Dead Girls' Dance

8

In the end, they sat her down in a chair and had Gretchen hold her down with those strong, iron-hard hands pressing on her shoulders. Claire continued to struggle, but fear and shock were winning out over anger. And Shane wasn’t moving. He was watching her, but he couldn’t say anything around the gag, and if Shane wasn’t struggling, maybe there wasn’t anything to be gained from it.

Eve spun around and slapped Oliver. An open-hand, hard smack that echoed like a gunshot off of all the marble in the room. There was a collective intake of breath. “You son of a bitch!’” she spit. “Let Shane go! He has nothing to do with this!’”

“Really.’” A flat word, not even really a question. Unlike a human’s, Oliver’s face didn’t show any sign of a handprint from the slap, and it had definitely been hard enough. He barely looked as if he’d felt it at all. “Sit down, Eve, while I tell you the facts of your rather pathetic life.’”

She didn’t. Oliver put his hand flat on her chest, right at the notch of her collarbone, and shoved. Eve sprawled in a chair, glaring at him.

“Detective Hess,’” Oliver said. “I suggest you explain to my dear ex-employee exactly what she risks the next time she touches me in anger. Or, come to think of it, touches me at all.’”

Hess was already moving, sitting in the chair beside Eve and leaning toward her. He whispered to her, urgent words that Claire couldn’t catch. Eve shook her head violently. A trickle of sweat ran from her messy hair down the side of her face, making a flesh-colored track through the white makeup.

“Now,’” Oliver continued once Hess stopped, and Eve was sitting still. “We’re not technological idiots, Eve. And we do own the telephone providers in this area, particularly the cell phone providers. Shane placed a call from your home to a number that, much to our surprise, we found to be assigned to a device we located on his friend Mr. Wallace.’” Oliver pointed to the biker. “GPS is a marvelous invention, by the way. We’re quite grateful for all the hard work humanity has put into keeping track of itself. It makes finding people so much easier than it used to be in the old days.’”

“Shane didn’t do anything,’” Claire said. “Please. You have to let him go.’”

“Shane was found at the crime scene,’” Oliver said. “With Brandon’s body. And I hardly think we can say he wasn’t involved, if he was friendly enough with Mr. Wallace to be exchanging telephone calls.’”

“No, he didn’t—!’”

Oliver slapped her. She never saw it coming, just felt the impact and saw red for a second. Her whole body shook with the force of how much she wanted to hit him back, and she felt the stinging imprint of his hand on her cheek like a brand.

“You see, Eve?’” Oliver asked. “An eye for an eye. Of course, my interpretation is a bit free of the Scriptures.’”

Shane was screaming around his gag, and now he was fighting, but the vampires were holding him down on his knees without breaking a sweat. Eve’s eyes were huge and dark, and Hess was holding her down in the chair as she struggled to come after Oliver.

Don’t, Claire thought wildly. Because her friends had just told Oliver exactly what he wanted to know: that hurting her would get something out of them.

“Oliver,’” Amelie said. Her voice was soft and very gentle. “Is there a question you are posing to the children? Or are you merely indulging yourself? You say you already know the boy called this man. What more information do you need?’”

“I want to know where his father has gone,’” Oliver said. “One of them knows.’”

“The girls?’” Amelie shook her head. “It seems unlikely that someone like Mr. Collins would trust in either of them.’”

“The boy knows, then.’”

“Possibly.’” She tapped her lips with one pale finger. “Yet somehow, I doubt he will tell you. And there is no need for any cruelty to discover the truth, I believe.’”

“Meaning?’” Oliver turned fully toward her, crossing his arms.

“Meaning that he will come to us, Oliver, as you very well know. In order to save the boy from the consequences of his actions.’”

“So you withdraw your Protection from the boy?’”

Amelie looked at the body lying on the slab. After a moment of silence, she rose gracefully and walked to what was left of Brandon, trailed ghost white fingers over his distorted face, and said, “He was born before King John, did you know that? Born a prince. All those years, ending. I grieve for the loss of all that he saw that we will never know. All the memories that can never enrich us.’”

“Amelie.’” Oliver sounded impatient. “We can’t allow his killers to run free. You know that.’”

“He was yours, Oliver. You might spare a moment for his loss before you run baying after blood.’”

Amelie’s back was to him, so she couldn’t have seen it, but Claire did: there was hate in Oliver’s eyes, hate twisting his face. He got it under control before Amelie turned toward him.

“Brandon had his flaws,’” Oliver said. “Of all of us, he was the one who enjoyed the hunt the most. I don’t think he ever came to terms with the rules of Morganville. But it’s those rules we have to observe now. By sentencing these criminals.’”

Sentencing? What about a trial? Claire started to ask, but a cold hand clapped over her mouth from behind, and she looked up to see Gretchen bending over her, fangs out, holding a hushing finger to her own mouth. Eve was likewise gagged by Hans. Next to them, Detective Hess folded his arms and looked deeply troubled, but he didn’t speak.

Amelie looked at Oliver, then past him, at Shane.

“I warned you,’” she said quietly. “My Protection can only extend to you so far. You betrayed my trust, Shane. For the sake of kindness, I will not break faith with your friends; they remain under my Protection.’” She shifted her pale gaze to Oliver, and gave him a slow, regal incline of her head. “He is yours. I withdraw Protection.’”

Claire screamed out a protest, but it was lost against the gag of Gretchen’s hand. Amelie bent over and placed a kiss on Brandon’s waxy forehead.

“Good-bye, child,’” she said. “Flawed as you were, you were still one of the eternal. We won’t forget.’”

Claire heard someone yell outside the room, and Amelie whipped around so quickly that she was a blur, then moved…and something hit the marble pillar next to where she’d been and exploded with a sharp popping sound.

A bottle. Claire smelled gas, and then heard a thick, whooshing sound.

And then the curtains exploded into flame.

Amelie snarled, bone white and utterly not people, all of a sudden, and then she was dragged out of the way and down, with a moving bunker of bodyguards crowding around her. Gunfire exploded in the room, and somebody—Detective Hess?—shoved Claire forward to the carpet and covered her, too. Eve was down, too, curled into a protective ball, her black-fingernailed hands covering her head.

And then, there was fighting—grunts and smacks and wood being thrown against walls and smashed during struggles. Claire couldn’t get any sense of what was going on, except that it was brutal and it was over fast, and when the choking fog of smoke began to clear, Hess finally backed off and let her sit up.

There were two men dead in the entrance of the room. Big guys, in leather. There was one still moving.

Amelie pushed aside her bodyguards and stalked past Claire as if she didn’t exist. She glided down the aisle and to the one biker still feebly trying to crawl away. He was trailing a dark streak on the maroon carpet. Claire got slowly to her feet, grateful for Detective Hess’s arm around her, and exchanged a look of sheer horror with Eve, on his other side.

Amelie never got to the biker. Oliver was there ahead of her, dragging the wounded man up and, before Claire could blink, snapping his neck with a dry sound.

The body dropped to the carpet with a limp thump. Claire turned and hid her face against Hess’s jacket, trying to control a surge of nausea.

When she looked back, Amelie was staring at Oliver. He was staring right back. “No point in taking chances,’” he said, and gave her a slow, full smile. “He might have killed you, Amelie.’”

“Yes,’” she said softly. “And that wouldn’t have been in anyone’s best interests, would it, Oliver? How fortunate I am that you were here to…save me.’”

She didn’t move or gesture, but her bodyguards swarmed and surrounded her, and the whole mass of them moved out, walking around (or over) the dead men.

Oliver watched her go, then turned back to sweep a glare around the entire room, stopping on Shane.

“Your father thinks he can act without consequences, I see,’” he said. “How sad for you. Put these two where they belong. In cages.’”

