Midnight Alley (11 page)

Oh man. Somehow, in all of the stress of her afternoon with Myrnin, Claire had forgotten about Amy's death. Of
course
Eve was angry; not so much angry, really, as plain terrified.

Claire didn't dare meet Shane's gaze. She looked at Michael instead, helplessly. ‘‘I'm sorry,'' she said. ‘‘I got—I was at the lab, and—I should have called, I guess.''

‘‘And you walked home? In the dark?'' Another question she had to avoid. She just shrugged. ‘‘You know what we call pedestrians in Morganville? Mobile blood banks.'' Michael sounded cold, too. Cold and angry. ‘‘You scared the shit out of us. That's not like you, Claire. What happened?''

Shane moved to her side, and she felt a moment of relief that at least
he
wasn't angry at her. But then he yanked her shirt away from her neck on the left, then on the right, an efficient rough search that surprised her too much to fight him. He skinned up her right sleeve all the way to the elbow and turned her arm to inspect it.

As he reached for the left, she felt an electric bolt of alarm.
The bracelet. Oh God.

She yanked free and shoved him back. ‘‘Hey!'' she said. ‘‘I'm fine, okay? I'm fine! Fang-free!''

‘‘Then show me,'' Shane said. His eyes were steady and scared, and that broke her heart. ‘‘C'mon, Claire. Prove it.''

‘‘Why do I have to prove anything to you?'' She knew she was wrong, and it made her stupidly angry that he cared so much. ‘‘You don't own me, like some vampire! I just
said
I'm fine! Why can't you just trust me?''

She would have done anything to take it back, but it was too late, and it hit him like a punch in the face.
He's been hurt so much. Why did I do that? Why . . .

Michael stepped in between them. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Shane. ‘‘I'll do it.'' He was blocking Eve and Shane's view. Before Claire could do anything to stop him—as if she
could
do anything—he grabbed her left hand and pulled the sleeve up to her elbow.

He stared at the gold bracelet for a paralyzing second before turning her arm first one way, then the other. Then pulling her sleeve back down over the telltale jewelry evidence.

‘‘She's fine,'' he said, and met her eyes. ‘‘She's telling the truth. I'd know if a vampire had bitten her. I'd feel it.''

Shane's mouth opened, then closed. He took another step back, stared at her for a second, then walked away. Eve called, ‘‘Hey, how about taking some of your crap back upstairs, if you're planning on staying?''

‘‘Later,'' Shane snapped, and went upstairs without looking back.

‘‘I'd better go talk to him,'' Claire said. Michael kept hold of her arm.

‘‘No,'' he said. ‘‘First, you'd better talk to me.''

He hustled her toward the kitchen. Behind them, Eve said, ‘‘Just another great family dinner. Whatever! I'm taking the last hot dog!''

Even with the kitchen door shut, Michael wasn't taking any chances. He pulled Claire along with him to the pantry, opened the door, and turned on the light. ‘‘Inside,'' he ordered. She stepped in, and he shut the door after her. It was cramped with two people, and it smelled like old spices and vinegar, from where Shane had dropped the bottle a few weeks back. Michael's voice dropped to a fierce hiss. ‘‘What the
hell
do you think you're doing?''

‘‘What I had to,'' she said. She was shaking all over, but she wouldn't let Michael intimidate her. She was tired, and besides,
everybody
seemed to be trying to intimidate her these days. She was small; she wasn't weak. ‘‘It was the only way. Amelie—''

‘‘You should have talked to me. Talked to
us
.''

‘‘Like
you
came clean with us, when you were a ghost? And did you have a house meeting before you decided to go all the way to vampire?'' Claire shot back. ‘‘Right. Well, you're not the only one who can make choices, Michael. This was mine; I made it; I'll live with it. And it'll keep all of you safe.''

‘‘Who says?'' Michael asked bluntly. ‘‘Amelie? You're trusting vampires now?''

She didn't look away from his big blue eyes. ‘‘I trust you.''

He suppressed a smile. ‘‘Dumbass.''

