The Dead Girls' Dance (7 page)

“What? Oh. Sure.'” He released her, and gave her a smile that even her biased, suspicious (verging on paranoid) mind interpreted as…sweet. “Sorry. You're just so warm. It feels good.'”

He sounded wistful. She couldn't afford to feel sorry for him, no way in hell.
Couldn't.
“How do you know my name?'” she asked.

His blue eyes narrowed when he smiled. “You're kidding. Everybody knows your name. You, Shane, Eve, Michael. The Founder put out a Directive. First time in, oh, I guess about thirty years, maybe forty. Pretty dramatic stuff. We're all on our best behavior around you, don't worry.'” His gaze flicked around, touched on Oliver, and came back to her. “Well, except for people who don't really have a best behavior.'”

“People,'” Claire said, and crossed her arms. She hoped it made her look tough and strong, but she really did it because she was feeling cold. “You're not
people
.'”

Sam looked a bit hurt. “Harsh, Claire. Of course we're people. We're just…different.'”

“No, you
kill people
. You're—parasites!'” And she had no idea why she was getting into a debate about it with a total stranger. A vampire, at that. At least he hadn't done that thing to her like Brandon had done, that mesmerizing thing. Oh, and she wasn't supposed to be looking him in the eye. Crap. She'd forgotten. Sam seemed kind of, well, normal. And he did have lovely eyes.

Sam was thinking over what she'd said, as if it was a serious argument. “Food chain,'” he offered.

“What?'”

“Well, humans are parasites and mass murderers, from the point of view of vegetables.'”

That…almost made some kind of weird sense. Almost. “I'm not a carrot. What do you want from me? Besides the obvious, I mean.'” She mimed fangs in the neck.

He looked a little ashamed. “I need to ask you a favor. Can you give something to Eve for me?'”

She couldn't imagine anything Eve would want less than a gift from a vampire. “No,'” she said. “Is that it? Can I go?'”

“Wait! It's nothing bad, I swear. It's just that I always thought she was a lot of fun. I'm going to miss her coming in here. She always brightened up the place.'” He reached in his pocket and took out a small black box, which he handed over. Claire frowned and fidgeted with it for a second, then snapped the cover open. Not that it was any of her business, but…

It was a necklace. A pretty one, silver, with a shiny coffin-shaped locket. Claire raised her eyes to Sam's, reminded herself
again
not to do that, and focused somewhere in the middle of his chest. (He had a nice chest. Kind of built, actually.) “What's in it?'”

“Open it,'” he said, and shrugged. “I'm not trying to hide anything. I told you, it's nothing dangerous.'”

She snapped the lid of the coffin open. Inside, there was a tiny silver statue of a girl with her arms crossed over her chest. Creepy, but kind of cool, too. Claire had to admit, Eve would probably be delighted.

“Look, I'm not stalking her,'” Sam said. “We're just…friends. She's not the biggest fan of the not quite breathing, thanks to that asshole Brandon—I get that. I'm not trying to be her boyfriend. I just thought she might like it.'”

Sam was
not
fitting into Claire's recently built pigeonholes, so new they still smelled of mental sawdust.
VAMPIRES—BAD,
one said. The one next to it said
VAMPIRES—DOWNRIGHT EVIL
. Those were pretty much the only two vampire slots available.

She didn't know where to put him. Sam just looked like a guy with sad eyes and a sweet smile, who could use some sun. A normal guy, one she'd probably get her heart rate up over talking to in class.

But that was probably how he got his victims, she reminded herself. She snapped the cover shut on the locket, closed the case, and slid it back across the table to him. “Sorry,'” she said. “I'm not taking anything. If you want her to have it, give it to her yourself. Not that I think she'll ever come in here again.'”

Sam looked taken aback, but he took the case and put it in the pocket of his leather jacket. “Okay,'” he said. “Thanks for listening. Can I ask you something else? Not a favor, just information.'”

She wasn't sure, but she nodded.

“It's about Amelie.'” Sam had lowered his voice, and his eyes were suddenly fierce and intense. Not so normal-guy. This was what he'd really wanted, not just the gift to Eve. This was
personal
. “You talked to her, I heard. How is she? How did she seem?'”

“Why?'”

He didn't break the stare. “She doesn't talk to me anymore. None of them do. I don't care about the others, but…I worry about her.'”

Claire couldn't believe what she was hearing. A vampire wanted her to talk about his vampire queen? Weirdy McWeird. “Um…she seems…fine…. She doesn't talk to you anymore? Why not?'”

“I don't know,'” he said, and sat back. “She hasn't spoken to me for fifty years, give or take a few months. And no matter how many times I ask, I can't see her. They won't accept messages.'” Something dark and wounded flickered in those innocent-looking eyes. “She made me, and she abandoned me. Nobody's seen her in public in a long time. Now suddenly she's talking to you. Why?'”

