Carpe Corpus
Chapter Ten

They came out in the Administration Building, in a deserted room that Claire remembered. Myrnin was already gone, but the door was still swinging on its hinges from where he'd headed through it. Claire made sure everybody was through, then took a second to look at the other three.
"You guys sure you want to do this?" she asked them. Michael looked more adult than she'd ever seen him - and more like Sam. He'd lost his grandfather, she realized - someone who wasn't supposed to be lost, ever. And that had fired up something in him that made him different.
More like Sam than ever.
Eve was still unmistakably Eve. She twirled the stake in her fingers, lifted the crossbow in her right hand. "How often do I get to go vamp stalking?" she asked, and smiled. "Let's do it."
"Shane?"
He'd been uncharacteristically quiet. Now, he just nodded. "Watch yourself," he said, and brushed the back of his hand gently across her cheek. "You scare me."
She burst out laughing, shakily. "You're insane."
There was a short hallway outside of the room, deserted and dark; at the end of the hallway was a fire door, and one of the doors was still open a little. Myrnin had gone that way, Claire figured.
She set out after him.
As she stepped outside into the cool evening air, something grabbed her. Not Myrnin.
Bishop.
He looked bad - unsteady, but still stronger than a mere human. He fumbled at her clothes; for a second she thought, Oh my God, he's going to rape me, and then his flailing hand brushed the book she'd shoved into her pocket. She'd forgotten about it.
Now, as he tried to pull it away from her, she fought back. Hard. Bishop was weaker than he'd ever been, and she was panicked. Bishop heard Shane calling her name, and pulled her farther into the darkness - then he headed for a nearby building, and dragged her up as he climbed. They ended up on the flat roof of the maintenance shed.
"Over there!" she heard Michael shout, and then he was heading toward them in a blur, with Shane and Eve in hot pursuit.
Bishop had his fingers on the book. No! She couldn't let it happen. Claire didn't fully understand what was in those pages, but she'd seen how he could use it. She felt it, in that tattoo.
She wasn't going to take the chance there was more he could do with it.
Bishop screamed something at her, and his fangs came down. Claire planted both feet in his chest and heaved with all her strength.
Bishop tumbled away from her, skidding on the loose roof gravel. Claire flipped over and scrambled to her feet, running for the edge. She had no idea what she'd do when she got there. Fly, maybe. Or take the fall, no matter how hard it was.
She didn't have to. Michael swooped in, grabbed her by the waist, and jumped with her. He landed lightly on the ground, let her slide down him, and looked up.
Bishop was leaning over, breathing hard. His fangs and crazy eyes caught the moonlight.
"Oh, crap," Eve said. "He's still not exactly Mr. Fluffy."
Shane summed it up. "Run!"
They did. Shane took Claire's hand; she had the shortest legs, but the most motivation, and she kept up with them as they raced out into the open green soccer field in front of the Admin Building.
Bishop landed on the grass behind them and began to chase them.
"He's going to catch us!" Eve yelled. "Head for the library!"
The TPU library was a big, columned building catty-corner to the Administration Building. It had its lights on, and there were still students coming and going up the steps, oblivious to what was coming their way. "Get out of here!" Claire shouted, and ran full speed to the top of the stairs. Shane was just ahead of her, Eve somewhere behind.
Michael had stopped at the foot of the steps, and was turning to face Bishop. When Claire hesitated, Eve grabbed her by the collar of her T-shirt and yanked her forward. "Don't stop!" she said, panting. "Damn, I need more exercise. Head into the stacks. Don't stop for anything, Claire!"
As they blew through the metal detectors, sirens went off. Students popped out of study carrels and up from tables like prairie dogs, then yelped and scattered as they realized something bad was heading their way, leaving a trail of notebooks and open computers. As they flashed past rows of library books, Shane skidded to a halt, grabbed two volumes with black covers, and tossed one to Eve. She nodded and shoved it in the waistband of her pants.
There was a crash somewhere behind them, and the glass doors blew into a million jagged pieces that flew across the marble floor. Students scrambled for cover. Somebody yelled to call the campus cops; somebody smarter yelled to shut up and hide.
Michael hit the marble floor and rolled, leaving trails of blood. He landed on his hands and knees, facing Claire, Shane, and Eve, who'd paused halfway down the stacks. "Go!" he told them, and got to his feet as Bishop stepped inside. He didn't seem as unsteady now.
The poison was wearing off, way too fast.
Shane pushed Claire into a run. Eve stumbled after them, looking over her shoulder to see if Michael was going to follow.
He didn't.
The aisle ended in a brick wall, with windows way up high, but there was an exit sign pointing to the left. The three of them turned the corner and headed for it, dodging past students wearing headphones, oblivious to the trouble in the stacks.
Shane hit the fire door first, setting off another alarm, and they raced down another flight of concrete steps.
This side of the library faced the big fountain - only the fountain was gone, and had been for a couple of months. What was in its place, at the center of six converging sidewalks, was the big concrete rim of what had been the pool, and in the center, a bronze statue of Mr. Bishop, holding a book in his hand.
There was one of those eternal flames burning in front of his statue - the light of knowledge, or something stupid like that. Claire had been revolted by the statue when it went up.
Now, she had an idea.
"Split up!" she yelled. "Make sure he sees that you have the books!"
Shane and Eve peeled off, heading right and left.
Claire went straight for the statue.
When Bishop emerged from the library, there was no sign of Michael. He paused on the steps, and he must have realized that two of the three of them were obvious decoys - but which two? Claire was betting that he'd assume she'd switched books with Shane.
She guessed right. Bishop jumped off of the stairs to the grass, and headed at a run after Shane. That gave Claire precious time to reach the stone rim of the fountain, climb over, and get to the eternal flame of knowledge - which was just a gas jet, really.
That was all she needed.
Claire pulled the book from her pocket and held it over the flame. Yes. Finally.
"Hey!" she distantly heard Eve shouting. "Hey, Bishop! Tag!" When she looked up, Eve was jumping up and down, waving her leather-bound book like a demented Goth cheerleader.
Bishop ignored her.
Shane zigzagged, doing the best broken field running Claire had seen outside of a football field, but Bishop was faster and more agile, and he cut him off and bowled Shane over.
Claire looked at the book in her hand.
It wasn't burning. She frantically turned it, trying the side with the gilded pages. "You've got to be kidding me!" she yelped, and kept trying.
It wouldn't even scorch.
Bishop took the book from Shane, examined it, and flung it away in disgust. He headed straight for Claire. Eve saw him coming, and got to Claire first, leaping over the rim of the fountain and skidding to a halt. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, panting. "Burn the damn thing already!"
"Trying!" Claire gritted out, and out of desperation, grabbed a handful of paper in the middle of the book and twisted.
The pages ripped out. When she held them out over the flames, they immediately caught like flash paper.
"Yes!" Eve cheered and jumped up and down, pumping her fists. "Go!"
