“But—”
“Do it, Claire. Now.”
She backed away and turned, walked as fast as she dared to the store they’d already passed. It was a skanky-looking used-clothing store, nowhere she’d willingly shop, but she pushed open the door and looked back over her shoulder as she did.
A cop car was gliding to the curb next to Shane. He was standing there, hands at his sides, looking bland and respectful, and the cop who was driving leaned out of the window to say something to him.
Claire nearly fell forward as the door was jerked open, and stumbled over the threshold into a darkened, musty-smelling interior.
“Hey there,” the uniformed cop who’d opened the door said to her. He was an older man, blond, with thinning hair and a thick mustache. Cold blue eyes and crooked teeth. “Claire, right?”
“I—” She couldn’t think what to say to that. All her life she’d been told not to lie to the police, but…“Yes, sir.” She could tell he already knew, anyway.
“My name’s Gerald. Gerald Bradfield. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand. She swallowed hard, wiped her sweaty palm, and shook. She half expected that he’d click handcuffs around her wrists, but he just half crushed her hand as he pumped it twice, up and down, and let go. “People been looking for you, you know.”
“I—didn’t know that, sir.”
“Didn’t you?” Cold, cold eyes, no matter what the smile said. “Can’t imagine that, little girl. Fact is, the mayor’s daughter was worried about where you might have got off to. Asked us to find you. Make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine, sir.” She could barely talk. Her mouth had gone dry. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”
He laughed. “Why would you be in trouble, Claire? No, you don’t have to worry about that. Fact is, we already know where you are. And who you’re running with. You should be more careful, honey. You’re brand-new here, but you already know a hell of a lot more than you ought. And your friends aren’t exactly the kind that guarantee a peaceful life in this town. Troublemakers. You don’t look like a troublemaker to me. Tell you what, you move back into the dorm, be a good girl, go to classes, I’ll personally make sure nothing happens to you.”
Claire wanted to nod, wanted to agree, wanted to do anything to get away from this man. She looked around the store. There were other people in there, but she couldn’t get any of them to look at her. It was like she didn’t even exist.
“You don’t think I can do it,” he said. “I can. Count on it.”
She looked back at him, and his eyes had gone white, with little dots of pupils in the middle. When he smiled, she saw a flash of fangs.
She gasped, backed away, and grabbed for the door handle. She lunged out into the street, running, and saw Shane standing right where he’d been, watching the police car pull away from the curb. He turned and grabbed her as she practically crashed into him. “Vampire!” she gasped. “V-vampire cop. In the store!”
“Must have been Bradfield,” Shane said. “Tall guy? Kind of bald, with a mustache?”
She nodded, shaking all over. Shane didn’t even look surprised, much less alarmed. “Bradfield’s okay,” he said. “Not the worst guy in town, that’s for sure. He hurt you?”
“He—he just shook my hand. But he said he knew! He knew where I was living!”
Again, Shane didn’t look surprised. “Yeah, well, that was just a matter of time. They pulled over to ask me your full name. They added it to inventory.”
“Inventory?”
“That’s what they call it. It’s like a census. They always know how many are living in a place. Look, just walk, okay? And don’t look so scared. They aren’t going to jump us in broad daylight.”
Shane had a lot more confidence in that than she did, but she got control of her shaking and nodded, and followed him up another block to a thrift shop that looked brighter, friendlier, and less likely to have vampires lurking inside. “This is Mrs. Lawson’s place. She used to be a friend of my mom’s. It’s okay.” Shane held open the door for her, like a gentleman. She supposed his mom had taught him that. Inside, the place smelled nice—incense, Claire thought—and there were lots of lights burning. No dark corners here, and a bell rang with a pleasant little tinkling sound when Shane let the door shut behind them.
“Shane!” A large woman in a brightly colored tie-dyed shirt and big, swirly skirt hustled over from behind the counter at the back, gathered Shane up in a hug, and beamed at him when she stepped back. “Boy, what the hell are you doing back here? Up to no good?”
“Up to no good, ma’am. Just like always.”
“Thought so. Good for you.” The woman’s dark eyes landed on Claire. “Who’s your little friend?”
“This is Claire. Claire Danvers. She’s—she’s a student at the college.”
“Nice to meet you, Claire. Now. I’ll bet you didn’t come in here just to say ‘hey,’ boy, so what can I do for you?”
“Clothes,” Claire said. “I’m looking for some clothes.”
“Those we got. You’re about a size four, right? Come with me, honey. I’ve got some really nice things just your size. Shane, you look like you could use some new clothes, too. Those jeans are raggedy.”
“Supposed to be.”
“Lord. Fashion. I just don’t understand it anymore.”
Maybe she didn’t, but Mrs. Lawson had all kinds of cute tops and jeans and things, and cheap, too. Claire picked an armload and followed her to the counter, where she counted out a grand total of twenty-two dollars, including tax. As Mrs. Lawson was ringing it up, Claire looked behind her to the things on the wall. There was some kind of official-looking certificate hanging there, framed, with an embossed seal…. No, that wasn’t a seal. That was a symbol. The same symbol as the one on the bracelet Mrs. Lawson wore.
“You take care,” Mrs. Lawson said as she handed over the bag with the clothes. “Both of you. Tell Shane he needs to get himself right, and he needs to do it quick. They’ve been cutting him some slack, given what he went through, but that won’t last. He needs to be thinking about his future.”
Claire looked over her shoulder to where Shane was staring out the window, looking bored. Eyes half-closed.
“I’ll tell him,” she said doubtfully.
She couldn’t imagine Shane was thinking about anything else.
Days slipped away, and Claire just let them go. She was worried about class, but she was tired and her bruises had turned Technicolor, and the last thing she wanted to do was be the center of attention. It was better—Shane had convinced her—to do some home study and get back to class when she was better, and Monica had had some time to let things blow over.
The week slipped away. She fell into a regular routine—up late with Michael and Shane and Eve, sleep until noon, argue over bathroom rights, cook, clean, study, do it all again. It felt…good. Real, somehow, in a way that dorm life didn’t, exactly.
The following Monday, when she got up and made breakfast, she had to make it for two: Shane was awake, looking grumpy and groggy. He silently grabbed the bacon and fried some up while she did the eggs; there wasn’t any banter, as there had been between him and Eve a couple of mornings back. She tried a little conversation, but he wasn’t in the mood. He just grunted replies. She waited until he was done with his breakfast—which included a cup of coffee, brewed in the tiny little coffeemaker on the corner of the counter—before she asked, “What are you doing up so early?”
Shane leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing as he chewed. “Ask Michael.”
Can’t exactly do that… “You doing something for him?”
“Yeah.” He thumped his chair back down and brushed his hand over his hair, which still looked like a mess. “Don’t expect me to dress up or anything.”
“What?”
“What you see is what you get.” She just looked at him, frowning, trying to figure out what he was saying. “I’m taking you to class. You were going back today, right?”