‘‘Dork.'' She shoved him, just a little, and he let her do it. He even pretended to stagger, although she didn't imagine vampires got knocked off balance very often, except by other vampires. ‘‘Michael, she didn't give me any choice. Shane's dad—even though he left, he did damage. Shane wasn't going to be trusted here, and you know what happens if—''

‘‘If they don't trust him,'' Michael said somberly. ‘‘Yeah. I know. Look, don't worry about Shane. I'll protect him. I told you—''

‘‘You may not be able to. Look, no offense, but you've only been a vampire for a couple of weeks. I have library books that have been out longer. You can't promise—''

Michael reached out and put one cool finger across her lips, stilling them instantly. His blue eyes were intense, narrow, and very focused.

‘‘Shhhh,'' he whispered, and turned out the light.

Claire heard the kitchen door thump, and then the hard-heeled clonk of Eve's shoes crossing the wood floor. ‘‘Hello? Helllloooooooo? Great. Why do all my housemates sulk like little girls or vanish when the dishes are dirty? If you can hear me, Michael Glass, I'm talking to
you
!''

Claire snorted, almost laughed. Michael's hand closed over her mouth, stifling her. He tugged on her arm, and she followed him, moving carefully so as not to knock anything off the shelf. She heard the scrape of the door opening at the rear of the pantry, the tiny little bolt-hole, and bent down to go through it. The other side was pitch-black, with not even the tiny crack of light that the pantry had enjoyed, and Claire felt a flutter of panic. Michael's hand pushed her onward, and she stepped hesitantly into the close, thick dark. Behind her, she heard him close the door with a very soft
click,
and bright electric light flooded over the floor.

‘‘Here,'' Michael said, and handed her the flashlight. ‘‘She might come looking for us here, but not for a while.''

It was a secret hidey-hole, one that Claire had been shoved into on her very first morning in the Glass House; no exits, only the one entrance. She'd thought from the beginning it looked like someplace a vampire might stash a couple of handy coffins, but it was empty. And as far as she knew, Michael slept on a Serta.

‘‘I meant to ask you. What is this?''

‘‘Root cellar,'' he said. ‘‘This house was built before refrigerators, and ice deliveries were only so-so. This was where they kept most of their vegetables.''

‘‘So . . . not a vampire hideout?''

Michael stretched his long legs out with a sigh and leaned against the wall. God, he was pretty. No wonder Eve was willing to overlook the lack of pulse. ‘‘Not so far as I've ever known, but the vampires in Morganville never really had to hide. Only the humans did.''

Which wasn't what they were here to talk about, she supposed. She crossed her arms and felt the bracelet bite into the skin of her wrist under the shirt. ‘‘Whatever lecture you were going to give me, it's too late. I signed, it's done, I've got the souvenir bracelet.'' Which made her suddenly, strangely want to cry. ‘‘Michael—''

‘‘What's she asking you to do?'' Which was so right-on that she felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes and in her nose get even higher.

‘‘Um . . .'' She couldn't tell him; Amelie and Sam had both made it clear. ‘‘It's just extra schoolwork. She wants me to study some things.''

‘‘What things?'' Michael's voice got sharp and worried. ‘‘Claire—''

‘‘It's nothing. Science stuff. I would have probably been doing it anyway, but it's just—it's a lot more time, and I don't know how I'm going to—''
Keep it from Shane.
Because she had to, right? Bad enough he hated Michael for being a vampire, but what was he going to think about
her,
selling herself to Amelie? ‘‘I just don't know how I'm going to do all this.''

And suddenly, she was crying. She didn't mean to, but there it was, boiling out of her. She expected Michael to do the Shane thing, come and comfort her, but he didn't. He sat right where he was and watched her. When her sobs died down, and she swiped her hands across her wet cheeks, he said, ‘‘Finished?''

She gulped and nodded.

‘‘You made the choice; now you want to have it both ways—the benefits, but not the consequences. You can't, Claire. It's coming home to roost, and you'd better handle it now rather than later.'' Michael's tone softened, just a little. ‘‘Look, I'm not an asshole; I know how scared you are. But you're a player in this town now. You're not the fragile little thing we took in for protection. You're trying to protect
us
. That means you may not be as well liked anymore, and you're going to have to sack up about that.''

