The Dead Girls' Dance (9 page)

It was their whole lives reduced to dry entries in longhand on paper. Dates of births, details of school records…there were handwritten reports from the vampire Brandon, who gave them Protection. Even those were dry.

And then not so dry, because between the ages of sixteen and eighteen, Eve changed. Big-time. The school photograph at fifteen was of a pretty, fragile-looking girl dressed in conservative clothes—something even Claire would have worn.

Eve's photograph at sixteen was Goth City. She'd dyed her dark hair a flat glossy black, whited her face, raccooned her eyes, and generally adopted a 'tude. By seventeen she'd started getting piercings—one showed in the tongue she stuck out at the camera.

By eighteen, she looked pensive and defiant, and then the photographs stopped, except for some that looked like surveillance photos of Eve in Common Grounds, pulling espresso shots and chatting with customers.

Eve with Oliver.

You're supposed to be looking up Jason,
Claire reminded herself, and flipped the page.

Jason was just the same, only younger; about the time that Eve had turned Goth, so had Jason, although on him it looked less like a fashion choice and more like a serious turn to the dark side. Eve always had a light of humor and mischief in her eyes; Jason had no light in his eyes at all. He looked skinny, strong, and dangerous.

And Claire realized with an icy start that she'd seen him before…. He'd been on the street, staring at her just before she'd gone into Common Grounds and talked to Sam.

Jason Rosser knew who she was.

“Jason likes knives, as I recall,'” Amelie said. “He sometimes fancies himself a vampire. I should be quite careful of him, were I you. He is not likely to be as…polite as my own people.'”

Claire shivered and flipped pages, speed-reading through Jason's not-very-impressive academic life, and then the police reports.

Eve had been the witness who'd turned him in. She'd seen him abduct this girl and drive away with her—a girl who was later found wandering the streets bleeding from a stab wound. The girl refused to testify, but Eve had gone on record. And Jason had gone away.

The file showed he'd been released from prison the day before yesterday at nine in the morning. Plenty of time for him to have grabbed Karla Gast on campus and…

Out with the bad thoughts, Claire. In with the good.

She flipped pages and looked at Eve's mother and dad. They looked…normal. Kind of grim, maybe, but with a son like Jason, that probably wasn't too strange. Still, they didn't look like the kind of parents who'd just toss their daughter out on her ear and never write or call or visit.

Claire closed the file and slid it back across the desk to Amelie, who put it in a wooden out-box at the corner of her desk. “Did you find what you wished to know?'” Amelie asked.

“I don't know.'”

“What a wise thing to say,'” Amelie said, and nodded once, like a queen to a subject. “You may go now. Use the door that brought you.'”

“Um…thanks. Bye.'” Which sounded like a dumbass thing to say to someone a billion years old, who controlled the town and everything in it, but Amelie seemed to accept it fine. Claire grabbed her backpack and hurried through the polished wood door…

…into a bathroom. With lots of floral wallpaper and really yak-worthy frilly doll-skirt toilet paper covers.

Reality whiplash.

Claire dropped her backpack and yanked open the door again.

It was the hallway. She looked right, then left. The room even smelled different—talcum powder and old-lady perfume. No trace of Amelie, her silent servants, or the room where they'd been.

“Science fiction,'” Claire said, deeply unhappy, and—feeling strangely guilty—flushed the toilet before trudging back the way she'd come. The house was warm, but the heat outside was like a slap from a microwaved towel.

Oh, she was
so
going to figure that trick out. She couldn't stand the idea of it being, well,
magic
. Sure, vampires she could accept…grudgingly…and the whole mind-control thing. But not instantaneous transportation. Nope.

Lisa was sitting next to Gramma on the porch swing now, sipping lemonade. There was an extra one gathering beads of sweat on the small table next to her, and she nodded Claire to it without speaking.

