Midnight Alley (8 page)

There wasn't a catch, but it was clearly too small to fit over her hand. ‘‘I don't know how—''

She saw a flash in her peripheral vision, and by the time she looked up, Amelie was taking the bracelet out of her palm, and cold strong fingers were holding her arm.

‘‘It's made for you,'' Amelie said. ‘‘
Hold still.
Unlike the bracelets most of the other children wear, yours cannot be removed. The contract you signed gives me this right, do you understand?''

‘‘But—no, I don't want—''

Too late. Amelie moved, and the bracelet seemed to pass
through
Claire's skin and bone, and settle heavily around her wrist. Claire tried to yank free, but there was no way, not as strong as Amelie was. Amelie smiled and held her still for another second, just to make the point, before she let go. Claire turned the bracelet frantically, pressing, looking for the trick.

It looked seamless, and it wasn't coming off.

‘‘It must be done this way, the old way,'' Amelie said. ‘‘This bracelet will save your life, Claire. Mark me. It is a favor I have given rarely in my life. You should be grateful.''

Grateful?
Claire felt like a dog on a leash, and she hated it. She glared at Amelie, and the vampire's smile intensified. She couldn't really say it brightened— there was something in it that undermined the whole concept of comfort.

‘‘Perhaps you'll be grateful at a later date,'' Amelie said, and raised her eyebrows. ‘‘Very well. I'll leave you now. No doubt you have studies.''

‘‘How am I supposed to hide this from my friends?'' Claire blurted, as the vampire walked toward the door.

‘‘You aren't,'' Amelie said, and opened the door without unlocking it. ‘‘Don't forget. You should be well prepared for Myrnin tomorrow.'' She stepped out into the hall and closed it behind her. Claire lunged forward and turned the knob, but it refused to open. By the time she twisted the thumb lock and swung it back, Amelie was gone. The hall was empty. Claire stood there, listening to the clatter of dishes from downstairs, the distant laughter, and wanted to cry.

She scrubbed at her eyes, took a deep breath, and went to her desk to try to study.

 
The next day was a busy whirl of classes, quizzes, and discussion groups, and Claire was grateful for the afternoon break when it finally arrived. She felt stupid, dressed in her long-sleeved T, but it was the only thing she had that could hide the bracelet, and she desperately wanted to hide it. So far, so good. Eve hadn't noticed, Shane hadn't been awake when they'd left for school. No sign of Michael, either. She'd gotten desperate last night and tried a couple of ways to break the gold band—scissors, then a pair of rusty old bolt-cutters from the basement—but she broke the blade on the scissors, and the bolt-cutters were clumsy and slid right off the metal. She couldn't do it alone, and she couldn't ask for help.

Well, she could try.

Claire headed for the UC and the coffee bar, and she found Eve harassed, pink-cheeked under the rice-powder makeup, all alone behind the counter. ‘‘Where's Amy?'' Claire asked, and handed over three dollars for a mocha. ‘‘I thought she was working all week?''

‘‘Yeah, no kidding, me too. I called my boss, but he's sick and so's Kim, so it's just me today. Not enough coffee in the world to make this easy.'' Eve blew hair from her sweaty forehead and zipped over to the espresso machine, where she pulled shots. ‘‘Ever have one of those dreams where you're running and everybody else is standing still, but you can't catch up?''

‘‘No,'' Claire said. ‘‘Usually mine are about being naked in class.''

Eve grinned. ‘‘For that, you get a free caramel shot. Go sit down. I don't need you hovering like the rest of these vultures.''

Claire claimed a study desk and spread out her books, got her mocha when Eve called her name, and yawned as she cracked open
Last Will and Testament
again. She'd spent most of the night memorizing the symbols, but they were tricky. She'd gotten all of the Egyptian ones down, but these were a whole lot less straightforward, and she had the sense that Myrnin wouldn't be too forgiving of mistakes.

A shadow fell over her book. She looked up and saw Detective Travis Lowe, and his partner, Joe Hess, standing close behind him. She knew both of them pretty well; they'd helped her during that crazy time when Shane's dad had been skulking around Morganville, trying to kill vampires (and succeeding). They didn't wear bracelets, and they weren't Protected; as she understood it, they'd earned some kind of special status. She wasn't sure how they'd managed that, but it had to be something really brave.