Claire tore loose more pages and flung them into the fire.
Bishop landed flat-footed in front of her, red-eyed and growling, and backhanded Eve as she tried to get between him and Claire.
Claire ripped more pages and burned them. She'd done about half the book.
"You evil little beast," Bishop said, and held out his hand. "Give it to me."
She ripped pages and backed away, dodging around the other side of the brazier. Most of the paper made it to the fire. What didn't drifted lazily around her feet in the breeze. Sparks drifted on the wind and landed on her clothes.
Bishop lunged for her as she tore more pages free. She thrust the handful into the fire a second before he hit her, driving her back against his bronze statue. She landed hard enough to make the metal ring, not to mention her ears.
Bishop reached out to take the ragged remains of his book.
A shadow flashed by them, barely visible in the moonlight, and then Claire felt the statue shake as something leaped on top.
Myrnin, sitting on the shoulders of Bishop's statue, reached down and plucked the book from Claire's hand an instant before Bishop grabbed it. "Ah, ah, ah," he said. "Don't be rude, old man. This was never yours in the first place." He ripped loose a page, balled it up, and pitched it neatly into the brazier, where it burst into flame and was consumed. "Leave the girl alone. You're finished now."
Bishop grabbed Claire and pulled her against his chest, claws out and at her throat. "Give me the book or I kill her!"
"Oh, go ahead, then," Myrnin said, and ripped loose the last handful of pages. He studied the writing on them and smiled. "I remember this. Good times. Ah, well." He flung them toward the fire. Bishop desperately grabbed at one of the fluttering leaves and managed to pluck it out of the air before it caught fire. "Oh, dear. Now you have a memoir of my secret relationship with Queen Elizabeth. The first one. I hope it does you a lot of good, Bishop. If you're seeking spells and magic, you won't find it on that page. Now, this one . . ." Myrnin produced, by sleight of hand, another sheet, neatly folded. "This one could easily give you rule of Morganville. Maybe even the entire human world. I promised Amelie I would never let it fall into evil hands, but then again, it's in mine already, isn't it? So that might already be a moot point." He lost his smile. "Let the girl go, and you shall have it."
"Myrnin, don't," she whispered.
"I'm not doing it for you," he said. He quickly folded the paper into a toy airplane and sailed it toward Bishop, who snatched it out of the air with a greedy cry.
Myrnin's eyes flickered bright red. "Oh dear," he said. "I might have given you the wrong page. Ardentia verba!"
The page burst into purple fire, and it traveled from the page through Bishop's skin, over his hand, onto his clothes. The paper was ash in seconds. Bishop staggered back, engulfed in fire.
Myrnin reached down and grabbed Claire. He pulled her up and settled her safely on the metal arm of Bishop's statue - the one holding the open book.
"The goal of the wise," Myrnin said softly, "is good works. Here endeth your lesson, old man."
Claire swallowed. She couldn't stand to watch him burn, and shut her eyes. "I thought . . . I thought we needed his blood for the cure," she said. She didn't want to save him. She just hated to see anyone suffer.
"Why, you're right - we do." Myrnin snapped his fingers, and the purple fire went out. Bishop toppled to the stone floor of the empty fountain, too weak to escape.
Myrnin jumped down from the statue, pinned Bishop to the ground, and bit him. He didn't drain him - not quite - and rose, wiping blood from his lips. "I've got all his blood I need," he said. "Now I have something for you, Bishop. Don't worry - I won't kill you. I won't even allow you to die." He reached into his pocket and pulled out another syringe, this one filled with blood. He injected Bishop with it, straight into the heart. "My blood," Myrnin said. "Before you cured me. Now I hope you can enjoy a long, slow decline into madness, just like mine. I wish you the joy of it."
Bishop didn't move. He blinked up at the moon, the cold stars, and finally closed his eyes.
Not dead, though.
Claire wasn't sure that was a great idea.
"Hey," Eve said, and sat up, holding her head. "Ow. What is that smell - Oh. Is he - "
"No," Michael said, and stepped over the rim to help Eve to her feet. "He's alive." He looked up at Claire and smiled, and it was a full-on Michael Glass special smile, one that turned on the sun and made the stars dance. "We're all alive."
"Relatively speaking," Myrnin said. "Ah. Your white knight has arrived. A bit dinged, but intact."
Shane. He was more than a little dinged, but Claire knew he'd be okay with that. They'd all given up hope of coming out of this alive, at some point; she could see in his smile, like Michael's, the joy of being wrong.
"Wish I had a camera," Shane said, staring up at her. "Is this some kind of college thing? Like flagpole sitting or something?"
"Shut up," she said, and jumped.
He caught her.
The kiss was worth the fall.
Two days passed in a blur. Claire spent most of it sleeping; she'd never felt so exhausted, or so glad to simply be alive.
On the third day, when she came down for dinner, she found the others sharing a massive platter of chili dogs and looking somber. Shane stood up when he saw her, which made her heart turn cartwheels, and he pulled out her chair. Eve and Michael shared an amused look.
"So cute," Eve said. When Shane glared, she smiled. "No, really. It is. Dude, chill."
There was something forced about it, and Claire didn't know why; she didn't get the sense that she'd walked in on an argument or anything like that. "What's going on?" she asked as she loaded her plate with a couple of hot dogs. She wasn't sure she really wanted to know. She'd just gotten used to the idea of not being marked for death. Please don't let it be about Bishop escaping, or something horrible like that . . .
It wasn't. Michael took a shallow sip of whatever was in his coffee mug and said, "Sam's funeral is tonight."
Oh God. Somehow, she hadn't expected that, and she really didn't even know why. The chili dog lost its taste, and she had to work to swallow it.
"They haven't had one before," Eve put in. "A funeral, I mean. For a vampire. At least, not one that's been open to the public. But this one was posted in the newspaper, and they ran it on the nightly news, too. Everybody's invited."
Most people would come out of curiosity, but for the four of them, it would be real loss. Under the table, Claire saw that Eve was holding Michael's hand. He was taking care not to look at any of them.
"It's in a couple of hours," Eve continued. "The three of us were going to go . . ."
"Sure," Claire said. "I want to go." She didn't, because it already hurt to think about it, but she thought they ought to be there for Michael. "I should find something to wear."
"You should finish your dinner first," Eve said. "One bite does not equal a balanced meal."
"Neither does a whole chili dog," Claire said.
"Do not diss the dog," Shane said. "It's right up there with mom and apple pie when it comes to cultural icons."
"You forgot Chevrolets," Eve said.
"Never been a Chevy man, myself."
"Heretic." Eve broke off to give Claire a fierce look. "Eat. I'm not kidding."
Claire managed to choke down the rest of her chili dog, but one was all she could manage. Despite Shane and Eve's bantering, there was a sadness that hung around Michael like a second skin. He didn't say much, except, "My parents are here. They flew in to El Paso and drove from there."