The biker and Shane were pulled to their knees and dragged off, behind the curtains. Claire lunged forward, but Gretchen grabbed her and put her hand over Claire’s mouth. Claire winced as her arm was twisted up behind her back, and she realized she was crying, unable to breathe for the pressure of the hand on her mouth and the stuffiness building up in her nose.

Eve wasn’t crying. Eve was staring at Oliver, and even when Detective Hess let go of her, she didn’t move.

“What are you going to do to them?’” she asked. She sounded unnaturally calm.

“You know the laws,’” Oliver said. “Don’t you, Eve?’”

“You can’t. Shane had nothing to do with this.’”

Oliver shook his head. “I won’t debate my judgment with you. Mayor? You’ll sign the papers? If you’re done cowering, that is.’”

The mayor had been down in a defensive crouch behind an urn; he got up now, looking flushed and angry. “Of course I’ll sign,’” he said. “The nerve of these bastards! Striking here? Threatening—’”

“Yes, very traumatic,’” Oliver said. “The papers.’”

“I brought a notary. It’ll be all nice and legal.’”

Gretchen let go of Claire, sensing her will to fight was trickling away. “Legal?’” Claire gasped. “But—there hasn’t even been a trial! What about a jury?’”

“He had a jury,’” Detective Hess told her. His tone was gentle, but what he was saying was harsh. “A jury of the victim’s peers. That’s the way the law works here. Same for humans. If a vampire ever got brought up on murder charges, it would be humans deciding whether he lived or died.’”

“Except no vampire has ever been brought up on charges,’” Eve said. She looked nearly cold and pale enough to be a vampire herself. “Or ever will. Don’t kid yourself, Joe. It’s only the humans who get the sharp end of justice around here.’” She looked at the dead guys lying on the carpet at the entrance to the room. “Scared the shit out of you, though, didn’t they?’”

“Don’t flatter them. They had no hope of succeeding,’” Oliver said. He looked at Hans. “I have no further use for these two.’”

“Wait! I want to talk to Shane!’” Claire yelled. Gretchen propelled her toward the exit with a shove. It was move, or fall over the dead, bloody bodies.

Claire moved. Behind her, she heard Eve doing the same.

She blinked away tears, wiped angrily at her face and nose, and tried to think what to do next. Shane’s dad, she thought. Shane’s dad will save him. Although, of course, the dead guys she was stepping over indicated that rescue had already been attempted, and that hadn’t gone so well. Besides, Shane’s dad wasn’t here. He hadn’t stuck around when Shane got caught. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe nobody cared but her.

“Easy,’” Detective Hess said, and stepped in beside her to take her by the elbow. He managed to make it feel like escorting, instead of arresting. “There’s still time. The law says that the convicts have to be displayed on the square for two nights so that everyone can see them. They’ll be in cages, so they’ll be safe enough. It’s not the Ritz, but it keeps Brandon’s friends from ripping them apart without due process.’”

“How—’” Claire’s throat closed up on her. She cleared it and tried again. “How are they going to—?’”

Hess patted her hand. He looked tired and worried and grim. “You won’t be here when it happens,’” he said. “So don’t think about it. If you want to talk to him, you can. They’re putting them in cages now, at the center of the park.’”

“Oliver said take them back,’” Gretchen said from behind them. Hess shrugged.

“Well, he didn’t say when, did he?’”

The Founder’s Park was a large circle, with walkways like spokes in a wheel, all leading to the center.

And at the center were two cages. Cells just big enough for a man to stand up, not wide enough to stretch out. Shane would have to sleep sitting up, if he slept, or curled in a fetal position.

He was sitting, knees up, head resting on his arms, when Eve and Claire arrived. The biker was yelling and rattling his bars. Not Shane. He was…quiet.

“Shane!’” Claire almost flew across the open space, grabbed the cold iron bars in both hands, and pressed her face between them. “Shane!’”

He looked up. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. At least, not now. He managed to move around in the small, cramped cage until he was sitting closer to her, and reached through the bars to lay his hand against her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. It was the cheek that Oliver had slapped, she realized. She wondered if it was still red.

“I’m sorry,’” Shane said. “My dad—I had to go. I couldn’t let him do this. I had to try to stop it, Claire, I had to—’”

She was crying again, silently. With his thumb, he wiped away the tear that fell. She could feel his hand shaking. “You didn’t do anything, did you? To Brandon?’”

“I didn’t like the son of a bitch, but I didn’t hurt him, and I didn’t kill him. That was already done when I got there.’” Shane laughed, but it sounded forced. “Just my luck, huh? Charging off to be the hero, I get to be the villain instead.’”

“Your dad—’”

He nodded. “Dad’ll get us out. Don’t worry, Claire. It’ll be okay.’”

But the way he said it, she knew he didn’t believe it, either. She bit her lip to hold back a fresh wave of sobbing, and turned her head to kiss his palm.

“Hey,’” he said softly. He moved closer to the bars, pressing his face between them. “I always said you were jailbait, but this is ridiculous.’”

She tried to laugh. She really did.

His smile looked broken. “I’m going to consider this protective custody. At least this way, I can’t do anything that’d get me in real trouble, right?’”

She leaned forward to kiss him. His lips felt just the same, soft and warm and damp, and she didn’t want to move away. Not ever.

He sat back first, leaving her stranded there tingling and once again on the verge of tears. Dammit! Shane could not be blamed for this. It wasn’t fair!

“I’ll talk to Michael,’” she said.

“Yeah.’” Shane nodded. “Tell him—well, hell. Tell him I’m sorry, okay? And he can have the PlayStation.’”

“Stop it! Stop it—you’re not going to die, Shane!’”

He looked at her, and she saw the bright spark of fear in his eyes. “Yeah,’” he said softly. “Right.’”

Claire clenched her fists until they ached, and looked at Eve, who’d been standing quietly in the background. As Eve came toward the cage, Claire turned away and went to Detective Hess. “How?’” she asked again. “How are they going to kill him?’”

He looked deeply uncomfortable, but he looked down and said, “Fire. It’s always fire.’”

That nearly made her cry again. Nearly. Shane already knew, she thought, and so did Eve. They’d known all along. “You have to help him,’” she said. “You have to! He didn’t do anything!’”

“I can’t,’” he said. “I’m sorry.’”

“But—’”

“Claire.’” He put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She realized she was trembling, and then the tears came, a huge flood of them, and she held to the lapels on his coat and cried like her heart was breaking. Hess stroked her hair. “You bring me proof that he had nothing to do with Brandon’s death, and I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can. But until then, my hands are tied.’”

The idea of Shane burning in that cage was the most horrible thing she had ever imagined. Get hold of yourself, she thought furiously. You’re all he has! So she pulled in deep, shaking breaths and stepped back from Hess’s embrace, scrubbing the tears from her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Hess offered her a tissue. She took it and blew her nose, feeling stupid, and felt Eve’s hand on her shoulder before she even knew Eve was there behind her.

“Let’s go,’” Eve said. “We’ve got things to do.’”

It had been Michael in the doorway when they’d driven by on their way to Founder’s Square, and it was Michael in the doorway when the car pulled to a halt at 716 Lot Street. Gretchen opened the back door to allow Eve and Claire to scramble out. Claire looked back; Hess was still in the backseat, watching them go. He wasn’t making a move to get out with them. “Detective?’” she asked. Eve was already halfway up the walk, moving fast. Claire knew that the first rule of Morganville was “Never hang around out in the dark,’” but she did it anyway.

“I’m going back to the station,’” he said. “Hans and Gretchen will drop me off. It’s okay.’”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving anybody alone with Hans and Gretchen, but he was the adult, and he had to know what he was doing, right? She nodded, backed up, and then turned and ran the rest of the way up the steps and into the house.

