“That is absolutely so you,” Eve said with a happy sigh, and jumped around in hoppy circles in her new patent leather black shoes with red skull imprints. “You have got to get it. And wear it. Trust me, Shane will go nuts. You look so dangerous!”
“Shane’s already nuts.” Claire laughed. “Did you see him in the T-shirt aisle? I thought he was going to cry. So many sarcastic sayings; so few days of the week to wear them. And I’m not sure I really feel comfortable looking, y’know, dangerous. ”
Eve gave her a long, serious look. “You are, you know. Dangerous.”
“Am not.”
“It’s not the hair. You just—you’re something else, Claire. It’s like when all the rest of us don’t know where to go, you ... just go. You’re not afraid.”
“That is so not true,” Claire said with a sigh. “I’m scared all the time. Down to my bones. I’m lucky I don’t run away like a little screaming girl.”
Eve smiled. “That’s my job. You’re the heroic one.”
“Not!”
“Oh, just shut up and get the wig already,” Eve said.
“No.”
“Get it get it get it!”
“Okay! Jeez, you’re scaring the other freaks!”
They both broke into manic giggles, because it was true; a couple of very Gothy Goths were edging away, casting them both odd, apprehensive little looks. Being from Morganville gave you an attitude, Claire guessed. And that wasn’t a bad thing, especially when you were in a scary-big city like Dallas, where everything seemed to move ten times faster than she was used to, including the traffic. She didn’t know how Eve had managed to get them to the hotel, or get Michael to his studio appointment after dark, but she had, and it was fabulous.
The hotel rooms had free soaps and shampoos and robes. It was amazing. And they were all modern, with flat-screen, high-definition TVs, and beds so soft that sleeping on them was like sleeping on angel wings.
It was so not like the life she was used to living, which was, she supposed, what made it extra special cool.
“I am a rock star,” Claire said to her reflection. Her reflection seemed to agree, although it still made her laugh inside to think it. She remembered Morley’s surprise when she’d actually shot him, and Oliver’s laughter, his genuine approval.
Maybe she was, a little tiny bit.
She flipped the hair over her shoulders and thought about makeup. “What do you think about heavy eyeliner?” Claire asked, which was totally redundant, because Eve never went anywhere without heavy eyeliner. It was her number one fashion tool.
Instantly, Eve whipped out her Mac tools and began doing Claire’s eyes for her. When she checked again, Claire looked ... really mysterious. Her face had taken on depth, shadows, secrets.
Wow. It was amazing what a little change could do.
And a little sleep, Claire thought. She felt better than she had in months, knowing there was nobody lurking around the corner to kidnap her, munch her neck, or otherwise present a serious danger.
“You look absolutely fantastic,” Eve said. “Drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Not literally, hopefully.”
“The idea is to knock other people dead, sweetie. I didn’t think I really had to explain that part.”
Shane rounded the corner of the aisle with a double armload of T-shirts, every one of them bound to offend someone in Morganville, and skidded to a stop at the sight of the two of them. His mouth opened and closed. Eve stepped away, but Shane didn’t notice; his eyes were fixed on Claire, and he looked as if he’d been hit in the forehead with a two-by-four.
“How do I look?” she asked, which was a completely ridiculous question, given how he was staring at her.
He dropped the T-shirts and kissed her, long and sweet and hard, and she felt a fierce kind of joy blow into a storm inside, wild and crazy and free.
The Gothy McGoth twins, in their leather and spikes and dyed hair, sniffed and walked off, clearly offended by the sight of so much happiness in one place.
When Shane let her up for air, Claire said, “Maybe we should actually buy the stuff before we celebrate?”
“Why wait?”
And he kissed her again.
Dallas was amazing. All the lights, the dizzying buildings, the crazy amounts of traffic, the noise, the people. After a long morning of shopping, Claire was dog-tired, too tired and dazed to even properly admire how awesome their hotel was, with all the glass and marble and fancy furniture. Michael wasn’t due to be in the studio until eight p.m., so she fell into bed and slept in her clothes, for a long time. When she woke up, Eve was just finishing her makeup—back to Goth Girl Gone Wild—and checking her lace skull-patterned minidress in the mirror. Her legs looked taller than Claire’s entire body.
“Wow,” Claire mumbled, and sat up. The mirror showed her just how horrible her bed head could be. “Ack.”
“The shower is amazing,” Eve said, and turned to the side, smoothing down her dress. “Is it too much?”
“For Morganville? Yeah. For Dallas? No idea. But you look fantastic.”
Eve smiled, that secret little smile, and her eyes glittered brightly.
She was thinking about Michael, obviously.
Claire yawned, slipped off the bed, and went to try the shower. Thirty minutes later, her hair fluffed into relative cuteness, she was clean, dry, and dressed in jeans and her best cute blue top, the one Shane said he liked. She even stopped for a little makeup, although she knew it was a lost cause, considering Eve’s outfit.
Shane rapped on their door ten minutes later, and when she answered, he looked sleepy but relaxed. Freshly showered, which was always a look she loved on him; his hair was even more insane than usual, as if he’d toweled it dry and then forgotten about it. She smoothed it down. He kissed her and called, “Yo, Eve? Crazy train’s leaving the station!”
“I’m coming!” Eve yelled breathlessly, and came out of the bathroom, again, smoothing down her dress.
Shane blinked, but he didn’t say anything. “Michael’s waiting. He’s freaking out that he’s going to be late.”
“Well, he won’t be,” Eve said. “Do I look okay? Like a rock star’s girlfriend?”
“No,” Shane said, and when she looked hurt, he laughed. “You look much better than that, scary girl.”
She blew him a kiss and set off down the hall. Michael was pacing next to the elevators, crackling with nervous energy; his gear was piled next to the wall, and he had a strange, closed expression on his face that disappeared the second he saw Eve.
Claire sighed in sympathetic happiness as Michael kissed his girlfriend and leaned over to whisper something in her ear—something that made Eve laugh and cuddle even closer.
Shane rolled his eyes. “I thought you were in a hurry, man.”
“Never in that much of a hurry,” Michael said, and picked up one of the guitars.
Shane picked up the other and offered him a fist to bump. “Let’s go rock it, Mikey.” Michael just looked at him for a second. Shane held steady, and said, “Michael. You can do it. Trust me.”
Michael took a deep breath, returned the fist bump, and nodded as he pushed the elevator call button.
There was a car downstairs—a big black town car, like a limousine only not as fancy—with a driver in a black jacket. He gave Eve a hand in, then Claire; Michael and Shane took the facing bench seat. The guitars, Claire assumed, went in the trunk.
Michael was looking pale, but then, when didn’t he? He reached across the open space and took Eve’s hand as the car began to roll. “Love the dress,” he said.