The spaghetti was good, and a little pleading got Shane to sit down and eat. He sat across from Michael, but they didn't talk, and they didn't make eye contact. All in all, pretty polite, and Claire was just starting to relax when Shane asked, blandly, "You put extra garlic in this, Eve? You know how I like the garlic."
She shot him a dirty look. "Oh, the neighborhood knows." And then an apologetic one toward Michael. "It's okay, right? Not too much?" Because garlic wasn't something vampires were especially fond of. That was why Shane tended to use it as garnish on everything he ate.
"It's fine," Michael said, but he was picking at his food, and he looked a little pale. "Monica stopped by today. Looking for you, Claire."
Both Shane and Eve groaned. For once, all three of her housemates were entirely in agreement. And they were all looking at her.
"What?" she asked. "I swear, it's not -- I'm not sucking up to her or anything! She's just -- crazy, okay? I'm not her friend. I don't know why she's coming around."
"She's probably going to set you up again," Eve said, and scooped more spaghetti into her bowl. "Like she did at the frat dance. Hey, she's throwing a party this Friday, did you hear? Super exclusive, flying in out of towners and everything. I guess it's her birthday, or Daddy-gave-me-money day, or whatever. We should crash."
"I like the sound of that," Shane said. "Crashing Monica's party." He glanced at Michael, then quickly away. "What about you? That break some kind of vampire rules of conduct or something?"
"Blow me, Shane."
"Boys," Eve said primly. "Language. Minor at the table."
"Well," Shane said, "I wasn't actually planning to do it."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Not like it's the first time I've heard it. Or said it."
"You shouldn't say it," Michael said, all seriousness. "No, I mean it. Girls should say 'eat me,' not 'blow me.' Wouldn't recommend 'bite me,' though. Not around here."
Eve choked on her spaghetti. Shane pounded her on the back, but he was laughing too, and so was Michael, and Claire glared at them for a little bit before giving in and admitting it was funny, after all.
Everything was all right.
"So. Friday night?" Eve asked, wiping her eyes and gasping through her giggles. "Par-tay? Because I could so use a good blowout."
"I'm in," Michael said, and took a manful bite of spaghetti. Claire wondered if it burned him. "I think if I'm with you, there's no way she can keep us out. Vampire VIP status. Might as well be good for something."
Shane looked at him, and for a second there was that warmth that Claire missed so much, but then it was gone again, and the wall was back firmly in place between the two of them.
"Must be nice," he said. "We should all go, if it's going to ruin Monica's night."
The finished the rest of the meal in uncomfortable silence. Claire realized that she kept thinking about that red velvet box sitting upstairs in her room, and struggled not to look guilty. Probably didn't succeed. She caught Michael watching her with a strange intensity; whether he was picking up on her discomfort or still wondering about why she didn't jump at the chance to go to Monica's party.
She ate too fast, cleaned her dishes, and dashed upstairs with a mumbled excuse about homework. Well, it wasn't like they weren't used to her studying. It was Shane's turn for dishes, so that would keep him busy for a while ....
The box was right where she'd left it, sitting on the dresser. She grabbed it, put her back against the wall, and slid down to a cross-legged sitting position as she weighed the box in her hand.
"You're wondering whether or not to wear it," Amelie said, and Claire yelped in surprise. The elegant older vampire, completely at her ease, was seated in the antique old velvet chair in the corner, her hands folded primly in her lap. She looked like a painting, not a person; there was something about her -- now more than ever -- that seemed antique and cold as marble.
Claire scrambled to her feet, feeling stupid about it, but you just didn't sit like that in Amelie's presence. Amelie acknowledged the courtesy with a graceful nod, but didn't otherwise move.
"I apologize for surprising you, Claire, but I needed to speak with you alone," she said.
"How can you get in here? I mean, this is our house, aren't vampires ... ?"