Wow. Claire had never heard much about Michael's parents, except that they'd moved away, and he'd never expected to see them back in town again. She finally said tentatively, "I guess that's good . . . ?"
"Sure," he said, and got up from the table. "I'm going to get ready." He walked out, and the rest of them watched him leave. Eve looked very sad, suddenly. And very adult.
"His mom had cancer, you know," she said. "That's why they got to leave Morganville. Because she needed serious treatments. Sam made sure she got them. This is the first time they've been back."
"Oh," Claire said. "Is Michael okay?"
"He just won't let it out," she said. "Guys. What is it with you and emotions, anyway?"
"They're like Kryptonite," Shane said. "He'll deal. Just give him time."
Claire wasn't too sure about that.
Michael drove, and nobody had much to say, really. It felt sad and uncomfortable.
As soon as the car stopped at the church, vampire escorts were at the doors to open them. The undead valet service. Under normal circumstances that might have been creepy, but there was something almost comforting about it tonight. Claire looked up and realized that the vampire offering a hand to her was, of all people, Oliver. She froze, and his eyebrows tilted sharply upward.
"Today, if you please," he said. "I'm here as a courtesy. Don't take it personally."
"Oh, I don't," she promised, and accepted his strong, ice-cold touch to help her out of the car. Shane quickly took her arm, giving Oliver a go-away glare, which was a little funny, and then they fell in behind Michael and Eve.
It was bizarre, Claire thought. The church was full, standing room only to the back, but the crowd parted as they walked in, led by Oliver. And every head turned to follow them.
"Okay, this is weird," Claire whispered. She felt like she had a target painted on her back at first, but then she realized that most of the people looking at them weren't angry - they were interested. Or sympathetic. Or even proud.
"Very weird," Shane whispered back.
The front row held Amelie, sitting alone, dressed in a white suit so cold and perfect that it made her look like an ice sculpture, head to toe. Behind her sat a man and woman in their late forties, and as soon as she saw them, Claire saw the family resemblance. The woman must have been really beautiful when she was younger; she was now very handsome, the way older women got, and her hair was a faded shade of gold with red highlights. They both stood up as Michael let go of Eve and came toward them.
"Honey," Michael's mother said, and Michael fell into a three-way embrace with both of his parents. "Oh, honey - "
"Mom, I'm so sorry, I couldn't - I couldn't do anything . . ." Michael's voice failed, and Claire saw his shoulders shake. His mother smoothed his hair gently, and the smile she offered him was kind and full of understanding.
"Just like him," she said. "Just like your grandfather. Don't you apologize, Michael. Don't you dare. I know you did everything you could. He'd never blame you, not for a second."
Claire hadn't realized that Michael felt guilty, but looking back on it now, she couldn't imagine he wouldn't. His mom was right - he was just like Sam, really.
He'd feel responsible.
Mrs. Glass looked past Michael, and her eyes focused on the rest of them. Claire first, then Shane, then Eve. She took a deep breath, moved toward them, and held out her hands to Eve for a hug. "I haven't seen you in years, Eve. You look wonderful. And Shane . . ." She moved on to him. Shane wasn't a hugger, not like Eve, but he tried his best. "I'm so glad you're here for Michael."
He looked down. Claire knew he was thinking about how angry he'd been with Michael over the past few months - too angry, sometimes. "He's my best friend," Shane said, and finally met Michael's eyes. "Vampire or not. He always will be."
Michael nodded.
Mrs. Glass hugged Claire, too. "And you're Claire. I've heard so much about you. Thank you for all you've done for my son."
Claire blinked. All she'd done? "I think it's the other way around," she said softly. "Michael's a hero. He's always been there for me."
"Then you've been there for each other," Mrs. Glass said. "True friends."
The crowd was parting again, letting more people pass, and as Claire looked around, she saw her own mother and father. "Oh no," she whispered. "I didn't know they were back yet."
"Your parents?" Michael's mom asked, and Claire nodded. Mrs. Glass quickly moved to greet them, gracious and sad, and then they closed in on Claire.
And Shane.
She winced at the icy stares her parents gave Shane, but they knew better than to start that here, now. They took seats to Claire's right, with Shane, Eve, Michael and his parents stretching out to her left.
And directly ahead, Amelie.
At the front of the church, surrounded by a blizzard of flowers of all colors, was a shiny black coffin with silver trim. The lid was closed. The discreet sound of organ music got louder, and the whispering buzz of the crowd in the church quieted as the door opened off to the side, and Father Joe came out, dressed in a blinding white cassock and a purple stole. He mounted the steps and looked out at the crowd with quiet authority. For a young priest, he had a lot of presence, but then Claire expected he'd have to, to serve a Morganville congregation that was composed equally of vampires and humans.
"We come to celebrate a life," he said. "The life of Samuel Glass, a son of Morganville."
Claire's eyes blurred under a wash of tears. She couldn't imagine Sam would have wanted to be remembered any other way, really. She barely heard the rest of what Father Joe said about Sam - she found that she was watching Amelie, or at least the very still back of Amelie's head. Not a hair out of place, not a whisper of motion.
So quiet.
And then, suddenly, Amelie was getting up, in absolute silence, and walking up the steps. She stopped not at the podium, but at the coffin, and opened the hinged cover. It clicked into place, and Amelie stayed there for a moment, staring down at Sam's face.
Then she turned and faced the hundreds of people gathered in the church.
"I met Samuel Glass here in this church," Amelie said. Her tone was soft, but it carried. No one moved. No one coughed. As far as Claire could tell, no one breathed. "He came here to demand - demand - that I right some wrong he imagined I had done. He was like an angel with a flaming sword, full of fury and righteousness, with absolutely no fear of the consequences. No fear of me." She smiled, but there was something broken in it. "I think I fell in love with him in that moment, when he was so angry with me. I fell in love with his fearlessness first, and then I realized that it was more than mere courage. It was a conviction that life must be made fair. That we must be better. And for a time . . . for a time I think we were."
She paused, and looked again at Sam's pale, still face.
"But I was weak," she said. "Weak and afraid. And I let him slip away from me, because I didn't have his courage, or his conviction. This moment, this loss, is my fault. Sam gave himself, again, to save lives. To save me. And I have never deserved it."
There were tears running down her cheeks now, and her voice was trembling. Claire couldn't breathe because of the weight of emotion in her chest.
"Someone else recently demanded that I change the rules of Morganville," Amelie continued. "Just as Sam demanded it fifty years ago, and continued to demand it of me at every opportunity."
Claire realized, with a shock, that Amelie was talking about her. As if what she'd said was somehow brave.
Amelie reached up and pulled pins from her hair, one after another. Her icy crown of pale hair began to unravel and fall loose around her shoulders.