Michael had pulled Eve inside, but not far in; she nearly ran into the two of them when she charged over the threshold. She slammed the door and locked it—Shane or Michael had replaced the locks again, and added more—and spun around to see that Michael had Eve in a bear hug, pressing her against him so tight that she nearly disappeared. He looked at Claire in total misery over Eve’s shoulder. “What the hell is going on? Where’s Shane?’”

Oh God, he didn’t know. Why didn’t he know? “What happened?’” she blurted. “Why did you let him leave?’”

“Shane? I didn’t let him do anything. Any more than I let you go running off unprotected in the middle of the day—his dad called. He just…left. It was still daylight. There wasn’t anything I could do.’” Michael pushed Eve back a little and looked at her. “What happened?’”

“Brandon’s dead,’” Eve said. She didn’t try to soften it, and her voice was as hard as an iron bar. “They’ve got Shane in a cage on Founder’s Square for his murder.’”

Michael sagged back against the wall as if she’d punched him in the stomach. “Oh,’” he whispered. “Oh my God.’”

“They’re going to kill him,’” Claire said. “They’re going to burn him alive.’”

Michael closed his eyes. “I know. I remember.’” Oh, crap, he’d seen it done before. So had Eve. She remembered them saying so before, though they’d spared her the details. Michael just breathed for a few seconds, and then said, “We have to get him out.’”

“Yeah,’” Eve agreed. “I know. But by we, you mean me and Claire, right? Because you’re of no damn use at all.’”

She might as well have punched him again, Claire thought; Michael’s mouth dropped open, and she saw the agony in his eyes. Eve must not have seen it. She turned and clomped away, brisk and efficient.

“Claire!’” she called back. “Come on! Move it!’”

Claire looked miserably at Michael. “I’m sorry,’” she said. “She didn’t mean that.’”

“No, she did,’” he said faintly. “And she’s right. I’m no use to you. Or to Shane. What good am I? I might as well be dead.’”

He turned and slammed his hand into the wall, hard enough to break bones. Claire yelped, scrambled backward, and ran after Eve. When Michael went all avenging-angel, well, it was definitely scary. And he didn’t look like he wanted witnesses to whatever was happening inside.

Eve was already going up the stairs. “Wait!’” Claire said. “Michael—shouldn’t we—?’”

“Forget about Michael. Are you in or out?’”

In. She guessed. Claire cast another look back at the hallway, where the sound of flesh hitting wood continued, and winced. Michael couldn’t hurt himself, not permanently, but it sounded painful.

Probably not as painful as what he was feeling.

When Claire reached the doorway, Eve was yanking open drawers, pulling out frilly stuff, and throwing it aside. Black lace. Netting. Fishnet hose. “Ah!’” she said, and brought out a big, black box. It must have been heavy. It made a hollow thunk as she slammed it down on top of the dresser, rattling her collection of Evil Bobbleheads, which all started nodding uneasily. “Come here.’”

Claire went, worried; this was a brand-new Eve, one she wasn’t sure she liked. She liked the vulnerable Eve, the one who cried at the drop of a hat. This one was harsh and hard and liked to order people around.

“Hold out your hand,’” Eve said. Claire did, tentatively. Eve slapped something round and wooden into it.

Pointed on one end.

A homemade stake.

“Vampire killer’s best friend,’” Eve said. “I made a bunch when Brandon was bothering me. I let him know, the next time he came sniffing around me he was going to get a woody. A real one.’”

“Aren’t these—illegal?’”

“They’ll get you thrown under the jail. Or killed and dumped in some empty lot somewhere. So don’t get caught holding.’”

She pulled out more stakes, and set them on the top of the dresser. Then some crude homemade crosses, extra large. She passed one to Claire, who gripped it in numbed fingers. “But—Eve, what are we doing?’”

“Saving Shane. What, you don’t want to?’”

“Of course I do! But—’”

“Look.’” Eve pulled out some more stuff and dumped it on the pile of stakes—lighter fluid, a Zippo lighter. “The time for playing nice is over. If we want to get Shane out of there, vampires have to die. That means we start a war nobody wants, but tough. I’m not watching Shane burn. I won’t do that. They want this. Oliver wants it. Fine, he can have it. He can choke on it.’”

“Eve!’” Claire dropped the cross and stake, grabbed her shoulders, and shook her. “You can’t! You know it’s suicide—you’ve told me that before! You can’t just…kill vampires! You’ll end up in a cage right next to—’”

Oh, God. She hadn’t seen it before, but now she knew what was different about Eve. What was missing in her eyes.

“You want to die,’” Claire said slowly. “Don’t you?’”

“I’m not afraid of it,’” Eve said. “No big deal, right? Tra-la, off to paradise just like my parents always told me, pearly gates and all that. Besides, nobody’s going to help us, Claire. We have to stick together. We have to help ourselves.’”

“What if I find some evidence?’” Claire asked. “Detective Hess said—’”

“Detective Hess stood there and did nothing. That’s what they’re all going to do. Nothing. Just like Michael.’”

“God, Eve, stop it! That’s not fair. Michael can’t leave the house! You know that!’”

“Yeah. Not much help, is it?’” Eve began stuffing her arsenal of vampire-killing equipment into a black gym bag. “It’s time for a little payback around here. There are other people who’re tired of sucking up to the vamps. Maybe I can find them if you’re going to punk out on me. I need people I can rely on.’”

“Eve!’”

“With me or out of the way.’”

Claire retreated to the doorway, and bumped into a warm body. She yelped and lunged forward, turning to face…

Michael.

His face was like a chalky mask, and his eyes were big and wounded and angry. He took Claire’s hand and pulled her through the doorway, out into the hall.

Then he took hold of the doorknob, and looked at Eve. “You’re not going anywhere,’” he said. “Not while I can stop you.’”

He slammed the door and locked it with an old-fashioned key. Seconds later, Eve hit the other side with a bang and began rattling the knob. “Hey!’” she screamed. “Open it! Right now!’”

“No,’” Michael said. “I’m sorry, Eve. I love you. I’m not letting you do this.’”

She screamed and battered harder. “You love me? You asshole! Let me go!’”

“Can you really keep her in there?’” Claire asked anxiously.

“I can for tonight,’” Michael said, his eyes fixed on the door as it vibrated under the force of her kicks and blows. “The windows won’t open, or the doors. She’s stuck. But when the sun comes up…’” He turned to look at Claire. “You said if you could find evidence, Detective Hess would step in for Shane?’”

“That’s what he said.’”

“It’s not enough. We need Amelie on his side. And Oliver.’”

“Oliver’s the one who put him in the cage! And Amelie—she walked away. I don’t think we can get anything from her, Michael.’”

“Try,’” he said. “Go. You have to.’”

Claire blinked. “You mean—go out there? At night?’”

Michael looked exhausted suddenly. And very young. “I can’t do it. I can’t trust Eve enough to let her out of her room, much less go out and talk to some of the most powerful vampires in town. Call Detective Hess, or Lowe. Don’t go alone…but Claire, I need you to do this. I need you to make it right. I can’t—’”

It was written all over his face, the things he couldn’t do. The limits he’d crashed into with so much force it had left him broken and bleeding in the wreckage.

“I know,’” Claire said. “I’ll try.’”

It was dark, it was Morganville, and she was sixteen years old. Not the best idea ever, going out of the house again, but Claire put on her darkest pair of jeans, a black shirt, and a big, gaudy cross that Eve had given her. She felt queasy at the idea of stakes. Doubly queasy at the idea of actually stabbing somebody with one.

I still have Protection, Amelie said so.

She hoped that would actually mean something.

Claire called Detective Hess’s number from the card Eve had left pinned to the board in the kitchen. He answered on the second ring, sounded tired and depressed.

“I need a ride,’” Claire said. “If you’re willing. I need to talk to Amelie.’”

“Even I don’t know how to get to Amelie,’” Hess said. “Best-kept secret in Morganville. I’m sorry, kid, but—’”

“I know how to get to her,’” she said. “I just don’t want to walk. Given—the time.’”

