Dead Girls' Dance

7

There was no sign of Shane’s dad or the bikers. In fact, it was very quiet in Morganville, despite Claire’s fears. Travis Lowe and Joe Hess dropped by early the next morning to deliver the no-news-is-good-news party line to Eve and the house in general; they were polite and kind, and generally seemed like okay guys for cops, but they made Claire feel scared and paranoid. She supposed all cops were like that, when they were on Official Business. It didn’t seem to bother Eve at all; she was up, bleary-eyed and yawning, fresh out of the shower and still wrapped in a Hello Kitty bathrobe, free of the Goth mask. Shane was, predictably, asleep, and who knew where Michael was? Watching, Claire thought. Always watching. She supposed that should have been creepy, except that in Michael’s case, it was just…comforting.

“Hey, guys,’” Eve said after wandering down the stairs into the living room. She plopped on the couch, bounced, and yawned again. “Coffee. Need coffee.’”

“I made some,’” Claire said, and went into the kitchen to get it. Travis Lowe followed her silently and carried the cups back out. He and his partner drank it black; Claire could barely stand it even with more milk and sugar than actual coffee. Eve was cream only, no sugar, and she sucked it down like Gatorade after a hard work-out, then collapsed against the couch cushions and sighed happily.

“Morning, Officers,’” she said, and closed her eyes. “It’s too early for this.’”

“Heard you got a job on campus,’” Hess said. “Congratulations, Eve.’”

“Yea, me.’” She made a lazy woo-hoo gesture. “You come all this way to say that?’”

“Not a long way in Morganville.’” Hess shrugged. “But no. Like I told Claire, there’s no sign of your intruders. So I think you’re in the clear on that. Hope that makes your day better.’”

Eve shot Claire a fast, tentative look. “Sure,’” she said. “Um…about…the other thing…?’”

“You want to talk in private?’” Claire asked, and stood up with her coffee cup in hand. “’Cause I can go on to school…’”

“Sit,’” Hess said. “You’re not going anywhere yet. And you’re not going anywhere by yourself.’”

“I’m…what?’”

“We’re giving you girls a ride to school,’” Lowe said, and sipped his coffee. “And a ride home when you’re done. Consider us your Thin Blue Line Taxi Service.’”

“No!’” Claire blurted, appalled. “I mean, you can’t—you shouldn’t—why?’”

“Eve knows why,’” Hess said. “Don’t you, Eve?’”

Eve put her coffee cup on the side table and crossed her arms against her chest. She looked very young in pink and white, and very scared. “Jason.’”

“Yeah, Jason.’” Hess cleared his throat, glanced at Claire, and continued. “We found Karla Gast late last night. Well, actually, some of our more night-inclined colleagues found her. Dumped in a vacant lot about six blocks from here behind some piled-up lumber.’”

In a flash, Claire remembered walking past the empty lot on her way to her unintended visit with Amelie. She’d even smelled decay. She put her coffee cup down and put both hands over her mouth, fighting an impulse to gag.

“You think—’” Eve looked tense and pale. She licked her lips, swallowed, and continued. “You think Jason was involved.’”

“Yeah,’” Hess said softly. “We think. No proof, though. No witnesses, no forensic evidence, but she was definitely not killed by a vampire. Look, Jason’s been spotted in the area, so I don’t want you out there by yourself for now, okay? Either one of you.’”

“He’s my brother!’” Eve sounded angry now, voice shaking. “How could he do this? What kind of—of—’”

“It’s not your fault,’” Lowe said. “You tried to get him help. He just got sicker.’”

“It is my fault!’” she shouted. “I’m the one who turned him in! I’m the one who didn’t stop Brandon from—’”

“From what?’” Lowe asked, very quietly.

Eve didn’t answer. She looked down at her black-painted fingernails, and picked at them restlessly.

“From moving on to an easier target,’” she said. “Once I made sure he couldn’t get to me.’”

“Christ,’” Lowe muttered in weary disgust. “Someday, that goddamn vamp’s going to get his—’”

“Trav,’” Hess said. “It ain’t laundry day. Let’s not air it in public.’”

“Yeah, I know, but Jesus Christ, Joe, it ain’t like this is the first time….’”

It took Claire a few seconds to work out what they were all talking about, but then she remembered Eve’s poetry that she’d looked through on the computer…all romantic Aren’t vampires great? stuff until she was about fifteen, and then…no more romance. Brandon. Brandon tried to mess with her when she was fifteen.

And Jason was her younger brother.

“What did he do to him?’” Claire asked in a very small voice. “Brandon, I mean. Did he—bite him?’”

Eve didn’t look up, but her cheeks went pink to match her robe. “Sometimes,’” she said. “And sometimes it was worse than that. We’re just toys to him, you know. Dolls. We’re not real. People aren’t real at all.’”

“I’m afraid the same goes for Jason now,’” Hess said. “Can’t really blame the kid. He didn’t have much of a chance. But I repeat, Eve, you can’t blame yourself, either. You saved yourself, and that’s important.’”

“Yeah, I saved myself by screwing over my brother. What a hero.’”

“You be careful with all that guilt,’” Lowe said. “It’ll pound you down. Your parents were the ones who should have stepped in, and you know it. Anybody willing to let their kids become toys, just to get ahead…’”

Claire reached out and took hold of Eve’s hand. Eve, surprised, looked up—she wasn’t crying, which was kind of surprising because Eve cried a lot. Her eyes were dry, clear, and hard. Angry.

“Why do you think I left?’” she asked. “As soon as I could. Between my parents and what Brandon made out of Jason…’”

Claire couldn’t think of anything to say. She just sat there, holding Eve’s hand. She’d never been through any of that…. She’d grown up warm and safe in a house where her parents loved her. In a town where there were no such things as vampires, where child abuse and molestation were something that happened on the evening news, and if anybody had brothers who killed people, it happened in big cities, to people she didn’t know.

All this was just…too much to take in. And much too painful.

