Kiss of Death

2

The next day, Claire had classes at Texas Prairie University, which was always a mixture of fascinating and annoying; fascinating, because she’d managed to finagle her way into a lot of advanced classes she really didn’t have the prerequisites for, and annoying because those not in the know about Morganville in general—which was most of the students at the school—treated her like a kid. Those who didn’t, and knew the score about the vampires and the town of Morganville itself, mostly avoided her. It occurred to her, the second time somebody tried to buy coffee for her but not make eye contact, that some people in town still looked at her as important—as in Monica Morrell-level important.

This seriously pissed off Monica, Queen Bee of the Morganville Under-Thirty set. Still, Claire had come a long way from the clueless early-admission freshman she’d been last year. When Monica tried to bully her—which was virtually certain to happen at least a couple of times every week—the outcome wasn’t usually in Monica’s favor, or always in Claire’s, either. But still, a draw was better than a beat-down, in Claire’s view. Everybody was left standing.

Claire’s first stop was at the campus student store, where she bought a new backpack—sturdy, not too flashy, with lots of pockets inside and out. She ducked into the next bathroom she found to transfer the contents of her taped-together book bag to the new one, and almost threw the old one away ... but it had a lot of sentimental value, somehow. Ripped, scuffed, stained with all kinds of things she didn’t want to remember, but it had come with her to Morganville, and somehow she felt that throwing it away would be throwing away her chance of ever getting out of here.

Crazy, but she couldn’t help it.

In the end, she stuffed the rolled-up old backpack into a pocket of the new one, hefted the weight, and jogged across campus to make her first class of the day.

Three uneventful (and mostly boring) hours later, she ran into Monica Morrell, who was sitting on the steps of the Language Arts building, sunglasses on, leaning back on her elbows and watching people go by. One of her lipstick mafia girls was with her—Jennifer—but there was no sign of the other one, Gina. As always, Monica looked expensive and perfect—Daddy’s estate must be holding up well no matter what the economy dudes were saying on TV—and Jennifer looked as though she shopped the cheap knockoffs of what Monica bought for full price. But they both looked good, and about every thirty seconds some college boy stopped to talk to them, and almost always got shot down in flames. Some of them took it okay. Some of them looked as if they were one more rejection from ending up on a twenty-four-hour channel as breaking news.

Claire was heading up the steps, ignoring them, when Jennifer called out brightly, “Hey, Claire! Good morning! ”

That was creepy enough to stop Claire right in her tracks. She looked over, and Jennifer was waving.

So was Monica.

This, from the two girls who’d punched and kicked her, thrown her down a flight of stairs, abducted her at least twice, threatened her with knives, tried to set her house on fire ... yeah. Claire didn’t really feel like redefining the relationship on their new buddy-buddy terms.

She just gave the two of them a long look, and kept on up the stairs, trying to focus on what it was she was supposed to remember today about early American literature. Nathaniel Hawthorne? So last week ...

“Hey!” Monica grabbed her two steps from the top, yanking on the strap of her new book bag to drag her to a halt. “Talking to you, bitch!”

That was more like it. Claire glanced down at Monica’s hand and raised her eyebrows. Monica let go.

“I figured it couldn’t be me,” she said. “Since you were acting so nice and all. Had to be some other Claire.”

“I just thought since the two of us are more or less stuck with each other, we might as well try to be friendly, that’s all. You didn’t have to act as if I stole your boyfriend or something.” Monica smiled slowly and pulled her sunglasses down to stare over the top. Her big, lovely blue eyes were full of shallow glee. “Speaking of that, how is Shane? Getting bored with the after-school special yet?”

“Wow, that’s one of your better insults. You’re almost up to junior high level. Keep working on it,” Claire said. “Ask Shane yourself if you want to know how he’s doing. I’m sure he’d be glad to tell you.” Colorfully. “What do you want?”

“Who says I want something?”

“Because you’re like a lion. You don’t bother to get up unless you’re getting something out of it.”