‘‘Morning, Claire,'' Hess said, and pulled up a chair. Lowe did the same. They weren't all that similar in body types—Hess was tall and kind of wiry, with a long face; Lowe was chubby and balding. But the expressions in their eyes were identical—careful, hidden, wary. ‘‘How have you been?''

‘‘Fine,'' she said, and resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to touch her bracelet, fiddle with it. She looked from one to the other, feeling less secure all the time. ‘‘What's going on? Is something wrong?''

‘‘Yeah,'' Lowe said. ‘‘You could say that. Look, Claire, there's—I'm sorry to tell you this, but there was a dead girl out back of your house. She was found this morning by the trash collectors.''

A dead girl? Claire swallowed hard. ‘‘Who is she?''

‘‘Amy Callum,'' Hess said. ‘‘She's a local girl. Family lives just a few blocks from you. Her people are pretty broken up about it.'' He shifted his gaze toward the coffee bar. ‘‘She worked here.''

Amy? Coffee Bar Amy? Oh no . . . ‘‘I knew her,'' Claire said faintly. ‘‘She worked with Eve. She was supposed to be here today. Eve was saying—'' Eve. Claire looked over and saw that Eve was still chattering away brightly, filling orders, taking cash. They hadn't told her yet. ‘‘You're sure it was our house?''

‘‘Claire . . .'' The two detectives exchanged a look, not a good one. ‘‘Her body was stuffed inside your trash can. We're sure.''

Claire felt faint. That close . . . she'd put out trash just two days ago, right? Dumped garbage bags into the can. Amy had been alive then. And now . . .

‘‘Did you see anything last night?'' Hess continued.

‘‘No, I was—it was dark when I got home. And then I studied all night.''

‘‘Hear anything, maybe some racket out by the garbage cans?''

‘‘No, sir. I had headphones on. I'm sorry.''

Shane had been looking out the window, she remembered. Maybe he'd seen someone. But he'd have said, right? He wouldn't hide something like that.

An awful thought struck her, and she looked up into Joe Hess's calm, impartial eyes. ‘‘Was it—'' Too many people around. She mimed fangs in the neck. He shook his head.

‘‘It's the same as the last one we found,'' Lowe said. ‘‘Can't rule out our toothy friends, but it doesn't fit their style. You know whose style it fits, though?''

‘‘Jason's,'' Claire said numbly. ‘‘Eve's brother. He's still out?''

‘‘Haven't caught him doing anything illegal yet. But we will. He's too crazy to live sane.'' Lowe studied her. ‘‘Haven't seen him, have you?''

‘‘No.''

‘‘Good.'' Like there'd been some signal between them, Hess and Lowe got up from their chairs. ‘‘We'd better go tell Eve. Look, you think of anything, you call, all right? And don't go out alone. Protection doesn't cover this.'' Lowe cast a significant look at her wrist, and she felt herself blush, as though he'd guessed what color panties she had on. ‘‘You need to go out, you go with one of your friends, all right? Same goes for Eve. We'll try to keep an eye on you, but caution is your best defense.''

Claire watched as the cops walked away. They exchanged nods with a tallish young man who was coming in her direction. For a second she thought it was Michael—he had the same walk, the same basic shape—but then his hair caught the light. Red hair, not blond like Michael's.

Sam. Sam Glass, Michael's grandfather. Amelie had told her that Sam would escort her to see Myrnin; she'd just forgotten about it. Well, that was okay. Claire liked Sam. He was quiet and kind and didn't seem much like a vampire at all, except for the pale skin and the slight weird shine to his eyes. Exactly like Michael, now that she thought of it. But then, they were the two youngest, and—weirdly—related. Maybe the older the vampires got, the farther they moved from normal.

‘‘Hey, Claire,'' Sam said, as if they'd just talked five minutes before, although she hadn't seen him for nearly a week, at least. She supposed that time was different for vampires. ‘‘What'd they want?'' He was wearing a TPU T-shirt and jeans, and it made him look kind of hot. Hot for a redheaded vampire, anyway. And he had a nice, if absent, smile. She wasn't his type. As far as Claire knew, Sam was still totally in love with Amelie, a concept she found harder to wrap her brain around than curved-surface string theory.