There was a second of silence, and then the sound of a pen scratching against paper. “You shouldn’t be out at all,’” Hess said. “Besides, I don’t think you’re going to get anywhere. You need to find somebody who can back up Shane’s story. That means one of his dad’s biker buddies. There may be one or two running around loose, but I don’t think talking sweet to them’s going to get you much.’”

“What about his dad?’”

“Trust me, you’re not going to find Frank Collins. Not before the powers that be do, anyway. Every vampire in town is out tonight, combing the streets, looking for him. They’ll find him eventually. Not a lot of places he can hide when it’s an all-out effort.’”

“But—if they catch him, that’s kind of a good thing. He could tell them Shane didn’t do it!’”

“He could,’” Hess agreed. “But he’s just crazy enough to think burning in a cage alongside his kid is going out in a blaze of glory. Some kind of victory. He might say Shane was part of it just to punish him. We can’t know.’”

She couldn’t deny that. Claire swallowed hard. “So…are you going to give me a ride or not?’”

“You’re determined to go out,’” Hess said. “In the dark.’”

“Yes. And I’ll walk if I have to. I just hope I don’t—have to.’”

His sigh rattled the phone speaker. “All right. Ten minutes. Stay inside until I honk the horn.’”

Claire hung up the phone and turned, and nearly bumped into Michael. She yelped, and he reached out and steadied her. He kept hold of her arms even after she didn’t need the steadying support anymore. He felt warm and real, and she thought—not for the first time—how weird it was that he could seem so alive when he really wasn’t. Not exactly. Not all the time.

He looked like he had something he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. And finally, he looked away. “Hess is coming?’”

“Yeah. Ten minutes, he said.’”

Michael nodded. “You’re going to see Amelie?’”

“Maybe. I’ve got exactly one shot. If that doesn’t work, then…’” She spread her hands. “Then I guess I talk to Oliver instead.’”

“If…you do see Amelie, tell her I need to talk to her,’” he said. “Will you do that for me?’”

Claire blinked. “Sure. But—why?’”

“Something she said to me before. Look, obviously I can’t go to her. She has to come here.’” Michael shrugged and gave her a tiny curve of a smile. “Not important why.’”

That raised a little red flag in the back of her mind. “Michael, you’re not going to do anything, well, crazy, right?’”

“Says the sixteen-year-old about to walk out the door in the dark to go see a vampire? No, Claire. I’m not going to do anything crazy.’” Michael’s eyes glittered suddenly with some fierce emotion. It looked like rage, or pain, or some toxic mix of both. “I hate this. I hate letting you go. I hate Shane for getting himself caught. I hate this—’”

What Michael was really saying, Claire understood, was I hate me. She totally got that. She hated herself on a regular basis.

“Don’t punch anything, okay?’” Because he had that look again. “Take care of Eve. Don’t let her go crazy, okay? Promise? If you love her, you need to take care of her. She needs you now.’”

Some of the fierceness faded out of his eyes, and the way he looked at her made her go all soft and warm inside. “I promise,’” he said, and rubbed his hands gently up and down her arms, then let go. “You tell Hess that if anything happens to you—anything—I’m killing him hard.’”

She smiled faintly. “Ooooh, tough guy.’”

“Sometimes. Look, I didn’t ask before—is Shane okay?’”

“Okay? You mean, did they hurt him?’” She shook her head. “No, he looked pretty much in one piece. But he’s in a cage, Michael. And they’re going to kill him. So no, he’s not okay.’”

The look in his eyes turned a little wild. “That’s the only reason I’m letting you go. If I had any choice—’”

“You do,’” she said. “We can all sit here and let him die. Or you can let Eve go on her wild-ass rescue mission and get herself killed. Or you can let sweet, calm, reasonable Claire go do some talking.’”

He shook his head. His long, elegant hands, which looked so at home wrapped around a guitar, closed into fists. “Guess that means there’s no choice.’”

“Not really,’” Claire agreed. “I was kind of lying about that choice thing.’”

Detective Hess was surprised when she gave him the address. “That’s old-lady Day’s house,’” he said. “She lives there with her daughter. What do you want with them? Far as I know, they’re not involved in any of this.’”

“It’s where I need to go,’” Claire said stubbornly. She had no idea where Amelie’s house was, but she knew of one door into it. She’d been thinking about ways to explain how you could open a bathroom door and be in a house that might be halfway across town, but all she could think of was folded space, and even the most wild-haired physicists said that was nearly impossible.

But she liked folded space better as an explanation than crazy booga-booga vampire magic.

“You going prepared for trouble?’” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he reached into the glove compartment of the car and pulled out a small jewelry-type box. “Here. I always carry spares.’”

She opened it and found a delicate silver cross on a long chain. She silently put it around her neck and dropped it down the neck of her shirt. She already had a backup, one of Eve’s handmade wooden ones, but this one felt…real, somehow. “I’ll give it back to you,’” she said.

“No need. Like I said, I’ve got more.’”

“I don’t take jewelry from older men.’”

Hess laughed. “You know, I thought you were a mousy little thing when I first saw you, Claire, but you’re not, are you? Not underneath.’”

“Oh, I am mousy,’” she said. “All this scares the hell out of me. But I don’t know what else to do, sir, except try. Even a mouse bites.’”

Hess nodded, the laughter fading out of his face. “Then I’ll try to give you the chance to show some teeth.’”

He drove the half mile or so, navigating dark streets with ease. She saw glimpses of people moving in the dark, pale and quick. The vampires were out in force, he’d said, and he was right. She caught a burning reflection of eyes as the car turned a corner. Vampire eyes reflected light like a cat’s. Disturbing.

Hess pulled to a halt in front of the old Victorian-style house. “You want me to come up with you?’” he asked.

“You’d just scare them,’” Claire said. “They know me. Besides, I’m not exactly threatening.’”

“Not until they get to know you,’” Hess said. “Stay out of the alley.’”

She paused, her hand on the door. “Why?’”

“Vampire lives at the end of it. Crazy old bastard. He doesn’t come out of there, and neither does anybody who wanders in. So just stay out.’”

She nodded and ducked out into the dark. Outside, the Morganville shadows had a character all their own. A neighborhood that had been a little shabby in the daytime was transformed into a freak-show park at night, gilded by cold silver moonlight. The shadows looked like holes in the world; they were so black. Claire looked at the house, and felt its presence. It was like the Glass House, all right. It had some kind of living soul, only where the Glass House seemed mildly interested in the creatures scuttling around inside of it, this place…she wasn’t sure it even liked what was going on.

She shuddered, opened the picket gate, and hurried up to knock on the door. She kept knocking, frantic, until a voice shouted through the wood, “Who the hell’s that?’”

“Claire! Claire Danvers, I was here, you remember? You gave me some lemonade?’” No answer. “Please, ma’am, please let me in. I need to use your bathroom!’”

“You what? Girl, you better step off my gramma’s porch!’”

“Please!’” Claire knew she sounded desperate, but then…she was desperate. Not to mention just one step shy of crazy. “Please, ma’am, don’t leave me out here in the dark!’”

That was only a little bit of acting, frankly, because the dark kept getting heavier and closer around her, and she couldn’t stop thinking about the alley, the crazy vampire hiding at the end like some giant tarantula waiting to jump—

She nearly screamed as the door was suddenly opened, and a hand closed around her arm.

“Oh, for God’s sake, get in!’” snapped Lisa. She looked irritated, tired, and rumpled; Claire had clearly rattled her right out of bed. She was wearing pink satin pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers, which didn’t make her look any less pissed off. She yanked, Claire stumbled forward across the threshold, and Lisa slammed and multiply locked the door behind her.

