The Morganville Vampires Collection (The Morganville Vampires #1-4) (73 page)

Detective Hess. They had him. No wonder she hadn’t seen him for days – and no wonder Lowe had been acting weird. She looked more closely at Officer Fenton, and found he had a dark bruise on his left cheek that matched the scrapes on Detective Lowe’s knuckles. He’d been in the house, maybe with Detective Hess, and Lowe had taken a swing at him.

Lowe’s eyes were dark and full of misery, and he looked away from Claire. ‘The kid has nothing to do with this,’ he said.

‘The
kid
hangs with the top-shelf vampires,’ Nurse Fenton shot back. ‘How many humans do you know with access to the Founder? She doesn’t even let her own kind get close! Of
course
she’s got something to
do with this. Probably a lot more than you know.’

Truer than Nurse Fenton knew. Claire thought about what she’d learnt from Myrnin – the vampire sickness, the wormhole doorways through town, the network of Founder Houses – and realised that she knew enough to destroy Morganville.

She did her best to look scared and clueless. The first part, at least, wasn’t much of a stretch.

When Jason sauntered over and put his hand on Claire’s shoulder, she flinched. He smelt like a garbage heap in the summer, and she caught a lingering hint of blood from his coat.
He stabbed
Shane.
And he’d smiled about it, too.

‘Get your hands off me,’ she said, and turned to stare right at him. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’

Lowe grabbed Jason by the arm, swung him around, and slammed him face-first into the rough wooden wall of the shed. ‘Me neither,’ he growled. ‘And I’m not tied to a chair. Leave her alone.’

‘Big hero,’ Nurse Fenton said bitterly. ‘You and Hess, you’re both pathetic.’

‘Am I?’ Lowe twisted Jason’s arm painfully high. ‘I’m not the one raping and killing girls for fun.’

‘Jason’s not the one doing it, either,’ Fenton said. ‘He just likes to talk about it.’

Claire said, ‘Then how’d he know about the one in our basement?’

They all looked at her. ‘I never saw a report about any body in your house,’ Lowe said. ‘Just the one in the alley.’

Jason laughed, a dry crack of sound. ‘They moved it. Hey, Claire, you ever think that maybe it wasn’t me? Maybe it was one of your two boyfriends
inside
the house. Shane, he ain’t too stable, you know. And who knows about Michael these days?’

She wanted to scream at him, but she saved her strength. She had thin wrists, and Captain Obvious hadn’t done a very good job of tying her; she could feel a little give in the ropes, and she wouldn’t need much slack to slip at least one hand free. The rough surface of the rope sawed at her skin, but she kept pulling, trying not to make it too obvious, and felt a sudden sharp pain in her wrist as the cut Jason had given her broke open again, sending a slow trickle of blood down her wrist.

It helped, along with the sweat running down her arms. She coughed, and at the same time pulled, and her right hand slipped free of the ropes with a fiery scrape. She kept it behind her back and started working on the knot holding her left hand to the crossbar of the chair.

‘So what are you?’ she asked, to fill the silence and keep them from noticing what she was doing. ‘Vampire hunters?’

‘Something like that,’ Officer Fenton said.

‘Not that I’ve noticed,’ Claire sniffed. ‘Shane’s dad blew into town and killed all the vampires that I know about. What have
you
done?’

‘Shut up,’ Nurse Fenton said flatly. ‘You’ve been here months, if that. You have no idea what this town is like to live in. When we’re ready, we’ll act. Frank Collins had the right idea, but he wasn’t much of a planner.’

‘So you’re planning a revolution,’ Claire said. ‘Not just random attacks.’

‘Would you
stop
telling the prisoner our plans?’ Captain Obvious snapped. ‘Jesus, don’t you watch movies? Just shut up!’

‘She’s not going to tell anybody,’ Officer Fenton said, in such an offhand way that Claire’s heart sank.

They didn’t intend to keep any promises to Michael. No way were they letting Michael, or her, walk out of here alive.

Don’t do it, Michael. Don’t come for me
.

But fifteen minutes later, the door burst open and a vampire rushed in, wrapped in a heavy blanket. The greasy smell of cooking flesh filled the shed, and then the vampire kicked the door closed and collapsed against it, gasping. Smoke rose up from him in a thick, choking cloud. In a few places, Claire
could see blackened skin beneath the covering.