“It’s going to be okay,’” she finally said. Eve smiled at her sadly, but her eyes were still fierce.

“No,’” she said. “Don’t think so, Claire. But thanks.’”

She took a deep breath, let go of Claire’s hand, and turned back to the two cops. “Right. You guys hang out here while I get dressed.’”

“Oh, sure,’” Hess said, and raised an eyebrow. It made his face look crooked, but maybe that was just the way his nose was; Claire wasn’t sure. “Not like we’re protecting or serving or anything.’”

“You’re not even on duty,’” Eve said.

“Busted,’” Lowe said, smiling. “We’re on our own for this. Hurry up, kid—I’d like to get to sleep sometime today before I have to fight for truth and justice again.’”

Eve padded up the stairs, one hand on the railing, and Claire let out a slow, careful breath. Eve was kind of like an unexploded bomb right now. Claire ached to make it all better, but there was no way she could do that…and no way that Eve would even let her try, she thought.

She wished Shane would wake up. She needed…well, something. A hug, maybe. Or one of those deliciously warm kisses. Or just to look at him, all rumpled and grumpy with his hair sticking up at odd angles, sheet creases on his face, his bare feet looking so cute and soft…

She had never thought of a guy’s feet as sexy before. Not even movie-star feet. But Shane…there was no part of him that wasn’t sizzle hot.

“More coffee?’” Hess asked, and waggled his empty mug. Claire sighed and took his and Lowe’s into the kitchen for refills.

She had just set the two ceramic cups down on the counter, and was reaching for the coffeepot, when a big, thick, sweaty hand closed over her mouth, and irresistibly strong arms yanked her backward. She tried to scream, and kicked, but whoever had her, really had her. She squirmed, but it didn’t do any good.

“Quiet,’” a rough male voice whispered in her ear. “Shut up, or this gets ugly.’”

It was already ugly, at least from Claire’s terrified side of things. She went still, and the man holding her lowered her down enough to let her sneakered toes touch the floor. Didn’t let her go, though.

She’d already figured out who it was—the speaker, not the one holding her—before Shane’s dad stepped out into her view and leaned forward, scary-close. “Where’s my son?’” he asked. His breath was nasty, and stank of booze. Breakfast of Collins champions. “Just nod. Is he in the house?’” She nodded slowly. The hand muffling her mouth let her do it. “Upstairs?’” She nodded again. “Those cops in the living room?’” She nodded vigorously, and tried to think what she could do to get Detective Hess’s attention. Screaming wasn’t doing any good; the kitchen door was pretty solid, and it was useless to try to get sound past a hand that was about two inches thick. If they’d grabbed her when she was holding the mugs, at least she could have dropped them….

“My kid likes you,’” Shane’s dad said. “That’s all that keeps you alive right now, you get me? So don’t push your luck. I could always change my mind, and you could get buried out back with your little friend Michael. Now, my buddy here is going to let go of your mouth, and you’d better not scream, because if you do, we’re just going to have to do some killing, starting with you and ending with the cops. And that vampire-wannabe girlfriend of yours. You get me? My son is all that matters to me.’”

Claire swallowed hard and nodded again. The hand pulled slowly away from her mouth.

She didn’t scream. She pressed her lips together to hold in the urge.

“Good girl,’” Shane’s dad said. “Now tell me what the cops are doing here. They looking for us?’”

She shook her head. “They think you’re gone,’” she said. “They’re here to take me and Eve to school.’”

“School.’” He poured contempt into the word. “That’s not a school. It’s a holding pen for cattle.’”

She licked her lips and tasted the sweat of the guy who was holding her. Disgusting. “You need to go. Right now.’”

“Or?’”

“You can’t do what you’re here to do if everybody’s still looking for you,’” she said. She was making it up, but suddenly it made sense to her. “If you have to kill me, and everybody here, they turn the town upside down until they find you. And they’ll put Shane in jail, or worse. If you let me go and take Shane, I’ll just tell them everything anyway, and they turn the town upside down—’”

“Are you trying to scare me, little girl?’”

“No,’” Claire whispered. She could barely get the word out. “I’m trying to tell you what will happen. They’ve kind of given up looking for you, but if you kill me, you lose. And if you let me go, I’m going to tell them everything.’”

“Then why shouldn’t I kill you?’”

“Because I’ll keep my mouth shut if you promise to leave Shane alone.’”

He glared at her, but she could see he was thinking about it.

“Boss,’” said the man holding her. He had a deep voice, rough like his throat was lined with gravel. “Bitch got no reason to keep her word.’”

“What makes you think I like the vamps any more than you do?’” she shot back. “Did Shane tell you about Brandon? I saw you in Common Grounds—were you looking for him? Because if you weren’t, you should be. He’s a dick.’”

Frank Collins’s eyes drifted half-shut, and she was reminded sickly of Shane, somehow. “You telling me which vamps to kill now?’”

“No.’” She swallowed again, acutely aware that at any second the kitchen door could swing open, and someone could come stumbling in, and everything could go to hell on the express train. “Just a suggestion. Because as far as I can tell, he’s just about the worst one. But you’re going to do what you want, I know that. I just want me and my friends out of it.’”

Shane’s dad smiled at her. Smiled. And it seemed, for the first time, like a mostly genuine expression, not just a freaky twist of his lips. “You’re tougher than you look, kid. That’s good. You’re going to need to be, you stick around here.’” He looked past her, at the biker (or so she thought—she could feel leather squeaking behind her when she struggled). “Let her down, man. She’s okay.’”

The biker released her. She jerked forward, spun, and set her back to the refrigerator. She scrambled for a knife in the drawer next to her, found a wicked-looking cleaver, and held it out in front of her. “You need to go,’” she said. “Right now. And don’t come back here, or I swear, I’ll tell them everything.’”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. Well, not as much. The biker behind him, though, was grinning.

“Girl, you don’t know my son at all, do you?’” he asked. “I don’t have to come back here. He’s going to come to me. Eventually.’”