"Prevented from entry? Not into another vampire's home, and even were you all human, this house ultimately belongs to me. I built it, as I built all of the Founder Houses. The house knows me, and so I need no permissions to enter." Amelie's eyes glinted in the dark. "Does that disturb you?"
Claire swallowed and didn't answer. "What did you want?"
Amelie raised one long, slender finger and pointed at the velvet box in Claire's hand. "I want you to put that on."
"But -- "
"I am not asking. I am instructing."
Claire shivered, because although Amelie's voice stayed level, it sounded ... hard. She opened the box and shook the bracelet out. It felt heavy and warm in her hand, and she peered at it carefully.
There wasn't a catch, but it was clearly too small to fit over her hand. "I don't know how -- "
She saw a flash in her peripheral vision, and by the time she looked up, Amelie was taking the bracelet out of her palm, and cold strong fingers were holding her arm.
"It's made for you," Amelie said. "Hold still. Unlike the bracelets most of the other children wear, yours cannot be removed. The contract you signed gives me this right, do you understand?"
"But -- no, I don't want -- "
Too late. Amelie moved, and the bracelet seemed to pass through Claire's skin and bone, and settle heavy around her wrist. Claire tried to yank free, but there was no way, not as strong as Amelie was. Amelie smiled and held her still for another second, just to make the point, before she let go. Claire turned the bracelet frantically, pressing, looking for the trick.
It looked seamless, and it wasn't coming off.
"It must be done this way, the old way," Amelie said. "This bracelet will save your life, Claire. Mark me. It is a favor I have given rarely in my life. You should be grateful."
Grateful? Claire felt like a dog on a leash, and she hated it. She glared at Amelie, and the vampire's smile intensified. She couldn't really say it brightened -- there was something in it that undermined the whole concept of comfort.
"Perhaps you'll be grateful at a later date," Amelie said, and raised her eyebrows. "Very well. I'll leave you now. No doubt you have studies."
"How am I supposed to hide this from my friends?" Claire blurted, as the vampire walked toward the door.
"You aren't," Amelie said, and opened the door without unlocking it. "Don't forget. You should be well-prepared for Myrnin tomorrow." She stepped out into the hall and closed it behind her. Claire lunged forward and turned the knob, but it refused to open. By the time she twisted the thumb-lock and swung it back, Amelie was gone. The hall was empty. Claire stood there, listening to the clatter of dishes from downstairs, the distant laughter, and wanted to cry.
She scrubbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and went to her desk to try to study.
It was a busy day of classes, quizzes, and discussion groups, and Claire was grateful for the afternoon break when it finally arrived. She felt stupid, dressed in her long-sleeved tee, but it was the only thing she had that could hide the bracelet, and she desperately wanted to hide it. So far, so good. Eve hadn't noticed, Shane hadn't been awake they'd left for school. No sign of Michael, either. She'd gotten desperate last night and tried a couple of ways to break it -- scissors, then a pair of rusty old bolt-cutters from the basement -- but she broke the blade on the scissors, and the bolt-cutters were clumsy and slid right off the metal. She couldn't do it alone, and she couldn't ask for help.
Can't hide it forever.
Well, she could try.
Claire headed for the U.C. and the coffee bar, and she found Eve harassed, pink-cheeked under the rice powder makeup, all alone behind the counter. "Where's Amy?" Claire asked, and handed over three dollars for a mocha. "I thought she was working all week?"
"Yeah, no kidding, me too. I called my boss, but he's sick and so's Kim, so it's just me today. Not enough coffee in the world to make this easy." Eve blew hair from her sweaty forehead and zipped over to the espresso machine, where she pulled shots. "Ever have one of those dreams where you're running and everybody else is standing still, but you can't catch up?"
"No," Claire said. "Usually mine are about being naked in class."
Eve grinned. "For that, you get a free caramel shot. Go sit down. I don't need you hovering like the rest of these vultures."
