Feast of Fools

by Caine, Rachel

  True to Michael’s earlier description, Mrs. Rosser couldn’t seem to stop crying; she was wearing all black, like Eve, only it was much more theatrical— dramatic sweeps of black satin, a big formal hat, gloves.

  And, Claire reflected, when you were more theatrical than Eve, you definitely had issues.

  Mrs. Rosser had gone in heavy for mascara, and it was in messy streams all down her cheeks. Her hair was dyed blond, and straggling around her face. If she was going for the role of Ophelia in the town production of Hamlet, Claire thought she probably had it in the bag.

  Eve’s mother threw herself on Claire like a wet blanket, sobbing on her shoulder and smearing mascara on her white shirt. ‘‘Thank you for coming!’’ she wailed, and Claire awkwardly patted her on the back. ‘‘I wish you’d known my husband. He was such a good man, such a hard life—’’

  Eve stood there looking remote and a little sick. ‘‘Mom. Get off her. She doesn’t even know you.’’

  Mrs. Rosser drew back, gulping back another sob. ‘‘Don’t be cruel, Eve, just because you didn’t love your father—’’

  Which was just about the coldest thing Claire had ever heard. She exchanged a stricken look with Shane.

  Michael got between mother and daughter, which was damn brave of him. Maybe it was the vampire gene. ‘‘Mrs. Rosser. I’m sorry about your husband.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, Michael, you’ve always been such a good boy. And thank you for taking care of Eve when she went out on her own.’’

  Mrs. Rosser blew her nose, which was how she missed Eve saying caustically, ‘‘You mean, when you threw my ass out on the street?’’

  ‘‘Sign us in,’’ Michael said to Claire, and took Eve’s arm and led her into the church. Claire hastily scribbled their names in the book, nodded to Mrs. Rosser—who was staring after her daughter with an expression that turned Claire’s stomach—and grabbed Shane’s arm to follow.

  She’d been in the church before. It was nice—not overly fancy, but peaceful in its simplicity. No crosses anywhere in sight, but just now, the focus was the big, black casket at the end of the room. She was struck by the smooth curve of the wood, and how much it reminded her of the Bloodmobile.

  That made Claire shiver and grip Shane’s arm even more tightly as they slid into the pew beside Michael and Eve.

  There were about fifteen people scattered through the sanctuary, and more arrived as the minutes ticked by. A couple of men in suits—from the funeral home, Claire supposed—set up more floral displays on either side of the casket.

  It somehow didn’t seem real. And the sounds of Mrs. Rosser’s continued sobs and wails, responding to every mourner who entered, made it even weirder.

  Eve slid out of the pew and walked up to the coffin. She stared down into it for a few long seconds, then bent and put something in it and came back to take her seat. She had her veil down, but even with the softening blur, her expression looked frozen and hard.

  ‘‘He was a son of a bitch,’’ she said when she saw Claire watching her. ‘‘But he was still my dad.’’

  She leaned against Michael’s shoulder, and he put his arm around her.

  Mrs. Rosser finally entered the sanctuary and took a seat in the front row, ahead of where the four of them were. One of the funeral home attendants handed her an entire box of tissues. She pulled out a handful and continued to sob.

  And a tall, good-looking man in a black cassock and white surplice, with a purple stole around his neck, came out from behind the floral displays and knelt down next to her, patting her hand. The fabled Father Joe, Claire supposed. He seemed nice—a little earnest, and younger than she’d expected. Brown hair and golden eyes that were very direct behind a pair of square gold-rimmed spectacles. He listened to Mrs. Rosser’s ode to her husband with a sympathetic, if distant, expression, nodding when she paused. His glance flicked away once or twice, to the clock, and he finally bent forward and whispered something to her. She nodded.

  More people had come in at the last minute, enough to fill about half the church. Claire, turning, spotted familiar faces: Detectives Joe Hess and Travis Lowe, who nodded in her direction as they took their seats at the back of the room. She recognized a few more people, including a total of four vampires in dark suits and sunglasses.

  One of them was Oliver, looking bored. Of course— Eve’s family had been under Brandon’s Protection, and when Brandon had died, they’d come under his superior’s authority. Oliver’s appearance here had less to do with genuine feeling than public relations.

