bit. This can’t happen. She can’t do this.”
“I just hope she hasn’t already done it,” Claire said. “She’s been putting this together for almost a month. She’s got to be almost done by now. If we’re right about her having some kind of sponsor outside of town . . .”
“Then we really have to go. Now. Tonight.”
“No,” Michael said. “Not at night.”
“She’s going to get away with it!”
“That’s a chance we’re going to have to take,” Michael said. “Shane’s right. No charging off into the dark. It has to wait until morning.” He started playing again. His head was down, as if he were concentrating on his music, but Claire didn’t think he was. There was something a little wrong with the way he said it, the way he wouldn’t look at them. “How about more of those sandwiches?”
Eve raised her head and stared at him, tears smearing her mascara into clown makeup. “Unbelievable,” she said. “You know what’s on those recordings. You know, Michael. You’d let her take that and sell it?”
“We need to be smart about this. If we go running off without a plan—”
“Screw your plans!” she shouted, and jumped off the couch, then pounded up the stairs, chains jingling. “Screw you, too!”
Michael looked at Claire, then Shane.
“She’s not wrong,” Shane said. “Sorry, man.”
Michael had lied to them, and Claire caught him at it.
She was on her way to the bathroom with her tank top and pajama bottoms over one arm, thinking about curling up warm in Shane’s arms, when she heard Michael talking in his room. The door was open a crack. Shane and Eve were still downstairs, cleaning up the kitchen.
He was on his cell phone. “No,” he was saying. “No, I’m sure. I just need to go check it out, tonight. Make sure nobody is using the facility without—”
Claire pushed the door open, and Michael twisted around to look at her.
So busted.
He froze for a second, then said, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up.
“Let me guess,” she said. “Oliver. You’re telling him everything, aren’t you?”
“Claire—”
“We asked you. We asked you if you were with us, and you said you were. Youpromised.”
“Claire, please.”
“No.” She stepped back when he stretched out a hand. “Eve was right. You’re not Michael anymore. You’re Vampire Michael. It’s really us and them, and you’re with them.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“That wasn’t Oliver.”
“Then who was it?”
“Detective Hess. He was going to meet me at the station and check it out, tonight. Eve was right. We really can’t wait, not even for morning.” Michael’s expression took on a dangerous edge. “Kim crossed the line. She tricked her way in here, and she screwed us over. I can forgive a lot of things, Claire, but I can’t forgive her for this.”
“So you were going to leave us behind.”
His eyes flared hot. “Because I care about you. Yes. Do you know how close Eve came to getting herself killed tonight? And Shane? No more. I’m not risking you guys, not for this. Not for her.”
“Hey! You’re not our father! You can’t just decide we need protecting—we’re all in this together!”
“No,” he said. “We’re not. Some of us get hurt a lot easier than others, and I love you guys. I’m not going to lose you. Not like this.”
He stripped off his ripped shirt and pulled on another one, grabbed his keys from the table, and very gently picked Claire up and moved her when she tried to block his path. “Don’t,” he said. “Claire, I mean it. Don’t tell them where I went. Let me handle this.”
She didn’t say anything.
She didn’t want to lie to him.
Michael stared at her for a few long seconds, long enough that she was almost sure he could read her mi
nd, and then he shoved his keys in his pocket and moved off down the stairs.
She sat down on his bed, staring up at the vent where she’d found the camera. Claire didn’t actually know what she was going to do until she heard Michael’s new replacement car starting up outside, and then she stood, walked down to the kitchen, and interrupted an intense conversation between Shane and Eve at the sink to say, “Michael’s gone to get Kim, and we need to go, right now.”
They both stopped and looked over their shoulders at her. Eve had her arms elbow-deep in soapy water. Shane held a dish towel and a plate.
“Right now,” Claire repeated. “Please.”
Eve yanked the plug on the sink, grabbed the towel from Shane’s hands, and wiped her hands and arms. She three-pointed the towel onto the counter. “I’ll drive,” she said, and ran to grab her keys. Shane stayed where he was, still holding the plate in one hand, watching Claire. He opened his mouth.
