Ghost Town (7 page)

“Are you
insane
?”

“Hey, girls who tango are hot.”

“You think I’m not hot because I don’t tango?”

He dropped the act. Shane was a smart boy. “I think you are too hot for ballroom
or
bowling. So you tell me. What do you want to do? And don’t say study.”

Well, she hadn’t been going to. Although she’d considered it. “How about the movies?”

“How about borrowing Eve’s car and going to the drive-in movie?”

“Morganville still has a
drive-in theater
? What is this, 1960?”

“I know, goofy, but it’s kind of cool. Somebody bought it a few years ago and fixed it up. It’s the hot place to take a hot date. Well, hotter than the bowling alley, because . . . privacy.”

It sounded weird, but Claire thought that in fairness, it
did
seem more romantic than the bowling alley, and less old-folks than ballroom dancing. “What’s showing?”

Shane gave her a sidelong look. “Why? You planning on watching the movie?”

She laughed. He tickled her. She shrieked and ran on ahead, but he caught her and tackled her down to the grass of the park on the corner, and for a couple of seconds she kept laughing and struggling, but then he kissed her, and the sensation of his warm, soft lips moving on hers took all the fight right out of her. It felt
wonderful
, lying here on the grass, with the sun shining on them, and for a few minutes she was floating in a soft, warm cloud of delight, as if nothing in the world could ever ruin this feeling.

Until a police siren let out a sharp burst of noise, and Shane yelped and rolled off of her and up to his feet, ready for . . . what? Fighting? He knew better. Besides, as Claire struggled up to her elbows, she saw that the police car that had pulled up to the curb was—once again—Chief Hannah Moses. She was laughing, her teeth very white against her dark skin.

“Relax, Shane; I just didn’t want you scaring the little old ladies,” Hannah said. “I’m not hauling you in. Unless you’ve got something to confess.”

“Hey, Chief. Didn’t know kissing was against the code.”

“There’s probably something about public displays of affection, but I’m not so much bothered by that.” She pointed at the western horizon, where the sun was brushing the edge. “Time to be getting home.”

Shane looked where she pointed, and nodded, suddenly sobered. “Thanks. Lost track of time.”

“Well, I can see how.” She waved and pulled away, off to deliver helpful encouragement to other wandering potential victims. It was different from the way Monica’s brother, Richard Morrell, used to do things, and before him the old police chief, but Claire kind of liked it. It seemed . . . more caring.

Shane held out his hand and pulled her to her feet, and helped her dust the grass off, which was mainly just an excuse to be handsy. Which she didn’t mind at all. “Did you see my ninja move? That was fast, right?”

“You are not a ninja, Shane.”

“I’ve watched all the movies. I just haven’t gotten the certificate from the correspondence course yet.”

She smiled; she couldn’t help it. Her lips were still tingling, and she wanted him to kiss her again, but Hannah was right—sundown was a bad time to make out in public. “I’ve thought about the drive-in.”

“And?”

She fell in beside him as they walked toward home. “I don’t care what’s playing after all.”

His eyebrows rose. “Sweet.”

Michael wasn’t home when they got there, but Eve was, buzzing around upstairs. Claire could immediately tell, because either it was Eve in those shoes, or the hoof beats of a small pony. Not that Eve was large; she just . . . clomped. It was the big, heavy boots.

“It’s chili-dog night,” Shane said. “How many?”

“Two,” Claire said.

“Really? That’s a lot for you.”

“I’m celebrating the fact that you didn’t fry out your brain being stupid.”

He crossed his eyes and let his tongue loll, which was disgusting and funny, and smacked the side of his head to put everything back right again. “Jury’s still out on that one. Two chili dogs, coming up.”

“Hey!” Claire called after him, as she leaned her backpack against the wall. “No onions!”

“Your loss!”

“I meant for
you
! Not if you want to get kissed tonight!”

“Damn, girl. Harsh.”

She grinned and ran up the stairs, intending to use the bathroom—but Eve was breathlessly rushing toward it. “Wait, wait, wait!” she squeaked. “I have to finish my makeup! Please?”

Claire blinked. The outfit, even for Eve, was a little much . . . a skintight black minidress with all kinds of lacing and buckles, fishnet hose, and big plaid boots with two-inch-thick soles that came up to her knees. “Sure,” she said. “Uh—where are you going?”