Monica smiled even wider. “Hmmm, harsh, but accurate. Why work harder than you have to? Anyway, I hear you and your friends made a deal that’s getting you into trouble. Something with that skanky homeless Brit vamp—what’s his name? Mordred?”

“Mordred is from the King Arthur stories. It’s Morley.”

“Whatever. I just wanted to tell you that I can take care of it for you.” Her smile revealed teeth, even and white. “For a price.”

“Yeah, I didn’t see that coming,” Claire said with a sigh. “How are you going to take care of it, exactly?”

“I can get him the passes out of town he wants. From my brother.”

Claire rolled her eyes and adjusted her book bag a little more comfortably on her shoulder. “Meaning what? You’re going to forge his signature on a bunch of photocopies that will get everybody thrown in jail except you? No thanks. Not interested.” Claire had no doubt that whatever Monica was offering, it wasn’t real; she’d already talked to Monica’s brother, Mayor Richard Morrell, several times about this and gotten nowhere. But Monica liked to pretend she had “access”—with full air quotes. “If that’s all, I’ve got class.”

“Not quite,” Monica said, and the smile vanished. “I want the answers to the final exam in Lit 220. Get them.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding? Get them, or—well, you know what kind of or there is, right?” Monica pushed the sunglasses back up. “Get them to me by Friday or you’re fried, special needs.”

Claire shook her head and took the last two steps, walked to her class, dumped her bag at her lecture hall seat, and sat down to think things over.

By the time class began, she had a plan—a warm, fuzzy plan.

Some days, it was absolutely worth getting out of bed.

When Claire got home, the sun was slipping fast toward the horizon. It was too early for most vampires to be out—not that they burst into flames that easily; most of the older ones were sort of flame-retardant-but she kept a sharp lookout, anyway. Instead of going straight to the Glass House, she turned at the cross street and went a few more blocks. It was like déjà vu because her parents’ house looked almost exactly like the Glass House; a little less faded, maybe. The trim had been painted a nice dark green, and there were fewer bushes around the windows, different porch furniture, and a couple of wind chimes; Claire’s mom loved wind chimes, especially the big, long ones that rang those deep bell sounds.

As Claire climbed the steps to the porch, a gust blew by her, sounding the bells in a chorus. She glanced up at the sky and saw clouds scudding by fast. The weather was changing. Rain, maybe. It already felt cooler.

She didn’t knock, just used her key and went right in, dumping her backpack in the entry hall. “Hey, I’m home!” she yelled, and locked the door behind her. “Mom?”

“Kitchen,” came the faint yell back. Claire went down the hall—same as in the Glass House, but Mom had covered this version with photos, framed ones of their family. Claire winced at her junior high and high school photos; they were unspeakably geeky, but she couldn’t convince Mom to take them down. Someday, you’ll be glad I have them, Mom always said. Claire couldn’t imagine that would ever be true.

The living room was, again, disorientingly familiar; instead of the mismatched, comfortable furniture of the Glass House, the stuff from Claire’s childhood occupied the same space, from the old sofa to her dad’s favorite leather chair. The smells coming from the kitchen were familiar, too: Mom was making stuffed bell peppers. Claire fortified herself, because she couldn’t stand stuffed bell peppers, but she almost always ate the filling out of them, just to be nice.

“Why couldn’t it be tacos?” She sighed, just to herself, and then pushed open the door to the kitchen. “Hi, Mom, I’m—”

She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide, because Myrnin was sitting at her mother’s kitchen table. Myrnin the vampire. Myrnin her boss. Crazy mad scientist Myrnin. He had a mug of something that had better not be blood in front of him, and he was almost dressed like a sane person—he had on frayed blue jeans, a blue silk shirt, and some kind of elaborate tapestry vest over it. He wore flip-flops for shoes, of course, because he seemed to really love those. His hair was long around his shoulders, black and glossy and full of waves, and his big, dark eyes followed Claire’s mother as she busied herself at the stove.

Mom was dressed the way Mom usually dressed, which was way more formal than people Claire’s era would ever think was appropriate for lounging around the house. A nice pair of dress pants, a boring shirt, mid-heeled shoes. She was even wearing jewelry—bracelet and earrings, at least.