“Don’t you dare tell me I can’t go,” she said. “Don’t even, Shane. I’m on those videos, too. You know I am.”
He put the plate down. “Michael went alone?”
“Mr. Vampire Superhero doesn’t need backup.” Well, that wasn’t quite fair. “He’s meeting Detective Hess there. But still.”
The kitchen door swung open, and Eve blazed back in, vivid in black and white, a mime on a mission. She tossed her keys in a nervous jingle of metal and said, “Weapons.”
Nobody argued that it would only be Kim they were going up against. Shane grabbed a black nylon bag from under the counter—in other towns, people might keep emergency supplies of food and water, maybe a medical kit, but in Morganville, their emergency readiness kit consisted of stakes and silver-coated knives. “Got it,” he said, and tossed it over one shoulder. “Claire—”
“Don’t even!”
He grinned and tossed her a second bag. “Silver nitrate and water in a Super Soaker,” he told her. “My own invention. Ought to be good at twenty feet, kind of like wasp spray.”
Oh. “You get me the nicest things.”
“Anybody can get jewelry. Posers.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, comedian.”
As she tossed the keys again, Shane grabbed them in midair. “I may be a comedian, but you look like a mime, anybody ever tell you that?”
He dashed for the door. Eve followed. Claire shouldered the nylon bag and prepared to shut the door of the house; as she did, she felt a wave of emotion sweep through her. The house, Michael’s house, was worried. It was almost alive, some of the time. Like now.
“It’ll be okay,” she told it, and patted the countertop. “He’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”
The lights dimmed a little as she shut the door.
Eve’s car wouldn’t start.
“Um . . . this isn’t good,” Eve said as Shane cranked the engine again. There was a click, and nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is not the time, stupid evil hunk of junk!” She slapped the dashboard, which had zero effect. “Come on, work!”
It was very dark outside—no streetlights on, and the moon and stars were veiled by thick, fast-moving clouds. In the glow of the dashboard, Shane and Eve looked worried. Shane pulled the old-fashioned lever under the dash, and the hood of the car popped up with a thick clunk of metal. “Stay inside,” he said. “I’m going to take a look.”
“Because you’ve got guy parts, you’re automatically a better mechanic than me? I don’t think so,” Eve said, and bailed out of the passenger side. Shane banged the back of his head against the seat.
“Seriously,” he said. “Why is it always so hard with her?”
“She’s worried,” Claire said.
“We’re all worried. You stay in the car.”
“Idon’t know anything about cars. I will.”
“Finally, a girl with some sense.” He leaned over the seat to kiss her, then got out to join Eve as she hauled the giant, heavy hood of the car upward. From that point on, Claire had a limited view of what was going on—the hood, the dark night outside, some lights glowing in nearby houses. . . .
A car turned the corner, and its headlights swept color over darkness, lighting up the Glass House in all its decaying Victorian glory, then the sun-faded picket fence, the spring crop of weeds along the curb. . . .
And then came a group of vampires out of the darkness, heading for Shane and Eve. One of them was Morley, the skanky homeless dude from the cemetery. She supposed the others were his friends; they didn’t look as polished and well-groomed as most of the other vamps seemed to be. These looked hungry, mean, and dirty.
Claire lunged across the big bench seat from the back and slammed her hand down on the horn. It was as loud as a foghorn, and she heard a sharp bang as either Eve or Shane hit their head on the hood of the car as they straightened up.
“Guys!” she yelled. “Trouble!”
Shane, one hand held to the top of his head, opened the back door and pulled her out. “Door,” he said. “Get back inside. The car thing isn’t happening.”
Claire didn’t argue. She dug her front door key out of her jeans pocket as she ran, banged open the front gate, and skidded to a halt in front of the door. The porch light flickered on.
“Thanks,” she told the house absently, jammed the key into the lock, and opened the door.
Shane was at the foot of the steps, but he’d stopped, looking back.