“Thanks,'” Claire said, and took a deep, thirsty gulp. It was good—maybe too sweet, but refreshing. She drained it fast and held on to the cool glass, wondering if it was bad manners to crunch the ice cubes. “How long have you lived here?'”

“Gramma's been in this house all her life,'” Lisa said, and gently rubbed her grandmother's back. “Right, Gramma?'”

“Born here,'” the old woman said proudly. “Gonna die here, too, when I'm good and ready.'”

“That's the spirit.'” Lisa poured Claire another glass of lemonade from a half-empty pitcher. “I find anything missing in Gramma's house, college girl, and you can't hide from me in Morganville. You feel me?'”

“Lisa!'” Gramma scolded. “I'm so sorry, honey. My granddaughter never learned proper manners.'” She smacked Lisa on the hand and gave her the parental glare. “This nice girl here, she never would steal from an old lady. Now, would you, honey?'”

“No, ma'am,'” Claire said, and drank half of the second serving of lemonade. It tasted as tart and sweet and wonderful as the first. “I was just wondering, about the symbol next to your door…'”

Lisa and Gramma both looked at her sharply. Neither one of them replied. They were both wearing bracelets, she noticed, plain silver with the Founder's symbol on a metal plaque, like those Medic Alert bracelets. Finally, Lisa said, softly, “You need to leave now.'”

“But—'”

“Go!'” Lisa yelled it, grabbed the glass out of Claire's hand, and thumped it down on the table. “Don't you make me throw you down the stairs in front of my gramma!'”

“Hush, Lisa,'” Gramma said, and leaned forward with a creaking sound, from either the wooden porch swing or her old bones. “Girl's got no better sense than God gave a sheep, but that's all right. It's the Founder's symbol, child, and this is the Founder's house, and we're the Founder's people. Just like you.'”

Lisa looked at her, openmouthed. “What?'” she finally said when she got control of her voice.

“Can't you see it?'” Gramma waved her hand in front of Claire. “She shines, baby.
They
see it, I guarantee you they do. They won't touch her, mark or no mark. Worth their lives if they do.'”

“But—'” Lisa looked as frustrated and helpless as Claire felt. “Gramma, you're seeing things again.'”

“I do
not
see things, missy, and you better remember just who in this family stayed alive when everybody else fell.'” Gramma's faded eyes fixed on Claire, who shivered despite the oppressive, still heat. “Don't know why she marked you, child, but she did. Now you just got to live with it. Go on, now. Go home. You got what you came for.'”

“She did?'” Lisa scowled fiercely. “Swear to God, if you lifted anything from our house—'”

“Hush. She didn't steal. But she got what she needed, didn't you, girl?'”

Claire nodded and nervously ran a hand through her hair. She was sweating buckets; her hair felt sticky and wet. Home suddenly sounded like a real good idea.

“Thank you, ma'am,'” she said, and extended her hand. Gramma looked at it for a few seconds, then took it in a birdlike grip and shook. “Can I come back and see you sometime?'”

“Long as you bring me some chocolate,'” Gramma said, and smiled. “I'm partial to chocolate.'”

“Gramma, you're diabetic.'”

“I'm old, girl. Gonna die of something. Might as well be chocolate.'”

They were still arguing as Claire retreated down the steps, through the neatly kept front garden, and out through the gate in the white picket fence. She looked at that alley, the one she'd almost taken, and this time she felt a shiver of warning.
Trapdoor spiders.
No, she no longer had any desire to take shortcuts. And she'd learned about as much as she could stomach about Jason Rosser. At least she knew now who to watch out for, if he started following her around again.

Claire hitched her backpack to a more comfortable position, and began walking.

