The Dead Girls' Dance (19 page)

Claire opened her mouth to answer, and caught herself just in time.
No, you idiot! You can't tell them the truth! The truth gets Shane fried for sure….
She wasn't a good liar, she knew that, and there was too much time slipping by while she was scrambling around in her head, trying to pick up the threads of where to start the story….

“I guess—I saw some of them when they broke into the house,'” she said tentatively. “You know, when we called the cops about the home invasion? And then I saw…'”

She froze and closed her eyes. She'd seen something important.
Very
important. What was it? Something to do with Shane's dad…

“Start with the van,'” Richard said, and short-circuited her attempt at catching the memory. She dutifully recounted it all again, and then again, answering specific questions as fast as she could. Her head ached, and despite the cold Coke, her throat did, too. She needed sleep, and she wanted to roll up in blankets and cry herself into a coma.
Oliver wants to move up the timetable, burn the kid tonight.
No. No, they couldn't let it happen, they couldn't….

But they could. Without question.

“Let's start over,'” Richard said. “From the beginning.'”

She burst into despairing tears.

 

It took hours before they were done with her. Nobody offered to drive her home.

Claire walked, feeling like she was drifting half out of her body, and made it all the way home without a single incident. It was still daylight, which helped, but the streets seemed unnaturally quiet and deserted. Word was out, she guessed. Humans were keeping their heads down, hoping the storm would pass.

As Claire slammed the door, Eve came bolting down the stairs, raced to her, and wrapped her in a breathless full-body hug. “Bitch!'” she said. “I can't believe you scared the crap out of me like that. Oh my
God,
Claire. Can you believe those jerks at the police station wouldn't even take my statement? I even had a wound! A real wound with blood and everything! How'd you get away? Did Monica hurt you?'”

Eve didn't know. Nobody had told her at the police station.

“Shane's dad stopped the van,'” Claire said. “He took Monica as a hostage.'”

For a second, neither one of them moved, and then Eve whooped and held up her hand for a high five. Claire just stared at her, and Eve compensated by clapping both hands over her head. “Yesssss!'” she said, and did a totally geeky victory dance. “Couldn't happen to a nicer psycho!'”

“Hey!'” Claire yelled, and Eve froze in midcelebration. It was stupid, but Claire was angry; she knew Eve was right, knew she had no reason at all to think Monica was ever going to be anything but a gigantic pain in the ass, but…“Shane's dad's going to burn her if they go through with the execution. He has a
blowtorch
.'”

The glee dropped out of Eve's expression. “Oh,'” she said. “Well…still. Not like she didn't ask for it. Karma's a bitch, and so am I.'”

“Oliver's trying to get them to kill Shane
tonight
. We're out of time, Eve. I don't know what to do anymore.'”

That knocked the last of Eve's smugness right out from under her. She didn't seem to know, either. She licked her lips and said, “There's still time. Let me make some phone calls. And
you
need to get some food. And some sleep.'”

“I can't sleep.'”

“Well, you can eat, right?'”

She could, as it turned out—and she needed to. The world had taken on a gray color, and her head was aching. A hot dog—plain except for mustard—chips, and a bottle of water solved some of that, though not the ache in her heart, or the sick feeling that had nothing to do with hunger.

What are we going to do?

Eve was on the phone, calling people. Claire slumped on the couch, tipped over, and curled up under the blanket. It still smelled like Shane's cologne.

She must have slept for a while, and when she woke it was almost as though someone had flipped a switch or whispered in her ear,
Wake up!
Because she was upright in seconds, heart racing, and her brain was running to catch up. The house was quiet, except for the usual ticks and pops and moans that old houses got. A breeze rattled dry leaves outside.

And it took Claire a second to realize that she couldn't see the tree that shaded the window because
it was dark
.

“No!'” She catapulted off the couch and raced to find a clock. It was exactly what she'd feared. No eclipses or sudden unexplained collapses of the normal day-night continuum; no, it was just dark because it was night.