‘About time,’ Fenton growled. Then he picked up a black stick from a crate next to him and drove it into the vampire’s chest. For a second Claire thought that it was a stake, but then she saw sparks, and the vampire went down in a tangle of blankets and smoke.

He’d been Tasered.

Captain Obvious brought out a wooden stake and rolled the vampire over. Claire screamed. Somehow, she’d been avoiding thinking of him as Michael, but the flash of golden hair and the pale shape of his face were unmistakable.

His blue eyes were open, but he couldn’t move. There were burnt patches on his hands and arms, but he was alive…

Captain Obvious positioned the stake.

Claire lurched to her feet and spun to her right. Her left hand was still tied to the crossbar of the chair, but the momentum helped her swing it with bone-breaking force right into Captain Obvious’s back. He crumpled against the wall. Claire grabbed the chair in both hands and used it as a shield as Officer Fenton jabbed the Taser at her, knocking it aside, and managed to hit him in the gut with at least one of the chair’s legs as she screamed for help. He stumbled backward.

Travis Lowe cursed and flicked handcuffs onto Jason’s wrists. ‘Sit,’ he ordered, and pulled his gun. He looked strained and grim, but determined. ‘Back up, Fenton. You too, Christine. Turn and face the wall.’

‘You can’t do this,’ Officer Fenton said. ‘Trav, if you cross us—’

‘I know. You’ll get me. I’ll try not to pee all over myself in terror.’ Lowe nodded to Claire, who was undoing the last of the knots holding the chair to her left hand. ‘Put the cuffs on them. I’ll cover you.’ He tossed her an extra two sets, and she fumbled the unfamiliar weight in her numbed fingers. As she bent to pick them up, Captain Obvious – down, not out – reached over Michael’s still body, grabbed her foot, and yanked. Claire cried out and fell, and Captain Obvious dragged her backward.

Lowe spun, aiming his gun, but it was too late. Captain Obvious had a knife, a big, wicked thing, and he put it to Claire’s throat, right under her chin. It felt cold, then hot as it pressed into the tender skin. ‘Put it down, Jeff,’ Lowe barked. He took a threatening step forward. ‘I mean it; I will put you down.’

He got Tasered in the back. Claire watched him convulse and fall, and felt panic well up inside.
They’ll kill us now. All three of us
. Four, counting Joe
Hess, who was being held prisoner somewhere else.

She heard a sharp, loud crack, and a pale strong hand exploded through the boards beside Captain Obvious’s head, grabbed him, and pulled. The entire section of boards broke away, and Captain Obvious was yanked backward. Claire felt the knife slide along her neck, but it didn’t have any force behind it. He dropped it, flailing for balance, and then he was outside in the bright, dusty sunlight, and there was a dry snapping sound.

Dressed in a black leather trench coat, a black broad-brimmed hat, and black gloves, Oliver stepped into the shed. He gave them all a vampire smile.

‘Well, that was refreshing,’ he said. He reached down and pulled Michael up to a sitting position next to Claire, then stepped in front of them.

‘Could’ve come sooner,’ Michael whispered. He was shaking all over, but he was coming out of his paralysis. Claire hugged him. He fumbled in his pocket, came up with a handkerchief, and pressed it to Claire’s neck. She hadn’t even realised she was bleeding.

Oliver ignored them and walked towards the Fentons, who tried to get to the door. He flashed ahead of them with that easy snakelike speed vampires could display when they wanted, and Claire shuddered at the looks on their faces.

They knew what was going to happen to them.

‘Don’t worry,’ Oliver said. ‘There’ll be a fair trial. Since Samuel didn’t die, and you didn’t succeed today, you won’t burn for what you’ve done.’ He reached for Christine Fenton’s wrist, ripped her sleeve, and exposed her silver bracelet. It fit tightly around her wrist, but he slid a finger underneath the metal and it split along an invisible seam. He dropped the bracelet in his pocket, then did the same to Officer Fenton.

The places where their bracelets had been were sickly pale, and Christine kept rubbing hers, as if the shock of open air on the skin was painful.