T
here was no sign of Shane's dad or the bikers. In fact, it was very quiet in Morganville, despite Claire's fears. Travis Lowe and Joe Hess dropped by early the next morning to deliver the no-news-is-good-news party line to Eve and the house in general; they were polite and kind, and generally seemed like okay guys for cops, but they made Claire feel scared and paranoid. She supposed all cops were like that, when they were on Official Business. It didn't seem to bother Eve at all; she was up, bleary-eyed and yawning, fresh out of the shower and still wrapped in a Hello Kitty bathrobe, free of the Goth mask. Shane was, predictably, asleep, and who knew where Michael was? Watching, Claire thought. Always watching. She supposed that should have been creepy, except that in Michael's case, it was just…comforting.

“Hey, guys,'” Eve said after wandering down the stairs into the living room. She plopped on the couch, bounced, and yawned again. “Coffee. Need coffee.'”

“I made some,'” Claire said, and went into the kitchen to get it. Travis Lowe followed her silently and carried the cups back out. He and his partner drank it black; Claire could barely stand it even with more milk and sugar than actual coffee. Eve was cream only, no sugar, and she sucked it down like Gatorade after a hard work-out, then collapsed against the couch cushions and sighed happily.

“Morning, Officers,'” she said, and closed her eyes. “It's too early for this.'”

“Heard you got a job on campus,'” Hess said. “Congratulations, Eve.'”

“Yea, me.'” She made a lazy woo-hoo gesture. “You come all this way to say that?'”

“Not a long way in Morganville.'” Hess shrugged. “But no. Like I told Claire, there's no sign of your intruders. So I think you're in the clear on that. Hope that makes your day better.'”

Eve shot Claire a fast, tentative look. “Sure,'” she said. “Um…about…the other thing…?'”

“You want to talk in private?'” Claire asked, and stood up with her coffee cup in hand. “'Cause I can go on to school…'”

“Sit,'” Hess said. “You're not going anywhere yet. And you're not going anywhere by yourself.'”

“I'm…what?'”

“We're giving you girls a ride to school,'” Lowe said, and sipped his coffee. “And a ride home when you're done. Consider us your Thin Blue Line Taxi Service.'”

“No!'” Claire blurted, appalled. “I mean, you can't—you shouldn't—why?'”

“Eve knows why,'” Hess said. “Don't you, Eve?'”

Eve put her coffee cup on the side table and crossed her arms against her chest. She looked very young in pink and white, and very scared. “Jason.'”

“Yeah, Jason.'” Hess cleared his throat, glanced at Claire, and continued. “We found Karla Gast late last night. Well, actually, some of our more night-inclined colleagues found her. Dumped in a vacant lot about six blocks from here behind some piled-up lumber.'”

In a flash, Claire remembered walking past the empty lot on her way to her unintended visit with Amelie. She'd even
smelled decay
. She put her coffee cup down and put both hands over her mouth, fighting an impulse to gag.

“You think—'” Eve looked tense and pale. She licked her lips, swallowed, and continued. “You think Jason was involved.'”

“Yeah,'” Hess said softly. “We think. No proof, though. No witnesses, no forensic evidence, but she was definitely not killed by a vampire. Look, Jason's been spotted in the area, so I don't want you out there by yourself for now, okay? Either one of you.'”

“He's my
brother
!'” Eve sounded angry now, voice shaking. “How could he do this? What kind of—of—'”

“It's not your fault,'” Lowe said. “You tried to get him help. He just got sicker.'”

“It
is
my fault!'” she shouted. “I'm the one who turned him in! I'm the one who didn't stop Brandon from—'”

“From what?'” Lowe asked, very quietly.

Eve didn't answer. She looked down at her black-painted fingernails, and picked at them restlessly.

“From moving on to an easier target,'” she said. “Once I made sure he couldn't get to me.'”

“Christ,'” Lowe muttered in weary disgust. “Someday, that goddamn vamp's going to get his—'”

“Trav,'” Hess said. “It ain't laundry day. Let's not air it in public.'”

“Yeah, I know, but
Jesus Christ,
Joe, it ain't like this is the first time….'”

It took Claire a few seconds to work out what they were all talking about, but then she remembered Eve's poetry that she'd looked through on the computer…all romantic
Aren't vampires great?
stuff until she was about fifteen, and then…no more romance.
Brandon. Brandon tried to mess with her when she was fifteen.