He was still waiting for an answer. She scrambled to put one together. ‘‘There's a dead girl. She was found in our garbage cans. Amy. Amy Callum?''

Sam's mobile, earnest face took on a grim look. ‘‘Dammit. I know the family, they're good folks. I'll stop by and see them.'' He sat down and leaned closer, dropping his volume. ‘‘She wasn't a vampire kill, I know that much. I'd have heard by now if someone had stepped out of line.''

‘‘No,'' Claire agreed. ‘‘It sounded as though she was killed by one of us.'' She realized, with a rush of horror, that he wasn't
us
, exactly, and blushed. ‘‘I mean— one of the—humans.''

Sam smiled at her, but his eyes were a little sad. ‘‘That's all right, Claire; I'm used to it by now. It's an us-and-them town.'' He looked down at his hands, loose and relaxed on the tabletop. ‘‘I'm supposed to take you to your appointment.''

‘‘Yeah.'' She hastily closed up her books and began loading her backpack. ‘‘Sorry, I didn't realize what time it was.''

‘‘No rush,'' he said. Still not looking at her. Very softly, he continued, ‘‘Claire. Are you sure you know what you're doing?''

‘‘What?''

His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist—the one with the bracelet hidden under the long sleeve. It dug painfully into her skin. ‘‘You know what.''

‘‘Ow,'' she whispered, and he let go. ‘‘I had to. I didn't have a choice. I had to sign if I wanted to keep my friends safe.''

Sam didn't say anything to that; he was looking at her now, but she didn't dare meet his eyes. She didn't like him knowing about her agreement with Amelie. What if he told Michael? What if Michael told Shane?
He's going to find out, sooner or later.
Well, she'd much rather it be later.

Sam said, ‘‘I know that. I wish you wouldn't do this other thing. With Myrnin. It's—not safe.''

‘‘I know. He's sick or something. But he won't hurt me. Amelie—''

‘‘
Amelie
isn't in the business of worrying about individuals.'' That, for Sam, was surprisingly bitter, especially when it came to Amelie. ‘‘She's using you the way she uses all humans. It's not personal, but it's not in your best interest, either.''

‘‘Why? What is it you're not telling me?''

Sam looked at her for a long time, clearly trying to decide, and finally said, ‘‘Myrnin's had five apprentices in the past few years. Two of them were vampires.''

Claire blinked, surprised, as Sam got to his feet. ‘‘Five? What happened to them?''

‘‘You're asking the right questions. Now ask the right people.''

He walked away. Claire gasped, grabbed her bag, and followed.

Over at the coffee bar, the two detectives were breaking the news to Eve. As Claire looked back, she saw the precise second that Eve realized her friend was dead. Even from across the room, it hurt to see the pain in her face, quickly masked and locked away. In Morganville, losing someone was something you got used to, Claire supposed.

God, this town
sucked
sometimes.

 
Sam had a car, a sleek, dark red sedan with dark-tinted windows. It was parked in the underground garage beneath the UC, in a reserved spot marked SPONSORS ONLY, with a graphic of a sticker that had to appear in the corner of the windshield for the parking to be legal.

A sticker that Sam, of course, had. ‘‘So that means what, you donate money or something?''

Sam opened the passenger door for her, a bit of chivalry she wasn't really used to, and Claire climbed inside. ‘‘Not exactly,'' he said. ‘‘Amelie gives them to vampires who have campus business.''

Once he was in the car, turning the key, Claire said, ‘‘You have campus business?''

‘‘I teach night classes,'' Sam said, and grinned. He looked about twelve, when he did that. She had the feeling it wasn't something vampires were into, looking that endearingly goofy. Maybe if they were, they'd be more popular with the local breathing population. ‘‘Sort of an outreach program.''

‘‘Cool.'' The tinting was so dark it was like midnight outside. ‘‘You can see through this?''

‘‘Like daylight,'' Sam said, and she gave up, buckled her seat belt, and let him drive. It wasn't a long trip— nothing in Morganville was—but she had time to notice some things about Sam's car. It was clean.
Really
clean. No trash at all. (Well, he wouldn't be chowing down on burgers in the car, now, would he? Wait. He could . . . ) It also didn't smell like most cars. It smelled new and kind of sterile. ‘‘How are classes going?''