Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath (13 page)

“Earth to Claire!” Eve was snapping her fingers in front of Claire’s face. She blinked, jerked back, and hastily took a bite of cooling pizza. “Wow. See what happens when you take a nap in the middle of the afternoon? Brain cells hibernate.”

“Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I was asking if you planned to be around tomorrow. I may need help picking up the cake and flowers and stuff.”

“I—” Claire’s brain went completely blank for a second. There might have been something to Eve’s brain-cell-hibernation theory. “I have to make up a test tomorrow morning,” she finally remembered. “And I really ought to check in at the lab sometime.”

“So that would be a no, then,” Eve said, and turned to Michael.

“Teaching guitar lessons,” he said. “If you need me to cancel—”

“No. Because I
know
Slacker Boy here has nothing planned. Right, Shane?”

He mimed chopping things. Eve shook her head. “Oh, no, you don’t. I checked the schedule. You’re not working until Monday. Don’t even try.”

He took a too-big bite of pizza for a reply. Michael patted him on the shoulder. “I like this plan,” he said. “You and Eve, picking up cake and flowers, and you can’t even say a word. Should be tons of fun.”

Shane almost choked, and gave Michael a sideways glare. Michael sent him a hundred-watt smile in return—no fangs, which was probably for the best.

All in all, it wasn’t a bad evening, especially when they all curled up on the sofa together for bad-movie night. It wasn’t quite the same without Shane’s snarky commentary, but just relaxing against him, his arm around her, made Claire feel that all might just be right with the world after all.

No, it’s not
, some traitorous, cold part of her brain insisted.
Nothing’s right. You’re in danger.

If Amelie was freaked enough to try to kill Shane, even if it was some kind of terrible mistake, Claire’s instincts were almost certainly correct.

F
riday morning dawned clear, all rain clouds gone; the air was crisp, dry, and icy cold, and the wind—which never really stopped out here—whipped up random gusts of blown sand as Claire, wrapped in a thick jacket, scarf, hat, and gloves, picked up her coffee from Common Grounds. Eve hated the early-morning shift, so this morning it was a girl named Christy; she was a bouncy little blonde who had probably been a Morganville High cheerleader last year, two years ago at the most. Common Grounds was doing brisk business serving up coffee delicacies to people heading off to work and students making their way to early classes. Claire had trouble finding a table, but finally spotted one crammed in close to the wall just as the previous occupant vacated it.

She was three sips into her mocha and checking e-mail on her phone when a plaid book bag thumped down on the table. Claire glanced up and saw Monica Morrell dropping into the chair across from her. Monica wasn’t making any concessions to the weather. She had on white kneesocks and a plaid, pleated miniskirt with a low-cut white top. No coat.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Claire asked. “Oh, and by the way, the seat’s taken by my invisible friend.”

“Yes, I’m freezing—it’s what you do for fashion, not that you’d know anything about that, Brainiac. And screw your invisible friend. I want my coffee, and you’ve got the only open chair. Not like I want to be besties or anything.” Monica tossed her lustrous dark hair back over her shoulders. It had been a while since she’d changed the color, and Claire thought this one suited her best anyway. She was a tall, attractive girl with a mean, sharp edge to the pretty, but she and Claire had, over the long months, achieved something like armed truce if not friendship.

“How’s Gina?” Claire asked, and took another drink. The faster she finished her coffee, the faster she could escape from Planet Princess. “I heard she’s in rehab.”

Gina was one of Monica’s two normal wing girls, and she wasn’t in the celebrity kind of rehab; no, this was physical rehab, because she’d smashed up her car in a pretty spectacular wreck. One that Claire figured was karmic in nature. She felt a little guilty about not being more concerned. The question had been purely for form’s sake.

“She’s walking fine,” Monica said. “They’re thinking about putting her into some kind of mental-therapy thing, though. Apparently she slapped a nurse.”

“Well, that’s Gina,” Claire said. “Making friends.”

“Grudge-hold much?”

“She pulled a knife on me, Monica. More than once. And she broke Miranda’s nose.” Miranda was a skinny kid who’d taken way too much trauma in her short life; Gina had cold-bloodedly punched her, and just for that, Claire hoped that the rehab lasted
forever
. Well, not literally. But hopefully it was at least painful.

Monica didn’t say anything to that. She hadn’t, Claire knew, been all that thrilled with Gina’s behavior, but she hadn’t put a stop to it, either. “It’s probably good they get her in to see a shrink,” Monica said. “Bitch is crazy.”

Three words, and she dismissed one of her most loyal followers and henchwomen. Claire didn’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted. Probably both. “She’s not the only one around here.”

“You should know. Speaking of crazy bitches, can’t wait to see what happens at the engagement party. Ought to be epic.” Monica’s eyes sparkled with petty delight. “I hear Wannabe Dead Girl invited half the rebel alliance of Morganville, and they’re bringing their friends. I’m wearing something that blood will wash out of, just to be safe.”

Of course Monica would be coming to the party; Monica never missed one, especially one where she could cause mayhem. Well, Claire figured she wouldn’t be the biggest problem they had. Or even the worst behaved.

That was just sad.

“This has been fun,” Claire said, and even though she had half her coffee left, she got up to leave.

Monica flung out her hand, grabbed Claire’s coat sleeve, and said, “Wait. Sit. Please.”

A
please
from Morganville’s self-appointed crown princess? Now, that was interesting. Claire settled back down and took a sip of her mocha, waiting for the other designer shoe to drop.