And Jason was her younger brother.

“What did he do to him?'” Claire asked in a very small voice. “Brandon, I mean. Did he—bite him?'”

Eve didn't look up, but her cheeks went pink to match her robe. “Sometimes,'” she said. “And sometimes it was worse than that. We're just toys to him, you know. Dolls. We're not
real
. People aren't real at all.'”

“I'm afraid the same goes for Jason now,'” Hess said. “Can't really blame the kid. He didn't have much of a chance. But I repeat, Eve, you can't blame yourself, either. You saved yourself, and that's important.'”

“Yeah, I saved myself by screwing over my brother. What a hero.'”

“You be careful with all that guilt,'” Lowe said. “It'll pound you down. Your parents were the ones who should have stepped in, and you know it. Anybody willing to let their kids become toys, just to get ahead…'”

Claire reached out and took hold of Eve's hand. Eve, surprised, looked up—she wasn't crying, which was kind of surprising because Eve cried a
lot
. Her eyes were dry, clear, and hard. Angry.

“Why do you think I left?'” she asked. “As soon as I could. Between my parents and what Brandon made out of Jason…'”

Claire couldn't think of anything to say. She just sat there, holding Eve's hand. She'd never been through any of that…. She'd grown up warm and safe in a house where her parents loved her. In a town where there were no such things as vampires, where child abuse and molestation were something that happened on the evening news, and if anybody had brothers who killed people, it happened in big cities, to people she didn't know.

All this was just…too much to take in. And much too painful.

“It's going to be okay,'” she finally said. Eve smiled at her sadly, but her eyes were still fierce.

“No,'” she said. “Don't think so, Claire. But thanks.'”

She took a deep breath, let go of Claire's hand, and turned back to the two cops. “Right. You guys hang out here while I get dressed.'”

“Oh, sure,'” Hess said, and raised an eyebrow. It made his face look crooked, but maybe that was just the way his nose was; Claire wasn't sure. “Not like we're protecting or serving or anything.'”

“You're not even on duty,'” Eve said.

“Busted,'” Lowe said, smiling. “We're on our own for this. Hurry up, kid—I'd like to get to sleep sometime today before I have to fight for truth and justice again.'”

Eve padded up the stairs, one hand on the railing, and Claire let out a slow, careful breath. Eve was kind of like an unexploded bomb right now. Claire ached to make it all better, but there was no way she could do that…and no way that Eve would even let her try, she thought.

She wished Shane would wake up. She needed…well,
something
. A hug, maybe. Or one of those deliciously warm kisses. Or just to look at him, all rumpled and grumpy with his hair sticking up at odd angles, sheet creases on his face, his bare feet looking so cute and soft…

She had never thought of a guy's
feet
as sexy before. Not even movie-star feet. But Shane…there was no part of him that wasn't sizzle hot.

“More coffee?'” Hess asked, and waggled his empty mug. Claire sighed and took his and Lowe's into the kitchen for refills.

She had just set the two ceramic cups down on the counter, and was reaching for the coffeepot, when a big, thick, sweaty hand closed over her mouth, and irresistibly strong arms yanked her backward. She tried to scream, and kicked, but whoever had her, really had her. She squirmed, but it didn't do any good.

“Quiet,'” a rough male voice whispered in her ear. “Shut up, or this gets ugly.'”

It was already ugly, at least from Claire's terrified side of things. She went still, and the man holding her lowered her down enough to let her sneakered toes touch the floor. Didn't let her go, though.