Then she turned, crossed her arms, and frowned at Claire. It was a formidable frown, but the pink pj’s and bunny slippers undermined it.

“What the hell are you doing here? Do you know what time it is?’” Lisa demanded. Claire took a deep breath, opened her mouth…and didn’t have to say anything.

Because Gramma was standing in the hallway entrance, and with her was Amelie.

The contrast couldn’t have been more striking. Amelie looked every inch the glorious, perfect ice queen, from her carefully braided and coiled hair to her unlined face to the sleek white dress she wore—she’d changed from the black suit she’d worn to the Elders’ Council building. She looked like one of those Greek statues made out of marble. Next to her, Gramma seemed ancient, exhausted, and breakable.

“The visitor is here for me,’” Amelie said calmly. “I’ve been expecting her. I do thank you, Katherine, for your kindness.’”

Who’s Katherine? Claire looked around, and realized after a few seconds that it had to be Gramma. Funny, she couldn’t imagine Gramma ever having had a first name, or being young; Lisa looked kind of thrown by it, too.

“And I appreciate your vigilance, Lisa, but your caution is unnecessary,’” Amelie continued. “Please return to your—’” For a second, Amelie hesitated, and Claire couldn’t imagine why until she saw that the vampire’s gaze was fixed on the sight of Lisa’s bunny shoes. It was only a second, a little crack in the marble, but Amelie’s eyes widened just a bit, and her mouth curved. She has a sense of humor. That, more than anything else, made Claire feel lost. How could vampires have a sense of humor? How exactly was that fair?

Amelie recovered her poise. “You may return to your sleep,’” she said, and bowed her head gracefully to Lisa and her gramma. “Claire. If you would attend me.’”

She didn’t wait to see if Claire would, or explain what “attend me’” meant; she just turned and glided down the hallway. Claire exchanged a look with Lisa—this time, Lisa looked worried, not angry—and hurried after Amelie’s retreating figure.

Amelie opened the bathroom door and stepped through into the same study Claire had visited before, only now it was night, and a fire was roaring in the enormous hearth to warm the chilly room. The walls were thick stone, and looked very old. The tapestries looked old, too—faded, tattered, but still keeping a sense of magnificence, somehow. The place looked way spookier by firelight. If there were electric lights, they weren’t on. Not even the books crowding the shelves made the place warm.

Amelie crossed to a chair near the hearth and gracefully motioned Claire to one across from her. “You may sit,’” she said. “But be warned, Claire, what I expect you want from me is not in my power to grant.’”

Claire settled carefully, not daring to relax. “You know why I’m here.’”

“I’d be a fool if I thought it was any reason other than young Shane,’” Amelie said, and smiled very sadly. “I can recognize loyalty when I see it. It shines strongly from you both, which is one reason I have trusted you so much on insignificant acquaintance.’” She lost her smile, and her pale eyes turned to frost again. “And that is why I cannot forgive what Shane has done. He broke faith with me, Claire, and that is intolerable. Morganville is founded on trust. Without it, we have nothing but despair and death.’”

“But he didn’t do anything!’” Claire knew she sounded like a whiny little girl, but she didn’t know what else to do. It was that or cry, and she didn’t want to cry. She had the feeling she’d be doing plenty of that, no matter what. “He didn’t kill Brandon. He tried to save him. You can’t punish him for being in the wrong place!’”

“We have no one’s word of that save Shane’s. And make no mistake, child, I know why Shane returned to Morganville in the first place. It is regrettable that his sister was so brutally and unnecessarily killed; we tried to make amends with his family, as is custom. We even allowed them to leave Morganville, which you understand is not common, in hopes that Shane and his parents might heal their grief in less…difficult surroundings. But it was not possible. And his mother broke through the block surrounding her memories.’”

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her chair. It was too big, and too high up; her toes barely touched the ground. She gripped the arms firmly, tried to remind herself that she was strong and courageous, that she had to be, for Shane. “Did you kill her? Shane’s mother?’” she asked, as bluntly as she could. It still sounded timid, but at least she’d gotten the question out.

For a second she thought Amelie wasn’t going to answer her, but then the vampire looked away, toward the fire. Her eyes looked orange in its glow, with dots of reflective yellow in the center. She shrugged, a gesture so small, Claire barely even saw it. “I have not lifted a hand against a human in hundreds of years, little Claire. But that is not what you ask, is it? Am I responsible for his mother’s death? In a larger sense, I am responsible for anything that is done in Morganville, or even beyond its borders if it relates to vampires. But I think you ask if I gave an explicit order.’”

Claire nodded. Her neck felt stiff, and her hands would have been shaking if they hadn’t been grabbing the arms of the chair so hard her knuckles cracked.

“Yes,’” Amelie said, and turned her head back to meet Claire’s eyes. She looked cool, merciless, and absolutely without conscience. “Of course I did. Shane’s mother was one of the rare cases who, by focusing on a single event in their past, are able to overcome the psychic block that is placed on them when they depart this place. She remembered her daughter’s death, and from that, she remembered other things. Dangerous things. As soon as we became aware this was happening, it was brought to my attention, and I gave the order to kill her. It was to be done quickly and without pain, and it was a mercy, Claire. Shane’s mother had been in so much pain for so long, do you understand? She was damaged, and some damages cannot be healed.’”

“Nothing heals if you’re dead,’” Claire whispered. She remembered Shane on the couch, blurting out all the horror of his life, and she wanted to throw up on Amelie’s perfect lap. “You can’t do things like that. You aren’t God!’”

“For the safety of all who live here? Yes, Claire, I can. I must. I am sorry my decisions do not meet with your approval, but nevertheless, they are mine, and the consequences are also mine. Shane is a consequence. My agents warned me at the time that they believed the boy might have been tainted by his mother, that his block was slipping, but I chose not to expand the tragedy by killing a boy who might not have been a threat.’” Amelie shrugged again. “Not all of my decisions are cruel, you see. But the ones which are not are usually wrong. Had I killed Shane then, and his father, as well, we would not now be facing this…bloody and painful farce.’”

“Because he’d be dead!’” Claire felt tears sting hard in her eyes and at the back of her throat. “Please. Please don’t let this happen. You can find out the truth, can’t you? You have powers. You can tell that Shane didn’t kill Brandon….’”

Amelie said nothing. She turned back toward the fire.

Claire watched her miserably for a few seconds, and felt tears break free to run down her cheeks. They felt ice-cold in the overly warm room. “You can tell,’” she repeated. “Why won’t you even try? Is it just because you’re angry at him?’”

“Don’t be infantile,’” Amelie said distantly. “I do nothing out of anger. I am too old to fall into the trap of emotion. What I do, I do for expedience, and for the sake of the future.’”

“Shane is the future! He’s my future! And he’s innocent!’”

“I know all that,’” Amelie said. “And it does not matter.’”

Claire stopped, stunned. Her mouth was open, and she tasted woodsmoke on her tongue until she closed it and swallowed. “What?’”

“I know Shane is innocent of the crime of which he is accused,’” Amelie said. “And yes, I could countermand Oliver. But I will not.’”

“Why?’” It burst out of Claire like a scream, but it was really just a whimper, all the fight kicked out of it.

“I have no reason to explain myself. Suffice to say that I have chosen to place Shane in that cage for a purpose. He may live, or he may die. That is no longer in my hands, and you may save both your breath and your hopes; I shall not stand up dramatically at the last moment as they light the pyres, and save your lover. Should it come to that, Claire, you must be prepared for the harsh reality that the world is not a fair or just place, and all your wishing cannot make it so.’” Amelie sighed, very lightly. “A lesson I learned long, long ago, when the oceans were young, and sand was still rock. I am old, child. Older than you can possibly understand. Old enough that I play with lives like counters in a game. I wish this was not so, but damn me if I can change what I am. What the world is.’”