  Father Joe stepped to the pulpit and began eulogizing a man Claire had never met, and one she doubted Eve recognized; except for the facts and figures of his life, his character seemed way better than anything his daughter had ever mentioned. From the way Mrs. Rosser nodded and cried, she was buying into the fiction wholesale.

  ‘‘What a load of crap,’’ Shane whispered to Claire. ‘‘Her dad hit her, you know. Eve.’’

  Claire sent him a startled look.

  ‘‘Just keep that in mind,’’ he finished. ‘‘And don’t shed any tears. Not for this.’’

  Shane could, Claire thought, be one of the hardest people she’d ever met. Not that he was wrong. Just—hard.

  But it helped. The emotion swirling through, amped higher by Eve’s mother, washed over her and away without doing more than making her eyes sting. When Father Joe finished his eulogy, the organ started, and Mrs. Rosser was the first to the casket.

  ‘‘Oh, God,’’ Eve sighed under her breath as her mother draped herself dramatically over the wood and screamed. Bloodcurdling, theatrical screams. ‘‘I guess I’d better—’’

  Michael went with her, and whether it was his male presence or his angelic face or his vampire blood, he was able to pry Mrs. Rosser away and lead her back to the pew, where she sat in a complete collapse, blubbering.

  Eve stood there at the casket for a few seconds, back straight, head inclined, and then walked away.

  Tears dripped from under her veil and pattered on her black dress, but she didn’t make a sound.

  Claire filed by, but gave Eve’s dad only a quick glance; he looked—unnatural. Not disgusting, but clearly not alive. She shivered and took Shane’s arm, and followed Eve as she passed her mother without a word and headed for the exit.

  Eve almost ran into her brother.

  Jason had slipped in the back. As far as Claire could tell, the kid hadn’t changed his clothes at all—ever— and the unwashed smell of him was evident from three feet away.

  He looked high, too. ‘‘Nice disguise, Sis,’’ he smirked.

  Eve stopped, staring at him, and scraped the veil back from her face. ‘‘What are you doing here?’’

  ‘‘Mourning.’’ He laughed under his breath. ‘‘Whatev.’’

  Eve deliberately looked to the side, where Detectives Hess and Lowe were sitting. ‘‘I think you’d better go.’’ They hadn’t noticed him yet, but they would. All it would take would be a raised voice, or Eve snapping her fingers.

  ‘‘He’s my dad, too.’’

  ‘‘Then show him some respect,’’ she said. ‘‘Leave.’’

  She went around him. The rest of them followed, though Shane slowed down, and Claire had to tug at his arm to keep him moving.

  Jason made a bring it motion. Shane shook his head. ‘‘Really not worth the trouble,’’ he said.

  And then they were out in the vestibule, away from the choking smell of flowers and the subtle smell of death, and all Claire could think was, How is that closure?

  But Eve looked better, and that was what mattered. ‘‘Let’s go have a burger,’’ she said.

  As ideas went, that one was popular, and Claire’s spirits lifted as they walked out of the church and into the shaded parking structure, heading for Michael’s car.

  They were intercepted.

  Michael sensed it first—he stopped dead in his tracks, turning in a circle as if trying to pinpoint a sound the rest of them couldn’t hea
r.

  A lithe shadow leaped down from the concrete rafters above, landed in a crouch, and grinned.

  Ysandre. She rose with effortless grace and strolled toward the four of them.

  ‘‘Get in the car,’’ Michael said. ‘‘Go.’’

  ‘‘Not leaving you,’’ Shane said. He didn’t take his eyes off Ysandre.

  ‘‘Don’t be an idiot. She’s not after me.’’

  Shane’s eyes flicked to Michael’s face.

  ‘‘Go.’’

  Claire tugged on Shane’s arm. He let himself be guided to the car. Michael tossed the keys.

  Ysandre flashed across the open space and plucked them out of the air. She tossed them carelessly up and down in her palm, and the cool, metallic jingle was the only sound in the garage.

  ‘‘Don’t get all paranoid,’’ she said. ‘‘I just stopped by to say hello. It’s a free country.’’

  ‘‘It’s car theft if you keep my keys,’’ Michael said. He held up his hand, and she shrugged and pitched them back. ‘‘What do you want?’’

