The Morganville Vampires Collection (The Morganville Vampires #1-4) (90 page)

‘Come on, man,’ he said. ‘Just let me talk to Claire. You keep me waiting out here in the dark, I’m lunch meat.’

‘Good to know.’

Jason put out a hand to stop Shane from closing the door on him. ‘Please, man. I’m asking.’

Shane hesitated. Claire couldn’t really imagine why. Jason had stalked Eve; he’d killed – or at least he
said
he’d killed – innocent girls out of some misguided attempt to get the vampires to sign him up for service. He’d stabbed Shane in the guts.

Shane did swing the bat at him first
, Claire’s prim little voice of conscience said. She told it to shut up. Jason had engineered that fight, he’d provoked Shane into it, and it was only the fact that they’d gotten an ambulance there so fast that had saved Shane’s life.

Jason didn’t look like a crazy killer just now. He looked like a half-starved scared junkie kid who was terrified out of his mind. And desperate.

Claire came into the kitchen. Jason’s face lit up. ‘Claire! Claire, tell him – tell him it’s OK. I promise, I’m not going to hurt anybody. Tell him it’s OK to let me in so I can talk to you.’

‘It’s not OK,’ Claire said. ‘But he already knows that.’

Shane nodded. He shoved Jason backward, off-
balance, off the porch. Jason tripped over a brick and fell flat on his ass. He glared up at Shane and rolled slowly to his feet. ‘Claire, I’m supposed to tell you something. From Oliver.’

‘Oliver’s got nothing to tell us that we want to hear, man. Especially from you.’

‘You sure about that?’

Shane grinned. ‘Pretty sure. Good luck with that survival thing out there in the dark.’

Shane started to shut the door. He almost made it before Jason blurted out, ‘Bishop’s setting a trap. We can tell you where and when.’

Claire put a hand on Shane’s shoulder, and he kept the door open, just a crack. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Let me in and I’ll tell you.’ Jason looked desperate enough to claw paint off the door. ‘Please, Claire. I swear, I’m on the level here.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘If Oliver’s got something to say, I’ll talk to him, not to you.’

Resentment flickered in Jason’s dark eyes like oil on fire, and he got up and shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Yeah? You gonna play it like that?’

‘I’m not playing at all,’ Claire said.

‘I think you are. So maybe we do it the hard way after all.’ Jason threw himself against the door
with such force that Shane was knocked backward, and Claire lost her footing and ended up flat on her back on the kitchen floor. As she twisted around to try to get up, she felt Jason’s hand close on her hair, painfully tight. He yanked her up to her knees and dragged her out into the night. She yelled and fought, but he had a lot of experience with making girls do what he wanted.

And she stopped fighting when he put a gun to her head.

‘Good,’ he said in her ear, and even in a blind, black rage she thought his breath was disgusting enough to peel paint. ‘Calm down, I’m not going to hurt you. I was serious. You need to listen to me.’

Shane followed them outside, moving slowly but never taking his eyes off Jason. Off the gun. ‘Let her go.’

Jason laughed, and dragged her backward to the driveway, where a big black car was waiting. Shane followed at a safe distance.
Don’t
, Claire mouthed. She’d seen Jason nearly kill Shane before. She couldn’t stand to see it happen again.
I’ ll be OK.

Jason opened the driver’s-side door of the car, shoved her inside, and pushed in after. She immediately lunged for the other door.

Locked.

Jason slammed the car door and turned the key to start the engine. He took a firmer grip on Claire’s hair. ‘Stay still!’

Something heavy fell on the roof of the car, denting it down almost to the level of their heads; Claire and Jason both ducked, and Claire yelped at the thought that panic might make him squeeze the trigger.

It didn’t.

A fist punched through the metal roof of the car, grabbed the ragged edge, and peeled it back like a tin can lid. And the face that looked down was Michael’s.

No – not Michael; it was
Vampire
Michael. Fangs completely down, eyes completely crimson.

Michael was
angry
. Also,
terrifying
.

He dropped through the hole in a fall of moonlight, took hold of Jason’s gun hand, and yanked him away from Claire like a toy. A breakable one. Jason screamed. The gun went off, and Claire flinched and covered her head, trying to pull into a ball in the corner. The car shook as Michael
threw
Jason out, straight up through the opening in the roof. Jason screamed the whole way up, and the whole way down. He hit the ground with a sickening thud and rolled.

Michael launched himself up out of the car, landed lightly on his feet in the wash of headlights,
and walked to where Jason was crawling to get away. Jason rolled over. He still had the gun.

He shot Michael six times, point-blank. Claire flinched with every loud crack.