"I have decided," she said, "that changes must be made. Changes will be made. Sam earned the right for humans to stand as equals in this town, and it will be done. It will be painful, it will be dangerous for us all, but it will be done. In Sam's memory, I make it so."
She leaned over, and very gently, placed a kiss on Sam's lips, then closed the coffin. No one spoke as she walked away, down the steps and out through the side door. Oliver and a few of the other vampires exchanged silent looks, then moved to follow her.
Father Joe spoke over the rising tide of whispers. "Let us pray."
Claire clasped her hands and looked down. Next to her, Shane was doing the same, but he whispered, "Am I crazy, or did we just win?"
"No," Claire whispered back. "But I think we just got a chance to."
Four weeks later.
"Chaos, disorder, mayhem," Shane said. "Situation normal in Morganville." He took a drink of his coffee and pushed the other one across to Claire.
Common Grounds was holding a grand reopening, with half-priced coffee, and the place was packed. Everybody loved a bargain. It wasn't exactly normal for the two of them to be sitting in Oliver's territory like this; Claire never thought Shane would do it voluntarily, but the lure of cheap caffeine proved powerful.
He'd further surprised her by exchanging some semi-civil words with Oliver himself as he'd claimed the coffee. Speaking of which . . . "What did Oliver say to you?" Claire asked.
Shane shrugged.
"I asked Oliver if they'd found my father, but he was his usual douchey self. Told me to forget about my dad. I don't know if that means they found him, they killed him, or they just don't care. Dammit, I just want someone to tell me."
Claire looked up at him, struck into silence. I need to tell him, she thought. I really do.
She just couldn't quite think of the words.
Life was getting back to normal in Morganville. Amelie had declared an absolute ban on hunting. The blood banks had reopened, and the people of Morganville had been given a choice - start over, or start running. Plenty had taken the second option. Claire figured that half the town had decided to seize the chance to leave . . . but she also knew that some of them would come back. After all, some of their families had never been out of town at all. It was a whole new world out there. For some, it would be too much.
Common Grounds had renovated in record time, and was open to students once more. Oliver was behind the bar, wearing his nice-guy face and pulling espresso shots like nothing had ever changed.
The bronze statue of Bishop was gone from the university. In fact, all traces of Bishop were gone. Claire didn't know where Fran?ois and Ysandre had ended up, but Myrnin assured her, with a perfectly straight face, that she didn't want to know. Sometimes, she was content to be ignorant. Not often, true. But sometimes.
Shane, however, needed to know about his father. Frank Collins, as far as Claire knew, had just vanished into thin air. If Amelie knew, she wasn't saying.
This was a moment that Claire actually had wanted to avoid, in a way. She'd put it off as long as she could, but Shane was getting more aggressive about asking people if there was any sign of Frank Collins in Morganville, and she really couldn't put it off any longer.
"I have something to tell you about that," she said, and cleared her throat. "Your dad - I . . . I saw him."
He froze, coffee cup halfway to his lips. "When?"
"A while ago." She didn't want to be too specific. She hated that she'd hidden it from him for so long. "He . . . ah . . . he could have killed me, but he didn't. He said to tell you that . . . that he loved you. And he was sorry."
Shane blinked at her, as if he couldn't quite believe what she was saying. "Where did you see him?"
"In the cells where the sick vampires were being kept. He's not there anymore. I looked. He's just . . . gone." She swallowed hard. "I didn't want to tell you, but I think . . . I think he was going to kill himself, Shane."
Something changed inside of Shane for a long second - she didn't recognize the look in his eyes or on his face. And then she did. It was his dad's look, the one that came before he lashed out at someone.
Shane closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and bowed his head. She didn't dare move for a few seconds, then carefully reached out and put her hand on the table, just a few inches from his.
His fingers twined with hers.
"Dammit," he whispered. "No, I'm not mad. I just feel . . . I guess I feel relieved. I wanted to know. Nobody would talk to me."
"I should have said something," she said. "I know. I'm so sorry. I just didn't know how. But I didn't want you to hear it from Oliver or something, because that would just . . . bite."
"No kidding." He took another deep breath, then raised his head. His dark eyes were glittering with un-shed tears, but he blinked them back. "He wouldn't have wanted to go on like that. He made a choice. I guess that's something."
She nodded. "That's something."
She'd ripped off the bandage, and now at least he could start healing.
It was the same everywhere. Healing. All over Morganville, burned buildings were being demolished and rebuilt. City Hall, destroyed by a tornado, was getting a municipal makeover, with plenty of marble and fancy new furniture. All of the surviving Founder Houses - even the Glass House - were getting repaired and repainted. The ones that hadn't survived were being rebuilt from the ground up.
In an amazingly short time, Morganville life had gone back to normal. As normal as it ever was, anyway. And if the vampires weren't happy about things changing, well, they were - so far - keeping their objections on their side of the fence.
Shane sipped his coffee - plain coffee, not the fancy milky stuff she liked - and watched people go by outside the front windows. She let him sit in silence and come to terms with what she'd said; he was still holding her hand, and she figured that had to be a good sign.
"Oh, great," Shane said, and nodded to the door. "Trouble, twelve o'clock. Just what we needed."
Monica Morrell posed in the doorway, making sure the light caught her best side. She'd returned to town, along with her BFFs, and slipped right back into her role as Morganville's queen bitch without a pause. It helped that Richard Morrell was still mayor, of course, and that Monica's family had always been rich.
Monica surveyed the busy room disdainfully, snapped her fingers, and sent Gina to stand in the coffee line. Then she and Jennifer made a beeline for the table where Claire and Shane sat.
Nobody spoke. It was a war of stares.
"Bitch, please," Shane said finally. "You can't be serious. Out of all the people in here, you pick us to evict? Really not in the mood today."
"I'm not evicting you," Monica said, and slid into the chair next to him. Jennifer looked deeply shocked, then put out, but she bullied some poor freshman out of his chair at the next table, and yanked it over to plop down as well. "I thought since you had extra chairs, you wouldn't be a complete dick about it. Should have known you'd be a bad winner or something."
He blinked.
"Not that you won," she said quickly. "Just that you're, you know, still here. Which is a form of winning. Not the best one."
Shane and Claire exchanged looks. Claire shrugged. "Oliver take you back?" she asked. Monica traced some old carving on the tabletop with a perfectly manicured fingernail, and then flipped her still-dark hair over her shoulders.
"Of course," she said. "What would Morganville be without the Morrell family?"
"Wouldn't I like to know?" Shane muttered. Monica sent him a freezing glare. "Kidding." Not.
"I heard you're working," she said. "Wow. Good for you. Shane Collins, actually earning a paycheck. Somebody should alert the press."
He flipped her off, then checked his watch. "Speaking of the job, damn," he said. "Claire - "
"I know. Time to go."
He leaned over and kissed her. He made it extraspecial good, with Monica watching, which made Claire warm all the way down to her toes; he took his time, to the extent that people at other tables started clapping and hooting.