Fifty years.
She was talking to an at-least-seventy-year-old man, with skin finer than hers. With a gorgeous, unlined face, and eyes that had seen…well…more than she ever would, most likely.
Fifty years?
“How old are you?'” she blurted, because it was seriously freaking her out.

“Seventy-two. I'm the youngest,'” he said.

“In town?'”

“In the world.'” He fiddled with the sugar container on the table. “Vampires are dying out, you know. That's why we're here, in Morganville. We were being slaughtered out there, in the world. But even here, Amelie's only made two new vampires in the last hundred and fifty years.'” He looked up slowly and met her eyes, and this time, she felt an echo of that thing Brandon did, that compulsion that held her in place. “I know how it looks to you, because I've been there. I was born in Morganville; I grew up Protected. I know it sucks to be you around here. You're slaves. Just because you don't wear chains and get branded doesn't make you any less slaves.'”

She flashed on an image of Shane's mother, dead in the bathtub. “And if we run, you kill us,'” she whispered. She would have expected him to flinch, or have some kind of reaction to that, but Sam's expression didn't change at all.

“Sometimes,'” he said. “But Claire, it isn't like we want to. We're trying to survive, that's all. You understand?'”

Claire could almost see him standing there, looking down at Shane's mom as she bled to death. He'd have that same gentle, sad look in his eyes. Molly Collins would have been just a pet he had to put down, that was all, and it wouldn't matter to him enough to make him lose a night's sleep. If vampires slept. Which she was starting to doubt.

She stood up so fast, her chair hit the wall with a clatter. Sam leaned back, surprised, as she grabbed up her backpack. “Oh, I understand,'” Claire said through gritted teeth. “I can't trust
any
of you. You want to know how Amelie is? Go ask. There's probably a good reason why she won't talk to you!'”

“Claire!'”

She stiff-armed open the door and escaped into the day. She looked back to see Sam standing there at the edge of the strip of sunlight inside Common Grounds, staring after her with an expression on his face like he'd lost his best—his only—friend.

Dammit, she was
not
any vampire's friend. She couldn't be. And she wasn't going to be, ever.

C
laire decided on the way home that maybe it wouldn't be a good idea to blurt all of it out to Shane—not about Monica, or his dad, or the vampire Sam. Instead, she made dinner (tacos) and waited for Michael to rejoin the world. Which he did, as soon as the sun was safely under the horizon, and looked just as normal and angelic as ever.

She somehow got the message across to him that she needed to talk in private, which resulted in Michael drying dishes in the kitchen while she washed up. How that happened, she wasn't sure—it wasn't her turn—but the warm water and smooth suds were kind of soothing.

“Did you tell Shane about Monica?'” Michael asked when she was done relating the day's events. He didn't seem bothered, but then, it took a lot to faze Michael. He might have been wiping the plates a little too thoroughly, though.

“No,'” she said. “He gets a little, you know, about her.'”

“Yeah, he does. Okay, you need to be careful, you know that, right? I'd ask Shane to go with you to class, but—'”

“But that's probably what she wants,'” Claire finished, and handed him another plate. “To get us both together so she can use us against each other. Right?'”

Michael nodded, eyebrows going up. “All she has to do is grab you and she's got him. So be careful. I'm—not much use, outside of here. Or any use, actually.'”

She felt bad for the flash of anger in his eyes—it wasn't directed at her but at himself. He hated this. Hated being trapped here while his friends needed him.

“I'll be fine,'” she said. “I got a new cell phone. Mom and Dad sent it.'”

“Good. You've got us all on speed dial?'”

“One, two, and three. And 911 on four.'”

“Sweet.'” Michael hip-bumped her. “How are classes?'”

“Okay.'” She couldn't work up any enthusiasm for them right at the moment. “We're not talking about Shane's dad?'”

“Nothing to talk about,'” he said. “You stay out of Common Grounds, and stay away from Oliver. If Shane's dad was in there, he was probably just taking a look around. Oliver might have sent him on his way. He does a good regular-guy act.'” Michael ought to know, Claire reflected. Oliver had done a good enough regular-guy act to charm his way into the house, where he'd killed Michael, trying to make him a vampire. The house had saved Michael—partly. A kind of supernatural apology for having failed to protect him in the first place. The house did things like that. It was creepy, and occasionally flat-out scary, but it was at least mostly loyal to whoever was in residence.

Oliver, though…Oliver was loyal to Oliver. And that was about it.

“So we do nothing?'” Claire asked.

“We do the best nothing you've ever seen.'” Michael put the last plate away and tossed the towel over his shoulder like a bartender going on break. “Meaning,
you
do nothing, Claire. That's an order.'”

