Bitter Blood (19 page)

She broke off the kiss to glare at him. “Freak.”

“Any particular reason you’re hanging out here, exactly? Not your usual territory. I don’t see any stores within credit-card distance.”

Her boyfriend—Dan, apparently—looked like a varsity football jock; he had the muscles, the bulk, and the jarhead hairstyle. Monica tended to attract the big-but-dumb ones, and this one, from the questioning look he sent toward them, seemed to run to type. “She said this was the right place,” he said, “to set up the—”

“Shut up,” Monica said.

“Set up the what?” Shane asked. “Would you maybe be planning to mess with our ghost-hunting friends?”

“Aren’t you?” she shot back. “Yeah. We’ve got this thing in the van, totally guaranteed to screw up their—what is it?”

“Screw up their shit,” Dan said, earnestly. “You know, their monitoring shit. It’s going to play Black Sabbath backward and really freak ’em out. I read it on the Internet.”

“Jesus, Dan,” Shane said. He almost sounded impressed. “You are just…landmark stupid, aren’t you? Has Guinness called yet about that world record?”

Dan growled and came at him, and that was of course a mistake; Shane balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, avoided his rush, dodged back toward the van, and as Dan lined up to rush him again, sidestepped like a matador and sent Dan crashing like a bullet headfirst into the metal.

Dan didn’t go down, but he definitely thought about it. He leaned heavily on the metal and stared blankly into the distance for a minute. His forehead had a vivid red mark on it, and Shane said, “You probably ought to get some ice on that, man.”

“Yeah,” Dan said. “Yeah, thanks, bro.” He didn’t dare come after Shane again, so he turned on Monica with a glare. “Well? Brilliant plan,
Mayor.
What else you got?”

“Oh, Dan, don’t be like that—”

“Play your own stupid pranks for a change.”

Monica gave him a searing glare of disappointment, and he shrugged and got in the van. In seconds, it fired up and drove away in a belch of smoke.

Leaving Monica behind. She shot Claire a look of fury mixed with outrage. “I was trying to help get those jackasses out of town. Being proactive and all mayorlike! What the hell were
you
two doing? Auditioning for starring roles in their stupid show?”

They’d attracted attention, of course. It wasn’t from surrounding houses, since no one bothered to look outside at mysterious fighting in the streets for entirely sensible reasons, but from the team from
After Death
that had come charging over with cameras, microphones, and gadgets. Angel immediately fixed his model’s smile straight on Monica. “Are these two bothering you, lovely lady?”

“Please,” Claire muttered, but it was too late; Monica was batting her eyes and putting on her best wounded-butterfly act as she crowded up next to her newly arrived knight in shining leather shoes.

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “Did you see? He beat up my boyfriend!”

“Call the police,” Angel ordered Tyler, who was still recording, but Tyler was distracted by Jenna, who was whacking her electronic meter device in obvious irritation.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s technology, not a drum!” he said, and took it from her. “What? What’s wrong with it?”

“I had a strong signal!” she said. “It was there, I swear it was,
but it just vanished about thirty seconds ago. I think they scared it off.”

“You were reading something wrong.”

“I saw it! It was maxed out in that vacant lot—I’m telling you….”

“Oh—um, that was my boyfriend,” Monica said, and brought the overlapping chaos to a dead halt. “He had the van that just took off? He was broadcasting a signal to make you think it was some kind of ghost. He thought it was kind of funny.”

Angel was looking at Monica with a heartbroken expression. “Why would you do that?”

“It was Dan, not—”

“Why do teenagers do anything?” Jenna snapped. She stepped into Monica’s space, looking for the world as if she was feeling just as strong an impulse to slap the girl as Claire was. “Get lost, before I call the cops.”

“It’s not against the law!”

“You’re right. Get lost before I do something that
is
against the law, like putting my fist in your face.”

“Hey!” Monica stepped into
Jenna’s
space now, cheeks flushing a bright, hectic pink. “Do you know who I am?”

“Last year’s high school queen bee who’s no longer relevant but still thinks she is?” Jenna shot back, and Claire’s eyes widened at the accuracy of the thrust. So did Monica’s. “Look, sweetie, I’ve seen a dozen one-stoplight towns just like this, and there’s always somebody just like you who thinks you’re…well, somebody.”