“Good evening, Claire,” Myrnin said, and transferred his attention over to her. “Your mother’s been very kind to me while I waited for you to get home.”

Mom turned, and there was a false brightness to her smile. Myrnin made her nervous, although Myrnin was obviously making a real effort to be normal. “Honey, how was school?” She kissed Claire on the cheek, and Claire tried not to squirm as her mom rubbed at the lipstick mark left on her skin. At least she didn’t use spit.

“School was great,” Claire said, which completed the obligatory school conversation. She got a Coke from the fridge, popped the top, and settled in across the table from Myrnin, who calmly sipped from his coffee cup. “What are you doing here?”

“Claire!” her mother said, sounding a little scandalized. “He’s a guest!”

“No, he’s my boss, and bosses don’t drop in on my parents without an invitation. What are you doing here?”

“Dropping in on your parents without an invitation,” Myrnin said. “I thought it would be good to get to know them better. I’ve been telling them how satisfied I am with the work you’ve been doing. Your research is some of the best I’ve ever seen.”

He really was on his best behavior. That didn’t even sound a little crazy; overdone, maybe, but not crazy.

“I’m off today,” Claire pointed out. Myrnin nodded and rested his chin on his hand. He had a nice smile, when he chose to use it, as he did now, mostly directed at Claire’s mother, who brought over a coffeepot and refilled his cup.

Oh, good. Not anything red being served, then.

“Absolutely. I know you had a full class schedule today,” he said. “This is a purely social call. I wanted to reassure your parents that all was going well for you.” He looked down into his coffee. “And that what happened before would never happen again.”

What happened before was code for the bite marks on her neck. The wounds were healed, but there was a scar, and as she thought about it, her hand went up and covered the scar, on its own. She forced it back down. Her parents didn’t have any idea that Myrnin was responsible for that; they’d been told that it had been some other random vamp, and that Myrnin had helped save her. It was partly true, anyway. Myrnin had helped save her. He’d just also been the one to bite her.

Not that it had really been his fault. He’d been hurt, and desperate, and she’d just been there. At least he’d stopped himself in time.

She certainly hadn’t been able to stop him.

“Thanks,” she said. She couldn’t really be mad at him, not for any of it. It would have been easier if she could have. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Me? Delicious as it smells, I fear I’m not one for bell peppers,” he said, and stood up with one of those graceful moves vampires seemed so good at pulling off. They moved like humans, but better. “I’d better take my leave, Mrs. Danvers. Thank you so much for your hospitality, and the delicious coffee. Please tell your husband I thank him as well.”

“That’s it?” Claire asked, mystified. “You came to talk to my parents, and now you’re leaving?”

“Yes,” he said, perfectly at ease, and perfectly weird. “And to drop this off for you, from Amelie.” He patted his vest pockets, and came up with a cream-colored envelope, which he handed over to her. It was heavy, expensive paper, and it was stamped on the back with the Founder’s Seal. It was unopened. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire. Don’t forget the donuts.”

“I won’t,” she said, all her attention on the envelope in her hands. Myrnin said something else to her mother, and then the kitchen door opened and closed, and he was gone.

“He has such beautiful manners,” her mother said, locking the back door. “I’m glad you work for someone so—civilized.”

The scar on Claire’s neck throbbed a little. She thought of all the times she’d seen Myrnin go off the rails—the times he’d curled up weeping in a corner; the times he’d threatened her; the times he’d raved like a lunatic for hours on end; the times he’d begged her to put him out of his misery.

The time he’d actually given her samples of his own brain—in a Tupperware container.

“Civilized,” she repeated softly. “Yeah. He’s great.” He was; that was the awful thing. He was great until he was horrible.

Kind of like the world in general.

Claire slit open the envelope with a kitchen knife, slipped out the heavy folded paper inside, and read the beautiful, looped handwriting—Amelie’s, without a doubt.