Michael didn’t.

He reached Jason, took the gun, ripped it in half, and threw the two pieces into the trash can leaning at the side of the house. Jason looked shocked, then resigned, as Michael reached down and grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket.

Shane reached through the ragged sunroof, opened the car door, and grabbed Claire. He pulled her out and to her feet. ‘You OK?’ He sounded deeply shaken, and he kept running his hands over her, looking for bullet holes, she guessed. ‘Claire, say something!’

‘Stop him,’ she whispered, looking past him at Michael. ‘Don’t let him do that.’

Because Michael was going to bite Jason, and once he did, there’d be no going back. Shane sent her a look, one that probably meant he thought she was crazy, but she forced herself to stay still and calm, even if her insides were quivering in terror.

‘Shane,’ she said, and tried her best to channel Amelie’s cool authority. ‘Stop him.’

She saw the reality of what was happening dawn on Shane, and he nodded and turned toward Michael,
who didn’t look as if he was in any mood to be talked off the murder ledge.

But Shane didn’t have to try, because Michael looked up and saw Eve standing in the doorway, hands pressed to her mouth, dark eyes wide in horror, staring at her boyfriend threatening to suck blood out of her little brother.

Michael let go. Jason collapsed back to the ground, whimpering, and tried to crawl away.

Michael put his foot on Jason’s back, holding him in place. ‘No,’ he said. His voice sounded low and very, very dangerous. ‘I don’t think so. Attempted kidnapping, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder of a vampire? You’re done, man. It’s all over but the screaming.’

‘You asshole!’ Jason yelled. ‘I’m working for Oliver! You can’t touch me!’

He skinned back the sleeve on his jacket, and there, on his wrist, was a silver bracelet.

Michael responded by pressing his foot harder into Jason’s back. ‘Then you and I are going to have a talk with Oliver about how he sends his little worm to my house to shoot me,’ he said. ‘I think you’re not going to like that very much. Because I’m pretty sure that Oliver didn’t ask you to do that kind of thing.’

‘Michael,’ Shane said. It was a warning, and as
Claire turned, she saw why – another car was arriving, a police car with lights flashing. It pulled to a stop in the driveway, blocking in Jason’s half-peeled car, and Richard Morrell got out of the driver’s side carrying a shotgun. Detectives Joe Hess and Travis Lowe were with him, and each of them held a drawn gun.

She’d never seen the three of them looking so grim, but she was glad to see them. At least this meant somebody would be putting a stop to Jason and his craziness at last. Michael was right: it wasn’t going to be a good ending for him, but –

Richard Morrell put the shotgun to his shoulder. He was aiming at Michael. The other two men took up shooting stances.

Claire gasped.

‘Out of the way,’ Detective Hess ordered Shane, with a jerk of his head. Shane didn’t argue. He held up his hands and backed away. Michael turned and saw the cops aiming at him, and frowned.

‘Let him go, Michael,’ Travis Lowe said. ‘Let’s do this easy.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘One thing at a time. Let the kid up.’

Michael removed his foot. Jason scrambled to a standing position and tried to run; Richard Morrell sighed, handed his shotgun to Joe Hess, and took off
after him. As fast as Jason was, Richard was faster. He took him down in a flying tackle before he was halfway to the fence. He rolled Jason onto his back and handcuffed him with brutal efficiency, yanked him upright, and marched him back to where the other two policemen held Michael at gunpoint.

‘What’s going on?’ Michael repeated. ‘He tries to kidnap Claire, and you come after
me
? Why?’

‘Let’s just say we’re saving you from yourself,’ Detective Hess said. ‘You OK? You calm?’

Michael nodded. Hess lowered his gun, and so did Travis Lowe. Richard Morrell put Jason in the backseat of the police car.

‘We got a tip,’ Hess continued, ‘that you’d gone berserk and were trying to kill your friends. But since I see they’re all standing here alive and well, I’m guessing little Jason is the real problem.’

Richard came back, wiping his hands on a handkerchief. Clearly, he didn’t like touching Jason, either. ‘Did he break in?’

‘No,’ Shane said. ‘He pulled a gun on us and grabbed Claire at the back door. He was trying to drive away with her. Michael stopped him.’

Michael, Claire realised as her heartbeat started to slow, had also been shot six times in the chest at point-blank range. His loose white shirt had the blackened
ragged holes to prove it, each one rimmed with a thin outline of red. She remembered Myrnin swiping the knife carelessly down his arm, laying open veins and arteries and muscles just to get a blood sample.

She couldn’t be sure, but it didn’t look like there was a mark on Michael’s chest under the shirt, and he wasn’t moving like a man with bullets buried inside. Not even one in shock.