“Cory—you know, the girl from the UC coffee bar, the one who isn’t a butthead?—she’s going to this rave thing, and I promised her I’d go with, just so she doesn’t feel so weird. She’s not much of a partyer. It’ll be an early night, but I promised her I’d be ready by seven—”

“She’s picking you up?”

“Yeah. Why? You need the car?”

“If you’re not using it.”

“Knock yourself out—just
please
let me have the bathroom!”

Claire sighed. “Go ahead. And thanks. Oh, and be careful?”

“Please. I am the queen of careful. Also, princess of punk fabulousness.”

She was probably right about that last part, anyway. Claire continued on down the hall to her room, closed and locked the door, and opened up her dresser to go through her choices for underwear. She wanted something pretty. Something . . . special.

In the back of the drawer, neatly folded, was a bra-and-panties set that Eve had bought her for her birthday—way too revealing, Claire had thought, since it was mostly net and little pink roses. But . . . cute. Very cute. Eve had handed it to her and whispered, “Don’t open it in front of the guys. Trust me. You’ll blush.” And she had saved it to open in private, and stuck it in the back of a drawer, although she’d been delighted. It was like a sexy little secret she hadn’t known if she’d ever actually be brave enough to share.

Now she took a deep breath, stripped off her jeans and top and plain underwear, and put on the new bra and panties. They fit—not that she expected anything else from Eve, who had an eye for that kind of thing. She was afraid to look, but Claire made herself walk over to the mirror on the back of the door.

After the blinding shock of
OMG
, she tried to be objective and not cover herself up with a blanket. She looked . . . naked. Well, almost. But . . . the longer she looked at it, the better she liked it. It made her tingle, just a little. What
really
made her tingle was the idea of what Shane would say when he saw her like this.

Because she intended for him to see it.

The jeans and T-shirt didn’t seem good enough anymore. Claire went to her closet and pulled out and rejected things that just weren’t right until she found a top she’d almost forgotten about—an impulse buy in Dallas, like the pink wig up on the shelf that she wore when she was in a silly mood. This was a soft, silky button-down shirt in dark red, and it fit really well—too well for her to feel comfortable wearing it to school, or to the lab, or anywhere else, for that matter.

But for this, it was perfect.

She dressed, added a touch of lipstick, and headed back. Eve was still in the bathroom, of course. Claire banged on it on the way by and yelled, “Vampire attack!”

“Tell them to bite me later!” Eve yelled back. Claire grinned and skipped down the steps, and arrived just as Shane came out of the kitchen, carrying two plates loaded with chili dogs.

He didn’t
quite
drop them. He put them on the table and said, staring at her, “New shirt?”

She smiled. “Bought it in Dallas. Do you like it?”

“Oh, come on. What’s not to like? Especially with the easy-open buttons.”

“You did
not
say that out loud.”

“Huh. I thought I did, actually.”

Claire slipped into her chair. He’d gotten her a cold Coke, too, which was perfect. So were the chili dogs. He’d even left off the onions. “Delicious,” she mumbled around a mouthful, and then thought that probably spoiled her fancy new look.

Her fancy new look, though, was nothing compared to Eve’s outfit, and just as the doorbell rang, Eve came clattering down the stairs in her buckles and laces and fishnets and boots, and Shane’s eyebrows climbed high. He chewed chili dog, swallowed, and said, “Is there some holiday I’m missing? Girls’ Dress-up Day?”

“Yes, Shane, and it’s a secret you will never share,” Eve said. “You just benefit. So shut up.”

“You look like a Goth factory exploded all over you!” he called as she ran down the hall.

“Love you, too, jackass!”

The door slammed. Shane grinned and took a huge bite of his second hot dog. “She’s so sensitive,” he mumbled.

“That’s because you’re not.”

“What?”

Claire sighed. “Never mind. I should know better than to think guys would ever figure that out.”

“Okay, this is not a conversation I ever intend to have. Did you get the car?”

“Eve said it’s fine.”

Shane wolfed down the rest of his food in record time, before she’d even tried to start her second hot dog. She shook her head, took her plate into the kitchen, and put it in the refrigerator for later . . . although she was pretty sure Shane would sneak back and eat it, too, if she didn’t get to it first.

He was practically bouncing up and down to leave when she came back with the car keys, which she pitched to him underhanded; he fielded them without a pause as he headed for the door.