Claire claimed a study desk and spread out her books, got her mocha when Eve called her name, and yawned as she cracked open Last Will and Testament again. She'd spent most of the night memorizing the symbols, but they were tricky. She'd gotten all of the Egyptian ones down, but these were a whole lot less straightforward, and she had the sense that Myrnin wouldn't be too forgiving of mistakes.
A shadow fell over her book. She looked up and saw Detective Travis Lowe, and his partner, Joe Hess, standing close behind him. She knew both of them pretty well; they'd helped her during that crazy time when Shane's dad had been skulking around Morganville, trying to kill vampires (and succeeding). They didn't wear bracelets, and they weren't Protected; as she understood it, they'd earned some kind of special status. She wasn't sure how they'd managed that, but it had to be something really brave.
"Morning, Claire," Hess said, and pulled up a chair. Lowe did the same. They weren't all that similar in body types -- Hess was tall and kind of wiry, with a long face; Lowe was chubby and balding. But the expressions in their eyes were identical -- careful, hidden, wary. "How have you been?"
"Fine," she said, and resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to touch her bracelet, fiddle with it. She looked from one to the other, feeling less secure all the time. "What's going on? Is something wrong?"
"Yeah," Lowe said. "You could say that. Look, Claire, there's -- I'm sorry to tell you this, but there was a dead girl out back of your house. She was found this morning by the trash collectors."
A dead girl? Claire swallowed hard. "Who is she?"
"Amy Callum," Hess said. "She's a local girl. Family lives just a few blocks from you. Her people are pretty broken up about it." He shifted his gaze toward the coffee bar. "She worked here."
Amy? Coffee Bar Amy? Oh no ... "I knew her," Claire said faintly. "She worked with Eve. She was supposed to be here today. Eve was saying -- " Eve. Claire looked over and saw that Eve was still chattering away brightly, filling orders, taking cash. They hadn't told her yet. "You're sure it was our house?"
"Claire -- " The two detectives exchanged a look, not a good one. "Her body was stuffed inside of your trash can. We're sure."
Claire felt faint. That close ... she'd put out trash just two days ago, right? Dumped garbage bags into the can. Amy had been alive then. And now ...
"Did you see anything last night?" Hess continued.
"No, I was -- it was dark when I got home. And then I studied all night."
"Hear anything, maybe some racket out by the garbage cans?"
"No sir. I had headphones on. I'm sorry."
Shane had been looking out the window, she remembered. Maybe he'd seen someone. But he'd have said, right? He wouldn't hide something like that.
An awful thought struck her, and she looked up into Joe Hess's calm, impartial eyes. "Was it -- " Too many people around. She mimed fangs in the neck. He shook his head.
"It's the same as the last one we found," Lowe said. "Can't rule out our toothy friends, but it doesn't fit their style. You know whose style it fits, though?"
"Jason's," Claire said numbly. "Eve's brother. He's still out?"
"Haven't caught him doing anything illegal yet. But we will. He's too crazy to live sane." Lowe studied her. "Haven't seen him, have you?"
"No."
"Good." Like there'd been some signal between them, Hess and Lowe got up from their chairs. "We'd better go tell Eve. Look, you think of anything, you call, all right? And don't go out alone. Protection doesn't cover this." Lowe cast a significant look at her wrist, and she felt herself blush, like he'd guessed what color panties she had on. "You need to go out, you go with one of your friends, all right? Same goes for Eve. We'll try to keep an eye on you, but caution is your best defense."
Claire watched as the cops walked away. They exchanged nods with a tallish young man who was coming her direction. For a second she thought it was Michael -- he had the same walk, the same basic shape -- but then his hair caught the light. Red hair, not blond like Michael's.
Sam. Sam Glass, Michael's grandfather. Amelie had told her that Sam would escort her to see Myrnin; she'd just forgotten about it. Well, that was okay. Claire liked Sam. He was quiet and kind and didn't seem much like a vampire at all, except for the pale skin and the slight weird shine to his eyes. Exactly like Michael, now that she thought of it. But then, they were the two youngest, and -- weirdly -- related. Maybe the older the vampires got, the farther they moved from normal.