She gave him a cockeyed mock salute. “Yes, sir, sorry, sir.'”

He sighed. “I liked you better when you were this timid little kid. What happened?'”

“I started living with you guys.'”

“Oh, right.'”

He fluffed her hair, smiled, and ambled off toward the living room. “It's game night,'” he said. “I made Shane swear, no video games tonight. I think he's blowing the dust off of Monopoly. I wouldn't let him have Risk. He gets crazy with Risk.'”

Didn't they all?

 

“So, I got a new job,'” Eve said brightly as they sat on the floor around the Monopoly board. Shane was kicking ass, but Michael had the railroads; Eve and Claire were just mostly watching their money stacks dwindle.
No wonder people like this game,
Claire thought.
It's just like life.

“You got a job already?'” Shane asked as Michael rattled the dice in his hand and then tossed them out on the faded, warped board. “Jeez, Eve, throw the brakes on full employment. You're making me look bad.'”

“Shane Collins, permanent slacker. If you'd book more than one interview a month, and actually, you know,
show up
to them, you might get a job, too.'”

“Oh, so now you're a career counselor?'”

“Bite me. You're not even going to ask me where?'”

“Sure,'” Michael said as he moved his cannon across four squares. “Where?…Oh, crap.'”

“That'll be five hundred, my man. And extra for clean towels in the hotel.'” Shane held out his palm.

“I got hired at the university,'” Eve said, watching Michael count out cash and hand it over to Shane. “In the student union coffee shop. I even got a raise.'”

“Congratulations!'” Claire said. “And you're not working for an evil vampire. Bonus.'”

“Bosswise, a definite step up. I mean, he's a slack-jawed loser with bad breath and a drinking problem, but that pretty much describes most of the male population of Morganville….'”

“Hey!'” both Shane and Michael chorused, and Eve gave them both a brilliant grin.

“Excluding the hotties in the room, of course. And cheer up, guys—it includes most of the
female
population, too. Anyway. Better hours—I'm working days, so not a lot of vamp worries—and bigger paychecks. Plus, I get to check out campus life. I hear they party hard.'”

“From the other side of the counter, all you're going to see is people dissing you and complaining about their drinks,'” Shane said without looking up. “You watch yourself, Eve. Some of those assholes on campus think that if you're wearing a name badge, you're their own personal toy.'”

“Yeah, I know. I heard about Karla.'”

“Karla?'” Claire asked.

“She works at the university,'” Eve said. “Karla Gast. We went to school with her.'” Michael and Shane both looked up and nodded. “She was kind of a party girl in high school, you know? Real pretty, too. She went to work on campus—I don't know what she was doing—but anyway, she's missing.'”

“It was in the paper,'” Michael said. “Abducted last night walking to her car.'”

Claire frowned. “Why would it be in the paper? I mean, they don't usually put stuff like that in the papers, right?'” Because in Morganville, murder was sort of legitimate, wasn't it?

“They do if it wasn't vampires,'” Eve said, and nibbled on a carrot stick as she rolled the dice. “Oooooh, pay me my two hundred, Mr. Banker. If she'd been dragged off by vamps, even rogue vamps, it would have just been swept under the carpet like usual. Payoffs to the family, end of the story. But this is different.'”

“Is that, you know, unusual? Crime? Crime that isn't vampire related, I mean?'”

“Kinda.'” Eve shrugged. “But people tend to get nasty around Morganville. Nasty, or drunk, or timid. One of those.'”

“Which are you?'” Shane asked. Eve bared her teeth at him and growled. “Ouch. Right. Gotcha.'”

“So…Eve, I heard your brother's out of jail,'” Michael said. Claire was rolling dice for her move, and by the time the plastic hit the board it sounded as loud as plates shattered on a tile floor. Nobody was making a sound. Nobody was
breathing,
so far as she could tell. From the expression on his face, Michael was clearly rethinking having brought up the subject, and Eve looked…hard and fierce and (deep down) scared.

Shane was just watching, no expression at all.

Awkward.

“Um…'” Claire cautiously slid her Scottie dog the six squares that she'd rolled. “You haven't said much about your brother.'” She was curious what Eve would say. Because clearly Eve was
not
happy Michael had brought it up.

“I don't talk about him,'” Eve said flatly. “Not anymore. His name is Jason, and he's a dick, and let's drop the subject, okay?'”

“Okay.'” Claire cleared her throat. “Shane?'”

“What?'” He looked down at the board where she was pointing. “Oh. Right. Three hundred.'”

She mutely handed over her last bills as Shane took the dice in hand.

“Eve, you know what he went to jail for. You don't think—,'” Michael began, very slowly.