She'd slept for hours.
Hours.
And Eve hadn't woken her up. In fact, she wasn't even sure Eve was still in the house.

“Michael!'” Claire went from room to room, but he was nowhere to be seen. “Michael! Eve! Where are you?'”

They were in Michael's room. He opened the door, and he was half-dressed—shirt open, jeans hanging low-slung around his hips, revealing a chest and abs that even now Claire
had
to notice—and Eve was curled up in the bed, under the covers.

Michael quickly stepped out, buttoning his shirt. “You're awake.'”

“Yeah.'” Claire suppressed a burst of pure fury. “If you're done screwing around, maybe we can talk about Shane
dying tonight
.'”

Michael dipped his chin a little, staring her straight in the eyes. “You do
not
want to go there, Claire,'” he said flatly. “You really don't. You think I don't know? I don't care?
Fuck.
What do you think Eve's been doing all day while you—'”

“Slept? Yeah, I fell asleep! You could have woken me up!'”

He came forward a step. She backed up a step, then another, because his eyes…not Michael's usual expression. Not at all.

“So you could sit and rip your guts out, too?'” he asked softly. “Enough of that going around, Claire. You needed to sleep. I let you sleep. Get over it.'”

“So what's the brilliant plan you guys came up with while I was napping, then? What is it, Michael? What the hell do we do now?'”

“I don't know,'” he said, and whatever tight control he'd been hanging on to ripped loose at the roots. “I don't know!'” It was a yell, and it came right out of his guts. Claire backed up another step, feeling an icy flush race over her skin. “What the hell do you want me to do, Claire? What?'”

Her eyes filled up with tears. “Anything,'” she whispered. “God, please. Anything.'”

He grabbed her and hugged her. She sagged against him, trembling, not quite crying but…not quite not, either. It was a hopeless sort of feeling, as if they were loose and drifting and there was no land in sight.

Like they were lost. All lost.

Claire sniffled and stepped back, and when she did, she saw Eve standing in the doorway, watching them. Whatever Eve was thinking, it wasn't good, and it wasn't anything that Claire ever wanted to see again.

“Eve—'”

“Whatever,'” Eve said flatly. “There's still one vampire who might help us. If we can find him and get him to agree. He could get into Founder's Square without any problem. He might even be willing to open up Shane's cage if we create some kind of diversion.'”

Michael turned toward her. “Eve.'” He didn't sound guilty, at least. He sounded worried, though. “No. We talked about this.'”

“Michael, it's the last thing we can do. I know that. But we need to go for it now, if we're going to do it at all.'”

“What vampire?'” Claire asked.

“His name is Sam,'” Michael said, “and this is going to sound weird, but he's my grandfather.'”

“
Sam?
He's your—your—'”

“Grandfather. Yeah. I know. Freaks me the hell out, too. It has all my life.'”

Claire had to sit down. Fast.

 

When she recovered her breath, she told Eve and Michael about running into Sam at Common Grounds. About the present Sam had tried to give her for Eve. “I didn't take it,'” she said. “I didn't know—well, it just didn't seem—right.'”

“Damn straight,'” Michael said.

Eve wasn't looking at him. “Sam's okay,'” she said.

“I thought you hated vampires.'”

“I do! But…I guess if there's a most-hated-vampire list, he's at the bottom. He always seems so lonely,'” Eve said. “He came into Common Grounds pretty much every night and just talked for hours. Just talked. Oliver always watched him like a hawk, but he never did anything, never threatened anybody—not like Brandon. In fact, I sometimes wondered—'”

“Wondered what?'”

“If Sam was there keeping an eye on Brandon. Maybe on Oliver, although I didn't know that at the time. Looking out for…'”

“For the rest of us?'” Michael nodded slowly. “I don't know how true it is, because I always avoided him, but family talk always said Sam was a good guy, before he was changed. And he is the youngest of all of them. The most like…well, like us.'”

Eve had gone over to the dark window, and was looking out, hands behind her back. “You know anything else about him? Family secrets, I mean?'”

