“Yes,’” Sam said. “It’s like that. Get in.’”
The boys piled into the closet. Eve dragged Claire to the farthest corner, shoving piles of rank-smelling athletic shoes out of the way, and sat her down. Eve crouched next to her, ready for action, and glared at the guys. They kept their distance.
Sam slammed the door.
Darkness.
“What the hell is going on?’” Coffee Bar Jerk demanded. His voice was shaking.
“People are getting hurt,’” Eve said tightly. “Could be you if you don’t shut up.’”
“But—’”
“Just shut the hell up!’”
Silence. The music was still pounding downstairs, but over it Claire could hear the screaming. She started to go into that funny gray place, but jerked herself back with an effort and squeezed Eve’s tense hand. “It’s okay,’” Eve whispered to her. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry.’”
“I was doing okay,’” Claire said. Surprised, actually, that it was true. “Thanks for saving me.’”
“I didn’t do anything but find Sam. He found you.’” Eve stopped. “All right, who’s touching me?’”
A high-pitched male voice out of the darkness. “Oh shit! Sorry!’”
“Better be.’”
There was a tense silence in the dark.
And then Claire heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Quiet,’” Eve whispered. She didn’t need to say it. Claire felt it, and she knew everybody else did, too. There was something bad out there, something worse than four horny, stupid, cruel boys.
She felt something brush against her. A hand. One of the boys, she didn’t know which one—was it Ian who’d slumped against the wall nearest to her?
She took it and squeezed. He squeezed back, silently.
And Claire waited to see if they were going to die.
10
The screaming stopped, and the music cut off in mid-rave. That was worse, somehow. The silence felt…cold. Claire held on grimly to consciousness. The effects seemed to be coming and going. Maybe she was going to be okay.
A floorboard creaked right outside the closet door.
Claire felt a tremor go through the boy whose hand she held, and she pressed herself harder against the wall and stared at the closet door. It was a big black rectangle outlined in warm yellow.
There was a flicker of shadow, and a snarl, and a man’s full-throated yell, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Then the boom of a gun going off. Claire jumped, and felt Eve and the boy jump, too. “Oh God,’” he whispered. He was shaking all over. Claire supposed that was one thing that being roofied was good for—it kept your heart rate down in an emergency. She felt pretty calm, all things considered. Or maybe she was just getting used to being scared out of her mind.
Running footsteps. The banister in the hall creaked. More shouts from downstairs, feet pounding on the stairs, heading down…
And then the distant, shrill sound of sirens.
“Cops,’” somebody whispered, maybe Coffee Bar Jerk. He sounded a whole lot less arrogant. “We’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay.’”
“Yeah, until these two turn us in,’” muttered another boy. “For, you know. The thing.’”
“You mean for attempted rape?’” Eve whispered fiercely. “Jesus, listen to you. The thing. Call it what it is, you asshole.’”
“Look, it was just—I’m sorry, okay? We didn’t want to hurt her. We just—’”
“She’s sixteen, man.’”
“What?’”
“Sixteen. So you can thank me now for saving you serious jail time, because attempted rape is a hell of a lot better than actual rape. The statutory kind. Did Monica put you up to it?’”
“I—uh—yeah. She said—she said Claire was good to go, that she just needed it rough. She wanted to be sure we got her here.’”
“Shhhhhh,’” Claire whispered frantically. She heard another floorboard creak. Everybody fell silent.
The door swung open, blinding them with a wash of light, and Claire squinted at the man standing there.
Red hair.
“Out,’” Sam said. “Move.’”
The boys got up and filed out, looking a whole lot less arrogant than before, and clustered together in the corner. It had been Ian whose hand she’d held, after all, Claire saw. He was looking at her in a weird, new way, as if he actually saw her for the first time.
“I’m sorry about your nose,’” she said. He blinked.
“It’s not so bad,’” he offered. “Look, Claire—’”
“Don’t.’”
“You still going to tell the cops?’” That was Coffee Bar Jerk.
“No,’” Claire said.
“Bullshit! Yes,’” Eve said. “A world of yes. So you’d better not try this again. Ever. And besides, if you do, the last thing you have to worry about is the cops. Right, Sam?’”
Sam nodded without speaking.
“Let’s get out of here. Claire? Can you walk?’”
“I can try.’”
But the world just slipped out from under her when she got up, and she fell into Eve’s arms. Eve juggled her awkwardly, trying to find the right way to hold her up, and suddenly Claire was floating about four feet off the ground.
Oh. Sam had her, and he was holding her as if she were as heavy as a bag of feathers.
“Hey,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. Sam stopped on his way to the door. “Sorry, seriously. It was just—Monica said—’”
“Stop, man,’” Ian said. “Monica just gave us the idea. We were the ones who did it. No excuses.’”
“Yeah,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. “Whatever, man. Won’t happen again.’”
“If it does,’” Sam said, “never mind the police. I’ll find you.’”
Things were melting into one another. Claire felt sick and disoriented, and only having her arms around Sam’s cool, strong neck kept her from floating away on a tide of chemicals. When she opened her eyes she caught flashes…. The EEK frat house was trashed. Furniture broken, walls bashed, people lying on the floor…
And some of them were bloody.
Eve stopped and pressed her fingers to the throat of a boy wearing full vamp gear, including the teeth; his blue eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t move.
“He’s dead,’” she whispered.
There was a wooden stake in his chest.
“But—he wasn’t a vampire,’” Claire said. “Right?’”
“They didn’t care. He looked like one, and he must have gotten in the way,’” Sam said. “There are two vampires dead in the other room. This one was a mistake.’”
“In the other room?’” Claire asked. “How do you know?’”
“I know.’” Sam stepped over the body and moved around a busted-up couch. Glass crunched under his feet. The sirens were getting closer now, late to the party as usual.
“Was it Frank’s guys?’” Eve asked. “The bikers?’”
Sam didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. How many rampaging antivamp gangs could there be in Morganville?
Claire closed her eyes and let her head drop against Sam’s chest, meaning just to rest for a second.
And…she just left the world for a while.
Claire woke up to the sound of voices and a headache the size of Cleveland inside of her skull; her mouth was dry as a bone, and her tongue a thick roll of felt covered in sandpaper. Also, hello, nausea.
She was lying in her own bed, at home.
Claire rolled out, ran to the bathroom, and took care of the sickness first, then looked in the mirror. It was horrible. Her face was smeared with makeup, her black eyeliner smudged every which way, her black-sprayed hair sticking up in thick clumps.
Claire started the shower, stripped off the Goth disguise, and sat in the tub with the water pounding down. There wasn’t enough soap in the world, really, but she tried, scrubbing hard. Scrubbing until her skin was stinging.
She froze at the sound of a knock on the bathroom door. “Claire? It’s Eve. You okay?’”
“Yeah,’” she said. “I’m okay.’” Her voice sounded thick and weak.