In accordance with recent requests, I hereby am providing you with passes to exit and return to Morganville. You must present these to the checkpoints at the edge of town. Please provide them to your party and give them the same instructions. There are no exceptions to this rule.

Coordinate with Oliver to arrange your exit time.

Claire’s breath left her in a rush. Morley’s passes! Perfect timing, too; she didn’t know how much longer any of them could keep Morley and his people from losing patience, and coming to take it out in blood. They wanted out of Morganville.

She could give it to them.

She realized immediately, however, as she took the passes out of the envelope, that there weren’t nearly enough. Morley’s people would need about thirty passes in total. Instead, there were only four in the envelope.

The names read Michael Glass, Eve Rosser, Shane Collins, and Claire Danvers.

What the hell was going on?

Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit SPEED DIAL. It rang, and rang, but there was no answer. She hung up and tried another number.

“Oliver,” said the voice on the other end.

“Um, hi, it’s Claire? Is—is Amelie there with you?”

“No.”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up! You’re on the town council—I just got a letter that has some passes in it, but it’s not enough for—”

“We turned down Morley’s request for emigration out of Morganville,” Oliver said. He had a low, even tone to his voice, but Claire felt herself go cold anyway. “He has a philosophy that is too dangerous to those of us who wish to remain ... What’s the phrase? Under the radar.”

“But—we made a deal. Me, Shane, Eve, and Michael. We said we’d get them passes.”

“I’m aware of your deal. What is your question?”

“It’s just—Morley said he’d kill us. If we didn’t get the passes for him. We told you that.”

Oliver was silent for a long second, then said, “What part of I’m aware did you not comprehend, Claire? You and your friends have passes out of Morganville. As it happens, Michael requested leave to travel to Dallas for his recording and concert session. We’ve decided to allow that, under the condition that all of you travel together. With escort.”

“Escort?” Claire asked. “You mean, like police?” She was thinking of Sheriff Hannah Moses, who would be good company in addition to a bad-ass bodyguard; she’d liked Hannah from the moment she’d met her, and she thought Hannah liked her, too, as much as a tough ex-soldier could like a skinny, geeky girl half her age.

“No,” Oliver said, “I don’t mean police.” And he hung up. Claire stared at the screen for a moment, then folded the phone closed and slipped it back in her pocket. She looked down at the passes, the envelope, the letter.

Amelie had decided to really piss off Morley, but at least she’d also decided to get Claire and her friends out of town.

With an escort.

Somehow, Claire knew it wouldn’t be as simple as just picking a responsible adult to go with them.

“Go get your father,” her mom said, and began setting dishes on the table. “He’s upstairs on the computer. Tell him dinner’s ready.”

Claire gathered up everything and put it in her backpack before heading upstairs. Another wave of same-but-not-quite washed over her; her mother and father had reserved the same room for her here that she had over in the Glass House, though the two were nothing alike. Home—in name, anyway—had her frilly white bed and furniture, stuff she’d gotten when she was ten. Pink curtains. Her room at the Glass House was completely different—dark woods, dark fabrics. Adult.

Dad’s computer room would have been Shane’s bedroom in the other house, which woke all kinds of thoughts and memories that really weren’t appropriate right now and caused her face to heat up as she poked her head in the room and quickly said, “Dad, dinner’s ready! Help me eat the stuffed bell peppers before I gag and die?”

Her father looked up from the computer screen with a surprised, guilty jerk, and quickly shut down what he was doing. Claire blinked. Dad? Her dad was ... normal. Boringly normal. Not an activist, not a freak, not somebody who had to hide what he was doing on the computer from his own daughter. “Tell me you weren’t looking at porn,” she said.

“Claire!”

“Well, sorry, but you did the guilty dance. Most people I know, that means porn.”

Her dad pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, “I was playing a game.”

That made her feel oh-so-much better. Until he said, “It’s one of those online multiplayer games.”

“Yeah? Which one? One of the fantasy ones?”

He looked mortally embarrassed now. “Not—not really.”

“Then what?”