Claire said nothing. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, so she just cried, silently and hopelessly, until Amelie pulled a white silken handkerchief from her sleeve and gracefully held it out to her. Claire dabbed at her face with it, honked her nose, and hesitated with the silken square clutched in her hand. She’d grown up with disposable tissues; she’d never actually held a handkerchief before. Not one like this, all beautiful embroidery and monogramming. You didn’t throw these away, right?

Amelie’s lips curved into that distant smile. “Wash it and return it to me someday,’” she said. “But go now. I grow tired, and you will not change my mind. Go.’”

Claire slid off the chair and stood up, turned, and gasped. There were two of Amelie’s bodyguards standing right there, and she hadn’t even known they were behind her the whole time. If she’d tried anything…

“Go to sleep, Claire,’” Amelie said. “Let things be. We shall see how the cards fall in our game.’”

“It’s not a game: It’s Shane’s life,’” Claire shot back. “And I’m not sleeping.’”

Amelie shrugged and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Then go about your quest,’” she said. “But do not come back to me, little Claire. I will not be so well-disposed to you again.’”

Claire didn’t look back, but she knew the bodyguards followed her all the way to the door.

“Was there not something else you wanted to tell me?’” Amelie asked, just before she went out. Claire glanced back; the vampire was still staring into the fire. “Did you not have another request?’”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.’”

Amelie sighed. “Someone asked you for a favor.’”

Michael. Claire swallowed hard. “Michael wants to talk to you.’”

Amelie nodded. Her expression didn’t change.

“What do I tell him?’” Claire asked.

“That is entirely your affair. Tell him the truth—that you did not care enough to deliver his message.’” Amelie waved a hand without even looking toward her. “Go.’”

Lisa was sitting in the living room, frowning, arms folded, when Claire came back down the hall. She still looked fierce, never mind the bunny slippers, as she stood up to open the locks on the front door. Warrior princess on vacation, Claire thought. She guessed you grew up tough in Morganville, especially if you lived in a house Amelie could visit any time she felt like it.

“Bad news,’” Lisa said. “Right?’”

Did it show that much? “Right,’” Claire said, and wiped at her eyes again with the handkerchief. She shoved it in her pocket and sniffled miserably. “But I’m not giving up.’”

“Good,’” Lisa said. “Now, when I open this door, you’re gonna want to hurry. Go straight to the car out there. Don’t look left or right.’”

“Why? Is there something—?’”

“Morganville rules, Claire. Learn them, live them, survive them. Now go!’” Lisa yanked open the door, put a hand flat on Claire’s back, and propelled her out onto the porch. A second later, Lisa slammed the door, and Claire heard the rattle of the locks being turned. She got her balance, jumped down the steps, and hustled down the dark path and through the picket gate, and yanked open the passenger door of the car. She scrambled in and hit the lock, and then relaxed.

“I’m okay,’” she said, and turned to Detective Hess.

He wasn’t there.

The driver’s seat was empty. The keys were still in the ignition, the engine was idling, and the radio was playing softly. But the car was completely empty, except for her.

“Oh God,’” Claire whispered. “Oh God oh God oh God.’” Because she could drive the car, but that would mean stranding Detective Hess, if he’d gone off doing police things. Stranding him without his partner to help him. She’d seen enough cop shows to know that wasn’t a good idea. Maybe he’d just gone off to talk to somebody and was coming right back…or maybe he’d been snatched out of the car by some hungry vamp. But didn’t Hess have some kind of special Protection?

She had no idea what to do.

While she was thinking about it, she heard voices. Not loud, but a steady stream of conversation. It sounded like Detective Hess, and he wasn’t far away. Claire cautiously rolled down the window and listened hard; she couldn’t make out any words, but there were definitely voices.

Claire unlocked her door and eased it open, straining to catch the words, but they were just sound, no meaning. She hesitated, then slipped out of the car, eased the door shut, and hurried toward the sound of the voices. Yes, that was Detective Hess; she recognized his voice. No question about it.

She didn’t even realize where she was going—she was so intent on listening—until she realized how dark it was, and the words weren’t getting any clearer, and she wasn’t at all sure now that was Detective Hess’s voice after all.

And she was halfway down an alley with tall, rough board fence on both sides, trapping her.

She’d gone into the alley. Why the hell had she done that? Hess had warned her. Gramma had warned her. And she hadn’t listened!

Claire tried to turn around, she really tried, but then the whispers came again, and yes, for sure that was Detective Hess, there was no safety back there in the car, the car was a trap waiting to spring, and if she could just get to the end of the alley she’d be safe, Detective Hess would keep her safe, and she’d be—

“Claire.’”

It was a cold, clear voice, falling on her like ice down her back, and it shocked her right out of the trance she’d fallen into. Claire looked up. On the second story of Gramma’s house, bordering the alley, a slender white figure stood in the window, staring down.

Amelie.

“Go back,’” she said, and then the window was empty, curtains blowing in the wind.

Claire gasped, turned, and ran as fast as she could out of the alley. She could feel it at her back, pulling at her—it, whatever it was, it wasn’t a vampire as she understood vamps in Morganville; it was something else, something worse. Trapdoor spider, that was how Gramma and Lisa had described it. Panic whited out its song in her head, and she made it—somehow—to the end of the alley and burst out into the street.

Detective Hess was standing at the car, looking straight at the alleyway. Gun drawn and held at his side. He visibly relaxed at the sight of her, came around, and hustled her to the passenger side of the car. “That was dumb,’” he said. “And you’re lucky.’”

“I thought I heard you,’” she said faintly. Hess raised his eyebrows.

“Like I said. Dumb.’” He shut the door on her, came around, and put the car in gear.

“Where’d you go?’”

He didn’t answer. Claire looked back. There was something in the shadows in the alley, but she couldn’t tell what it was.

Just that its eyes reflected the light.

It was coming up on deep night, when most sensible people were fast asleep in their beds with their doors bolted and windows securely locked, and Claire was knocking on the door of Common Grounds. It had a CLOSED sign in the window, but the lights were on in the back.

“You’re sure you want to do this,’” Hess said.

“You sound just like my subconscious,’” Claire said, and kept knocking. The blinds twitched and tented; locks rattled.

Oliver opened the door of the coffee shop, and the smell of espresso and cocoa and steamed milk washed over her. It was warm, welcoming, and so very wrong, considering what she knew about him.

He looked very humanly harassed at her arrival. “It’s late,’” he said. “What is it?’”

“I need to talk to you about—’”

“No,’” he said very simply, and looked at Hess over her head. “Detective Hess, you need to take this child home. She’s lucky to still be alive today. If she wants to continue that winning streak, then she ought to be a little more cautious than to run around Morganville in the dead of night, knocking on my door.’”

“Five minutes,’” Claire promised. “Then I’ll go. Please. I never did anything to hurt you, did I?’”

He stared at her for a few cool seconds, and then stepped back and held the door open. “You, too, Detective. I hate to leave anyone with a pulse outside of shelter this evening.’”

I’ll bet, she thought. Oliver’s peace-and-love hippie act no longer worked on her. Amelie had a kind of noble dignity that let her get away with pretending concern; Oliver was different. He was trying to be like Amelie, but not quite making it.

And I’ll bet that pisses him off, too.

Hess urged her across the threshold and followed her in. Oliver locked up, walked to the coffee bar, and, without being asked, began to put together three drinks—cocoa for Claire, strong black coffee for Detective Hess, and a pale tea for himself. His hands were steady and sure, the activity so normal that it lulled Claire into relaxing just a little as she sat down at a table. She ached all over with exhaustion and the tension she’d run through her body at Amelie’s.

“Miles to go before you sleep,’” Oliver said, as he stirred the cocoa. “Here. Steamed milk and spiced cocoa. Hot peppers. It does have an amazing effect.’”