"Watch your back," he murmured, his lips still against hers. "Love you."
"Watch yours," she said. "Love you, too."
She watched him walk away with an expression she was sure made her look like a total fool, and she didn't care. Other girls watched him go, too - they always did, and he rarely noticed these days.
Monica made a retching noise into the coffee that Gina thumped down in front of her. "God, you two are disgusting. You know it's not going to last, right?"
"Why, because you're going to take him away?" Claire asked, and smiled slowly. "Too much car for you, rich girl."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Sure. Knock yourself out. No, really. Hammer to the head, works every time." Claire drained the rest of her mocha as Gina settled into Shane's vacated chair. "Hey, kid. Here." Claire scooted her chair back over to the bewildered freshman Jennifer had bullied out of a seat; he settled gratefully into it, nodded, and put his headphones back on. Studying.
Claire had a stack of that to do, too. She'd aced the semester, but that was just the beginning of her challenges. Ada had a lot to teach her, although the computer still hated her and probably always would. Myrnin . . . Myrnin had absorbed so much of Bishop's blood that he was a walking serum factory, to Dr. Mills's delight; the vampires of Morganville were being cured, one by one.
All except Sam. Sam's absence was a hole in everyone's life. Amelie hadn't left her home except for official appearances; she'd become a hermit again, dressed in formal white, back to being the ice queen Claire had first met. If she grieved, she didn't show it to the unwashed public.
But Claire knew she did.
She knew Amelie always would.
As Claire headed for the door, someone caught the strap on her backpack. "Hey, Claire!" The voice wasn't familiar, but it seemed cheerful and happy to see her. She turned. It took her a few seconds to place the face barely visible over a pile of books.
It was the awkward boy with the emo haircut - the one she and Eve had met at the University Center before everything had blown up in Morganville. The one who'd once been friends with Shane.
"It's Dean, remember? Do you have a minute?"
She wasn't too sure it was a good idea. There was something odd about him, something she'd filed away in her memory . . . Oh yeah. "Before we get into that, how do you know Jason Rosser?" she asked.
Dean froze in the act of clearing his backpack from the chair next to him. "Oh. Uh . . . busted, I guess. When I moved here, me and Jason hung out when he got out of jail. I mean, my theory was his sister was living in the house with Shane, so he'd be a way to keep track. Only he was kind of nuts, you know?"
Claire kept watching him. He seemed honest enough. "He must have shown you some things. Secrets, I mean. About the town."
Dean's ears turned red. "You mean - yeah. The short-cuts ? The ones that take you from one place to another? Honestly, I never used them except that once. Scared the holy crap out of me."
He sounded ashamed of himself, but Claire could fully get behind the concept of finding Morganville terrifying. Granted she thought it was kind of fascinating, but then, she was a freak of nature.
Dean looked pathetic. "Let me guess. I blew it, right? You'll never talk to me again."
"No, it's okay." She sighed and slid into the chair. "It's just that Jason's not what I would call a great character reference."
"I hear you. But then, I was working for Frank Collins, and my brother was a crazy biker dude, so it really wasn't that much of a stretch." He shrugged. "Thanks for cutting me some slack, Claire."
"Everybody deserves a second chance. Hey, did you see Shane? I thought you wanted to talk to him."
"I did. Where is he?"
"Gone to work. He just left."
"I missed him?" Dean looked around, as if Shane would just materialize out of thin air. He looked disappointed when that didn't happen. "Damn."
"Well, it's pretty busy in here. If you didn't see him, he probably didn't see you, either. It's not like he's avoiding you or anything."
"Yeah, probably. So. You're, ah, staying on? In Morganville?"
"Yes." She left it at that. Between her new, completely amazing relationship with Shane, and the fact that Myrnin was teaching her physics so advanced that most Nobel Prize-winners would weep, no way was she leaving now. "You?"
He shrugged. "Got no place else to be. You still living at the Glass House?"
"Uh, no. I made a deal with my parents. I have to live at home with them until I'm eighteen, and then I can move back. Eve promised that they'd keep my room for me, though." The truth was, she pretty much still lived there, and she looked forward to the time she spent with her friends - shared dinners, board games, zombie-smashing video games, and Wii tennis . . . And Eve doing dramatic readings from her favorite vampire books as Michael squirmed in embarrassment.
She looked forward to everything.
Morganville wasn't perfect. It would never be perfect. But Amelie had kept her promise, and humans were starting to feel like equal citizens, not possessions. Not walking blood banks.
It was a start. Claire had plans for more, in time.
"Hey," she said. "Maybe you could come over tonight, to the Glass House? Have dinner with us? I'm sure Shane would love to see you. It'd be a great surprise."
"It would," Dean said, and gave her a matching grin. "Yeah, okay. Seven o'clock?"
"Fine," she said. "Listen, I have to get to work. See you then!"
He hastily stood up and shoveled his books and papers into his backpack. "I'm going too," he said. "Just a sec."
Is he hitting on me? Claire wondered. She knew what Eve would say, but she couldn't quite believe it. Dean seemed like a nice guy - but there was a glint in his eye when he looked at her.
She wondered if she should just take off, but that seemed rude.
Oliver was watching her from his place at the bar. She nodded to him, and he gave her a cool look that told her just what he thought of her. No, they were never going to be friends. And that was fine with Claire. She still thought he was a creep.
Dean stumbled over his own feet getting up, jostled the arm of a jock at the next table, and had to apologize his way out of trouble, backing into Claire as he did so. She sighed, grabbed his backpack, and towed him toward the door.
She was surprised he didn't fall over the cracks in the sidewalk, but once he was out of public view, he seemed to straighten up and be a little more coordinated. Huh. He was taller than she'd thought. Broader, too. Not Shane-broad, but solid, after all. It was the hair that fooled her - emo hair always made guys look kind of wimpy.
"Where are you heading?" she asked Dean. He adjusted the weight of his backpack on his shoulder.
"Oh, you know," he said vaguely, and pointed down the street. She was starting to think that he really was trying to hit on her. The going-my-way routine must have been old when Rome was still building roads. "You all done with classes and stuff?"
"Mostly. I have a couple of labs still to finish out, extra credit stuff, really. You looked like you were studying hard."
"Not really," Dean said. "I mostly carry the books around just to make stupid girls like you think I'm safe to be around."
She blinked, not sure she'd heard that right. He'd said it exactly the same way he'd said everything else. Like a nice, normal guy.
They were just passing an alley between the buildings. Nobody in sight.
"What - "
She turned her head toward him, and the last thing she saw was his backpack, full of books, heading at full speed toward her head.
Claire woke up not really sure she was waking up at all - everything seemed weird, smeared, dreamlike. She couldn't move, and her head hurt so bad she started to cry.
She heard voices.
". . . can't believe you brought her here," one said - she knew the voice, but she couldn't place it; the headache was too huge to think around. "Are you mental? That's not just anybody. She's going to be missed, Dean!"