‘Congratulations,’ Oliver said. ‘I release you from your contracts.’

And then he grabbed Christine. Claire had a glimpse of his fangs flashing down, silvery and sharp, and then he slammed the woman against the wall of the shed and bit.

Claire hid her face against Michael’s chest. He put his hand on her hair and held her there, turned away from the sight of Christine Fenton dying.

She heard the woman’s body hit the floor and then Oliver, his voice thick and dark, say, ‘Your turn now.’

A sharp, snapping sound, and another body hit the floor.

When Michael let her go, Claire didn’t look at the bodies. She couldn’t.

She looked at Oliver, who was staring down at Travis Lowe. The detective was just starting to stir. ‘What about this one?’ he asked. ‘Friend or foe?’

He wasn’t waiting for an answer. He grabbed Lowe by the collar and lifted him off the ground.

‘Friend! Friend!’ Claire blurted frantically, and saw Lowe’s eyes close in relief. ‘His partner’s missing. I think they were holding him somewhere.’

Oliver shrugged, clearly not interested. He dropped Lowe back to the ground and turned a slow circle. ‘There was another one,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’ He pulled in a deep breath, then let it out with a disgusted cough. ‘Jason. Well, well.’

Sometime while Oliver had been busy killing the Fentons, Jason had escaped out the door, and Michael hadn’t stopped him. Maybe too weak, maybe just worried for Claire. But anyway, Jason was long gone.

‘I’ll find him,’ Oliver said. ‘I’ve been tolerant, so long as he didn’t threaten our interests, but enough.’ He glanced down at Michael and Claire. ‘Go home.’

He stalked away, out into the sun, without a backward glance. Three dead bodies, and he didn’t even pause.

Travis Lowe managed to pull himself to a sitting
position, groaning, and rested his head in his hands. ‘I hate Tasers.’ He looked up and fixed his bloodshot gaze on Claire. ‘You’re OK? Let me see your throat.’

She moved the handkerchief. There was just a thin smear on the cloth. Her wrist was worse; she tied the cloth around it as a makeshift bandage and thought,
I’m going to have to buy Michael some new
ones.
Though why she thought of that now, she had no idea. Maybe she just wanted to imagine normal life.

Because this definitely wasn’t normal.

Michael stood up and helped Claire to her feet, then Lowe. He pulled keys from his pocket and tossed them to Lowe. ‘Pull the car in with the trunk facing the door,’ he said. ‘Open it and honk when you’re ready.’

Lowe nodded and went outside, into the blinding sun. Michael put both hands on Claire’s shoulders and looked down at her, then cupped her cheeks in his palms.

‘Don’t do that again,’ he said.

‘I didn’t do
anything
. I got a ride from a cop, that was all.’

‘Not that,’ he said. ‘Myrnin. Don’t do it again. You can’t go back. He’ll kill you next time.’

He knew where she’d been. Well, she supposed it hadn’t been hard to figure out.

‘You shouldn’t have come,’ she said. ‘You knew it was a trap; what are you, crazy?’

‘I called Oliver,’ Michael said.

‘You didn’t!’

‘It worked, didn’t it?’

She looked around at the dead people in the shed. ‘Yeah.’

He looked ill for a second and started to say something, but then the horn honked outside, and he changed it to, ‘Ride’s here.’

She nodded, and walked out into the dazzling glare. Something brushed by her, moving fast, and then the trunk of the sedan slammed closed before she’d taken more than two steps.

Claire trudged to the passenger side of the car. Exhausted and aching, and feeling a stupid need to cry, she said nothing at all on the ride home.

Joe Hess was in the run-down house on Spring Street, locked in a closet, filthy, with a broken arm and two broken ribs – Lowe had called with the news of his rescue two hours later. Claire tried to be happy, but the crash that had started for her before she left Myrnin’s just kept driving her down. She felt sick and weak and hollow, and she couldn’t even summon the energy to go to the hospital to see Shane. Michael told Eve that she was sick, which wasn’t much of a lie; Claire stayed in bed, shivering, wrapped in layers of blankets even though the room was warm. Everything kept shifting in her head, from dull grey fog to glittering icy clarity, and she didn’t know how long it was going to last. She developed a knife-sharp headache sometime during the night, and by the time she finally slept, it was nearly morning.