“Shut up, Michael,'” Eve said tensely. “Just shut up, okay? Is it possible he did it? Sure. I wouldn't put it past him, but he just got out yesterday morning. That's pretty fast work, even for Jason.'” But she looked shaken, under the fierce expression, and even paler than normal. “You know what? I have to get up early. 'Night.'”

“Eve—'”

She jumped up and headed for the stairs. Michael followed, two steps behind as she climbed toward her room, black tattered-silk skirt fluttering. Claire watched them go, eyebrows raised, and Shane continued to shake the dice.

“Guess the game's over,'” he said, and rolled anyway. “Heh. Boardwalk. I think that completes Shane's real estate empire, thank you for playing, good night.'”

“What was Michael talking about?'” Claire asked. “Does he think Eve's brother might have taken that girl?'”

“No, he thinks Eve's brother might have
killed
that girl,'” Shane said. “And the cops probably think so, too. If he did, they'll get him, and this time, he won't be getting out of jail. In fact, he probably won't even make it to jail. One of Karla's brothers is a cop.'”

“Oh,'” Claire said in a small voice. She could hear the murmur of conversation upstairs. “Well…I guess I should get to bed, too. I have early classes tomorrow.'”

Shane met her eyes. “Might want to give them some privacy for a while.'”

Oh. Right. She jiggled her foot under the table and started gathering up the cash and cards from the table. Her hands brushed Shane's, and he let go of the cards and took hold.

And then, somehow, she was in his lap, and he was kissing her. Hadn't meant to do that, but…well. She couldn't exactly be sorry about it, because he tasted amazing, and his lips were so soft and his hands were so strong…

He leaned back, eyes half-shut, and he was smiling. Shane didn't smile all that much, and it always left her breathless and tingling. There was a secrecy about it, like he only ever smiled with her, and it just felt…perfect. “Claire, you're being careful, right?'” He smoothed hair back from her face. “Seriously. You'd tell me if you got into trouble.'”

“No trouble,'” she lied, thinking about Monica's not-so-veiled threats, and that glimpse of Shane's dad seated across from Oliver in the coffee shop. “No trouble at all.'”

“Good.'” He kissed her again, then moved down her jawline to her neck, and, wow, neck nibbles that took her breath away again. She closed her eyes and buried her fingers in his warm hair, trying to tell him through every touch how much she liked this, liked
him,
loved…

Her eyes came open, fast.

She did
not
just think that.

Shane's warm hands moved up her sides, thumbs grazing the sides of her breasts again, and he traced his fingers across the thin skin of her collarbone…down to where the neck of her T-shirt stopped him. Teasing. Pulling it down an inch, then two.

And then, maddeningly, he let go and leaned back, lips damp. He licked them, watching her, and gave her that slow, crazy sexy smile again.

“Go to bed,'” he said. “Before I decide to come with.'”

She wasn't sure she could stand up, but somehow, she got her legs to steady under her, and made it up the stairs. Michael was in Eve's room, the door was open, and they were sitting together on her bed. Michael was so bright, with his golden hair and china blue eyes, and he didn't match the room all draped in dramatic black and red. He looked like an angel who'd taken a massive wrong turn.

He was holding Eve in his arms and rocking her, very gently, back and forth. As Claire looked in, he met her eyes and mouthed,
Close the door
.

She did, and went to her own bed.

Sadly, alone.

 

It occurred to Claire that she'd be smart to know what Jason Rosser looked like, in order to avoid him, but she had the strong feeling that it wouldn't be a very good idea to ask Eve for a peek at the family album. Eve was pretty touchy just now about anything to do with her brother…which, if Shane's pessimistic assessment was right, probably wasn't the wrong attitude.

So Claire went researching. Not the university library, which—while not too bad—didn't really have a lot of info about Morganville itself. She'd checked. There was some history, all carefully blanded down, and some newspaper archives.

But there was a Morganville Historical Society. She found the address in the phone book, studied the map, and calculated the time it would take to walk the distance. If she hustled, she could get there, find what she needed, and still make it to her noon class.

Claire showered, dressed in blue jeans and a black knit top with a screen-printed flower on it—one of her thrift-shop buys—and grabbed her backpack on the way to the door. She set herself a blistering pace once she hit the sidewalks, heading away from the university and into the unexplored guts of Morganville. She had the map with her, which was handy, because as soon as she was out of sight of the Glass House, things became confusing. For having been master planned, Morganville was not exactly logical in the way its streets ran. There were culs-de-sac, dead ends, lots of unlit deserted areas.

But then again, maybe that
was
logical, from a vampire's planning perspective. Even in the hot beat of the sunlight, Claire shuddered at that idea, and moved faster past a street that ended in a deserted field littered with piled-up lumber and assorted junk. It even smelled like decay, the ugly smell of dead things left to rot in the heat. Having too much imagination was sometimes a handicap.
At least I'm not walking it at night….