The cops left, Shane played some video games, and Claire studied. It was a normal kind of day, all things considered. Shane had the TV on, looking for any news that might show a clue as to what his dad was up to, but Morganvilles local station (it had only one) seemed bland, vanilla, and content-free even on the newscast.
The night came; Michael drifted back into human form; they had dinner.
Normal life, such as it passed for in a place like Morganville. In the Glass House.
It was only at midnight, when Claire was drifting off to sleep to the distant, sweet sound of Michaels guitar, that she started wondering about what she was going to do in the morning. She couldnt just hide, no matter what Michael thought. She had a lifesort ofand shed already missed enough classes this semester. It was go or withdraw, and withdrawing would make things worse. Shed never get her academic life together and go on to the Ivy League schools she was dreaming about.
She fell asleep thinking of vampires, fangs, pretty girls with mean smiles and cigarette lighters. Of fires and screaming. Of Shanes mom floating in the bathtub.
Of Shane, huddled in a corner, crying.
Not a great night. She woke up at first light, wondering if Michael was already gone again, and yawned and struggled her way out of bed and to the bathroom. Nobody else was up, of course. The shower felt good, and by the time shed dried her hair and pulled on a plain white shirt and blue jeans and sneakers, and loaded up her backpack with the daily essentials, she felt ready to face the outside world.
Shane was asleep on the couch downstairs. She tiptoed past him,but a squeaky floorboard made it a useless exercise; he came bolt upright and stared at her with wild, uncomprehending eyes for a few seconds before he blinked and sighed. Claire. He swung his legs off, sat up, and rested his head on the palms of his hands. Ow. Man, remind me that two hours of sleep doesnt really cut it.
I think you just reminded yourself. What were you doing up?
Talking, he said. Michael needed to talk.
Oh. Guy stuff. Stuff Michael hadnt wanted to share with the girls. Okay, fine, not her business. Claire hitched up her backpack and edged toward the hallway.
Where are you going? Shane asked without lifting his head.
You know where Im going.
Oh no, youre not!
Shane, Im going. Sorry, but you dont get to tell me what to do. Technically, she supposed he could; he was older, and in Michaels absence he was sort of the owner and operator of the house.
Butno. Not even then. Once she started letting that happenor happen againshed lose whatever independence shed earned. I have to go to class. Look, Ill be fine. Amelies Protections still good, and the campus is neutral ground, you know that. Unless I screw up, Ill be okay.
Its not neutral ground for Monica, he said, and looked up. She tried to kill you, Claire.
True. Claire gulped down a hard little bubble of fear. I can handle Monica. She didnt think she could, but at least she could avoid her. Running was always an option.
Shane stared at her with bloodshot, tired eyes for a few long seconds, then shook his head and flopped back against the couch cushions, arms spread wide. Whatever, he said. Call if you get into trouble.
Something in his tone made Claire want to shed the backpack and crawl up on the couch next to him, cuddling close, but she straightened her spine and said, I will, and marched to the door.
Two hard, fast chills swept over her. Michael, telling her a firm no.
Bite me, she said, shot the brand-new locks that Shane had installed, and exited into the warm Texas morning sun.
English class was boring, and shed already read through everything in the curriculum, so Claire spent her time writing out her thoughts in the back of her journal. A lot of them centered on Shane, and Shanes lips, and Shanes hands. And curses on the fact that she wasnt eighteen yet, and that it was a stupid rule anyway.
She was still thinking about the injustice of all that after class, when she ran into trouble.
Literally.
Claire turned the corner, head down, and collided with a tall, firm body that instantly grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her, hard, backward. Claire nearly lost her balance, but skidded to a shaky and upright halt, bracing herself against the wall. Hey! she yelled, more in shock than anger, and then her brain caught up with her eyes and she thought, Oh, crap.
It was Monica.
Monica Morrell looked polished and perfect, from her shining straight hair to her flawless makeup to the cute, trendy sheer top over baby doll T she was wearing. No backpack for Monica. She had a designer bag, and she looked Claire up and down, glossed lips twisting in disdain. Of course, she wasnt alone. Monica never went anywhere without an entourage, and today it was her usual wing girls, Jennifer and Gina, as well as a hovering flock of hard-bodied boys, most of them athletes of some kind or other.
Everybody was taller than Claire.
Watch it, freak! Monica said, and glared at her. And then started to smile. It didnt lessen the menace in her pretty eyes. Oh, its you. You ought to watch where youre going. She half turned to her little gaggle of followers. Poor Claire. Shes got a syndrome or something. Falls down stairs, hits her head, nearly burns down her house She focused back on Claire as Jennifer and Gina giggled. Isnt that right? Didnt your house burn?
Little bit, Claire said. She was shaking, deep down, but she knew that if she backed down, she risked a lot worse. But I heard its not the first time thats happened when you stop by for a visit.
Monicas clique made a low ooooooooooh sound, a no-she-didnt murmur evenly split between appreciation and anticipation. Monicas eyes turned cold. -Er.
Dont even go there, freak. Not my fault you live with a bunch of losers and jerks. Probably that Goth whore lighting candles all over the place. Shes a walking fire hazard, not to mention a fashion disaster.