He made a Let’s go gesture to his six-foot bodyguard, and together they went back out the side door of the kitchen. Claire ran to pull it shut and lock it, both locks plus the newly installed sliding bolts.

Which made her wonder why it hadn’t been locked before…oh. Of course. The cops had come in through the kitchen.

She took some deep breaths, rinsed the taste of that sweaty hand off her lips, and picked up the coffee cups.

Her hands were shaking so badly, there was no way she could carry anything liquid. She put them back down and went back to the door to call through, “Making some fresh!’”

She poured out the rest of the pot, loaded it again, and, by the time the machine finished, had mostly gotten herself under control.

Mostly.

Claire had a break between classes—it couldn’t really be called a lunch break, because it fell at ten a.m.—and she walked over to the University Center for coffee. The UC was large and kind of seedy; the carpet was ancient, and the furniture had seen the eighties, at least, and maybe the seventies. It was one large, open atrium filled with couches, chairs, and even—tucked in one corner—a grand piano. Student-activity banners, most badly painted, draped overhead and fluttered in the weak air-conditioning.

Most of the couch groupings were already claimed by students talking or separately studying. Claire had her eye on an open study table near the corner, but she’d have to hurry; there were plenty of people looking for places to settle.

She hurried to the coffee bar at the back of the atrium, and smiled and waved as she spotted Eve behind the espresso machine. Eve waved back, pulled two shots at the same time, and dumped them into steamed milk. The line was about five deep, and Claire had plenty of time to think about what Shane’s dad had said. And what he hadn’t.

What was he doing there today? Really? Maybe he’d come to fetch Shane, but she wasn’t sure. Shane’s dad seemed to have a plan, but she had no idea what it was. Maybe Shane would know, but she didn’t want to ask.

Michael. She’d tell Michael everything, as soon as he appeared.

“Large mocha,’” Claire said, and dug out the required three-fifty from her jeans pocket. It was a huge expense for her, but she figured it was only right to celebrate Eve’s first day on the job. The cashier—a bored-looking guy who was probably wishing he were anywhere else—took her cash and waved her on to the line for drinks.

She was standing there, thumbing through her English-lit book, when she heard muffled laughter, and then a wet dull thud as a drink tipped over on the counter. She looked up to see a ring of guys standing around a spilled drink, which was dripping off both sides of the counter.

“Hey, zombie chick,’” one of them said to Eve, who was standing next to the counter, still pulling shots and very obviously ignoring them. “Wanna clean that up?’”

A muscle fluttered in Eve’s jaw, but she silently got a handful of paper towels and began to mop up the mess. Once the counter was clean, she raised the hinged section of the bar and cleaned the floor on both sides.

The boys continued to snigger. “You missed a spot,’” said the one who’d spilled the drink. “Over there.’”

Eve had to bend over to get to the spot where he was pointing. He quickly stepped up behind her and began banging his crotch against her butt. “Oh, baby!’” he said, and they all laughed. Laughed. “You’re so fucking hot for a dead girl.’”

Eve calmly straightened up, turned around, and stared at him. Not a word. One thing Claire could say for Goth makeup, at least it covered up blushes…. She was blushing, furiously, on Eve’s behalf. And shaking.

“Excuse me,’” Eve finally said, and moved him aside with one hand flat against his chest. She got behind the bar again and slammed down the hatch, took the two espresso shots and dumped them into a fresh cup, stirred, put a lid on it, and put it on the bar. “Here. On the house.’”

The creep reached out, grabbed the cup, and squeezed. The top popped off. Coffee went everywhere, splattering Eve, the counter, the floor, the guy holding it. His buddies burst into open laughter when he said, “Oops. Guess I don’t know my own strength.’”

Eve looked at the guy at the register, but he just shrugged. She took a deep breath, smiled—not, Claire saw, her normal smile at all—and said, “You ought to see a doctor about that, Bullwinkle. Plus the crotch rash. Next! I have a mocha for Claire!’” Eve thumped down another cup and vigorously scrubbed the counter.

Claire hurried up. “Oh my God!’” she whispered. “What do you want me to do? Get somebody?’”

“Who?’” Eve rolled her eyes. “It’s my first day—it’s a little early to run tattling like a girlie girl. Leave it alone, Claire. Just take your coffee and go on. I’ll be fine. I’ve got a PhD in taking shit from jocks.’”

“But—Shane? Should I call Shane?’”

“Only if you want to be cleaning up blood instead of coffee—’”

“Hey, bitch, where’s my drink?’” the guy asked loudly from behind Claire. She felt him crowding up against her a second before he body-slammed her hard against the bar. “Oops, sorry, little girl, didn’t see you there.’” He didn’t move back. “Since when do we have kindergarten classes, anyway?’”

Her mocha had—of course—tumbled out of her hand and was rolling across the counter, bleeding coffee. Eve caught it and set it back upright. “Hey!’” Claire squirmed to get free; he just kept her pinned.

“Hey! Asshole!’” Eve echoed, louder, and pointed a finger over Claire’s head, glaring. “Back off, man, or I call the campus cops.’”

“Yeah, they’ll really come running.’” Still, he backed up enough to let Claire twist away from him, clutching her mocha. He wasn’t even looking at her. He was a big guy—Shane-big—with black gelled hair in the latest cool style and fierce blue eyes. A nice face, good lips, high cheekbones. Altogether too pretty for his own good, Claire thought. “Get me my damn coffee. Some of us have class around here.’”

Claire grabbed paper towels and began mopping up the spill on the customer side of the counter, so Eve didn’t have to come around. Eve gave her a grateful look and began to pull shots. She assembled the drink in record time, slapped the top on it, and handed it to her tormentor.

Who grinned at her, tasted it, and put it back on the counter. “Sucks,’” he said. “Keep it.’”

He high-fived with his friends, and they all walked away.

“What a jerk!’” Claire said, and Eve just raised her eyebrows, took the latte, and poured it out down the sink.

“No, he was right, it did suck,’” she said. “But then, he paid three bucks for it, so I win. How’s the mocha?’”