"That's the point." Dean. That was Dean's voice. "I want them to miss her. I want them to look all over. They won't find her until I want them to. Come on, Jason. Man up, already."
"Dude, I knew you were crazy. I didn't know you were stupid, too. We have to let her go."
Sound of scuffling. Feet on wood. Grunts. Two men fighting.
One went down.
"Shut up," Dean snapped. "You're always whining. All you ever had to do was carry the bodies. I'm not even asking you to get your hands dirty."
"No! Look, I know her. You can't - "
"That's why she's perfect. Everybody knows her. C'mon, man, get it together. She's just a girl. Worse, she's a vamp lover. We're making the world a better place, and having fun while we do it." Dean laughed. It was the worst sound she'd ever heard from a human - and a good match for the worst sound she'd ever heard, period.
Jason must be Jason Rosser, Eve's brother. The one Dean said he barely knew. Maybe this was some horrible dream. It made sense that she'd put Jason's brother in a dream about being abducted and tied up, right? Because Jason had been accused of those murders . . .
Claire opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling of what looked like an old, abandoned house. Spackle was peeling off in sad sheets, hanging down, waving in a slight breeze through a broken window.
Jason had been accused of those murders. But he'd told Amelie, straight up, that he hadn't killed anybody.
He'd just seen it happen. He'd never said who was behind it. Dean.
Claire felt short of breath. This is bad; this is really, really bad. . . . Her head felt like it had been smashed with a brick. She felt sick enough to barf, and when she tried to move, the pain got worse. She couldn't do much, anyway. She was tied up, ankles and wrists.
There was sunlight coming in the window, but it was at a low angle. She'd been out for hours, and there was a bitter, nasty taste in her mouth. They'd given her something, on top of knocking her in the head. Maybe chloroform.
By twisting her wrist, she could see her watch.
Five o'clock.
The sun would be down soon. Nobody would have missed her yet; it wasn't dinnertime, and she'd been casually intending to drop in at Myrnin's lab to see how far he'd gotten with setting it back up. But he hadn't been expecting her.
Nobody had been expecting her. Shane had gone to work, and wouldn't be home until dark.
Phone.
It wasn't in her pocket. They'd taken it.
She blinked, and she must have lost time, because when she opened her eyes again, Dean Simms was sitting next to her, staring down. In the doorway of the decaying room stood Jason Rosser, looking sick and ill at ease.
Dean was smiling like he owned the world.
"Hey," he said. "So, you're up and around, right? Good. I thought you'd be tougher. I mean, they all talk about you like you're something special, but you went down just like the others. No problem at all."
"I . . . " Nausea boiled up inside when she tried to talk, and she stopped and swallowed helplessly until she could talk again. "My friends will look for me."
"Yeah, that's what I figured. So when they find you drained like some sad little vamp quickie outside of Oliver's back door . . . well. They won't be real happy, will they?" Dean's eyes practically glowed. "Man, you were so easy. Frank thought you had backbone. Guess not."
"Why?" she whispered. "Why are you doing this?" She really wanted to know. Somehow, if she had to die, she felt like she wanted to understand. She wanted it to make sense.
"Look, it's not personal." Dean dragged a fingernail down her cheek, scratching her. "Well, maybe a little personal, because, you know, fun. But this is about setting this town free. Fighting evil. It's what Frank Collins wanted. It's what I want. It's what you want, right, Claire? I know it's what Shane wants, too. So you're doing everybody a favor by dying."
Dean hadn't come to Morganville just to have Shane's back; he'd come to have his fun. If he even knew Frank Collins at all, he'd just been using Frank. Once he'd come to Morganville, he'd realized it was open season, and he could do whatever he wanted.
Still could, Claire realized sickly. Nobody suspected him at all.
She certainly hadn't.
"What?" he asked her. "You're not going to tell me I'm making a mistake? Beg me not to do it?"
"Why bother?" she whispered. "You'll do what you want, right?"
"Always do." Dean leaned back. "Jase. Hold her feet. I don't want her kicking me."
"It's not right. This isn't right, man."
"Shut up or I'll make it two bodies tonight. It just makes my point better."
Claire kicked out, but it was no use; Jason leaned on her ankles and held them down. Dean forced her arm down and opened up a rusting medical kit. He took out one of those hollow needles doctors used to draw blood, but instead of connecting it to a sample tube, he stuck on some rubber tubing.
The rubber tubing ended in a big empty gallon jug that had once held milk.
"Little stick." He smirked and slid the needle into her vein.
Claire screamed. Jason looked away, guilt written all over his face, but Dean just kept on smiling. Red flooded out into the tube, ran along the coils, and began pumping out into the milk jug.
"How's it feel?" he asked her. "You like vampires. How's it feel to have your life drained out of you, just like they do it? I hate vampires. I really, really do. And if I can get this town to rise up and kill even one more by doing you, it's a bargain."
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to think of something she could do.
Blood.
A black-and-white ghost flickered into view at the far end of the room. Ada's image looked quiet and composed, and just a little bit pleased. She'd come to watch Claire die.
"Get help," Claire whispered. "Please, go get help!"
Jason and Dean, at least, had no idea who she was talking to, since Ada had manifested behind them. "Who are you talking to, idiot? Jason's not on your side. Jesus, Jason, hold her feet! Come on, man! I'm not asking you for much, here!"
Ada raised thin eyebrows. Her image flickered. Claire didn't want to look at the red line rising in the milk jug; she could feel herself getting weaker, her heart pounding harder to keep up.
"Myrnin," Claire panted. "I need Myrnin."
Ada flickered out. Claire had no idea whether or not she'd even make the effort.
Outside, the sun settled below the window.
Twilight.
Jason jumped up at a sound from outside. "What the hell is that?"
"Nothing," Dean said. He was watching Claire's face. She was breathing too fast, and she tried to slow down; her heart was racing, and she was losing too much blood. Ada, please. Please. "Don't worry about it. It's the wind."
Jason let go of Claire's feet. She was too weak to move much, anyway. "No, it's not. There's somebody out there. Dude, leave her. Let's go!"
"No frickin' way. We're almost done here. Five more minutes. Keep it together, bro."
"I'm not your bro!" Jason snarled. "You're on your own, asshole!"
He took off. No - please wait. Claire tried not to cry, but she was losing track of why she ought to be strong. Was somebody coming? No, she had to save herself. Nobody was coming to save her.
"Dean," she said. "You know about the portals, don't you?"
That got his attention. Full on.
"I can tell you something about them you don't know. If you stop this."
His dark eyes took on a strangely stubborn look; he didn't like being robbed of his pleasure. "What kind of something? Because it'd have to be really good."
"Oh, it is," she said. "I can tell you how to make your own portals. How to go anywhere. Do anything. Imagine what you could do with that, Dean."
