Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath (28 page)

“Founder’s Square.” Shane had shut his eyes to listen, and now he opened them and looked over at Michael. “Claire says he’s at Founder’s Square.”

Michael tipped the bottle and drank about half of it in three long gulps, then put it down. “I can’t take the easy way,” he said. “I have to go in person, get him, and bring him back.”

“But—what if he won’t come?” Eve said, wide-eyed, as she anxiously turned her unsipped beer in her hands. “Michael, what if Amelie won’t let
you
come back, either? Don’t go. I have a wicked bad feeling.”

“I’ll come back,” he promised her. “How could I leave you?” He kissed her, long and sweet. It left her breathless, with splashes of color high in her pale cheeks.

“Maybe we should go along,” Shane said. “Strength in numbers, man.”

Michael smiled at Eve and shook his head. “After she bitch-slapped the Founder? Not a good idea. The two of you don’t just have baggage with the vampires—you’ve got baggage trains. I go alone, and I come back with Myrnin.”

He went into the kitchen, where he picked up his keys, and then he looked around and said, “Claire? Are you here?”

She tried doing the cold-spot thing, but clearly, she wasn’t powerful enough now to pull it off. Even moving through him didn’t work.

“I didn’t want to tell them, but—if I don’t come back, Claire, you have to find a way to stay with Shane. Somehow. Understand? And take care of Eve. I need you to promise me.”

He wasn’t confident now, not like he’d been in front of the others. He knew it was dangerous, going out there. Deadly dangerous.

“I will,” she said. He still couldn’t hear her. Even though it was not a good idea, she reached out and touched the house’s power line, soaking up energy. She heard her voice actually ring and echo here in the black-and-white world as she said, “I’ll do everything I can, Michael. I love you. Take care.”

He heard her. She saw the relief wash over him, and he smiled, and then he was gone.

Claire let go of the pulsing latticework of power, and immediately felt exhausted. Thin.
Faded.

She saw a flash of color—
color
, in this black-and-white world—and pirouetted in midair to face it.

Leaning against the closed kitchen door, cutting her off from Shane and Eve, was Hiram. The color came from the red brocade vest he was wearing, and the gold gleam of a watch chain. He looked almost real, almost
more
real than her live friends in their black-and-white world.

“I warned you,” he said. “I warned you not to touch that again.”

“Michael needed to hear me.”

“He’s running off on a fool’s errand, and if he dies out there, I can’t save him again,” Hiram said. “That’s your fault, girl. He’s hell-bent on saving something that ain’t even real anymore.”

“I’m real!” she snapped. “More real than you.”

He looked down at himself, in all the glorious Technicolor, and Claire felt stupid saying it. Of
course
he was more real, or at least had more power. “I said it before: the house likes you. Doesn’t mean
I
have to like you. It’s all instinct. I’m the brain, Claire. And I’ve decided you’re dangerous. You keep blundering about, touching things you’re not allowed to handle. You’re a toddler in a room full of glass.”

“Don’t you mean I’m dangerous to
you
?” she asked.

Hiram smiled, but it was a terribly cold kind of thing. “I should have ripped you up and thrown you out when you first crossed over.”

Claire backed off instinctively. There was something real about him, even though he was a ghost, just like her. Hiram had
power
. More than she’d thought. What had he said? Something about his bones in the foundations and his blood in the mortar … ugh. But that would make him
very
strong, she guessed. And very territorial. He was part of the house, but the house was still something else, with its own will. The house had saved her, and Hiram didn’t agree.

Dangerous.

He was drifting in her direction, even though he wasn’t seeming to move. Claire hesitated for a second, and as she did, he rushed at her. She had the absolute certainty that if he touched her, got hold of her with those strong, grabbing hands, he would rip her to pieces.

Claire shrieked and dropped straight through the floor. It was all she could think of … and suddenly she was falling through wood, dirty pipes, a totally startled rat, a freak-out number of cockroaches, and into the dark, creepy basement, which, with the lights out, was
super-awful
creepy.

It was also dangerous. She heard Hiram’s soft, bodiless laugh. “I’m in the
foundations
, girl. You think you can fight me better down here?”

Claire wasn’t actually sure she could fight him at all, but he was absolutely right: this was the
last
place she wanted to try. Instead, she arrowed herself up, fast, blurring through the floor, through the parlor, up again into the second floor, and …

… Into the secret room, which was directly overhead but on the attic level. This was Amelie’s retreat, from when the house had originally been built (Hiram, she guessed, had been around even then). It had always been Claire’s special retreat when things got intense, and now she hesitated there, trembling, waiting for Hiram to come screaming through the walls after her.

But he didn’t. She listened, she extended her new and very awkward senses (this being-dead thing took work), and she sensed … nothing. It was as if this room existed in a different house altogether. It even
felt
different … and, she realized with a sudden shock, it definitely looked different, because the lights were on, and she could see the dusty red velvet of the sofa, and the brown wood, and the colored jewellike glass of the Tiffany lamps.

Color.

When she closed her eyes, she could actually feel Hiram, but he was outside the room. He’d hit the floor and bounced off, and now he was circling around like a shark, looking for a way inside.

Somehow, Amelie’s influence made this a refuge not just on the physical level but on this level, too.

She was safe, as long as she stayed here.

Not only that, but she could actually see herself, like a very faint transparent image, and when she tried sitting down on the couch, she actually felt gravity.