Claire swallowed a mouthful and gave her a thumbs-up. “I’m sorry. I wish there was something—’”

“Gotta fight our own battles, Claire Bear. Go on. I’m sure you’ve got some kind of studying to do.’”

Claire backed away as Eve began to pull another set of drinks; the line continued to queue up in front of the register.

The guy picking up his latte next—a tall, kind of awkward-looking boy with a round face and big brown eyes—made a point of thanking Eve, who dimpled at him and winked. He looked much nicer than the hard-bodied jerks who’d just left, although Claire noticed that he was wearing a fraternity shirt.

“Epsilon Epsilon Kappa?’” she read out loud. “EEK?’”

He gave her an apologetic smile. “Yeah, well, it’s kind of a joke. Because of the town. You know, creepy.’” He blinked and focused on her, and smiled wider. “I’m Ian, by the way. Ian Jameson. From, ah, Reno.’”

“You’re a long way from home, Ian Jameson,’” Claire said, and stuck out her hand. He shook it. “Claire Danvers. From Longview.’”

“I’d say you were a short way from home, but everything’s far from this place,’” he said. “So, you’re—a freshman?’”

“Yes.’” She felt the dreaded blush creeping up again. “Early admission.’”

“Yeah? How early?’”

She tried to shrug it off. “Couple of semesters. No biggie.’”

“What’s your major?’” Ian took the top off his coffee and blew on it to cool it down, then took a sip. “Thanks again, by the way, this is really good.’”

“No problem,’” Eve said. She sounded much more cheerful now, and gave the sorority girls their skinny-half-caff-no-sugar lattes with a sunny, slightly manic grin.

Nobody had actually bothered to ask Claire what her major was before. Of course, it was customary for a freshman to change three or four times before settling on something, but Claire had always been pretty definite. “Physics.’”

“Really?’” Ian blinked. “Wow. That’s pretty intense. You must be good at math.’”

She shrugged. “I guess.’” Modesty in action; she’d never failed to land an A, ever.

“Gonna transfer out of here, I suppose. I mean, a degree in physics from Nowhere U isn’t going to do you all that much good, right?’”

“I’m hoping for MIT,’” Claire said. “What about you?’”

Ian shook his head. “CE. Civil engineering. Yeah, I’ve got to take physics, but no way would I volunteer to take more. And I’ve got one more semester. Then I transfer out to UT Austin.’”

A lot of students transferred out to the University of Texas; it was a major school for just about everything. Claire nodded. She’d considered it herself, but…MIT? Caltech? If she had a chance, she’d take it.

“So…what’s EEK? A professional fraternity?’” Because there were some on campus; you paid your dues and went to some meetings and put it on your résumé later.

“It’s a bunch of guys who like to party, really.’” Ian looked embarrassed. “I’m in it because I’ve got a couple of friends…anyway, they do throw this really cool party every year—it’s a big bash. It’s called the Dead Girls’ Dance. All zombie-freaky scary-movie stuff.’” He glanced over at Eve, who was steaming milk. “Your friend there would fit right in as is. Most people wear costumes, though.’”

Was he asking her out? No, he couldn’t be. For one thing, she’d just met him. For another…well, nobody ever asked her out. It just didn’t happen.

“It sounds neat,’” Claire said, and thought, I just used the word neat in a conversation with a cute boy, and I should walk away now and shoot myself.

“It’s at the EEK frat house tomorrow night. Listen, if you give me your number, I can text you the details….’”

“Um…sure.’” Nobody had ever asked before. She stumbled over the digits; he keyed it into his cell phone and smiled at her. A nice smile. A really nice smile, actually. “Um, I don’t know if I can come, though.’”

“Well, if you can, you’d save my life. We geeks have to stick together while everybody else goes nuts, right? See you there tomorrow night at eight?’”

“Right,’” she echoed. “Um…sure. I’ll be there. Thanks. Um, Ian, right?’”

“Ian.’”

“Claire,’” she said, and pointed at herself. “Oh. Did I already say that?’”

He laughed and walked away, sipping his latte.

It was only when he did that she realized she’d just agreed to go out on a date. An actual date. With a boy who was not Shane. How had that happened? She’d meant only to be nice, because he seemed like an okay guy, and then he’d been all charming, especially by comparison with the other guys….

She had a date.

With a boy who was not Shane.

Not good.

“Hey,’” Eve said, and motioned her closer. “So, what was that? Is he giving you a hard time or what?’”

“Ummm….’” Claire’s mind went blank. “No. He just—never mind.’”

Eve’s eyes turned from concerned to shrewd. “He hitting on you?’”

Claire settled for a shrug. She had no idea how to tell, actually. “I think he was just being nice.’”

“Guys aren’t nice,’” Eve said. “What did you tell him you’d do?’”

Okay, that was scary, how quickly she’d nailed it. Claire shifted her weight uncomfortably, and fiddled with her heavy backpack. “Maybe I said I might go to this party. But it totally wasn’t a date.’”

“Oh, totally not,’” Eve agreed. And rolled her eyes. “Next up! Vanilla latte!…which totally describes you, by the way.’”

“I’ll, um, be over there,’” Claire said. “Studying.’”

Eve might have wanted to stop her, but the drinks kept coming, and Claire was able to fade away and go in search of her study table. Which, miraculously, was still unoccupied. She thunked down her backpack on the battered wood and sat, sipping her mocha. The UC seemed safer than most places in Morganville…. Anyplace packed with people reading couldn’t be that bad.

Almost like a real university.

Claire was reading ahead in her history text when a shadow fell over the page. She looked up and saw a girl she slightly knew from her old dorm, Howard Hall—a freshman, like herself. Lisa? Lesley? Something like that.

“Hey,’” the girl said. Claire nodded toward the empty chair opposite her, but Lisa/Lesley didn’t sit. “That Goth at the coffee bar, the one who used to work at Common Grounds—is she your friend?’”