Wow.

‘What did he want?’ Detective Hess asked. ‘Did he say?’

‘He said he wanted to talk to me,’ Claire said. That much was true, but she didn’t want to drag Oliver into this. It was enough of a mess already. ‘I think he really did want to. He just knew he wouldn’t be able, to do it here. I don’t – I don’t think he really meant to hurt me.’
This time
.

Shane was looking at her like she’d grown a second head, one with serious brain damage. ‘It’s
Jason
. Of course he meant to hurt you! Wasn’t the gun pointed at your head a clue?’

He was right, of course, but – she’d seen the look in Jason’s eyes, and it hadn’t been the predatory glee she’d seen before when he was playing his little sadistic games. This had been flat-out desperation. She couldn’t explain it, but she believed Jason.

This time.

Shane was still watching her with a frown. So was Michael. ‘Are you all right?’ Shane asked, and folded his arms around her. The warm weight of his body pressed against hers, and she realised just how cold she felt. She was shivering, and her knees felt weak underneath her.
I could collapse
, she realised.
And he’d
catch me
.

But she stayed on her own two feet, pulled back, and looked him in the eyes.

‘I’m fine,’ she said. She kissed him. ‘Everything’s fine.’

Eve hadn’t said a word, but she’d allowed Michael to take her back inside once the cops had pulled away; she’d taken only one look at her brother as he’d been hauled off in handcuffs, but that had been enough. On top of the shock of her father’s death, and the trouble with Michael, Eve didn’t seem to have any emotion left to spare.

Through common consent, none of them went to bed. They didn’t eat. The four of them crammed onto the couch, grateful for the warmth and the company, and put on a movie. A scary one, as it turned out, but Claire was glad to focus on someone else’s problems for a change. Being hunted by a city full of zombies might have seemed like a relief in some ways – at least you knew whom to run from, and whom to run
toward
. She lay with her head on Shane’s chest,
listening more to him breathe than to the characters babbling at one another. His hand kept a slow, steady rhythm on her hair, stroking all her tension and fear away.

Eve and Michael didn’t cuddle, but after a while, he put his arm around her and pulled her closer, and she didn’t resist.

By the time the DVD menu came on after the credits, they were all sound asleep, and trouble was far, far away.

Fridays were usually good days, classwise; even most of the professors were in better moods.

Not
this
Friday, though. There was a weird tension in the air, along with the increasingly chilly bite to the wind. Her first professor of the day had lost his temper over a cell phone going off, and reduced some sophomore sorority girl to tears before exiling her from the class with a flat-out failing grade. Her second class didn’t go much better; the TA had a headache, maybe a hangover, and was grumpy as hell – too much to bother slowing down as he sped through the lecture, or to answer any questions.

The only good thing about her third hour was that she was confident it would be over in
under
an hour. Professor Anderson had widely advertised today’s
supposedly pop quiz; only a complete coma patient wouldn’t know to come prepared. Anderson was one of
those
professors – the ones who gave you plenty of chances, but the test was The Test, full stop. He gave only two a year, and if you didn’t do well on both of them, you were screwed. He had a reputation for being a nice guy who smiled a lot, but he’d never yet allowed anybody extra-credit work, or so Claire had heard.

The history majors liked to call his class Andersonville, which was a not very funny reference to the Civil War prison camp. Claire had studied her brains out, and she was absolutely sure that she would ace the test, and have extra time left over.

She stopped off in the restroom, since she was a little early, and carefully balanced her backpack against the wall of the bathroom stall as she did her business. She was going over dates and events in her head when she heard a soft, muffled laugh from near the sinks. Something about it made her freeze – it wasn’t innocent, that laugh. There was something weird about it.

‘I hear there’s a test in Andersonville today,’ a voice said. A familiar one. It was Monica Morrell. ‘Hey, does this colour look OK?’

‘Nice,’ Gina said, fulfilling her job as Affirmation Friend #1. ‘Is that the new winter red?’

‘Yeah, it’s supposed to shimmer. Is it shimmering?’

‘Oh yeah.’

Claire flushed the toilet, grabbed her backpack, and braced herself for impact. She tried to look as if she didn’t care a bit that Monica, Gina, and Jennifer were occupying three out of the four sinks in the bathroom. Or that the rest of the place was deserted.

Monica was touching up her hooker-red lipstick, blowing kisses at her reflection. Claire kept her eyes straight ahead.
Get the soap. Turn on the water.
Wash
—

‘Hey, freak, you’re in Andersonville, right?’

Claire nodded. She scrubbed, rinsed, and reached for the paper towels.