Her cell phone rang at two p.m. on Sunday. She’d
got up to visit the bathroom and grab a bottle of water, but no food, and her whole body felt weak and abused. ‘Where are you?’ the voice on the other end demanded. Claire squinted at the clock and scrubbed a hand through her matted, oily hair.

‘Who is it?’

A sigh rattled the speaker. ‘It’s Jennifer, idiot. I’m waiting at Common Grounds. Are you going to show or what?’

‘No,’ she said, and then tried again. ‘I’m sick.’

‘Look, I don’t care if you’re dying; I’ve got a midterm tomorrow for half my grade! Get your ass down here
now
!’

Jennifer hung up. Claire threw the phone down on the nightstand with a clatter and sat – or fell – onto the bed.
I can’t. I just want to sleep, that’s all.

Someone rapped gently on the door, and then it creaked open. Eve was standing there, with a cracked, much-abused plastic tray in her hands. On it was a frosty glass of Coke, still fizzing, a sandwich, and a cookie.

And a red rose.

‘Eat,’ she said, and slid the tray onto Claire’s lap. ‘Man, that’s one hell of a hangover.’

‘Hangover?’ Claire looked at her oddly, and sipped the Coke. It went down sweet and cool, and that helped. ‘I’m not hung-over.’

Eve just shook her head. ‘Been there, CB. Trust me on this. Eat, shower, you’ll feel better.’

Claire nodded. She did feel a spark of hunger, distant as it was, and managed to take two bites of the sandwich before weariness overtook her again. She tried the cookie in between.

The shower felt like heaven, and Eve was right about that, too; when she finally got dressed and finished half the sandwich she felt almost alive.

Her cell phone rang again. Jennifer. Claire didn’t even let her get started yelling and threatening. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said, and hung up. She didn’t want to go, but staying in bed didn’t seem to be doing much for her. She took the tray downstairs, washed up, and grabbed her backpack on the way out.

‘Where the
hell
do you think you’re going?’

Michael. He was standing in the hallway, blocking the door, looking like he was guarding the gates of heaven itself. His hands looked raw and pink still healing from the burns. She thought about that, about how important his hands were to him, because of the music, and felt a sharp stab of guilt.

‘I’m meeting Jennifer at Common Grounds,’ she said. ‘Tutoring. For money.’

‘Well, you’re not walking, and I can’t take you until dark.’

‘I can,’ Eve offered. She joined Claire in the hall.
‘I need to go into work, anyway. Kim didn’t show again; they called a little while ago. Hey, overtime pay. Gotta love it. Maybe we can afford tacos.’

Michael looked exasperated, but it wasn’t as though there were a lot of choices. He nodded and stepped out of the way. Eve stretched up on her toes to kiss him, and that went on for a while before Claire cleared her throat, checked her watch, and got her moving to the car.

It was a short ride to Common Grounds, but not exactly a comfortable one, because the first thing Eve said was, ‘Is it true? Oliver killed the Fentons and Captain Obvious?’

Claire didn’t want to talk about it, but she nodded.

‘And Michael? Michael was there?’

Again, the nod. Claire looked out the window.

‘He got hurt. I saw the burns.’ This time she didn’t even try to answer. Eve let the silence stretch for a few seconds, then said, ‘Don’t shut me out, Claire. The four of us, we’re all we’ve got.’

Except that what Claire had couldn’t be shared. Not with Michael, not with Eve, and certainly not with Shane.

She was alone, carrying an ugly weight of knowledge she didn’t want and couldn’t use. And every time she thought about Oliver’s icy smile, about
him ripping out Christine Fenton’s throat, she felt sick.
I’m helping him, if I keep working for Myrnin
and Amelie
. But she was also helping Michael. Sam. Myrnin.

Eve seemed to sense it wasn’t time to push; she pulled to a stop in front of the coffee shop and said, ‘Stay inside until dark; Michael will come get you.’

‘I’m going to see Shane,’ Claire said. ‘But I’ll get a ride home.’