In answer, he brought up the screen. On it was a night scene, a castle, a graveyard—typical horror fare, at least if you were from the 1950s.

A character appeared on the screen—pale, tall, dressed in a Dracula cape and tuxedo.

With fangs.

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at her father, her normal, boring father. “You’re playing a vampire game?”

“It’s called Castlemoor. I’m not just playing it. I get paid to be there, to watch what people are doing online.”

“You—get paid—to play a vampire? By who?” Her father sat back in his chair, and he slowly shook his head. “That’s my business, Claire.”

“Is it Amelie? Oliver?”

“Claire.” This time, his voice had the parental ring of authority. “Enough. It’s a job, and I get paid well enough to do it. We both know it’s the best thing I can find, with all my restrictions. The doctors don’t want me exerting myself too much.”

Her dad wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for a while now. He was frail, fragile, and she worried about him more and more. About her mother, too. Mom looked frayed around the edges, with a kind of suppressed panic in her eyes.

“You’ll be okay?” Claire said. Somehow she made it a question, although she didn’t mean to. “Did they find anything else?”

“No, honey, everything’s fine. I just need time to get stronger.”

He was lying to her, but she could tell that he didn’t want her to pursue it. She wanted to; she wanted to yell and scream and demand to know what was going on.

But instead, she swallowed and said, “Playing a vampire online. That’s a pretty wild career move, Dad.”

“Beats unemployment. So, stuffed bell peppers, huh? I know how much you love those.” Claire made a gagging sound. Her dad reached over and ruffled her dark hair. “Why don’t you just tell her you don’t like them?”

“I did. I do. It’s a mom thing. She just keeps telling me I used to like them.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s a mom thing.”

Dinner passed the way it normally did, with Claire picking out edible parts of the bell pepper and her mother holding forth about whatever she was doing for the week. Claire contributed when direct questions came her way; otherwise, she just stayed out of it. She always knew what Mom was going to say, anyway. And she knew Dad wouldn’t say much, if anything.

What he did say was, “Why don’t you bring Shane over some night for dinner?”

It was as if time stopped. Her mother froze, fork halfway to her mouth; Claire froze, too, but unfortunately she was in the process of gulping down a mouthful of Coke at the time, which meant coughing and sputtering, watering eyes, the whole embarrassing bit.

“Honey, I’m sure Shane’s very busy,” her mother said, recovering. “Right, Claire?”

“I’d like to talk to him,” her father said, and right now there wasn’t any warm-and-fuzzy daddy vibe. It was more PARENT, in big, flashing red letters. “Soon.”

“Uh—okay, I’ll see if—Okay.” Claire frantically cut up a piece of stuffed bell pepper and ate it, bell pepper and all. She nearly choked again, but she managed to get it down. “Hey, I might be taking a trip.”

“What kind of a trip?”

“To Dallas. With my friends.”

“We’ll see,” Dad said, which meant no, of course. “I’d need to talk to Shane first.”

Oh God, now they were bargaining. Or she was being blackmailed. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Claire mumbled that she’d try, or something like that, choked down another bite of food that no longer tasted even a little good, and jumped up to clear her plate. “Claire!” her mother called after her as she dashed into the kitchen. “You’re not running off tonight, are you? I was hoping we could spend some time with you!”

“You just did,” Claire muttered as she rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. She raised her voice and yelled back, “Can’t, Mom! I’ve got to study! All my books are over at the Glass House!”

“Well, you’re not walking over there in the dark,” Mom said. “Obviously.”

“I told you, I’ve got a pin from Amelie! They’re not going to bother me!”

Her dad opened the door of the kitchen. “And what about just garden-variety humans? You think that little pin protects you from everything that could hurt you?”

“Dad—”

“I worry about you, Claire. You take these risks, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why you think it’s okay.”

She bit her lip. There was something in his voice, a kind of weary disappointment that cut her to the core and nearly brought tears to her eyes. She loved him, but he could be so clueless.

“I didn’t say I’d walk, Dad,” she said. “I make mistakes, sure, but I’m not stupid. ”

She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and turned her back on her father. When Eve answered with a bright, chirping, “Hit me!” Claire said, “Can you come get me? At my house?”