Monica opened her mouth to reply, but didn’t. She was remembering that she was, in fact, nobody, at least by her own standards; she was just another bully now, with nothing to back it up. She didn’t even have her best friends to enable her. Even her Cro-Magnon boyfriend had bailed on her at the first sign of trouble.

And it hurt. In that moment, though she shouldn’t have, Claire felt a little twinge of sympathy.

“I’m running for mayor!” Monica rallied enough to snap back. “So careful what you say, because my first official act would be running you three out of town on a rail!”

Jenna shrugged and glared at Angel, who was still looking gravely disappointed, and said, “Come on, let’s retake that last bit over in the vacant lot. We can still save some of the footage.” She set out at a rapid pace around the corner, heading for the vacant lot. After a hesitation, Tyler followed her.

Angel shrugged and said, “I’m sorry, but you see how it is. We have work to do.” This time, there was no hand kissing, and not much flirting, either.

“Wait,” Monica said as he started to walk off. “You’re just going to leave me here? Alone? With
them
?”

Angel flashed her a perfect smile but kept walking. “I’m sure they’ll see you get home safe.”

“Oh yeah,” Shane said. “On my to-do list, right after discovering Atlantis. Enjoy your walk, Princess Mayor.” He put his arm around Claire and tipped her chin up to look into her eyes. “You okay? Not hurt?”

“No,” she said. “You?”

“The only way Dan can actually hurt me is to try to have a conversation. He may be on the college football team, but trust me, he’s just barely junior varsity on street fighting.”

Monica looked from the departing television people back to the two of them, then at the empty street. Looking for some kind of third option, Claire thought. “You could just go it alone,” Claire said, with a little too much sweetness. “I’m sure you’ll be safe. After all,
everybody
knows who you are.”

“Thanks to our posters,” Shane put in.

“You know, it’s your fault my life is such a hell, anyway, so spare me your little gestures!”

“So now you’re blaming us for your life falling apart, after a lifetime of earning it? Interesting.”

“My life was fine before you came here!” Monica spat.

Shane gave her a long, level look. “You know whose life wasn’t so fine? Pretty much everybody else’s. Including the vampires’, not that I’m counting that for a plus, but you get the idea.”

She ignored Shane. Oddly, because those two were almost always gasoline and a match. “I need an escort home,” she announced to the air somewhere between the two of them. “Tell me you’re going that way.”

Shane shrugged when Claire glanced at him. “Well, I guess we’d better. How can she be mayor if she’s dead in a ditch?”

“She just taunted you with the voice of your
dead sister
!”

“No,” Monica said.

“What?”
Claire snapped; she was getting really angry now, angry enough to do or say something she couldn’t take back. And Shane, oddly, wasn’t.

“I didn’t do that,” Monica said, and met Shane’s eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. Dan and I were messing with their electronics, and we were planning to sneak over and make some rattling noises. But I swear, I didn’t pretend to be your
sister
.”

“She wouldn’t,” Shane said softly. “Not after Richard, anyway.” There was, Claire realized, some kind of understanding between the two of them now, something she didn’t quite get but could see; it wasn’t affection, and it sure wasn’t a crush, but a kind of mutual…caution. As if they understood each of them had a place that could be hurt, and neither was willing to go there anymore.

“Then what
was
that? Was it really—really—” She couldn’t finish the thought. She was feeling a little unstuck now, as if the
world were bending around her…. She thought she’d seen enough of Morganville that something like that would never happen again.

“I don’t know,” Shane said, “but I intend to find out.”

Walking Monica home was just exactly as fun as Claire expected, which was not fun at all. She complained about having to walk in her heels (to which Shane, proving he was not
totally
off the Let’s Hate Monica bandwagon, suggested she mount her broom and fly home); she complained about the hot weather, and sweat ruining her outfit; she complained about the lack of cab service (Claire had to agree she had a point there—Morganville desperately needed cabs).