Word got around fast. Claire nodded again.

“Might want to keep her from getting herself killed, then,’” Lisa/Lesley said. “’Cause she’s just pulled the pin from the Monica grenade over at the counter.’”

Claire winced and closed her book. She checked her watch; well, it was probably close to time to leave for class anyway. It was bad, and shallow, but she wished that Lisa Lesley had decided not to do her good deed of the day. It would have been nice to leave without another crisis.

Claire repacked her book bag and walked back toward the coffee bar. I’m just going to tell her good-bye, she thought. No agenda here at all. Totally staying out of it.

Monica, Gina, and Jennifer were leaning on the bar, blocking coffee pickup. The counter was all that separated them from Eve, who was steadily ignoring them.

“Hey, Walking Dead, I’m talking to you,’” Monica was saying. “Is it true your brother tried to kill you?’”

“Yeah, was that before or after he tried to do you?’” Hand gestures and everything. Wow, that was low even for Jennifer.

“Tried?’” Gina snickered. “That’s not what I heard. I heard they were getting it on all through high school. No wonder they both turned out to be freaks.’”

Eve’s face was a still white mask, but her eyes…she looked crazy. In control, but just barely. Her hands were steady as she pulled espresso shots and mixed drinks; she thumped the finished products down on the counter, three across, and said, “If you don’t go away, I’m going to call my manager.’”

“Ooooh,’” Monica said. “Your manager. Wow, I’m terrified. You think some barely-over-minimum-wage brain donor stupid enough to work here is going to scare me? Do you?’” She leaned to the side, trying to catch Eve’s eyes. “I’m talking to you, freak face.’”

Gina noticed Claire standing a few feet away, and drew Monica’s attention with a hand on her shoulder. “Two freaks for one,’” she said. “They must be having some kind of special.’”

“Claire.’” Monica’s smile widened. “Sure, why not? You angry I’m ragging on your little lesbo girlfriend?’”

“Make up your mind,’” Claire said. Her voice sounded low and kind of cool, actually. Maybe it was easier doing this here in public, where she felt more comfortable. Or maybe she was actually getting used to facing down Monica. “Are we gay, or did she sleep with her brother? ’Cause you know, kind of not making much sense.’”

Monica actually blinked. Logic wasn’t her strong suit, anyway. Claire could almost see the Don’t confuse me with facts flicker across her brain. “You laughing at me?’”

“Yeah,’” Claire said. “A little.’”

Monica smiled. A big, genuine smile. “How about that?’” she said. “Claire’s grown a pair. I guess having a badass Protector hanging over your shoulder must be a real comfort.’” She threw a glance at Eve. “But it won’t last. My family means something around here. You freaks are just temporary. And…sad.’”

She flipped her hair back over her shoulders, picked up her latte, and walked away. Guys’ heads turned as she passed, with Gina and Jennifer in a flying-V formation behind her.

“Huh,’” Eve said as she wiped down the machines with maybe a little bit more force than was necessary. “She doesn’t usually back down that easily.’”

“Maybe she’s got class.’”

Eve snorted. “Trust me,’” she said. “That girl’s got no class at all.’”

“How weird is it that we have our own personal cop limo service?’” Eve asked. She and Claire were standing on the sidewalk in front of the UC, and the campus looked mostly deserted—it was seven o’clock, and the sky had darkened to a deep twilight. There were even a few premature stars out already. The sun had just gone down, and there was still a fiery orange and yellow glow on the western horizon. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have a car. I can drive.’”

“I don’t think they’ll keep it up,’” Claire offered. “I mean, it’s just a special thing. Until they catch—whoever killed that girl.’”

Eve sighed and didn’t answer. A blue car turned and cruised around the circular drive, pulling to a halt in front of them. Joe Hess was driving, and Travis Lowe got out and opened the back door with a dumb-looking overdone bow. It was kind of cute, actually. Claire climbed in and slid over, and Eve got in next to her.

“Hello, girls,’” Hess said, and turned to look back at them. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he seemed like he hadn’t slept at all. “Thanks for the coffee.’”

Claire and Eve looked at each other. “Sorry,’” Eve said. “I always smell like coffee; it’s the perfume of the barista. I didn’t actually bring any for you. But if you want, I’ll go back and—’”

“No way,’” Lowe said as he got into the shotgun seat. “Dark already. Let’s get you gals home. Joe and me, we’ll grab some later.’”

“Thank you,’” Claire said. “For the ride.’”

Neither of the cops answered. Detective Hess drove the other half of the circle, turned out onto the campus main drag, and within two blocks was off campus and into the dark Morganville night. Most shops were tightly closed already. As they passed Common Grounds, Claire and Eve both looked. It was full, of course, an oasis of light in the dark, empty street. No sign of Oliver. No sign of Shane’s dad, either, which made Claire’s conscience twinge hard. I need to tell Shane. Soon. She didn’t see how blabbing it to Eve would help, except to make Eve even more worried. And from the pensive way Eve was staring out into the dark, there was enough of that going on already.

They were only one block from the house when a sleek black car—with tail fins, like a shark—pulled in front of them and, with shocking speed, turned sideways. Hess jammed on the brakes, and the sound of screeching tires was like a banshee’s wail. He didn’t hit the other car…quite. Claire thumped back against the vinyl upholstery, panting from shock, and exchanged a wide-eyed look with Eve.

In the front seat, Hess and Lowe were doing the same things. Only with a full helping of grim, and a side of tense.

“What’s happening?’” Eve asked, and leaned forward. “Detectives?’”

“You stay here,’” Hess said, and popped his door. “Trav. Stay with them.’”

“Joe—’”

“I’ll be fine.’” He got out, slammed the door, and walked toward the other car. A dark-tinted window rolled down, and in the glare of the headlights, Claire saw a dead-pale face she recognized.

“Hans,’” she whispered. The vampire detective. She looked at Detective Lowe, and saw something strange; he had his gun out, held in his lap. And a cross in his left hand. “Right? It’s Hans.’”