Eve was trapped between the car and the house, and she was surrounded by vampires. Claire gasped, and saw that neither Shane nor Eve had had time to grab the weapons bag out of the car.
She still had hers.
Morley lunged forward, slamming Eve against the rounded fender of her car, and Eve’s scream of panic split the night. Shane rushed toward her, pulling a stake from his jacket, but it wasn’t going to help. There were six of them, all with vampire strength.
He’d get himself killed.
Claire zipped open the bag and pulled out the big plastic Super Soaker. It was a totally absurd color of neon, and it was heavy with a full load of water.
God, please work. Please work.
Claire moved forward at a run, and pressed the trigger. A shockingly thick spray shot out, hit the sidewalk, and splashed; she quickly angled it up, over the fence, and sprayed it in an arc across Shane’s back, the vampires turning to meet him, Morley, Eve.
Where it hit exposed vampire skin, the solution of silver powder and water lit them up like Christmas trees. The bony woman with long dark hair heading for Shane broke off with a yelp, slapped at her burning face, and then gaped at the burns on her hands as the solution began to eat away at her flesh.
Claire pumped the toy gun again, building up pressure, and put it to her shoulder as she came to a flat-footed stop. “Back off!” she yelled. “Everybody just stop! You, let her go!” That last was directed at Morley, who had Eve by the shoulder and was holding her in front of him. He was wearing a filthy old raincoat, and it had protected him from the spray; she could see a livid burn spreading across his cheek, but nothing that would really hurt him.
Shane backed up next to Claire, breathing hard. She aimed the Super Soaker directly at Morley and Eve. “Let her go,” she repeated. “We didn’t do anything to you.”
“Nothing personal,” Morley said. “We’re starving, love. And you’re so juicy.”
“Ewww,” Eve said faintly. “Has anybody ever told you that you smell like tombstones?”
He glanced at her and smiled. “You’re the first,” he assured her. “Which is a bit charming. I’m Morley. And you are . . . ? Ah yes. Amelie’s friend. I remember you from the cemetery. Sam Glass’s grave.”
“Nice to meet you. Don’t eat me, ’kay?”
He laughed and combed her hair back from her pale face. “You’re cute. I might have to turn you and keep you as a pet.”
“Hey!” Claire said sharply, and took a step forward. “Didn’t you hear me? Let her go! She’s under Amelie’s protection!”
“I see no b
racelet.” Morley grabbed Eve’s arm and lifted it to the dim light, turning it this way and that. “No, definitely nothing there.” He kissed the back of her hand, then extended his fangs and prepared to munch out on the pale veins at her wrist.
Eve twisted and punched him in the mouth.
Morley stumbled backward against the car, and Claire triggered the sprayer, coating him in silver spray. This time, he screamed and flapped his arms and lunged away from Eve, toward the darkness. Claire sprayed the rest of his crew again as they followed, waking howls of pain and anger.
Shane dashed forward, vaulted the gate, and helped Eve stand up from where Morley had shoved her. “That went well,” he said. His voice was shaking. “No fang marks, right?”
“Lucky me,” Eve said, and laughed wildly. “Get the weapons bag. I can’t believe you left it in the car; what was that? What town did you grow up in?”
“I was trying to help you fix the car!”
“Bozo.” She hugged him, hard, and smacked him on the back of the head; then she took a deep breath as Shane left her to retrieve the black nylon bag out of the car. “And you.”
Claire lowered the Super Soaker. “What? What did I do?”
“Saved my life? Redefined awesome in our time?”
“Oh. Okay.” She felt a smile bloom from deep inside, and for a moment, it was all good.
Really good.
“Ladies,” Shane said, and slammed the car door. “Let’s have the champagne inside, okay? And talk about who pulled the wires in the engine, and how we’re planning to back Michael up with no wheels?”
He had a point. Claire covered their retreat with the Super Soaker, feeling kind of like a neon-gunned Rambo, and Eve slammed and locked the door, then put her back to the wood and breathed a deep sigh of relief.
The second Claire put the water gun down, Shane wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, really tender and sweet and a little bit desperate. Hot.