‘Claire, dammit—’ Eve sighed. ‘I can’t stop you. But if you wait, you and Michael can go together. I’ll see you guys tonight. Tacos for dinner, right?’

Nothing sounded very exciting to her right now, but Claire nodded. She got out and walked into Common Grounds, which was a sea of noise and conversation – packed, as always, with college students and a few locals. She was getting used to picking out the gleam of ID bracelets.

Jennifer was sitting at the same table Monica favoured, sipping a drink that Claire bet was the same thing Monica always had, wearing an outfit that was probably Monica’s hand-me-downs, or at least copied from the same designers. She looked angry and scowled at Claire as Claire dropped her backpack on the floor and slid into her chair. ‘You look like crap,’ Jennifer said. ‘Sick sick, or hung-over?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘Hung-over,’ Jennifer said, and grinned. ‘And here I thought you were all underage Goody Two-shoes.’

The smell of coffee was making her feel queasy, but Claire went to the counter and ordered a mocha anyway. Oliver wasn’t on duty, and she didn’t know the two working as baristas.

When she turned around, somebody else was sitting at Jennifer’s table in the previously empty third chair.

Monica.

Crap. I can’t deal with her. Not now
. She felt horrible, and the last thing she wanted to do was match wits with the witch queen.

Monica gave her the X-ray scan, looked at Jennifer, and did an over-the-top hand to the forehead. ‘I thought the homeless look died in the nineties.’

‘Shut up.’ Claire slid into her chair, mocha in hand. ‘I’m tutoring Jennifer, not you.’

‘Bitch, I wouldn’t
let
you tutor me. You’d probably give me all the wrong answers.’

Which was a totally good idea, and Claire saw the fear flash into Jennifer’s expression. She sighed. ‘I wouldn’t,’ she said.

‘Why not?’

‘Because…because this matters. School.’ They both looked at Claire as though she were a lunatic.

‘Never mind. I just wouldn’t. You want my help or not?’

Jennifer nodded. Claire reached for her notebook and flipped to the notes she’d taken in Economics, and started explaining. Jennifer was trying, at least; Monica kept sighing and fidgeting, but Jennifer seemed to be kind of following along. She even got a couple of the formulas right, when Claire pop-quizzed her. It took about an hour to get her to the level of a solid B, but that was good enough. Jennifer wasn’t interested in As, and Monica couldn’t have cared less.

Claire’s mocha was making her nauseated. She tossed the half-full cup and went to the bathroom. She picked up her backpack and brought it along; half out of an entirely reasonable expectation that Monica and/or Jennifer would do something mean if she left it at their mercy.

She was standing at the mirror staring at her sallow face with its raccoon-bruise eyes and pale lips when the second of clarity hit again, a flicker of unforgiving beauty in a world that seemed drowning in grey.

Maybe a little
. Just to get through the day. There wasn’t that much left, anyway.

She didn’t let herself think. Her head was pounding, her mouth dry, her muscles aching, and
she needed to feel better. Because right now, she didn’t know if she could make it through the day.

She shook about ten measly crystals out into her palm. The strawberry scent teased her, and she shifted them around, watching the light glint on the sharp edges. It looked like candy.

It’s a drug
. She was finally admitting it to herself.
It’s not even for you. It’s for Myrnin. What are you
doing? It’s making you sick.

But it would also make her well.

She was in the process of dumping the crystals in her mouth when Monica shoved open the bathroom door.

Claire swallowed and choked and quickly wiped her hand on her pants. She knew she looked guilty. Monica, who’d been heading for the stall, stopped and looked at her.

‘What was that?’ Monica asked.

‘What was what?’ Wrong answer, Claire knew it as soon as she said it. Why not,
aspirin for my
hangover? Or, breath mints?
She was a terrible liar.

She couldn’t help but drag in a shocked breath as the crystals raced their chemical message through her nerve endings, ice in every vein, and the whole world turned sharp and bright and – for the moment – painless.

And Monica was way too savvy. She looked at the
hand Claire was convulsively rubbing against her blue jeans, then gave her the X-ray stare again, and slowly smiled. ‘Man, that must be good stuff. Your pupils just dilated like crazy.’ Monica edged up next to her and checked her make-up. ‘Where’d you get it?’