It was as close to real as she’d been all day, it seemed, and she curled up on velvet she could
almost
feel, and closed her eyes.

Michael will be back,
she told herself.
Soon. And Myrnin will be with him.

She was going to get out of this.

She
had
to get out of this.

 

 

Claire didn’t sleep, exactly, but the stillness and soft peace of the room made her … drift. When she heard the snap of the lock on the door, though, she came bolt upright on the couch in terror.

Only … he didn’t. It wasn’t Hiram at all. She heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Shane was standing there in the room, saying, “Claire?” He sounded anxious. “Claire, are you here?”

“Yes,” she said.

His head snapped around, and his eyes widened.
He heard me. No, he sees me!

“Claire,” Shane said, and the relief in his voice was intense. He hesitated for a second, then pointed at her. “Don’t move.” He clumped down the stairs and yelled, “I found her! She’s in here!”

“Okay!” Eve yelled back. “Um, do you want me to come up, or—?”

“No,” he said. “Not right now.”

“I’m taking a shower, then.”

Eve, Claire thought with a smile, always showered when she was nervous and worried. She was probably
very
worried about Michael.

Shane closed the door to the hall and said, “There goes the hot water.” He walked back up the steps and looked at the couch, at
her
. “I can see you,” he said.

“Really? I’m solid?” She looked down at herself. She wasn’t, really, at least to her own eyes. More like a genuine ghost—there, not there.

Shane reached out slowly and touched her arm, and where he touched … where he touched, it felt real. Looked real. “Yeah,” he said. It sounded very soft, and not very steady. “Solid.” He sat down on the couch and, before she could even think about moving, grabbed her and hugged her close. Where he touched her, where her body pressed against his, everything felt right again, as if he was anchoring her back into the world. He kissed her, and it was just exactly right, all the sensations, all the tastes, the warm velvety feel of his lips … so amazing.

She didn’t exactly know how it had happened, but he was stretched out on the couch, and she was lying on top of him, and it was so delicious and sweet and wonderful. His fingers stroked through her hair, and it swept down to brush his face.

“You make me real,” she said, in wonder. “It’s you.”

He didn’t say anything. Not with words. It was all just a blur after that, beautiful and strange and perfect, and she didn’t want to let go of him, not ever.

But when she finally opened her eyes again and looked, she realized that there was something wrong. Shane was asleep next to her, curled tight against her, but he was … faded. The colors of his skin, his hair, they were pale now. Almost as black-and-white as they had been downstairs,
out
of this room.

And she was brighter. More vivid.

She’d taken it from him.

Claire stood up and backed away from the couch. Shane mumbled and reached for her, but she stayed where she was, at arm’s length. “I can’t,” she whispered. “It’s—the room, it’s
Amelie’s
room; it’s doing something to us… .”

“It’s making you real,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not. You’re fading, Shane. And I can’t do this.”

She looked real now, and felt real, but not at this cost. Not ever.

“Claire …” Shane tried to get up, but he was weak, and he almost fell. He sank back on the couch, looking pale. “Whoa. Dizzy.”

“You have to go,” she said. “You have to leave me here. I’ll be okay until Myrnin comes. Please, Shane. You can’t stay.”

“I’ll go,” he said. “But only if you give me one last kiss.”

She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t help herself, either. He stood up, braced himself, and walked toward her. She backed away, but the wall behind her stopped her; if she went beyond it, Hiram was there, waiting.

Shane kissed her. It was hot and lovely and full of promises, and then he stepped back, smiling.

But he looked even more faded.

“Go,” she whispered. “Go
now
, Shane. Please. I love you, and
you have to go
.”

He picked up his jeans and stepped into them, grabbed his shirt, and threw it on as well. “I’m not losing you,” he said. “I’m telling you that. I’m not.”

She smiled at him, and watched him go.

Then she stretched out on the velvet couch, in the ghost of his warmth, and just for a while, she closed her eyes and dreamed.

T
he thing most people forget, when they start talking about being a vampire, is that it’s lonely. It’s
supposed
to be lonely. Vampires are predators. They’re more like tigers roaming territories than they are wolves, who hunt together in a cooperative group. Tigers don’t form packs. They’re alone, and they’re supposed to be.

Morganville had always felt forced and artificial to me when I was a breathing human, but now … now I realized how forced and artificial it was on the night side of the equation, too. Having so many vampires pressed this close together, and close to their natural prey, and then hemming it all in with rules and social behaviors … I don’t think any of the humans, not even the ones who were closest to us, suspected how hard that really was.

I’d adjusted better than most because I’d started out my supernatural life as a ghost, trapped in my own house. I’d become a vampire only out of necessity, because it was the only way to regain my freedom—even a part of it. And by that time, I’d gotten used to having the heartbeats and lives of my friends around me.

I’d adjusted to Eve being so close, so alive, so
willing
. Mostly, at least.

But it wasn’t easy. It was never, ever that. Still, I’d thought I’d known what I was getting into. I’d thought that all this was a stable, manageable existence. Morganville, where the vamps had forced themselves to be civilized.

But when I got to Founder’s Square, I began to realize that it was all bullshit.

All of it.

There were vampires present—always were—and they were shutting down their stores. Many of these had been open all night, catering to hard-core adventurous people with pulses, and those without, but every building I saw was shuttered. The vampires were locking doors, clearing out valuables and cash, and getting ready for the orderly shutdown of our entire town.