“Claire,” her father said.

She turned to look at him. “Dad, I really have to study.”

“I know,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.” He said it with a funny little smile, sad and resigned. And it wasn’t until she smiled that she realized what he’d really said.

Home. The Glass House.

“It’s hard for us to let go,” he said. “You know that, right?”

She did. She hesitated for a second, then said into the phone, “Never mind, Eve. Sorry. Dad’s bringing me.”

Then she hugged her father, and he hugged her back, hard, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I love you, sweetie.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

“But not enough to eat more stuffed bell peppers and play Jenga with your folks.”

“No more bell peppers, but I’d completely play Jenga,” she said. “One game?”

He hugged her even harder. “I’ll get the game.”

Three games of Jenga later, Claire was tired, happy, and a little bit sad. She’d seen her mom laugh, and her dad look happy, and that was good, but there’d been something odd about it, too. She felt like a visitor, as if she didn’t fit here anymore, the way she once had. They were her family, but seen from the outside. She had too many experiences now that didn’t include them.

“Claire,” her dad said as he drove her home through the darkened streets of Morganville. It was quiet out, only a few cars moving about. Two of them were white police cruisers. At least three other cars they passed had heavy tinting, too heavy for humans to see through. “Your mom had a talk with me, and I’m not going to insist you keep on living at home with us. If you want to live with your friends, you can.”

“Really?” She sat up straight, looking at him. “You mean it?”

“I don’t see how it makes much difference. You’re seventeen, and a more independent seventeen than I ever was. You’ve got a job and responsibilities beyond anything I can really understand. It doesn’t make much sense for us to keep trying to treat you like a sheltered little girl.” He hesitated, then went on. “And I sound like the worst dad in the world, don’t I?”

“No,” she said. “No, you don’t. You sound like—like you understand.”

He sighed. “Your mother thinks if we just put more restrictions on you, things would get back to normal. You’d go back to being the same little girl she knew. But they won’t, and you won’t. I know that.”

He sounded a little sad about it, and she remembered how she’d felt at the house—a little out of place, as if she were a visitor in their lives. Her life was splitting off on its own.

It was such a strange feeling.

“But about Shane—,” her father continued.

“Dad!”

“I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’m not saying Shane is a bad guy—I’m sure he’s not, at heart—but you really need to think about your future. What you want to do with your life. Don’t get in too deep, too fast. You understand what I’m saying?”

“You married Mom when you were nineteen.”

He sighed. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

“Well? It’s okay for you to make decisions before twenty, but not me?”

“Short answer? Yes. And we both know that if I really wanted to, I could make Shane’s life a living hell. Dads can do that.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“No, I won’t, because I do think he really loves you, and he really wants to protect you. But what Shane may not get at that age is that he could be the worst thing in the world for you. He could completely derail you. Just—keep your head, okay? You’re a smart girl. Don’t let your hormones run your life.”

He pulled the car to a stop at the Glass House, behind Eve’s big monster of a car. There were lights blazing in the windows—warmth and friendship and another life, her life; one her parents could only watch from the outside.

She turned to her father and saw him watching her with that same sad, quiet expression. He moved a strand of hair back from her face. “My little girl,” he said, and shook his head. “I expect you for dinner soon.”

“Okay,” she said, and kissed him quickly. “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”

He smiled, and she quickly got out of the car and ran up the cracked walk, jumped up the steps to the porch, and waved at him from the front door as she got out her keys. Even so, he waited, watching until she’d actually opened the door, stepped in, and closed it. Only then did she hear the engine rev as his car pulled out.

Michael was playing in the living room. Loud. That wasn’t normal at all for him, and as Claire came around the comer, she found Eve and Shane sitting on the floor, watching the show. Michael had set up an amplifier, and he was playing his electric guitar, which he rarely did at home, and damn. That was impressive stuff. She sank down next to Shane and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. The music was like a physical wall pushing over her, and after the first few seconds of fighting it, Claire finally let herself go; she was pulled away on the roaring tide of notes as Michael played. She had no idea what the song was, but it was fast, loud, and amazing.