Jennifer snagged her backpack and pulled it out of her reach.

‘Hey!’ Claire grabbed for her stuff, but Jennifer dodged out of her way, and then Monica took hold of her wrist and snapped something cold and metallic around it. For a crazy second Claire thought,
She’s switched bracelets with me. Now I’m Oliver’s
property
…

But it was the cold metal of a handcuff, and Monica bent down and fastened the other end to the metal post on the bottom of the nearest bathroom stall.

‘Well,’ she said as she stepped back and put her hands on her hips, ‘I guess you’ll be finding out just how tough the little general can be, Claire. But don’t worry. I’m sure you’re so smart, you’ll just fill in those test answers by the power of your mind or something.’

Claire yanked uselessly at the handcuffs, even though she knew that was stupid; she wasn’t going anywhere. She kicked the bathroom stall. It was tough enough to stand up to generations of college students; her frustration wasn’t going to make a dent.

‘Give me the key!’ she yelled. Monica dangled it in front of her – small, silver, and unreachable.

‘This key?’ Monica tossed it into the toilet in the first stall and flushed. ‘Oops. Wow, that’s a shame. You wait here. I’ll get help!’

They all laughed. Jennifer contemptuously shoved her backpack across the floor to her. ‘Here,’ Jennifer said. ‘You might want to cram for the test or something.’

Claire grimly opened her backpack and began looking for something, anything she could use as a lock-pick. Not that she knew the first thing about picking locks, exactly, but she could learn. She
had
to learn. She barely looked up as the three girls exited the rest-room, still laughing.

Her choices were a couple of paper clips, a bobby pin, and the power of her fury, which unfortunately couldn’t melt metal. Only her brain.

Claire took the cell phone out of her pocket and considered her choices. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Eve or Shane had experience with handcuffs – and getting out of them – but she wasn’t sure she wanted to endure the questions, either.

She called the Morganville Police Department, and asked for Richard Morrell. After a short delay, she was put through to his patrol car.

‘It’s Claire Danvers,’ she said. ‘I – need some help.’

‘What kind of help?’

‘Your sister kind of – handcuffed me in a bathroom. And I have a test. I don’t have a key. I was hoping you—’

‘Look, I’m sorry, but I’m heading to a domestic-disturbance call. It’s going to take me about an hour to get over there. I don’t know what you said to Monica, but if you just—’

‘What, apologise?’ Claire snapped. ‘I didn’t say
anything
. She ambushed me, and she flushed the key, and I have to get to class!’

Richard’s sigh rattled the phone. ‘I’ll get there as fast as I can.’

He hung up. Claire set to work with the bobby pin, and watched the minutes crawl by. Tick, tock, there went her grade in Andersonville.

By the time Richard Morrell showed up with a handcuff key to let her loose, the classroom was dark. Claire ran the whole way to Professor Anderson’s office, and felt a burst of relief when she saw that his door was open. He
had
to give her a break.

He was talking to another student whose back was to Claire; she paused in the doorway, trembling and gasping for breath, and got a frown from Professor Anderson. ‘Yes?’ He was young, but his blond hair was already thinning on top. He had a habit of wearing sport jackets that a man twice his age would have liked; maybe he thought the tweed and leather patches made people take him seriously.

Claire didn’t care what he looked like. She cared that he had the authority to assign grades.

‘Sir, hi, Claire Danvers, I’m in—’

‘I know who you are, Claire. You missed the test.’

‘Yes, I—’

‘I don’t accept excuses except in the case of death or serious illness.’ He looked her over. ‘I don’t see any signs of either of those.’

‘But—’

The other student was watching her now, with a
malicious light in her eyes. Claire didn’t know her, but she had on a silver bracelet, and Claire was willing to bet that she was one of Monica’s near and dear sorority girls. Glossy dark hair cut in a bleeding-edge style, perfect makeup. Clothes that reeked of credit card abuse.

‘Professor,’ the girl said, and whispered something to him. His eyes widened. The girl gathered up her books and left, giving Claire a wide berth.

‘Sir, I really didn’t – it wasn’t my fault—’

‘From what I just heard, it was very much your fault,’ Anderson said. ‘She said you were asleep out in the common room. She said she passed you on the way to class.’

‘I wasn’t! I was—’

‘I don’t care where you were, Claire. I care where you weren’t, namely, at your desk at the appointed time, taking my test. Now please go.’

‘I was
handcuffed
!’

He looked briefly thrown by that, but shook his head. ‘I’m not interested in sorority pranks. If you work hard the rest of the semester, you might still be able to pull out a passing grade. Unless you’d like to drop the class. I think you still have a day or two to make that decision.’