"Hey, Claire," Sam said, as if they'd just talked five minutes before, although she hadn't seen him for nearly a week, at least. She supposed that time was different for vampires. "What'd they want?" He was wearing a TPU t-shirt and jeans, and it made him look kind of hot. Hot for a redheaded vampire, anyway. And he had a nice, if absent, smile. She wasn't his type. As far as Claire knew, Sam was still totally in love with Amelie, a concept she found harder to wrap her brain around than curved surface string theory.
He was still waiting for an answer. She scrambled to put one together. "There's a dead girl, she was found in our garbage cans. Amy. Amy Callum?"
Sam's mobile, earnest face took on a grim look. "Dammit. I know the family, they're good folks. I'll stop by and see them." He sat down and leaned closer, dropping his volume. "She wasn't a vampire kill, I know that much. I'd have heard by now if someone had stepped out of line."
"No," Claire agreed. "It sounded like she was killed by one of us." She realized, with a rush of horror, that he wasn't "us," exactly, and blushed. "I mean -- one of the -- humans."
Sam smiled at her, but his eyes were a little sad. "That's all right, Claire, I'm used to it by now. It's an us-and-them town." He looked down at his hands, loose and relaxed on the table top. "I'm supposed to take you to your appointment."
"Yeah." She hastily closed up her books and began loading her backpack. "Sorry, I didn't realize what time it was -- "
"No rush," he said. Still not looking at her. Very softly, he continued, "Claire. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"
"What?"
His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist -- the one with the bracelet hidden under the long sleeve. It dug painfully into her skin. "You know what."
"Ow," she whispered, and he let go. "I had to. I didn't have a choice. I had to sign if I wanted to keep my friends safe."
Sam didn't say anything to that; he was looking at her now, but she didn't dare meet his eyes. She didn't like him knowing about her agreement with Amelie. What if he told Michael? What if Michael told Shane? He's going to find out, sooner or later. Well, she'd much rather it be later.
Sam said, "I know that. I wish you wouldn't do this other thing. With Myrnin. It's -- not safe."
"I know. He's sick or something. But he won't hurt me. Amelie -- "
"Amelie isn't in the business of worrying about individuals." That, for Sam, was surprisingly bitter, especially when it came to Amelie. "She's using you the way she uses all humans. It's not personal, but it's not in your best interest, either."
"Why? What is it you're not telling me?"
Sam looked at her for a long time, clearly trying to decide, and finally said, "Myrnin's had five apprentices in the past few years. Two of them were vampires."
Claire blinked, surprised, as Sam got to his feet. "Five? What happened to them?"
"You're asking the right questions. Now ask the right people."
He walked away. Claire gasped, grabbed her bag, and followed.
Over at the coffee bar, the two detectives were breaking the news to Eve. As Claire looked back, she saw the precise second that Eve realized her friend was dead. Even from across the room, it hurt to see the pain in her face, quickly masked and locked away. In Morganville, losing someone was something you got used to, Claire supposed.
God, this town sucked sometimes.
Sam had a car, a sleek dark-red sedan with dark-tinted windows. It was parked in the underground garage beneath the U.C., in a reserved spot marked SPONSORS ONLY, with a graphic of a sticker that had to appear in the corner of the windshield for the parking to be legal.
A sticker which Sam, of course, had. "So that means what, you donate money or something?"
Sam opened the passenger door for her, a bit of chivalry she wasn't really used to, and Claire climbed inside. "Not exactly," he said. "Amelie gives them to vampires who have campus business."
Once he was in the car, turning the key, Claire said, "You have campus business?"