When it was over, her ears were left ringing, but she didn’t care. Along with Shane and Eve, she clapped and whooped and whistled, and Michael gravely took a bow as he shut down the amp and unplugged. Shane got up and high-fived, then low-fived him. “Nothing but net, man. How do you do that?”

“No idea, really,” Michael said. “Hey, Claire. How are the folks?”

“Okay,” she said. “My dad says I can officially move back in.” Not that she’d ever really moved out.

“I knew we’d wear them down,” Eve said. “After all, we really are amazingly cool.” And now it was Eve’s turn for the high five with Shane. “For a bunch of misfit geeks, slackers, and losers.”

“Which one are you?” Shane asked. She flipped him off. “Oh, right. Loser. Thanks for reminding me.”

Claire dug in her backpack and came out with the passes Myrnin had delivered. “Uh—I got these today. Somebody want to fill me in?”

Michael, at vampire speed, crossed the distance and snatched the paper out of her hand. He spread out the individual passes and stared at them with a blank, shocked expression. “But—I didn’t think—”

“Apparently, somebody agreed,” Claire said. “Eve?”

Eve frowned. “What? What is it?”

“Passes,” Michael said. “To leave town, to go to Dallas. To do the demo.”

“For you?”

“For all of us.” Michael looked up and slowly smiled. “You know what this means?”

Shane threw back his head and let out a loud wolf howl. “Road trip!” he yelled! “Yes!”

Michael put his arms around Eve, and she melted against him, her pale-painted face against his chest, hands around his waist. Claire saw her dark eyes flutter closed, and a kind of peaceful happiness came over Eve’s face—and then her eyes snapped open. “Wait,” she said. “I’ve never—I mean—outside? Of Morganville? To Dallas? You can’t be serious. Michael?”

He held up a pass with her name on it. “It’s signed. Official.”

“They’re letting us leave town? Are they insane? Because once I hit the shops in Dallas, I don’t think I’m ever coming home.” Eve made a face. “And I can’t believe I just thought of Morganville as home. How much of a saddie am I?”

“Eight out of ten,” Shane said. “But we do have to come back, right?”

“Right,” Michael said. “Well, I have to come back. I’ve got nowhere else to go. You guys ...”

“Stop,” Eve said, and put a hand over his mouth to enforce the order. “Just stop there. Please.”

He looked down at her, and their eyes locked. He took her hand away from his mouth, and then lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips for a long, slow kiss. It was just about the sexiest thing Claire had ever seen, full of sweetness and love and longing. From the expression on Eve’s face, it was just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen, too. “We’ll talk about it on the road,” Michael said. “The passes are good for a week. I’ll make some calls and see when they need me in the studio there.”

Eve nodded. Claire doubted she could put any words together, right at that moment.

“Hey,” Shane said, and tapped Claire on the nose. “Snap out of it.”

“What? What!”

“Seriously. You’ve got this chick flick hit-by-the-romance-hammer look. Stop it.”

“Ass.”

He shrugged. “I’m not one of those romantic guys,” he said. “Hey, date Michael if you want that.”

“No, don’t,” Eve said dreamily. “Mine.”

“And there goes my blood sugar level,” Shane said. “It’s getting late, Claire has school tomorrow, I’ve got a long day of chopping fine barbecue—”

“I think we’ll stay down here,” Michael said. He and Eve still hadn’t blinked or looked away from each other.

“I am really not sticking around for that.” Shane took Claire’s hand in his. “Upstairs?”

She nodded, hitched her bag on her other shoulder, and followed him up. Shane opened the door of his room, turned, and lifted her hand up to his lips. He didn’t quite kiss it. His dark eyes were wicked with laughter.

“Ass,” she said again, more severely. “You couldn’t be romantic if your life depended on it.”

“You know what’s lucky? Most bad guys don’t ask you to be romantic on command, so that probably won’t matter.”

“Only girlfriends do that.”