‘‘What?'' She felt dazed. Somehow, this wasn't how she'd expected all this to go. Especially Michael's cool, challenging look, and the lack of hugging.

‘‘Signing the contract isn't the last choice you're going to have to make,'' he said. ‘‘It's the choices you make from now on that show whether you did the right thing or not.'' He stood up, pale and strong and as gorgeous as an angel in the glow of Claire's flashlight. ‘‘And stop lying to me. You ought to get off to a better start.''

‘‘I—what?''

‘‘You said what Amelie has you doing is just more studying,'' he said grimly. ‘‘And I can tell when you're lying. No, I'm not going to ask, because I can tell it scares you, but just remember, vampires know, all right?''

He swung the door open and ducked out. Claire stared after him, openmouthed, but by the time she'd scrambled through and switched off the flashlight, Michael was already gone, out of the pantry. In fact, by the time Claire followed, Michael was already sitting on the couch, Eve curled next to him with her head on his chest. They were watching something on TV, and Eve's gaze followed Claire as she hurried past them, mumbling an apology.

She stopped on the stairs and looked back at them. Two people she cared about, wrapped in a moment of warmth and happiness.

Michael was a vampire, and that meant that Michael was
dying.
Like Myrnin. He was going to suffer and lose his mind and hurt people.

He could even hurt Eve, no matter how much he cared about her.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt suddenly short of breath. When it had been just an abstract problem, just Morganville minus vampires equals safety, then that had been one thing, but it wasn't abstract. It was people she knew, liked, even loved. She wouldn't shed any tears over Oliver, but how could she not care about Michael? Or Sam? Or even Amelie?

Claire picked up her book bag and went upstairs.

Shane's door was shut. She knocked. He didn't answer for a long moment, and then said, ‘‘If I ignore you, will you go away?''

‘‘No,'' she said.

‘‘Might as well come in, then.''

He was flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hands under his head, and he didn't look at her as she entered and closed the door behind her.

‘‘So is this how it's going to go?'' she asked. ‘‘I do something dumb like stay out late; you get mad and run away; I come and apologize and make everything better?''

Shane, surprised, looked at her, then said, ‘‘Well, that kinda works for me, yeah.''

Claire thought about Michael, about the suddenly grown-up way he'd treated her. She sat down on the bed next to Shane, staring down at the floor for a few seconds to gather her courage, and then she pulled back her sleeve to expose the bracelet.

Shane didn't make a sound. He slowly sat up, staring at the shiny gold band with its Founder's Symbol.

‘‘We need to talk,'' she said. She felt sick and terrified, but she knew it was the right choice. The only other thing to do was lie, but she couldn't keep on lying. Michael was right about that.

Shane could have done anything—he could have run away, he could have thrown her out of his room. He could even have hit her.

Instead, he took her hand in his, bent his head, and said, ‘‘Tell me.''

 
Eve wasn't so understanding. ‘‘Are you
out of your mind
?'' She picked up the handiest thing to throw—it happened to be the PlayStation controller—and Shane quickly, carefully de-gamed her. Claire thought he probably wouldn't have moved that fast if Eve had grabbed, oh, say, a book.

‘‘Let's be adults about this,'' Michael said. They were downstairs again, together, although Shane and Michael were still clearly standing at opposite poles. It was getting late—eleven already—and Claire was feeling the strain of a very long, hard day. In fact, she yawned, which only made Eve shoot her a look of absolute exasperation.

‘‘Oh, I'm sorry, are we
keeping you awake
? Michael, how the hell do we be adults about this when one of us
isn't an adult
?'' Eve leveled a shaking finger at her. ‘‘You're a
kid,
Claire. As in, you're still a wet-behind-the-ears dumbass who hasn't even been in this town a couple of months. You have no idea what you're doing!''

‘‘Maybe I don't,'' Claire agreed. Her voice was almost steady, which pleased and surprised her. She didn't like having Eve angry at her. She didn't like having
anyone
angry at her. ‘‘The thing is, it's done. I made the choice; that discussion was over before we had it. I wanted you to know, though. I didn't want to''—her eyes met Michael's briefly—‘‘lie to you.''