  ‘‘Just wanted to make sure Mr. Shane got my invitation, ’’ she said. ‘‘Did you, honey?’’

  Shane didn’t move. Didn’t speak. As far as Claire could tell, he wasn’t even breathing.

  ‘‘From the fast little beat of that heart, I guess you did,’’ Ysandre said, and smiled. ‘‘See you on Saturday, then. You-all have a good rest of the week.’’

  She walked away, high-heeled boots tapping on the pavement, and vanished into shadow.

  Shane let out a slow breath.

  None of them knew exactly what to say. Michael unlocked the car, and the quiet ruled for at least five minutes, until he stopped at Denny’s.

  ‘‘We still eating?’’ he asked.

  ‘‘I guess,’’ Shane said. ‘‘I’m not letting her ruin my appetite.’’

  There was a shade awning stretching from the covered parking to the front door, which Claire had never thought about before—apparently, the local Denny’s catered to vampires as much as humans even in the daytime. There were local flyers taped to the glass front doors, and Claire glanced at them on the way inside. She stopped so suddenly Shane ran into her.

  ‘‘Hey! Walking here!’’

  ‘‘Look.’’ Claire pointed at the paper.

  It said ONE NIGHT ONLY! and there was a black-and -white photograph of a young man with blond hair cradling a guitar.

  Underneath it said Michael Glass returns to Common Grounds, and the date on it was . . . tonight.

  Shane ripped it off the door, grabbed Michael’s shoulder, and held it up. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Ring any bells? When were you going to tell us?’’

  Michael looked surprised, then embarrassed. ‘‘I— wasn’t going to. Look, it’s just a tryout, okay? I wanted to see if I could still—I don’t want you guys to come. It’s nothing.’’

  Eve grabbed the flyer and stared at it. ‘‘Nothing? Michael! You’re playing! In public!’’

  ‘‘That’s new?’’ Claire whispered to Shane.

  ‘‘He hasn’t played anywhere but our living room since—’’ Teeth-in-neck mime. ‘‘You know. Oliver.’’

  ‘‘Oh.’’

  Michael’s face was turning pink. ‘‘Just put it back, okay? It’s not a big deal!’’

  Eve kissed him. ‘‘Yes, it is,’’ she said. ‘‘And I hate you for not telling me. Were you just going to sneak off or something?’’

  ‘‘Absolutely,’’ Michael sighed. ‘‘Because if I suck, I don’t want any of you hearing it firsthand.’’

  Claire taped the flyer carefully back to the door. ‘‘You’re not going to suck.’’

  ‘‘Not at the guitar, anyway,’’ Shane said, deadpan. Claire punched him in the arm. ‘‘Ow.’’

  7

  Michael spent two hours tuning his guitar, which was annoying, and he left early. Eve went with him, despite his protests that it really wasn’t a big thing. That left Claire and Shane to decide on their own what to do.

  She made chili dogs and was putting the shredded cheese on top when Shane, fresh from video-game triumph, came into the kitchen. ‘‘Hey,’’ he said. ‘‘Nice. Thanks.’’ He shoved part of the chili dog in his mouth, standing at the kitchen counter.

  ‘‘You could at least sit down,’’ she sighed. ‘‘We do have tables. They even have chairs.’’

  ‘‘You want to go?’’ he mumbled. ‘‘To the thing?’’

  Did she? Claire ate a bite of her own hot dog, hardly even aware that she was breaking her own eating-while-standing rules, and thought about it. On the one hand, it meant going out at night, and going out to Common Grounds for recreational purposes, which was sort of not done around their house these days.

  But—Michael. Out in public. Playing.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ she said. ‘‘I would, if you don’t mind. I know you don’t like the place, but—’’

  ‘‘I like it better than Eve does, trust me. Besides, I don’t want her down there alone. She needs somebody watching her back while he’s neck-deep in groupies or whatever.’’

  She laughed.

  ‘‘Oh, you think that’s funny? Should have seen him in high school. Guy could draw the hotties every time he picked up that guitar.’’

  ‘‘He still can, I’ll bet.’’

  ‘‘Exactly my point. Eat up. They usually start music sets around seven.’’