He just wasn’t
listening
. And, Claire realised, he
wasn’t going to listen. He didn’t really care about her problems. He didn’t really care about
her
.

She stared at him for a few seconds in silence, trying to find some empathy in him, but all she saw was self-absorbed annoyance.

‘Good day, Miss Danvers,’ he said, and sat down at his desk. Pointedly ignoring her.

Claire bit back words that probably would have gotten her expelled, and skipped the rest of her classes to go home.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a clock was ticking. Counting down to Bishop’s masked ball.

There was one comforting thing about the theory of complete apocalypse: at least it meant she wouldn’t have to fail any classes.

Just when she thought her Friday couldn’t get any worse, visitors dropped by the house at dinnertime.

Claire peered out the peephole, and saw dark, curling hair. A wicked smile.

‘Better invite me in,’ Ysandre said. ‘Because you know I’ll just go hurt your neighbours until you do.’

‘Michael!’ Claire yelled. He was in the living room, working out some new songs, but she heard the music stop. He was at her side before the echoes died. ‘It’s her. Ysandre. What should I do?’

Michael opened the door and faced her. She smiled at him. François was with her, both of them sleek and smug and so arrogant it made Claire’s teeth itch.

‘I want to talk to Shane,’ Ysandre said.

‘Then you’re going to be disappointed.’

François raised his eyebrows, reached down, and pulled a bound human form from the bushes on the side of the steps. Claire gasped.

It was Miranda, looking completely terrified. Tied hand and foot, and gagged.

‘Let’s put it another way,’ Ysandre said. ‘You can let us in to talk, or we have our dinner alfresco, right here on your veranda.’

There was absolutely no right answer to that, Claire thought, and saw Michael struggle with it, too. He let the silence stretch for so long that Claire was really afraid Miranda would be killed – François seemed glad to have the chance – but then Michael nodded. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Come in.’

‘Why, thank you, honey,’ Ysandre said, and strolled in. François dropped Miranda on the wooden hallway floor and followed her. Claire knelt next to the girl and untied her hands.

‘Are you OK?’ she whispered. Miranda nodded, eyes as big as saucers. ‘Get out of here. Run home.
Go.
’

Miranda stripped off the ropes around her ankles, scrambled up, and escaped.

Claire shut the door and hurried to the living room.

François had shoved Michael’s guitar out of the way and taken the chair. Ysandre sat on the couch, as comfortable as if she owned the world and everything in it. ‘How kind of you to ask us in, Michael. I didn’t think we got off to a very good beginning. I want to start over.’

François laughed. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We should be friends, Michael. And you shouldn’t be living with cattle.’

‘Is this all you have? Because if it is, I think we’re all done.’

‘Oh, not quite,’ Ysandre said.

‘They’re making dinner,’ François said. ‘That’s ironic, don’t you think? When they let ours go.’

‘These humans, all they do is eat,’ Ysandre said. ‘No wonder they’re all fat and lazy.’

Shane came out of the kitchen. He wasn’t surprised, Claire saw; he must have heard them. ‘You’re not invited,’ Shane said. Ysandre kissed her lips toward him.

‘Oh, Shane, I really don’t care whether I am or not, and you aren’t anywhere near powerful enough
to make me leave,’ she said. ‘It’s Friday, my love. You received the costume I want you to wear for tomorrow?’

Shane nodded unwillingly, like his neck had frozen stiff. His eyes were more than a little crazy.

‘You need to go,’ Claire said to Ysandre, with a bravado she really didn’t feel.

‘What do you think, Michael? Do I?’ Ysandre locked gazes with him, and there was something awful in her eyes. ‘Do I have to go?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Stay.’

Claire gaped.

They make you feel things. Do things, whether
you want to do them or not
. Shane had said it, but Claire hadn’t imagined that they could do it to other vampires. Even one as young and inexperienced as Michael.

‘Michael!’

He didn’t look at her. He seemed completely caught in the web of Ysandre’s attraction.

Claire dug her cell phone out of her pocket. She hesitated over the address book.

‘Deciding who to call for help?’ François yanked the cell phone out of her hands and threw it across the room. ‘Amelie won’t thank you for distracting her from all her preparations. She’s busy, busy, busy,
making sure everything goes just right to welcome our beloved father properly.’

‘Maybe you ought to ask Michael what to do,’ Ysandre said, and laughed, showing fang. She pronounced it like
Michelle
. ‘I’m sure he’ll help dispatch us. So
fierce
, isn’t he?’

Michael’s eyes were slowly turning crimson.

They can make you feel things. Do things
.