“You girls stay put,’” Lowe said. His eyes didn’t move from the scene playing out in front of him. “Just a routine check.’”

Claire didn’t know much about police procedure, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t routine for one cop to block another one off in the road, right? Not even here.

And it wasn’t routine procedure for a detective to have his gun out, either.

Whatever conversation Hess was having, it wasn’t making him happy. It was also short. He shook his head a couple of times and then finally nodded.

As he walked back to the car, Claire had a real bad feeling. His expression was too serious and too angry for it to be good news. Shane. Oh God, maybe it’s about Shane—something’s happened to Shane….

Hess opened the back door—Claire’s side—and leaned in. “Girls,’” he said. “You’re going to have to come with me.’”

“The hell?’” Lowe barked. “I thought we were taking them home.’”

“Change of plans,’” Hess said. He was trying not to look angry, or worried, but Claire could still see it in his eyes. “You’re wanted downtown, girls. I’ll come with you. Trav, I need you to take the car in.’”

The two men exchanged a long look, and then Lowe let out a slow breath. “Right,’” he said. “Sure. You look after them.’”

“You know I will.’”

Claire got out of the car, feeling more exposed and vulnerable even than usual. Hess was right there, big and comforting, but still…she saw Hans’s eyes on her, and it made her feel cold.

His partner, Gretchen, got out of the passenger side and came around to open the back door. “In,’” she snapped. Claire swallowed hard and moved forward, but Eve got there first, sliding inside and all the way across. Hess followed Claire. When Gretchen slammed the door, the three of them barely fit in the backseat.

“You all keep your mouths shut until you’re asked to speak,’” Hans said, and put the car in gear as Gretchen got back in. He turned the big car with a squeal of warm rubber and accelerated fast down the street.

They passed 716 Lot Street. All the lights were on, and the door was open, and someone was standing in the doorway, watching them roar by. It was too quick to tell whether it was Shane or Michael, but Claire hoped it was Shane.

She hoped that if something happened, she at least had gotten to see him before the end.

“I thought we were going to the police station,’” Eve whispered as the car took some turns and wound through the confusing maze of streets.

“We’re not?’” Claire whispered back.

“Passed it back there. I guess we’re going somewhere else.’” Eve sounded flat-out scared, and when Claire reached over, she found Eve’s hand was cold and shaking. They held on to each other as the car made more turns, and then slowed for some kind of barricade. “Oh God. We’re going to the square.’”

“The square?’”

“Founder’s Square. It’s, like, vamptown this time of night.’” Eve swallowed and gripped Claire’s hand more tightly. “I’m trying to think of any way this could be a good thing.’”

“Hush,’” Detective Hess said quietly. “You’re okay. Trust me.’”

Claire did. She just didn’t trust the two vampire detectives sitting in the front seat, who were obviously more in charge.

The barricade lifted. Hans drove them through, brought the big car to a stop in an unlit parking lot, and turned to look at them. Claire first, then Eve. Hess, last of all.

Gretchen turned, too. She was smiling.

“Something we want you to see,’” Hans said. Gretchen exited the car and opened the back door on Eve’s side. “Out.’”

They clambered out into the cooling night air. The moon was up, casting a sickly yellow glow that didn’t illuminate much. The dark seemed very deep, even though there was still some indigo lining the horizon. Not even really full night yet…

A cold, strong hand closed over Claire’s upper arm. She squeaked breathlessly, and heard Eve making a sound of surprise, too. Gretchen had somehow gotten between them, holding them both by the arms.

Hans threw a look at Detective Hess. “Stay with the car,’” he said.

“I’m coming with the girls.’”

“You’re taking orders like a good little neutral,’” Hans said. “Unless you want to lose that status for both you and your partner. This isn’t some minor incident. This has the attention of the Elders. If the girls don’t cause trouble, they’ll come back unharmed, but you stay here.’”

Gretchen said, “No, Hans. Let him come. It’ll be good for him to attend.’”

Hans frowned at her, then shrugged. “Fine. But get in the way, Hess, and you’re meat.’”

Gretchen hustled the girls forward.

“What’s going on?’” Eve asked. Neither of the vampires answered. Claire turned her head and saw that Hess was behind them, but somehow, that didn’t give her all that much comfort. Gretchen frog-marched them around the corner of a blank-faced brick building, and into…

A park.

Claire blinked, surprised, because this was actually very…nice. Green grass, big shady trees rustling in the darkness. There were lights, too, strung through the tree branches and shining on flowers and bushes and walking paths.

The area that bordered the park was more alive than anything she’d seen yet in Morganville. Where the stores bordering the campus were run-down and dingy, the ones facing the square were shining, polished, beautifully maintained. Beautiful in an old-world kind of way, all stone and marble and pillars. There were gargoyles, too, built onto the roofs as drain spouts.

It looked like pictures Claire had seen of old European towns, only…nicer.

Every business facing the square was open. Two outdoor restaurants were serving, and the smell of roasting meats and fresh bread made Claire’s mouth water. All she’d really had for the day was coffee, and that was long gone.

And then she remembered what Eve had said. If downtown at night was vamptown, why the restaurants?

She knew when they passed close to one of them. There were groups dining, mixed vampire and human; the vampires had plates of food and were eating just as enthusiastically as the humans. “You eat!’” Claire blurted, astonished. Gretchen glanced at her with those cold, alien eyes.

“Of course,’” she said. “It provides us no nutrition, but the taste is still attractive. Why? You’ll find that poisons will do you no good, if you’re searching for a way to kill us.’”

Claire hadn’t even thought that far, actually. She was just…weirdly intrigued.

The stores they passed were incredible. Jewelers, with displays of gems and gold. Book dealers carrying ancient volumes as well as new best sellers. Clothing stores, lots of them, with tasteful and expensive styles. It was like a rich neighborhood from a major city, like Dallas or Houston or Austin, had been transplanted directly in.

Weird.