Claire said nothing. She reached for the shaker, which was sitting on the edge of the sink, but Monica got there first. She looked it over and shook a crystal out in her hand. ‘Cool. What is it?’

‘Nothing. It’s not for you.’

Monica pulled the shaker back when she reached for it. ‘Oh, I think it is. Especially if you want it so bad.’

Claire didn’t think; she just acted. Her brain worked so fast that she moved in a blur, slamming Monica back against the wall, then twisting the silver can out of her hand. Monica didn’t even have time to yell.

Monica straightened her clothes and tossed back her hair. There was a crazy light in her eyes, and a glow in her cheeks. She
liked
this.

‘Oh, you stupid bitch,’ Monica breathed. ‘That was such a bad idea. So, it makes you faster. And I’m betting it’s something from the vamps. That makes it
mine
.’

‘No,’ Claire said. She’d screwed up, she knew
that, but talking was only going to make it worse. She put the shaker in her backpack and zipped it up, shouldered the load, and turned to go.

Her hand was on the doorknob when Monica said, ‘Shane’s still in ICU.’ There was something about the way she said it…Claire turned slowly to face her. ‘That means he’s not out of the woods yet. Funny thing, people can have all kinds of setbacks. Maybe he gets the wrong meds or something. That can kill you. They did a story about it on the news.’ Monica’s smile was vicious. ‘I’d hate to see that happen.’

Claire felt the wildest, coldest impulse that had ever come over her – she wanted to lunge for Monica, knock her head into the wall, rip her apart. She could
visualise
it. That was terrifying, and she pulled herself back with a snap into sanity.

‘What do you want?’ she said. Her voice wasn’t quite steady.

Monica just held out her finely manicured hand, raised an eyebrow, and waited.

Claire put down her backpack, pulled out the shaker, and handed it over. ‘When that’s gone, I don’t have any more,’ she said. ‘I hope you choke on it.’

Monica poured some of the red crystals into her palm. ‘How much? And don’t be stupid. You OD me, and it’s your neck, not mine.’

‘Don’t do more than half of that,’ Claire said.
Monica scraped half of the crystals off her palm, back into the container. It looked about right. Claire nodded.

Monica dumped it into her mouth, licked the residue from her palm, and Claire could tell the exact second that the chemicals hit her – her eyes went wide, and her pupils began to grow. And grow. It was eerie, and Claire felt her skin crawl as Monica began to shake.
This is what it looks like
. It looked awful.

‘You’re pretty.’ Monica sounded surprised. ‘It’s all so clear now—’

And then her eyes rolled back in her head, and she fell down and started to convulse.

Claire screamed for help, jammed her backpack under Monica’s head to keep her from knocking it against the tile floor, and tried to hold her down. Jennifer ran in and screamed, too, then came at Claire, swinging. Claire moved out of the way of the punch – it seemed slow to her – and shoved Jennifer out of the way. ‘I didn’t do it!’ she yelled. ‘She took something!’

Jennifer called 911.

This wasn’t how Claire had intended to end up at the hospital. Worse, by the time they got there, Monica had stopped breathing, and the paramedics had to
put a tube down her throat. They were hooking her up to machines now, and the mayor was coming, and half the cops in town were converging on it.

‘I need to know what she took,’ the doctor was saying. Claire tried to look over his shoulder; she saw Richard Morrell coming through the parking lot doors. The doctor snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention. ‘Your pupils are dilated. You took something, too. What is it?’

Claire silently handed over the shaker. The doctor looked at the red crystals, frowned, and said, ‘Where did you get these?’ He was wearing a bracelet, silver, with a symbol she didn’t recognise. ‘Look, I’m not kidding. That girl is dying, and I need to know—’

‘I can’t tell you,’ she said. ‘Ask Amelie.’ She held up the bracelet. She felt numb. Even though she’d wanted to kill Monica, she hadn’t really meant to
kill
her. Why had this happened? It was the same dose Claire had taken, and she knew the crystals weren’t contaminated…

The doctor gave her a look of cold contempt, and handed it to an orderly. ‘Lab,’ he said. ‘I need to know what this stuff is, right now. Tell them it’s priority one.’