Claire bit the inside of her lip and swallowed her reply, which would have had to do with who the real whore was in the conversation. She just raised her own eyebrowswell aware they werent plucked, or perfect, or anythingand smiled like she knew something Monica didnt.
Shes not the only one. Isnt that top from Wal-Mart? The Trailer Park collection? She turned around to go as Monicas friends hed again, this time with an edge of laughter.
Monica grabbed her by the backpack, yanking her off-balance. Tell Shane I said hi, she said, her breath hot against Claires ear. Tell him I dont care whos put out the truce flagIm going to get him, and you, and hes going to be sorry he ever screwed with me.
Claire pulled herself free from Monicas highly polished manicured grip and said, He wouldnt screw you if you were the last girl on earth and it was survival of the species.
She thought that Monica was going to scratch her eyes out with those perfectly manicured talons, and backed off fast. Monica, strangely, let her go. She was even smiling, a little, but it was a weird kind of smile, and it made Claires stomach lurch when she looked back.
Bye now, Monica said. Freak.
Chem class was already under way when Claire breathlessly slid into an empty seat and unpacked her notebook and text. She kept an eye out for Monica, Gina, Jennifer, or any random chemicals being flung her wayit had happened beforebut she didnt run into Monica there, or on her way to her next class, or the next. By midafternoon she was aching from the tension, but her heart rate was pretty normal, and shed gotten back into the groove of listening for comprehension. Not that she wasnt way ahead in the classesshe had a habit of reading the whole book at the beginning of the semesterbut it was always nice when professors dropped some tidbit that wasnt in the book or the published notes. Even the classes she didnt much like seemed relatively interesting. History had a quiz, which she finished in five minutes and handed in, then escaped with a silent thumbs-up from the professor.
It was late afternoon when she exited into the quadrangle outside of the science building; the crowds of students had thinned, since a lot of people tried to finish classes early and get on with the all-important party schedule. TexasPrairieUniversity wasnt exactly Harvard on the Plains; most of the students were here to plow through two years of required courses, then transfer out to a legitimate university. So it was Party till you puke, mostly.
It was funny as she looked around now, knowing what she knew about Morganville. Shed never realized what an insulated little world college was; shed be willing to bet that ninety percent of the kids attending had no idea what the real score was in town, or ever would. TPU was like a wildlife park, and the students were the wildlife.
And sometimes, the herd got culled.
Claire shivered, looked around for any signs of lurking Monicas, and took off for home. It wasnt a long walk, but it took her over the nicely tended (though sun-seared) grounds and out into Morganville propers business districtwhich really wasnt. It was a sideshow for the students, all coffee shops (she wondered what poor fool Oliver had gotten to fill Eves empty barista apron) and bookstores and trendy clothing emporiums. Buildings sported school colorsgreen and whiteand usually had STUDENT DISCOUNT signs fading in the windows.
There was a weedy-looking guy in black standing at the corner, watching her with burning dark eyes. He looked familiar, but she couldnt think whysomebody from class, maybe? Scary, anyway. She wondered why he was staring at her. There were other girls on the street. Prettier ones.
Claire walked faster. When she looked back, he wasnt there anymore. Was that better, or way creepier?
Walking even faster seemed like a great idea suddenly.
As Claire passed Common Grounds, the coffee shop, she glanced inside and saw someone she thought she recognizedbut what the hell would Shanes dad be doing here? In the middle of the day? He didnt exactly blend in with the college crowd, and every cop in town was shaking the trees for him, right?
But there he was. Granted, shed gotten only a quick look, but how many Frank Collins look-alikes could there be in Morganville?
I should get the hell out of here, she thought, but then she wondered. If she could find out what he was doing, maybe that would help Michael and Shane with planning what to do next. Besides, it was the middle of the day, broad daylight, and it wasnt like Mr. Collins didnt know where to find her if he wantedhe knew where she lived, after all.
So Claire opened the door and slipped inside, hiding behind a couple of big jocks with bulky laptop-laden backpacks who were having some earnest conversation about whether baseball stats were legitimate during the steroid years, or had to be thrown out. Yes, that was Shanes dad, and he was sitting in the corner of the coffee bar, sipping from a cup. Plain as day.
What the hell?
She caught her breath as Oliver slipped into the seat opposite him. Oliver was a lanky guy, tall and a bit stooped, with long curling hair that was sprinkled and shot through with gray. Not very threatening, Oliver, until you saw the fangs and the real personality lurking underneath what he put on for the public. Oliver was terrifying, and she had no desire at all to get into any position where shed have to deal with him again.
Claire turned to go, and ran into a broad chest clad in a soft gray T-shirt. She looked up, and saw a guy she didnt recognizea little older than Shane, maybe, but not much. He had soft, short red hair, and he was fair-skinned and freckled. Big blue eyes, the kind of blue that made her think of clear skies or deep oceans. He was justpretty. And kind of peaceful.
Big and solid, and wearingof all things, in this Texas late-summer heat wavean old, worn brown leather jacket. No backpack, but he looked like a student.
He smiled down at her. She expected him to step out of the way, but he didnt; instead, he reached down, took her hand, and said, Hello, Claire. Im Sam. Lets talk.
His fingers felt cool, like clay. And he was, under the freckles, a little too pale. And there was something fey and sad in his eyes, too.
Oh, crap. Vampire.