“Shotgun!” Claire yelled.

He laughed and opened the door, and took a giant step back, because, of all people,
Amelie
was standing there. She didn’t come inside, although she could have; as Claire joined Shane, she looked at each of them in turn with her cool gray eyes reflecting the hallway light in a strange kind of way. Amelie was wearing her hair down these days, which was still odd to Claire, who’d become so accustomed to that white-gold hair being fastened up in a crown. The long hair made her look much younger. She’d changed how she dressed, too—instead of the formal, stiff suit jackets and skirts, she’d put on dark pants and a black, silky shirt. She was wearing a gold pendant in the shape of a lily, with a red stone in the center. It looked beautiful, and expensive, and old.

“Uh . . . hi, Amelie. Come in?” Claire moved back to give her room. Amelie smiled slightly and nodded as she walked past them. She smelled like refrigerated roses. She walked ahead of them down the hall, paused in the living room, and turned back to face Claire.

Shane was still at the door. “Where are the spear carriers?”

“Pardon?” Amelie raised pale eyebrows.

“You know, your guys. The guards.”

“They’re outside. They shall stay there, unless they’re needed. I trust they won’t be, Mr. Collins.”

Shane locked the door and came back to stand beside Claire. He folded his arms and waited.

Amelie seated herself on the couch and crossed her legs, still staring at Claire and Shane. Suddenly, Claire felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office. What had she done wrong?

Amelie said, “Forgive the intrusion. I would have called, but I was in the area, and I had a moment to stop by.” Claire noticed she didn’t ask
them
if they had a moment . . . but then, she wouldn’t. “Please sit.”

“No, thanks,” Shane said. “We were on our way out.”

“Ah. Well, I will be brief.” She focused on him. “Your father has come to me and asked to be included in the register of vampires in Morganville. I have allowed it. I feel that I owe it to him, despite the crimes he has committed against us; after all, it was my own father who sentenced him to this life, and I know he did not want it.” She was focused entirely on Shane, who had gone stiff and very still.

His eyes went flat and blank for a second, and then he straightened and took a deep breath. “I don’t care what he does,” he said. “Include him all you want. But he’s not my father. My father died.”

Claire and Shane had watched it happen. Frank Collins, fearless vampire killer, had been dragged in and attacked by Amelie’s evil old vamp daddy, Bishop. He’d been drained. And he’d been brought back.

It had been beyond horrible having to see it, especially for Shane. But worse than that was knowing his dad was a vampire. And knowing that he was still walking around.

Which was why Claire hadn’t mentioned her sighting of him earlier.

“I thought you might feel so,” Amelie said. Her tone was cool, very neutral, and Claire shivered a little, as if she’d caught a chill. “I felt it worth the attempt to give you a chance to reconnect. Frank Collins has entered a training program we have established for new vampires to break them of bad habits and reinforce the rules of Morganville that they must live by; he will finish this program within the week. Once he does, he will have the same status as any other vampire who has signed the Morganville accords. He may not be harmed without my permission. Should anyone attempt it, I will take it personally.” She continued to stare at Shane. “Anyone. I trust you do understand what I’m saying to you.”

Shane just shook his head, face closed and hard. Claire wanted to take his hand, but his arms were still folded defensively across his chest. He wasn’t meeting Amelie’s eyes.

“Shane,” the Founder of Morganville said, using his name for the first time. “I am sorry. I know this will be . . . difficult for you, considering the history between you and your father, and what has happened to him. But according to the laws of Morganville, he will also be allowed to become a Protector, if he wishes to do so. He has said that he will gladly accept the responsibility of acting as
your
Protector, should you choose—”

“No way in hell. Get out,” Shane interrupted her. He didn’t say it loudly, but there was a frightening, out-of-control look in his eyes. “Just get out. I’m not talking about this.”

Amelie didn’t move. She stared at him. He’d met her eyes now, and after a long, tense moment, she spread her hands in a graceful gesture, unfolded her long legs, and stood. “I have taken enough of your time,” she said. “I am sorry to have upset you. Your father may well come to see you, so please remember what I’ve said: no matter how you feel, you cannot strike at him without consequences. Even a friend of Morganville has limits.” Her icy gray eyes shifted, and Claire froze in place. “Claire, I rely on you to remind him if he should forget this.”