  Claire wolfed down her meal and ran upstairs for a quick shower and change of clothes. After some debate, she went with the short skirt and tights she’d last worn to crash Monica Morrell’s disastrous house party, and a plain black top tight enough to match but loose enough that she wouldn’t die if her parents saw her.

  Shane blinked in surprise when she came downstairs. He’d thrown on different clothes, too, but they were still slacker-casual. The only sign that he was trying to make an impression was that she suspected he might have combed his hair. A little.

  ‘‘You look great,’’ he said, and smiled. She stopped on the last step from the bottom, which put them on about equal levels, and he kissed her. Long and slow. He tasted of toothpaste, at first, but then he just tasted like Shane, and that was so, so delicious that she found herself rising on her tiptoes to get even closer. ‘‘Hold up, girl. I thought we were going out. Kissing like that, you’re making me think about staying in.’’

  Claire had to admit, it made her think of it, too. Especially since the house was empty, and they were all alone.

  She saw it cross Shane’s mind, too, and for a second his eyes widened, and so did his pupils.

  Oh, the possibilities.

  ‘‘Better go if we’re going,’’ Claire said regretfully. ‘‘Only—how are we getting there?’’

  Shane offered her his arm. ‘‘Nice night for a walk, I hear.’’

  ‘‘Are you sure?’’

  He tapped her gold bracelet, then his own white hospital-issue one. ‘‘This may be the only night we get to do it in this town,’’ he said. ‘‘Let’s live dangerously. ’’

  It was nice, strolling arm in arm with Shane and not worrying (well, not worrying too much) about which danger was about to sweep in on them from the dark.

  Tonight, at least, the dangers kept their distance. It was a short walk to Common Grounds, but a lonely one; Claire felt a little unreal, moving slowly in the dark past shut houses with lit-up windows. People didn’t venture out much after sunset, and if they did, they went in groups, and in cars.

  Two people out in the night like this . . . seemed wrong, and when they were about halfway to the coffee shop, Claire saw someone pull a car into a driveway ahead of them and jump out. The look on the woman’s face was starkly panicked as she looked toward them, and Claire realized that she’d thought they were—

  Vampires. Which was both funny and sad.

  The woman grabbed her groceries and hurried into her house, shutting the door with a bang and locking it with a harsh rasp of metal.

  Claire didn’t say
anything to Shane, and he didn’t venture a comment, but she had no doubt he felt the same unsettling guilt. But what could they have said? It’s okay, lady, we’re not here to eat you?

  Claire was glad when the hot golden spill of light from Common Grounds’ front window came into view. It was obviously doing good business—cars lined the streets on both sides, and more parked as she and Shane approached the entrance. ‘‘Going to be nuts,’’ Shane said, but he didn’t sound displeased. ‘‘Next time I’ll take you someplace nice and quiet.’’

  Claire searched her memory. So much had happened since she’d met Shane, but she was almost sure that this constituted their first real, actual date on their own. Which was startling, and sweet, and precious to her in ways she suspected Shane would never imagine. She savored the warmth of his hand in hers, smiled at him, and entered Common Grounds while he held the door for her.

  The noise level was amazing. The coffee shop was normally quiet, although never boring, but as the sun went down, the excitement level rose, and tonight it was blowing through the roof. Every table was already crowded with people—humans, mostly, but toward the corners of the room Claire saw a few vampire faces she recognized, including Sam’s. Michael’s only family in town had come to support him. Sam sent her a smile and a wave, which Claire returned.

  Michael himself was standing in the clear area behind the coffee bar, looking tense and a little bit blank. He was dressed in a plain gray T-shirt and jeans, and he had his acoustic guitar slung around his body. Claire thought the puka shell necklace he was wearing looked new—a gift from Eve? A good-luck charm?

  Eve was standing next to him, and although she couldn’t see clearly, Claire thought they were holding hands.

  Claire and Shane pushed through the crowd to the bar. Shane nodded to Michael, who nodded back—all very manly—and then Shane went to place some drink orders, leaving Claire to fumble for words.

  ‘‘You’re going to do great,’’ she finally said. Michael’s blue eyes blinked and focused in the here and now.

  ‘‘Man, I don’t know,’’ he said. ‘‘It was supposed to be casual—I show up and play a couple of songs. Just to get used to it again. But this—’’