And all the shoppers were vampires. In fact, there were lots of them around, more than Claire had ever imagined lived in Morganville; the more she saw, the more scared she felt. They were staring at her and Eve like the girls were cows on the way to the slaughterhouse, and she felt horribly alone. I want to go home. I swear, if you let me get out of this, I’ll move back with Mom and Dad. I’ll never leave again….

Gretchen steered them toward a black marble building with gold lettering at the top. ELDERS’ COUNCIL, it said.

“It’s okay,’” Hess said quietly from behind them. “You’ll be okay, girls. Just cooperate. If they ask questions, tell the truth.’”

Claire barely felt her feet on the polished black marble steps. It was a little like moving in a dream, helpless and numb, but Gretchen’s grip on her arm was all too real. And painful. Ouch. Bruises later.

Hans opened the big polished door, and they went inside.

Of all the things Claire expected to see, she somehow hadn’t expected a television set, but there one was, tuned to a twenty-four-hour news channel showing flickering pictures of a war—bombs exploding, soldiers shooting. And standing in front of it, arms folded, was Oliver. He wasn’t wearing his hippie-dippie Coffee Shop Guy clothes; he was wearing a suit, black, tailored, and sharp as a knife. His graying hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and he was wearing a tie. No, not a tie, exactly. Kind of like a scarf, with a diamond pin through it to hold it in place. Maybe it had been fashionable when Oliver was younger.

“Some things never change,’” he said, staring at the television. “People continue to kill over the stupidest possible excuses. And they call us monsters.’”

On the last word, his gaze snapped to Claire, and she shivered. Oliver had nice eyes, but somehow, they scared her even more than Gretchen’s ice-cold ones. Maybe it was because she still wanted to like him, no matter what he’d done. He killed Michael! she reminded herself. Well, he’d mostly killed him, anyway.

“Hello,’” Oliver said to her, and nodded. He moved his stare to Eve. “Eve. We’ve missed you at the shop.’”

“B—’” Eve swallowed what she’d been about to say, which Claire was ninety-nine percent sure was Bite me. “Thanks.’” Which for Eve was amazingly cautious. If anybody had been shocked and angry about Oliver turning out vampire, it had been Eve.

Oliver nodded and walked across the large, empty room—empty except for the silently playing television and thick plush maroon carpet—and opened a set of double doors. He wasn’t the doorman; he walked on through and into the next room. Gretchen pushed Claire and Eve forward. The carpet was squishy soft under Claire’s feet, and she caught the scent of fading flowers. Roses. Lots of roses.

It hit her full force when they entered the next room, which was a big circular place with burgundy velvet curtains all around, with pillars in between. A low-key chandelier cast a medium-bright glow. Same carpet, but this room had furniture—chairs laid out in neat rows, in three sections with aisles between.

It took Claire a second to realize that she was walking into a funeral parlor. When she did, she stopped, and stumbled as Gretchen continued to drag her relentlessly onward, past the rows of empty folding chairs, all the way to the front, where Oliver was standing near another velvet curtain.

“Sir,’” Joe Hess said, coming out from behind Claire and Eve. “I’m Detective Hess.’”

Oliver nodded. “I know you.’”

“Shouldn’t there be others present here for this?’” The tension in Hess’s voice, and his body, warned Claire that Oliver’s interrogating them on his own was a very bad thing.

“There are others present, Detective Hess,’” said a light, cool voice from the far corner of the room, which Claire could have sworn was empty one second before. She gasped and looked, and there was Amelie, standing there as if she’d been carved in stone before the building came up around her. And her bodyguards—or servants—were standing in a group near her. She’d brought four of them. Claire wondered if that was a signal of how much trouble she and Eve were in.

“There is a third coming,’” Amelie said, and settled herself in a chair as if it were a golden throne. She was wearing black, like Oliver, but her attire was a long elegant suede skirt suit, with a severe white shirt under the tailored jacket. She crossed her legs, which were pale and perfect, and folded her hands in her lap.

Oliver wasn’t looking happy. “Who are we waiting for?’” he asked.

“You know the laws, Oliver, even if you choose to find ways to cheat them,’” Amelie said. “We are waiting for Mr. Morrell.’”

They didn’t have to wait long; in a matter of less than a minute, Claire heard voices coming from the anteroom outside, and a jingle of keys. She’d never seen the man who walked in, flanked by two uniformed cops, but she knew one of the cops: Richard Morrell, Monica’s brother. So the portly, balding man with the smug expression was probably her dad.

The mayor of Morganville.

He was dressed in a suit, too—blue, pin-striped, with wide lapels. Kind of pimpish, really, and the pants were a little too long. He had too many rings on his fingers, all in gold, and he was smiling.

“Oliver,’” he said cheerfully. The smile vanished fast when he spotted Amelie sitting so quietly off to the side, with her entourage. His face composed itself into something a whole lot more…respectful. “Founder.’”

“Mayor.’” She nodded to him. “Good. We can begin.’”

Gretchen let go of Claire’s arm. She winced at the returning flow of blood to her tingling hand, and rubbed at the place where Gretchen had been gripping her. Yeah, that was going to be a bruise. Definitely. She risked a look at Eve, who was doing the same thing. Eve looked dead scared.

Oliver reached over and pulled a hidden cord, and the burgundy velvet curtain behind him opened.

There was a body lying on the marble slab, surrounded by rich red roses, bunches of them in floor vases. The corpse looked blue white, rubbery, and utterly, horribly dead. Claire felt a cloud creep over her, heard a buzzing in her ears, and nearly collapsed, but somehow she managed not to faint.

“Oh my God,’” Eve whispered, and brought both hands to her mouth.

“It’s Brandon,’” Claire said, and looked at Oliver. “It’s Brandon, right?’” Because that cold, white face didn’t look human anymore, and she couldn’t match it up to the living person—vampire—she’d feared. The one who’d threatened her, chased her home, nearly killed her and Eve…

Oliver nodded. He pulled back the velvet covering Brandon from the neck down, revealing black open wounds. Some of them still smoked. Claire caught the smell of cooking meat, and this time, her knees buckled. Detective Hess caught her arm and steadied her.