He was imagining it, all right, and she could see color rising in his cheeks. He liked it.
He liked it a lot.
Dean glanced over at the milk jug, which was shimmering with her blood. A steady stream flowed out of the tube to patter down inside. "Start talking," he said. "If I like what you say, I'll turn it off."
He was lying to her; she could feel it. "You can stop pretending you're killing me for a cause. You're not. You're killing me because you like it, Dean. You're not a vampire; you're worse. They're like tigers. You're a cannibal."
His eyes flickered, and he leaned forward. "Maybe I'll try that, too," he said. "Maybe I'll start on you."
She blinked, light-headed. The world seemed to shift in front of her. She had a vision, and it was so real.
She was looking past him into the living room at home, just like through a tunnel. The TV was on. Eve was singing along to some obnoxious commercial, shim- mying her hips as she put a plate full of hot dogs on the table. It was Eve's night to cook. Michael was tuning his guitar, intent on frets and strings and sounds.
Shane walked in from the front hall, dropped his keys on the table, and said, "Where's Claire?"
"Not here yet," Eve said. "Probably on her way."
I'm not. I'm not coming. I'm sorry.
Shane dug his cell phone out and dialed.
Somewhere in another part of the abandoned house, Claire heard her ring tone echoing. The odd thing was, Shane seemed to hear it, too. He looked around, raised his eyebrows at Eve, and Eve shrugged. "Maybe she left it."
They could hear the phone. But the phone was here.
Claire pulled in a breath to scream, but she didn't have to.
Shane looked right at her, and for a second, she realized what that tunnel was, that silvery shimmer at the edges.
She realized that Ada hadn't let her down, after all. It was a portal, and Shane was going to save her.
He saw her.
His eyes widened.
"Claire!" he screamed, and lunged at the portal.
It closed right before he got there.
"Oh, man," Dean breathed. "Close. You can do that thing, too? The portal thing? Comes in handy; am I right?" He waved his arm, and the portal shimmered back into existence - but in place of the tunnel that had led to the Glass House, there was one leading into darkness. No - not quite darkness. It was the old prison, the one where the sick vampires had been kept. "Ada locked me out for a while, and man, I was starting to sweat. But I promised her some fresh blood if she'd just let me have it for a couple more days."
He'd been using the network to kill, and Jason had helped him - probably just because Jason was a joiner, and lonely, and Dean knew how to make people feel wanted. Even Claire had felt it, and she should have known better.
Her heart was racing so fast now.
"See?" he said. "I can do it from anywhere. Just like you. Guess that makes us special."
He was smart, she realized. Clever and cold. Like Myrnin.
Only Myrnin had a conscience.
Something moved on the other side of the portal. A ghost. Ada?
No, although Claire saw the flicker of her black-and-white image for a second standing in the portal, facing away from her. Beckoning to someone else on the other side.
Then misting out of the way.
Ada had brought help, after all, but it wasn't Myrnin.
It was Frank Collins.
Shane's dad stood on the other side of the portal, staring through at them, looking more like a ghost than Ada had. Claire must have made some sound, because Dean turned to look, and his face went completely slack with surprise. "Frank?" he asked. "Frank, wait - let me explain . . ."
Frank Collins reached through, grabbed Dean, and dragged him through the portal.
Dean screamed, once, and then there was silence. Just . . . nothing.
Claire felt herself getting cold. This is how it feels, she thought. Becoming a vampire. Except I won't wake up.
Frank stepped through the portal.
"Keep breathing," he told her, and crouched next to her as he took the tube out of her arm and tossed it away. He wadded up a piece of bandage and stuck it in the bend of her arm, then bent it back to add pressure. "Sorry about Dean. I always knew he wasn't good in the head, but I never thought he'd go this crazy."
He looked at her for a few seconds, then pushed to his feet and headed for the portal.
Along the way, he grabbed the milk jug, and then he was gone.
Ada's ghost misted back into view, staring at Claire. She was smiling.
"Help," Claire whispered.
"I did." Ada's prim voice came out of the distant, tinny speaker of the cell phone. "He promised me blood, but I don't want yours. I don't like it."
Ada disappeared.
She was alone, and cold. For a little while, that was all there was.
Then hands were lifting her, and she felt a tiny sting in her numb arm, and there were voices.
Light.
Then a different kind of nothing.
The hospital room was dark in the middle of the day, out of courtesy to the visitors. The overhead fluorescent lights bleached everybody, but at least nobody burst into flame.
That was Morganville in a nutshell. Compromise.
"I'm told that you're doing well," Amelie said, and pulled up a chair at Claire's bedside. Her bodyguards had taken up posts at the door. One of them winked at Claire, and she smiled back. "I feel I must apologize for my lack of care for your safety."
"You couldn't have known I was in trouble," Claire said.
"You wear my mark on your bracelet, and that makes you my dependent." That seemed to settle everything for Amelie. "That does not reflect well upon my stewardship. Luckily, Dr. Mills believes you will make a complete recovery. You may thank your friends for being so quick to act on your behalf."
Claire felt pleasantly warm, safe, and a little drugged. "Yeah, about the rescue," she said. "What happened?"
"Several things. First, Eve called me and demanded my help." Amelie nodded to Eve, who managed to look simultaneously smug and embarrassed as she leaned against the wall. "Although Eve presumed a great deal about my willingness to help, I decided to speak with Ada." Claire bet that had been an interesting, scary conversation. "She admitted that she knew where you were. From there, it was a simple enough matter to open a portal to you and bring you help."
"Who was it?" she asked. Her eyelids felt heavy. "Shane?"
"In fact, no," Oliver said, from the darkest corner of the room. "I carried you. Don't get sentimental; the doctors saved you, not me. I simply moved you from one place to another." He sounded as if he deeply wished to be out of the round of thanks at all costs. Claire was happy to oblige him.
"The blood bank came in handy," Dr. Mills said cheerfully, leaning over her to check her tubes and wires. "About time it did humans some good, too." He didn't seem shy about saying it in front of Amelie and Oliver, either. "You owe us about four pints, kiddo. But later, I promise. No rush at all."
"Thanks," she said, and gave him a drowsy thumbs-up.
"Just doing my job," he said. "Of course, some days it's a pleasure. Rest. You're going to be here for a few days. Oh, and I hope you enjoy off-brand flavors of Jell-O."
She thought he was kidding about that last part, but she absolutely couldn't be sure. Before she could ask, he scribbled something on her chart and hurried off to the next patient. Jell-O victim.
Amelie's cool fingers adjusted the covers minutely - for Amelie, that was positively fussy. "I am pleased you'll be working with us a while longer, Claire," she said. "Sleep now."
Claire badly wanted to, but she had another question. "Did you get him?" Claire asked, and opened her eyes again. "Did you find Dean?"
"Yes," Amelie said. Her expression was absolutely unreadable. "We found Dean." She rose, nodded to her bodyguards, and left without an explanation or a backward glance. Oliver pushed off and followed, but he made it look like it was his own idea.