He brought it to the table and handed it off to her, put Hess’s coffee down, and retrieved his own brewing teacup before sitting. All very normal-life casual.

“You’re here about the boy, I would suppose,’” Oliver said. He dunked his tea bag and watched the results critically. “I really must get a new supplier. This tea is pathetic. America just doesn’t understand tea at all.’”

“He’s not the boy. His name is Shane,’” Claire said. “And he’s not guilty. Even Amelie knows that.’”

“Does she?’” Oliver raised his gaze to fix it on hers. “How interesting, because I, in fact, don’t. Brandon was hideously and cruelly tortured, then murdered. He might have had his flaws—’”

“What, like molesting children?’”

“—but he was born into a different time, and some of his habits were difficult to change. He had his bright side, Claire, as do we all. And now that’s gone, along with any harm he might have done.’” Oliver wouldn’t let her look away. “Hundreds of years of memory and experience, poured out like water. Wasted. Do you think it’s so simple to forget such a thing for me? For any of us? When we look at Brandon’s body, we see ourselves at the mercy of humans. At your mercy, Claire.’” He glanced at Detective Hess. “Or yours, Joe. And you must admit, that’s a terrifying prospect.’”

“So you’ll just kill anyone who frightens you. Who could hurt you.’”

“Well…yes.’” Oliver took the tea bag out of his cup and set it aside on the saucer, then sipped. “A habit we learned from you, really. Humans are all too ready to slaughter the innocent with the guilty, and if you were older, Claire, you would know this. Joe, I’m sure, is not so naive.’”

Hess smiled thinly and sipped coffee. “Don’t talk to me. I’m just the driver.’”

“Ah,’” Oliver said. “How generous of you.’” They exchanged some kind of a look that Claire didn’t know how to interpret. Was that anger? Amusement? A willingness to get up and beat the crap out of each other at a moment’s notice? She couldn’t even figure out what Shane and Michael were thinking, and she knew them. “Is she then aware of the price of your services?’”

“He’s trying to get you rattled, Claire. There’s no price.’”

“How interesting. And what a departure.’” Oliver dismissed Hess and got back to Claire, who hastily took a sip of her cocoa. Ohhhhhh…it just kind of exploded in her mouth, rich cocoa, warm milk, and a spicy edge that she didn’t expect. Wow. She blinked and took another sip, carefully. “I see you like the cocoa.’”

“Um…yeah. Yes, sir.’” Because somehow, when Oliver was being civilized, she felt compelled to still call him sir. Mom and Dad had a lot to answer for, she decided. She couldn’t even be rude to evil vampires who’d caged her boyfriend and were preparing to roast him alive. “What about Shane?’”

Oliver leaned back, and his eyelids drifted down to half-mast. “We’ve covered this subject, Claire. Quite thoroughly. I believe you might even have the bruises to remind you of my opinion.’”

“He didn’t do it.’”

“Let us deal in facts. Fact, the boy came back to Morganville with the clear intention of disrupting the peace, at the very least, and more likely killing vampires, which is an automatic death sentence. Fact, he concealed himself from us, along with his intentions. Fact, he communicated with his father and his father’s friends both before they came to Morganville and after. Fact, he was at the scene of the crime. Fact, he has offered little in his own defense. Need I go on?’”

“But—’”

“Claire.’” Oliver sounded sad and wounded. He leaned forward, braced his elbows on the table, and placed his chin on top of his folded hands. “You’re young. I understand that you have feelings for him, but don’t be a fool. He’ll drag you down with him. If you force me to it, I’m sure I could uncover evidence that you knew about the presence of Shane’s father in Morganville, and you had knowledge of their agenda. And that, my dear girl, would mean the end of your precious Protection, and put you in a cage alongside your boyfriend. Is that what you want?’”

Hess put a warning hand on her arm. “Enough, Oliver.’”

“Not nearly enough. If you came to bargain, I think you have nothing to offer me that I can’t get elsewhere,’” Oliver said. “So please take yourselves—’”

“I’ll sign whatever you want,’” Claire blurted. “You know, swear myself to you. Instead of Amelie. If you want. Just let Shane go.’”

She hadn’t been planning to do it, but when he’d mentioned bargain it had just taken on a life of its own inside her, and leaped right out of her mouth. Hess groaned and ran a hand over his hair, then covered his mouth, evidently to keep himself from telling her what an idiot she was.

Oliver continued to gaze at her with those steady, kind eyes.

“I see,’” he said. “It would be love, then. For love of this boy, you would tie yourself to me for the rest of your life. Give me the right to use you as I see fit. Do you have any idea what you’re offering? Because I would not offer you the conditional contracts that most in Morganville sign, Claire. No, for you, there would be the old ways. The hard ways. I would own you, body and soul. I would tell you when to marry and whom to marry, and own your children and all their issue. I was born in a time when this was custom, you see, and I am not in a charitable mood just now. Is this what you want?’”

“Don’t,’” Hess said sharply. He gripped Claire’s forearm and pulled her up to her feet. “We’re going, Oliver. Right now.’”

“She has the right to make her own choices, Detective.’”

“She’s a child! Oliver, she’s sixteen years old!’”

“She was old enough to conspire against me,’” he said. “Old enough to find the book that I spent half a hundred years pursuing. Old enough to cut off my one and only chance to save my people from Amelie’s intolerable iron grip. Do you think I care about her age?’” Oliver’s friendly courtesy was all gone, and what was left was like a man-sized snake, with a cruel light flickering behind his eyes, and fangs flicking down in warning. Claire let Hess pull her out from behind the table, toward the door. He’d drawn his gun.

“I may not let you leave,’” Oliver said. “You realize that?’”

Hess spun and raised the gun, pointed it straight at Oliver’s chest. “Silver bullets washed in holy water, with a cross cast right in.’” He clicked back the hammer. “You want to test the line, Oliver? Because it’s right here. You’re standing on it. I’ll take a lot of shit from you, but not this. Not that kind of contract, and not with a kid.’”

Oliver hadn’t even bothered to stand up.

“I take it you don’t want your coffee poured to go? A pity. Do watch your back, Detective. You and I will have a talk, one of these days. And Claire…come back anytime. If the hours run thin, and you want to make that deal, I will listen.’”

“Don’t even think about it,’” Hess said. “Claire, open the door.’” He held his gun trained on the vampire, un-blinking, while Claire unlocked the three dead bolts and swung it open. “Get in the car. Move.’” He backed out behind her as she ran to the car and dived inside. Hess banged the door to Common Grounds closed, hard enough to crack glass, and slid over the hood of the car in a move she’d only ever seen in action movies, and was in the car and starting it before she could take a breath.

They raced off into the night. Claire checked the backseat, suddenly terrified she’d turn around to see Oliver grinning at her, but it was empty.

Hess was sweating. He wiped at the drops with the back of his hand. “You don’t fool around when you get yourself in trouble, I’ll give you that,’” he said. “I’ve lived here all my life, and I’ve never seen anybody get that out of Oliver. Ever.’”

“Um…thanks?’”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Listen, under no circumstances do you ever go back to Common Grounds, get me? Avoid Oliver at all costs. And no matter what happens, don’t make that deal. Shane wouldn’t want it, and you’d live to regret it. You’d live a long time, and you’d hate every horrible second of it.’” Hess shook his head and took a deep breath. “Right. That’s the end of the line for you tonight. You’re going home, I’m seeing you safe inside, and I’m going home to hide in a closet until this blows over. I suggest you do the same.’”

“But Shane—’”

“Shane’s dead,’” Hess said, so quietly and matter-of factly that she thought he meant it, that somehow someone had slipped in and killed him and she hadn’t even known…but then he went on. “You can’t save him. Nobody can save him now. Just let go and watch yourself, Claire. That’s all you can do. You’ve pissed off both Amelie and Oliver in one night. Enough already. A little common sense would be welcome from you right about now.’”