“Well, they can qualify as supervillains. But only if they have a secret underground base. Wait—you’ve got a mad scientist for a boss, and a lab—”

“Park it,” she said, and smacked his arm. “Are you going to kiss me good night, or what?”

“Romantic on command. See?”

“Fine,” Claire said, and this time she actually did feel a little annoyed. “Then don’t. Good night.”

She pulled away from him and walked away the few steps to her own room, opened the door, slammed it, and flopped on her bed without bothering to turn on the lights. After a few seconds she remembered that in Morganville that was never a smart choice, and switched on the bedside Tiffany lamp. Rich colored light threw patterns on the wood, the walls, her skin.

No monsters were hiding in the shadows. She was too tired to check under the bed or in the closet.

“Ass,” she said again, and put her pillow over her face to scream her frustration into it. “Shane Collins is an ass!”

She stopped at the sound of a soft knock on the door. She put the pillow aside and waited, listening.

The knock came again.

“You’re an ass,” she yelled.

“I know,” came Shane’s voice through the door. “Let me make it up to you?”

“As if you can.”

“Try me.”

She sighed, slid off the bed, and went to open up.

Shane was standing there, of course. He came inside, closed the door behind him, and said, “Sit down.”

“What are you doing?”

“Just sit down.”

She did, perching on the edge of the bed and already frowning. There was something really different in the way he was acting now—the flip side of how he’d been just a few moments ago, teasing and teen-boy.

This seemed much more ... adult.

“When you were in the hospital, after Dan ... well, you know.” He shrugged. “You were kind of drugged up. I’m not sure what you remember.”

She didn’t remember all that much, really. A boy had abducted her and hurt her pretty badly. She’d lost a lot of blood, and they’d given her something for the night-mares. She remembered everybody coming to see her—Mom, Dad, Eve, Michael, Shane. Even Myrnin. Even Amelie and Oliver.

Shane ... he’d stayed with her. He’d said...

She couldn’t really remember what he’d said.

“Anyway,” Shane said, “I told you this was for later. I guess it’s kind of later, so, anyway.”

He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, and Claire’s heart just ... stopped. She thought she might faint. The top of her head felt very hot, and the rest of her felt very cold, and all she could look at was the box in his hand.

He wasn’t. He couldn’t.

Was he?

Shane was looking at the box, too. He turned it in his fingers restlessly. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “It’s not—look, it’s a ring, but I don’t want you to think—” He opened the box and showed her what was inside.

It was a beautiful little ring, silver, with a red stone in the shape of a heart, and hands holding it on either side. “It’s a claddagh ring,” he said. “It belonged to my sister, Alyssa. My mom gave it to her. It was in Alyssa’s locker at school when she—when the house burned.” When Alyssa died. When Shane’s life completely collapsed around him.

Tears burned in Claire’s eyes. The ring glittered, silver and red, and she couldn’t look at Shane’s face. She thought that might destroy her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But you’re not asking—”

“No, Claire.” He suddenly sank to his knees, as if the strength had just gone out of him. “I suck, I know, but I can’t do something like that, not yet. I’m ... Look, family doesn’t mean to me what it means to you. Mine fell apart. My sister, my mom—and I can’t even think about my dad. But I love you, Claire. That’s what this means. That I love you. Okay?”

She looked up at him then, and felt tears break free to run hot down her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she said. “I can’t take the ring. It means—it means too much to you. It’s all you have left of them.”

“That’s why it’s better if you have it,” he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand. “Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don’t want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future.” He didn’t blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. “You’re the future, Claire.”

Her head felt light and empty, her whole body hot and cold, shaking and strong.

She reached out and took the velvet box. She pulled the ring out and looked at it. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Are you sure—”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He took the ring from her and tried it on her right hand. It fit perfectly on the third finger.

Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and it was definitely better than Michael had done it, definitely sexier, and Claire dropped to her knees with him; then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry, and they fell back together to the throw rug next to the bed, and stayed there, locked in each other’s arms, until the chill finally drove them up to the bed.