"I teach night classes," Sam said, and grinned. He looked about twelve, when he did that. She had the feeling it wasn't something vampires were into, looking that endearingly goofy. Maybe if they were, they'd be more popular with the local breathing population. "Sort of an outreach program."
"Cool." The tinting was so dark it was like midnight outside. "You can see through this?"
"Like daylight," Sam said, and she gave up, buckled her seatbelt, and let him drive. It wasn't a long drive -- nothing in Morganville was -- but she had time to notice some things about Sam's car. It was clean, really clean. No trash at all. (Well, he wouldn't be chowing down on burgers in the car, now, would he? Wait. He could ...) It also didn't smell like most cars. It smelled new and kind of sterile. "How are classes going?"
Oh, Sam was going to do the interested-adult thing now. "Fine," Claire said. Nobody ever wanted to really hear the truth, to a question like that, but fine wasn't a lie, either. "They're not very hard." Also not a lie.
Sam shot her a glance, or so she thought, in the dim lights from the dashboard. "Maybe you're not getting all you can out of them," he said. "Ever thought of that?"
She shrugged. "I've always been ahead. It's better than high school, but I was hoping for something harder."
"Like working for Myrnin?" Sam's voice had gone dry. "That's a challenge, all right. Claire -- "
"Amelie didn't exactly give me a choice."
"But you still want to do it, don't you?"
She did. She had to admit that. Myrnin had been scary, but there had been something so bright in him, too. She knew that spark. She felt it herself, and she was always looking for someone, something to feed it. "Maybe he just needs someone to talk to," she said.
Sam made a noncommittal noise that somehow sounded amused, too, and pulled the car to a stop. "I have to move fast," he said. "It's the door at the end of the alley, I'll meet you there in the shade."
He opened his door and just ... vanished. The door slammed shut, but it did it on its own. Claire gaped, unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out, but there was no sign of Sam at all on the street, in the brilliant sunlight. The car was parked at the curb of a cul-de-sac, and it took her a second, but then she recognized the house in front of her. A big gothic ramble of a house, nearly a mirror image of the Glass House where she lived, but this one belonged to a lady named Katherine Day and her granddaughter.
Gramma Day was on her porch, rocking peacefully and stirring the warm air with a paper fan. Claire raised her hand and waved, and Gramma waved back. "You come to see me, girl?" Gramma called. "Come on up, I'll get some lemonade!"
"Maybe later!" Claire called back. "I have to go -- "
She realized, with a jolt of horror, where Sam had told her to go.
Into the alley. The alley into which everybody, Gramma Day included, had told her not to go. The alley with the trap-door spider vampire who'd tried before to lure her inside.
Gramma pulled herself to her feet. She was a tiny, wrinkled woman who looked as dry and tough as old leather. Had to be tough, to be old in Morganville, Claire thought. "You all right, girl?" she asked.
"Yeah," Claire said. "Thanks. I'll -- I'll be back."
She headed off down the alley. Behind her, Gramma Day called out, "Girl, what you playin' at? Ain't you got good sense?"
Probably not.
The alley was narrow, with fences on both sides, and it seemed to get even more narrow the farther she went, like a funnel. She didn't feel any strange attraction, though, or hear voices.
She also didn't see Sam.
"Here," a voice said, as she turned a slight corner. And there he was, leaning back in a patch of black shade next to an overhanging doorway, which was attached to what looked like a shack. Not a really well-made shack, either. Claire wondered if it was supposed to lean like that.
"It's Myrnin," she said. "He's the trap door spider."
Sam looked thoughtful at that, and then nodded. "Most people know not to come down this way," he said. "He only takes Unprotecteds. He can tell the difference, so he wouldn't try it with you. Not now."
Cheery. Sam opened the door, which didn't look sturdy enough to keep out a cool breeze, and stepped inside. A smell washed out into the still air, something old and bitter. Chemicals. Ancient paper. Unwashed clothes.
Well?
Claire sucked in a breath that tasted of all those things, and stepped into Myrnin's lair.