Claire had begun to tune her out by that point, since they were within sight of Monica’s luxury apartment complex (the only one in Morganville, in fact, with ten apartments that cost more than most of the town could even think about paying). Monica had sold the Morrell family home, which had mostly survived all the troubles of the past few years intact except for party damage, and made a tidy bank account to allow her to not work for at least a couple of years, though it probably wouldn’t last at the rate Monica blew through designer shoes.

And then Monica said, “I heard people talking around town today. Your friends ought to be watching their backs, ’cause the knives are out.”

That got Claire’s attention, fast. Shane’s, too. They both stopped walking, and Monica clomped on a few more steps before coming to a halt and saying, “What? Like you didn’t know?”

“What are you talking about?” Shane closed the distance toward her, fast. “What did you hear? Spill it!”

“Hey, hey, hold on!” She tried to back up, but she overbalanced on her precarious heels and almost went down; Shane grabbed her arm and steadied her, and didn’t let go. “Look, I don’t know why you’re so surprised and all! Let go!”

“Not until you answer the question. What about Michael and Eve?”

“Oh, come on. A vamp marrying a human gets the fanged ones all upset, and Eve made herself look like the ultimate fang-banger to all the humans by putting a ring on one, so what did you expect, exactly? Flowers and parades? This is Texas. We’re still figuring out how to
spell
tolerance.”

“I said, what do you know about it? Where? When? Who’s involved?”

“Let go, jerk!”

He didn’t say anything, but Claire was almost sure he squeezed, because Monica made a funny little sound and went very still. “Okay,” she said. “Okay, jackass, you win. It’s just general talk as far as I know, but some people are saying an example should be made. Michael and Eve are just handy targets standing in the middle of the war zone. Come to think of it, so’s your girlfriend, what with all her cozying up to Amelie.”

Shane let her go. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, I am. I know what it’s like to think you’re secure and safe and all of a sudden be standing all alone. You think you and your friends are the only ones in the crosshairs? Do you have any idea how many people want to hurt
me
?”

Monica was more self-aware than Claire had ever given her credit for. She knew how things were—maybe better than Shane, surprisingly enough. She’d probably had to learn how to protect herself fast, once the town had stopped being cowed by her status as Self-Crowned Princess.

“Then you shouldn’t be pissing off the only ones who might listen to you when you scream for help,” Shane said. “Get me?”

Monica finally nodded, a little unwillingly. She shot a quick, unreadable look at Claire, and then turned and strode up the walk to her apartment. They watched as she produced a key (though where she’d kept it on that skintight dress was a mystery) and unlocked her door. Once she was inside, and the lights were on, Shane put his hands in his pockets and extended an elbow to Claire, who threaded her arm through his.

“You’re super nice to her, all of a sudden,” Claire said.

“Ha. If I was super nice to her, she wouldn’t have bruises on her arm right now,” he said. “But I’m willing to forget to hate her, every once in a while. She’s had it rough these past couple of years.”

“So have you.”

He flashed her a smile. “I never did have much, so having it rough came with the territory. I was conditioned for it. And you’re forgetting the most important thing that’s different.”

“You don’t have a fashion addiction to skintight clothes?”

“I have you,” he said, and the warmth in his voice took her breath away. She let go of his arm and crowded in close as they walked, and he hugged her close. It was awkward making progress that way, but it felt so sweet. “Okay,
and
I don’t have a fashion addiction. Valid point.”

“You don’t think she knows something about a plot to hurt Michael and Eve, do you? The way she said that back there…”

“I don’t know,” Shane said. “I don’t think she’d hide it; she’d really like teasing us with it, but she’d give it up. She’d want to, I think. It’s not as if she wants Michael dead, anyway. She always had a little bit of a thing for him.”

“And you,” Claire said, and elbowed him. “More than a little bit.”

“Ugh. Please don’t say that or I’ll lose my will to live.”

“I love you.” It came out of her spontaneously, and she felt a little jolt of adrenaline, then a little burst of fear right on the heels of it. There had been no reason to say it now, walking down the street, but it had just seemed…right. She was a little afraid that Shane would think it was clingy, or fake, but when she glanced over at him, she saw he was smiling—an easy, relaxed smile, uncomplicated and happy.

It wasn’t something she saw very often, and it made her feel glorious.