“He was tortured,’” Oliver said. He sounded neutral—disinterested, even. “It took a long time. Someone very much enjoyed this. Almost as if there was a…personal agenda at work.’”

Mayor Morrell motioned his son forward. Richard wasn’t nearly the psycho his sister was. In fact, Claire kind of liked him, as much as she could like anybody from his family who worked for vampires. He seemed almost fair.

Richard examined the wounds in Brandon’s body. He actually touched them, which made Claire throw up in her head, if not actually through her mouth. “Looks like some kind of weapon straight to the heart. Probably a stake,’” Richard said, and looked up at his father. “Whoever did this was serious. This wasn’t just random; this was done slowly. I don’t know what they wanted out of him, but whatever it was, they probably got it. I can see shadows of wounds that closed over before he died. That’s hours, at least.’”

Silence. Deep, dark silence. Richard straightened up and glanced at Claire and Eve. If he recognized them, he gave no sign. “These two girls have something to do with it?’”

“Perhaps,’” Oliver said. Claire didn’t see him move, but all of a sudden he was right in front of her, looking down. “Perhaps they know something. You didn’t like Brandon very much, did you, Claire?’”

“I—’” She didn’t know what to say. Don’t lie, Hess had said. Did the vamps have some kind of lie detector power? Maybe even mind-reading? “No, I didn’t like him. But I wouldn’t want to see this happen to anybody.’” Not even you. She said that to herself, though.

He had such kind eyes. That was the horrible thing about him, this warm feeling that she could trust him, should trust him, that somehow she was letting him down by not…

“Don’t,’” Eve said sharply, and pinched her arm. Claire yelped and looked at her. “Don’t look him in the eye.’”

“Eve,’” Oliver sighed. “I’m very disappointed in you. Don’t you understand that it’s my responsibility, as Brandon’s Patron, to get to the bottom of this? To find the ones responsible? You’re not the innocent Claire may be; you know the penalties for killing one of us. And you know the lengths to which we’ll go to find out the truth. If I can get it from her without pain, don’t you want me to do that?’”

Eve didn’t answer. She kept her eyes focused somewhere around the middle of his chest. “I think you’ll do whatever you want,’” she said grimly. “Just like vamps always do. You didn’t ask me, but I’m glad Brandon’s dead. And I’m glad he suffered, too. However much it was, it wasn’t enough.’”

That was when Nice Oliver vanished. Just…gone. Claire saw a flicker of movement, nothing more, and then he had hold of Eve’s black-dyed hair and he was yanking her head back at a painful angle.

And there was nothing human in his eyes. Unless pure, flaming rage was human.

“Oh,’” he breathed into Eve’s ear. “Thank you for saying that. Now I don’t have to be so careful anymore.’”

Detective Hess stepped forward, fists clenched; Richard Morrell got in his way. “Easy, Joe,’” he said. “It’s under control.’”

Didn’t look that way to Claire. She was breathing too fast, feeling faint again, and she could see Eve’s knees buckling. The menace in the room—the body on the table—it was all just…terrifying.

Shane’s dad did that. Claire felt sick and even more terrified once she had the thought, because now somehow she had to keep it to herself.

And she knew they were going to ask.

Oliver sniffed at Eve’s exposed neck. “You’ve been working at a coffee shop,’” he said. “On campus, I suppose. Funny. I wasn’t asked for any references.’”

“Let go,’” Eve said faintly.

“Oh, I can’t do that. It makes it harder to hurt you.’” Oliver smiled, then opened his mouth, and his fangs—snake fangs, deadly sharp—snapped down into place. They weren’t like teeth, really; they were more like polished bone, and they looked strong.

He licked Eve’s neck, right over the pulse.

“Oh God,’” she whispered. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t let him do that.’”

“Ask the girl a question, Oliver. We don’t have time for your hobbies.’” Mayor Morrell said it in a bored tone, like all of this was keeping him from something more important. He inspected his manicure and buffed his fingernails against his suit jacket. “Let’s move this train down the track.’”

Amelie wasn’t saying or doing anything.

“I’m Protected,’” Eve said. “You can’t hurt me.’” She didn’t sound very confident, though, and Claire looked at Amelie, sitting in the front row of chairs, studying the scene closely, as if it was all some show put on for her benefit. Her expression was polite, but cool.

Please help, Claire thought. Amelie’s pale gold eyebrow raised just slightly. Can you hear me?

If she could, Amelie gave no other sign. She simply sat, calm as Buddha.

“Let’s just say that Amelie and I have an understanding in matters such as this,’” Oliver said. “And Eve, love, that understanding is that I can use any methods to pursue humans who break the peace. Regardless of Protection. Regardless of who that Protection is from. Now, I think we should have a little talk about your home invaders.’”

“Our…what?’” Eve was struggling not to meet his eyes, but he was so close, it was almost impossible to avoid him. “I don’t know who they were.’”

“You don’t. You’ve very sure about that,’” he said. His voice had dropped to a low, lethal whisper, and Claire tried to think of something to say, something to do, that would help Eve. Because clearly, Eve wasn’t going to help herself, and she couldn’t just stand by and see her—hurt. She couldn’t.

“I know,’” she said, and she felt everyone shift their collective attention onto her. Scary. Claire cleared her throat. “They were bikers.’”

“Bikers.’” Oliver let go of Eve’s hair and turned toward Claire. “I see. You’re attempting to distract me with the obvious, and, Claire, that is not a good idea. Not a good idea at all. We know all that, you see. We know when they came to town. We even know who called them.’”

Claire felt all the blood drain from her head. Her stomach flipped over, and kept flipping, and Oliver walked away from Eve and yanked another cord.

Another curtain slid aside, next to Brandon’s body.

Two men, on their knees, bound and gagged and held in place by really scary-looking vampires. One of the prisoners was a biker.

Shane was the other.

Claire screamed.