“Just that supposedly he took on the vampires and won.'”

“Won? He's one of them! How exactly is that winning?'”

Michael shook his head, moved up behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck gently. “I don't know, Eve. I'm just telling you what I heard. He got some kind of agreement out of the vampires. And it was because Amelie loved him.'”

“Yeah, loved him enough to kill him and turn him into a bloodsucking fiend,'” Eve said grimly. “How sweet. Romance isn't dead. Oh, wait. It is.'”

She pulled free of Michael and walked into the kitchen. Michael looked at Claire mutely. She shrugged.

When they got downstairs, they found that Eve was making bologna and cheese sandwiches. Claire wolfed down one in about six bites, then took a second sandwich. The other two looked at her. “What?'” she asked. “I'm starved. Honest.'”

“Be my guest,'” Michael said. “I hate bologna. Besides, not like I can starve.'”

Eve snorted. “I made you roast beef, genius.'” She handed him one. “So go on. This is the first I've heard from you about the History of Sam. What made him so special to be the last vampire ever?'”

“I don't really know,'” Michael said. “The only thing Mom ever told me was what I just told you. The point is, Sam's never really fit in with the vampires. Amelie doesn't like to be reminded of weakness, and he was a constant neon sign. She really cared about him. So she cut him off—last I heard, she wouldn't see him or talk to him. He hangs around humans a lot more than other vampires.'”

“And that's why I said he could help us,'” Eve said. “Or at least, he'd be willing to listen. Bonus if he's family.'”

“So where do we find him?'” Claire looked from Michael to Eve, then back again. “At Common Grounds?'”

“Off-limits to you,'” Eve said. “Hess told me what happened with you and Oliver.'”

“Something happened?'” Michael mumbled around his roast beef. “Why don't I know this? God, I needed this. Tastes great.'”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sandwiches take great skill. I'm thinking of teaching a class. Meanwhile, back on the subject, Claire is not going anywhere near Common Grounds. I said so. If anybody's going, it's me.'”

“No,'” Michael said. Eve glared at him.

“We had this talk,'” she said. “You may be dead sexy, and I mean, like, really dead and really sexy, but you don't get to tell me what to do. Right? And no headshrinker stuff, either, or I swear to God, I'll pack my shit and move!'”

Claire scraped her chair back, walked over to the cordless phone lying on the counter, and dialed from the business card still stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Four rings, and a cheerful voice answered on the other end and announced she'd reached Common Grounds. “Hi,'” Claire said. “Can I talk to Sam, please?'”

“Sam? Hold on.'” The phone clattered, and Claire could hear the buzz of activity in the background—milk being steamed, people chatting, the usual excitement of a busy coffee shop. She waited, jittering one leg impatiently, until the voice came back on the line. “Sorry,'” it said. “He's not here tonight. I think he went to the party.'”

“The party?'”

“You know, the zombie frat party? Epsilon Epsilon Kappa? The Dead Girls' Dance?'”

“Thanks,'” Claire said. She hung up and turned to face Michael and Eve, who were staring at her in outright surprise. She held up the phone. “The power of technology. Embrace it.'”

“You found him.'”

“Without going into Common Grounds,'” Claire pointed out. “He's at a party on campus. The big frat thing. The one—'” She paused, felt a chill, then a rush of heat. “The one I was invited to. It was kind of a date. I was supposed to meet this boy there. Ian Jameson.'”

“Guess what?'” Eve said. “We're both going. Time to put on the dead look, Claire.'”

“The—what?'”

Eve was looking at her critically while she munched her sandwich. “Size one, maybe two, right? I've got some things that would fit you.'”

“I'm not getting dressed up!'”

“I don't make the rules, but everybody knows you don't get into the Dead Girls' Dance without making an effort. Besides, you'll look way cute as a teeny little Goth girl.'”

Michael was frowning at them both now. “No,'” he said. “It's too dangerous for you to be out at night without an escort.'”