“Something’s going on,” Monica said. She dropped her voice, and leaned across the table as she glanced around to be sure nobody was watching them. As far as Claire could tell, nobody was. “My brother got called in to some kind of closed-door meeting with Amelie yesterday and he hasn’t come out yet. He doesn’t answer his cell, either. Can you find out … ?”

Richard Morrell, Monica’s brother, was the mayor of the town—young for it, but one of the most responsible people Claire had ever met. He’d gotten Monica’s normal share of it, apparently. And Monica was right—closeted with Amelie all night? That didn’t sound good at all.

“I can ask,” Claire said. “But they probably won’t tell me anything more than what you know.”

“I just want to know if he’s okay.” Monica looked almost … well, human. “Richard’s all I’ve got. You know?”

Claire nodded. “I’ll see what I can find out, but I’m sure he’s okay. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks.” Monica said it grudgingly, but she did say it. That was more than a little amazing. Claire didn’t want to spoil it by saying anything else, so she drank her coffee in silence, and so did Monica, and after a while, it almost felt … comfortable.

Compared to the other times when they’d tried to kill each other, anyway.

Claire’s next stop was the TPU science building, where she found Professor Howard waiting with her test. She took it in twenty minutes, not needing the hour he’d allotted; it was an easy A, she knew that, and so did he as soon as he glanced over her answers. She got a nod of approval from him, and a stern warning not to miss any other tests.

Sadly, she wasn’t sure she could accommodate him on that. Not in Morganville.

After the test, she sat on the steps in the chilly sunlight and dialed Oliver’s phone. Not surprisingly, it went to his voice mail, which sharply ordered her to leave a message. “Monica Morrell’s worried about her brother,” she said. “She’s worried enough to talk to
me
, and that means she’s probably tried everybody else in town. I assume you don’t want the buzz, so go calm her down. Please.” The
please
was an afterthought, and half hearted; she was still angry at him, and furious at Myrnin. And Amelie. She was
truly
furious at Amelie.

She’d given so much to the vampires, given so much to keep things stable around here, and
this
was how they paid her back? By trying to take away
Shane
?

The longer she considered it, the angrier it made her. And the more frightened. Because what it meant opened up a terrifying gulf in front of her…. She’d always thought that at a certain level she could trust Myrnin, and Amelie. (She’d never deluded herself about Oliver.) But if she couldn’t … if deep down, they saw her as disposable … what chance did any human really have in Morganville?

None.

That was what Shane had been trying to tell her all along.
We don’t mean anything to them except as a life-support system,
Claire thought.
Individually, we’re nothing. Servants. No, cattle with opposable thumbs, occasionally useful.

She clutched her phone hard, stood up, and went down the steps, two at a time. Burning in her stomach was a mixture of nerves, nausea, and a new sense of purpose.

She went straight to the camera store that she and Shane had visited; the engagement party flyer wasn’t posted, but Claire hadn’t really expected it to be. The man behind the counter—the same one—straightened as she entered and put both hands on the glass top. “What do you want?” he asked. The indigo dye of the stake tattoo showed against the pale skin of his forearm, peeking out from under his rolled-up shirtsleeve.

Claire pulled off her cap and gloves, jammed them in a pocket, and said, “I don’t know.” That was honest. She’d come here on impulse, but now that she was facing him, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to ask. “What’s the deal with the tattoos?”

He rolled down his sleeves, staring at her with cold suspicion. “Chicks dig them,” he said. “I don’t do tats. This is a camera store. You might want to check down the street.”

“Captain Obvious used to be your friend.”

He didn’t answer that at all. He was frowning now, and she was wondering if she’d made a terrible, impulsive mistake.

“I just—” She took a deep breath and plunged on. “Shane may be in danger. Real danger. From the top. Can you protect him?”

“Sorry?” His eyebrows rose. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I just run a—”

“Camera store, yeah, I heard you.
Listen.
I need to know—can you, I don’t know, watch out for him?
Please?
”

“You think I’m going to fall for your innocent act? You’ve been in the vampires’ corner since day one around here. No chance, sweetheart. And if you keep poking around here, you’re going to get hurt.”

“It’s not for me,” she said. “It’s for Shane. And I think you know he’s never been in the vampires’ corner. So please. Just—help him if you see he’s in trouble. That’s all I’m asking.”

“What about you?” he asked, and gave her an evil little smile. “What if
you’re
in trouble?”

Claire shrugged and put her gloves and hat back on. “I guess I’m on my own. Right?”

He was still watching her, trying to figure her out, as she walked out into the weak winter sun. There were still pools of dirty water at the edges of the uneven parking lot, and the ground remained soaked.

When she looked back, the camera shop owner nodded, once.

She put her hands in her pockets and walked home.

 

 

Home was chaos, and for a moment, Claire was truly worried that something awful had happened; Eve was stomping around the house slamming things around, and Shane was saying, in a thin and raspy voice, “It’s not a big deal, man; calm down.”

“I’m not your
man
and I will not
calm down
!” Eve yelled, and gave a piercing, full-throated shriek of frustration.

Claire dumped her stuff in the hall and raced into the living room, expecting to see … Well, she didn’t know what she expected to see, except disaster in some form.

What she saw was a cake sitting on the dining table that was … well, a disaster. In cake form.

The two-tiered dessert itself was uneven and leaning, the icing was messy, the red flowers had melted into the white and left unsettling bloodlike stains, and, worst of all, as Claire got closer, she realized that the writing on top said
MICHAEL & EVA
in a big, lopsided, amateurish outline of a heart with an arrow through it.

Eva.
Not
Eve
.

Eve kicked the sofa with her Doc Martens boots and burst into tears, and really, Claire didn’t blame her a bit. Shane was looking helpless as he stood there watching her, not sure what to do.