Oh, that was going to be trouble, if Oliver kept up with the attitude. But it was trouble that Claire didn't have to worry about. The only thing she had to worry about, in fact, was choking down horrible, weird flavors of gelatin.
About a minute after the departure of the vampires, the door opened again, and Shane came in juggling a handful of drinks. Coffee, it smelled like. The sight of him made Claire feel like a sun had exploded inside her - so much happiness she was surprised it wasn't leaking out of her skin, like light.
His smile was amazing.
"Hope you brought some for me," Claire said, as he handed Eve and Michael their cups. There was one left over.
"You're kidding, right?" Shane asked. "You don't need caffeine. You need sleep." He held out the last cup, and Claire realized she'd been wrong; there was someone else in the shadows. Deeper in the shadows even than Oliver had been.
Myrnin.
He looked completely different to her now, and not just because he wasn't crazy anymore. He'd remembered how to dress himself, for one thing; gone were the costume coats and Mardi Gras beads and flip-flops. He had on a gray knit shirt, black pants, and a jacket that looked a bit out of period, but not as much as before.
All clean. He even had shoes on.
"Yes, you must sleep," he agreed, as he accepted the cup and tried the coffee. "I've gone to far too much trouble to train up another apprentice at this late date. We have work to do, Claire. Good, hard work. Some of it may even earn you accolades, once you leave Morganville."
She smiled slowly. "You'll never let me leave."
Myrnin's dark eyes fixed on hers. "Maybe I will," he said. "But you must give me at least a few more years, my friend. I have a great deal to learn from you, and I am a very slow learner."
Claire laughed at that, because it was just silly. At least, she thought she did. She felt pleasantly floaty, and so very tired.
Her parents dropped in and evicted everyone, for a while. Even Myrnin. She supposed that was all right, in her dreamy haze. It was nice, being loved like that.
When she opened her eyes again, it was night. Her parents were gone, and Eve was asleep in one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs, curled up with her head on her arms and a hospital blanket covering up her pink Goth bowling shirt. Michael had his guitar, and he was playing very quietly - something slow and sweet and peaceful. When he saw Claire's eyes flutter open, he stopped, looking guilty.
"No, go on," she murmured. "It's really beautiful."
"I'm supposed to play at Common Grounds later," he said. "I can blow it off if you need me to stay, though."
"No, you go. Don't rob Morganville of the amazing Michael Glass comeback tour."
"Yeah, like anybody will care," Michael said, but he smiled in that way that meant he was kind of embarrassed about it. And delighted. "I wouldn't leave, but it looks like you've got a permanent bodyguard already."
Shane was asleep, too, head down on the edge of her bed. She longed to run her fingers through his hair, but she didn't want to wake him up.
She didn't have to. Shane's breathing changed, and he sat up, blinking, as if he'd gotten some invisible signal. He focused on her instantly. "Hey," he said, and she saw him relax as relief rolled through him. "Sleepyhead." He reached out and took her hand in his, then leaned forward and kissed her. It felt warm and drowsy and sweet, like a promise. "Welcome back."
She felt like she'd never take her life for granted again. "Did you talk to my parents?"
"I did. Man, my ears are still burning. It's all my fault, apparently." Shane smiled, but she could see he really did feel that way, about his guilt. "I can't believe I wasn't there for you, Claire. I can't believe I couldn't get to you - "
She put a finger on his lips. "You've always been there when I needed you," she said. "You're here now, right?"
"You know what I mean."
She thought about telling him about Frank, about how he'd saved her. But she wasn't sure, really sure, that she hadn't just imagined it.
And if Frank Collins was around, he could show up and tell his son himself.
"I know," she said. Something Monica said back at Common Grounds haunted her, especially in this weakened state: You know it's not going to last, right? Things changed. People changed. Even Morganville changed. "Don't go." She hadn't meant to say it out loud. Needy much, Claire?
Shane took her hand and raised it to his lips in an old-fashioned kiss worthy of Myrnin at his best. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "Not even to take a shower. And you're really going to regret that, by the way."
"Dude," Michael said. "I already regret it."
"Shut up, man."
Michael threw a box of tissues at him. Shane fielded it and fired it back, which wasn't much of a challenge to Michael's vampire reflexes.
Eve woke up, wiped drool from her chin, and yawned. "You jerks want to take the Super Bowl outside? Some of us need our beauty rest - don't say it, Collins."
Shane caught the tissue box. "Say what?" he asked, and tossed the box underhanded in Eve's direction. "Fetch!"
She came out of the chair, picked up the tissue box, and whacked him over the head with it. Several times.
Claire couldn't stop laughing. Tears burned in her eyes, and she loved them so much.
She loved them all so much.
Michael rescued Eve from a tissue paper war and towed her toward the door with his guitar case in the other hand. "I'm calling a truce," he said, and looked back at Claire from the door. "We'll come back after the show."
None of them were letting her stay the night alone; she got that. She supposed later, that might annoy her, but tonight, it just felt . . . great. She loved being looked after.
Then the door shut, and it was just her and Shane.
"So," she said. "What's on TV tonight?"
"Hockey."
"I'm pretty sure there's something other than hockey."
"Nope. Just hockey. It's on every channel. Better complain to the cable company." He kicked back in the chair and settled in with the remote.
"Jerk." She sighed. "I'm the one with low blood pressure, here. Shouldn't I get the remote?"
"I'm thoughtful. Look, I brought you a present." He pulled a wooden stake out of his pocket and put it next to her hand, on top of the blankets.
"What's this for?"
"Emergencies," he said. "Morganville emergencies."
She examined the stake. It looked like it might have been one of Eve's, at least originally. "I hate to break it to you, but Dean wasn't a vampire."
"Bet it would have worked good on him, too."
She spotted some writing on the side. "You put my name on it!" Hand-carved. That must have taken a while.
"I had time, sitting around here waiting for you to wake up. Anyway, Amelie just issued a new law. All humans are allowed to carry stakes for self-defense. See? Progress."
"Or mutually assured destruction."
"Well, whatever works."
Claire held up the stake. "Some girls get jewelry. But they're such losers."
He reached in his pocket, came out with a small velvet box, and set it next to her pillow. She took a deep, sudden breath, and felt her whole body go a little bit woozy around the edges.
"What is it?" she asked softly.
"It's . . . kind of for later," he said. "I just didn't want you to think I'm not well-rounded or anything."
He kissed her, and she felt everything melt away. All the pain, the fear, the worry. It was all just going to be . . . okay.
Somewhere, Michael Glass was playing to a packed house at Common Grounds.
Amelie was sitting alone in her study.
Myrnin was writing down secrets in a leather-bound book.
Monica Morrell was sneering at a blushing freshman girl.
And Claire Danvers was . . . happy.
At least for tonight.
The End