She sat in dull, grim silence the rest of the way home.

Hess was as good as his word. He walked her from the car up the steps, watched her open the front door, and nodded wearily as she stepped inside. “Lock it,’” he said. “And for God’s sake, go get some rest.’”

Michael was right there, warm and comforting, when she closed the door. He was holding his guitar by the neck, so he’d clearly been playing; his eyes were red-rimmed, his face tense. “Well?’” he asked.

“Hello, Claire, how are you?’” Claire asked the air. “No death threats, right? Thanks for going out in the dark to bargain with two of the scariest people on earth.’”

He at least had the good manners to look embarrassed about it. “Sorry. You okay?’”

“Duh. No fang marks, anyway.’” She shuddered. “I do not like those people.’”

“Vampires?’”

“Vampires.’”

“Technically, not people, but then, neither am I, now that I think about it. So never mind.’” Michael put an arm around her and steered her toward the living room, where he sat her down, put a blanket around her shoulders. “I’m guessing it didn’t go well.’”

“It didn’t go at all,’” she said. She’d been depressed on the ride home, but having to actually report on her failure was a whole new level of suck. “They’re not letting him go.’”

Michael didn’t say anything, but the light died in his eyes. He went down on one knee next to her and fussed with the blanket, tucking it tighter around her. “Claire. Are you okay? You’re shaking.’”

“They’re cold, you know,’” she said. “They make me cold, too.’”

He nodded slowly. “You did what you could. Rest.’”

“What about Eve? Is she still here?’”

He glanced up at the ceiling, as if he could see through it. Maybe he could. Claire really didn’t know what Michael could and couldn’t do; after all, he’d been dead a couple of times already. Wouldn’t do to underestimate somebody like that. “She’s asleep,’” he said. “I—talked to her. She understands. She won’t do anything stupid.’” He didn’t look at Claire when he said that, and she wondered what kind of talking that might have been.

Her mother had always said, when in doubt, ask. “Was it the kind of talk where you gave her something to live for? Like maybe, um, you?’”

“Did I—what the hell are you talking about?’”

“I just thought maybe you and her—’”

“Claire, Jesus!’” Michael said. She’d actually made him flinch. Wow. That was new. “You think banging me is going to make her forget about charging out to commit cold-blooded vampire slaying? I don’t know what kind of standards you have on sex, but those are pretty high. Besides, whatever’s between me and Eve—well, it’s between me and Eve.’” Until she tells me about it later, Claire thought. “Anyway, that’s not what I meant. I—persuaded her. That’s all.’”

Persuaded. Right. The mood Eve had been in when Claire left? Not too likely…

And then Claire remembered the voices whispering to her in the alley, and her blind, stupid assumption of safety leading her into danger. Could Michael do that? Would he?

“You didn’t—’” She touched her temple with one finger.

“What?’”

“Screw with her head? Like they can?’”

He didn’t answer. He fussed with the blanket around her shoulders some more, fetched her a pillow, and said, “Lie down. Rest. It’s only a couple of hours until dawn, and I’m going to need you.’”

“Oh, God, Michael, you didn’t. You didn’t! She’ll never forgive you!’”

“As long as she lives to hate me later,’” he said. “Rest. I mean it.’”

She didn’t intend to sleep; her brain was whirling like a tire rim scraping pavement, shooting off sparks in every direction. Lots of energy being expended, but she wasn’t going anywhere fast. Have to think of something. Have to…

Michael started playing, something soft that sounded melancholy, all in minor keys, and she felt herself begin to drift…

…and then, without any sense of going, she was gone.

The blanket around her smelled like Shane.

Claire burrowed deeper into its warmth, murmuring something that might have been his name as she woke; she felt good, relaxed, safe in his embrace. The way she’d been the other night when they’d spent it here on the couch, kissing…

All that faded fast when the events of the past day flooded back, stripping away the comfort and leaving her cold and scared. Claire sat up, clutching the blanket, and looked around. Michael’s guitar was back in its case, and the sun was over the horizon. So, he was gone again, and she and Eve…she and Eve were on their own.

“Right,’” she whispered. “Time to get to work.’” She still needed to find some kind of viable strategy to break Shane out of that cage on Founder’s Square. Which meant research…maybe Detective Hess could tell her something about how many guards there were, and where. Clearly, there was some kind of security process for keeping out the human losers like her, but any security could be broken, right? At least, that’s what she’d always heard. Maybe Eve knew something that could help.

If Eve wasn’t back on suicide watch this morning, anyway. Claire thought wistfully about a hot shower, decided maybe it could wait, and wandered into the kitchen to put on coffee. Eve wasn’t going to be happy, but she’d be even less happy without caffeine. Claire waited while the pot filled, then carried a black mug full of the stuff upstairs. The key to Eve’s door was hanging on a hook, with a note taped to it. Michael’s handwriting. It read, Don’t let her leave the house. By implication, of course, it meant Claire was supposed to stay here, too.

As if she could even think about doing that, with Shane’s last hours running out. And who knew what was happening to him out there? She thought about the cold fury in Oliver, the indifference in Amelie, her stomach twisting. She grabbed the key, turned it in the lock, and opened Eve’s bedroom door.

Eve was sitting, fully dressed and made-up in zombified glory, on the edge of her bed. She’d put her hair into two pigtails, one on each side, and she’d done her makeup with great care. She looked like a scary porcelain doll.

An angry scary porcelain doll. The kind that they made horror movies about, with stabby knives.

“Coffee?’” Claire asked weakly. Eve looked at her for a second, took the coffee, got up, and walked out of the bedroom toward the stairs. “Oh boy.’”

By the time Claire made it downstairs, Eve was standing in the middle of the living room, looking up at nothing. She’d put the coffee down, and her hands were on her hips. Claire paused, one hand still clutching the banister, and watched Eve turn a slow circle as if she was looking for something.

“I know you’re there, you coward,’” she said. “Now hear this, crazy supernatural boy. If you ever fuck with me again, I swear, I will walk out this door and never come back. You get me? One for yes, two for no.’”

He must have said yes, because some of the stiffness went out of Eve’s shoulders. She was still mad, though. “I don’t know what’s lower, you playing vamp tricks on me, or locking me in my room, but either way, you are so busted, man. Being dead can’t save you. When you get back tonight, I am completely kicking your ass.’”

“He was sorry,’” Claire said. She sat down on the first step as Eve turned a glare of righteous anger in her direction. “He knew you were going to be mad, but he couldn’t—he cares about you, Eve. He couldn’t just let you go out and get yourself killed.’”

“Last time I checked, I was over eighteen and nobody’s property!’” Eve yelled, and stomped her foot. “I don’t care if you’re sorry, Michael—you’re going to have to work really hard to make this up to me! Really hard!’”

Claire saw the breeze ruffle Eve’s hair. Eve closed her eyes for a second, swaying, mouth open in a round, red O.

“Okay,’” she said weakly. “That was different.’”

“What?’” Claire asked, and jumped to her feet.

“Nothing. Um, nothing at all. Right.’” Eve cleared her throat. “What happened last night? Did you get them to let Shane go?’”

Claire’s throat just locked up on her in misery. She shook her head and looked down. “But it’s no use going out there with stakes and crosses,’” she said. “They’d be ready. We need another plan.’”

“What about Joe? Detective Hess?’”

Claire shook her head again. “He can’t.’”

“Then let’s go talk to some people who can,’” Eve said reasonably. She picked up her coffee and drained it in long, chugging gulps, set the mug aside, and nodded. “Ready.’”

“Who are we going to see?’”

“It may shock you, but living in Morganville my entire pathetic life isn’t a complete waste. I know people, okay? And some of them actually have backbones.’”

Claire blinked. “Um…okay. Two minutes.’”

She dashed upstairs for the fastest shower and change of clothes in her life.