She'd already figured out who it was—the speaker, not the one holding her—before Shane's dad stepped out into her view and leaned forward, scary-close. “Where's my son?'” he asked. His breath was nasty, and stank of booze. Breakfast of Collins champions. “Just nod. Is he in the house?'” She nodded slowly. The hand muffling her mouth let her do it. “Upstairs?'” She nodded again. “Those cops in the living room?'” She nodded vigorously, and tried to think what she could do to get Detective Hess's attention. Screaming wasn't doing any good; the kitchen door was pretty solid, and it was useless to try to get sound past a hand that was about two inches thick. If they'd grabbed her when she was holding the mugs, at least she could have dropped them….

“My kid likes you,'” Shane's dad said. “That's all that keeps you alive right now, you get me? So don't push your luck. I could always change my mind, and you could get buried out back with your little friend Michael. Now, my buddy here is going to let go of your mouth, and you'd better not scream, because if you do, we're just going to have to do some killing, starting with you and ending with the cops. And that vampire-wannabe girlfriend of yours. You get me? My son is all that matters to me.'”

Claire swallowed hard and nodded again. The hand pulled slowly away from her mouth.

She didn't scream. She pressed her lips together to hold in the urge.

“Good girl,'” Shane's dad said. “Now tell me what the cops are doing here. They looking for us?'”

She shook her head. “They think you're gone,'” she said. “They're here to take me and Eve to school.'”

“School.'” He poured contempt into the word. “That's not a school. It's a holding pen for cattle.'”

She licked her lips and tasted the sweat of the guy who was holding her. Disgusting. “You need to go. Right now.'”

“Or?'”

“You can't do what you're here to do if everybody's still looking for you,'” she said. She was making it up, but suddenly it made sense to her. “If you have to kill me, and everybody here, they turn the town upside down until they find you. And they'll put Shane in jail, or worse. If you let me go and take Shane, I'll just tell them everything anyway, and they turn the town upside down—'”

“Are you trying to scare me, little girl?'”

“No,'” Claire whispered. She could barely get the word out. “I'm trying to tell you what will happen. They've kind of given up looking for you, but if you kill me, you lose. And if you let me go, I'm going to tell them everything.'”

“Then why shouldn't I kill you?'”

“Because I'll keep my mouth shut if you promise to leave Shane alone.'”

He glared at her, but she could see he was thinking about it.

“Boss,'” said the man holding her. He had a deep voice, rough like his throat was lined with gravel. “Bitch got no reason to keep her word.'”

“What makes you think I like the vamps any more than you do?'” she shot back. “Did Shane tell you about Brandon? I saw you in Common Grounds—were you looking for him? Because if you weren't, you should be. He's a dick.'”

Frank Collins's eyes drifted half-shut, and she was reminded sickly of Shane, somehow. “You telling me which vamps to kill now?'”

“No.'” She swallowed again, acutely aware that at any second the kitchen door could swing open, and someone could come stumbling in, and everything could go to hell on the express train. “Just a suggestion. Because as far as I can tell, he's just about the worst one. But you're going to do what you want, I know that. I just want me and my friends out of it.'”

Shane's dad smiled at her.
Smiled.
And it seemed, for the first time, like a mostly genuine expression, not just a freaky twist of his lips. “You're tougher than you look, kid. That's good. You're going to need to be, you stick around here.'” He looked past her, at the biker (or so she thought—she could feel leather squeaking behind her when she struggled). “Let her down, man. She's okay.'”

The biker released her. She jerked forward, spun, and set her back to the refrigerator. She scrambled for a knife in the drawer next to her, found a wicked-looking cleaver, and held it out in front of her. “You need to go,'” she said. “Right now. And don't come back here, or I swear, I'll tell them everything.'”

He wasn't smiling anymore. Well, not as much. The biker behind him, though, was grinning.

“Girl, you don't know my son at all, do you?'” he asked. “I don't have to come back here. He's going to come to me. Eventually.'”

He made a
Let's go
gesture to his six-foot bodyguard, and together they went back out the side door of the kitchen. Claire ran to pull it shut and lock it, both locks plus the newly installed sliding bolts.

Which made her wonder why it hadn't been locked before…oh. Of course. The cops had come in through the kitchen.