Shane grabbed the two girls and steered them out, closing the door behind him and leaving Michael alone with Oliver.
Claire tried to turn around.
“No, you don’t,” Shane said, and shepherded them into his room. “You know better. If he needs blood, let him get it from the cooler. Not from the tap.”
“What happened to him?” Eve asked the logical, scary question, which Claire had been at some level trying not to face. “That’s Oliver.Badass walking. And somebody did that to him. How? Why?”
“I think that’s what we have to ask him,” Shane said. “Providing he’s not having a serious craving for midnight snacks.”
“Damn,” Eve said. “Speaking of that, I left the cookies. I could use another cookie right now. How screwed are we, anyway?”
“Given the car and whatever trouble Oliver stirred up? Pretty well screwed. But hey. That’s normal, right?”
“Right now, I wish it really, really wasn’t.”
They sat around playing poker until Michael came back, with Oliver behind him. He was upright and walking, though he looked as if he’d put his clothes through a shredder.
He didn’t look happy. Not that Oliver ever really looked happy when he wasn’t playing the hippie role, but this seemed unhappy, plus.
“We need to leave,” he said. “Quickly.”
“Well, that’s a problem,” Shane said, “seeing how our transpo out there is not exactly lightproof anymore, even if we didn’t mind sitting on half-burned seats.” Not even the trunk, anymore, thanks to the sledgehammer’s work. “Plus, we’ve got t-minus two hours to sunrise. Not happening, anyway.”
Michael said, “Oliver, it’s time to tell us why we came here in the first place. And what happened to you.”
“It’s none of your business,” Oliver said.
“Excuse me, but since you dragged us into it with you, I’d say it is our business now.”
“Did my business destroy your car? No, that was your own idiocy. I say again, you don’t need to know, and I don’t need to tell you. Leave it.” He sounded almost himself, but subdued, and he sat down on the edge of the bed as if standing tired him—not like Oliver.
“Are you okay?” Claire asked. He looked up and met her eyes, and for a second she saw something terrible in him: fear—overwhelming, tired, ancient fear. It shocked her. She hadn’t thought Oliver could really be afraid of anything, ever.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m all right. Wounds heal. What won’t is what will happen if we remain trapped here. We can’t wait for rescue from Morganville. We must get on our way before the next nightfall.”
“Or?” Claire asked.
“Or worse will happen. To all of us.” He looked... haunted. And very tired. “I need to rest. Find a car.”
“Ah—we’re not exactly rolling in cash.”
Without a word, Oliver took out a wallet from his pants, grimaced at the scratches and tears in the leather, and opened it to reveal a bunch of crisp green bills.
Hundreds.
He handed over the entire stack. “I have more,” he said. “Take that. It should be enough to buy something serviceable. Make sure it’s got sufficient trunk space.”
After a second’s hesitation, Eve’s fingers closed around the money. “Oliver? Seriously, are you okay?”
“I will be,” he said. “Michael, do you suppose there is another room in this motel I can occupy until we are ready to leave?”
“I’ll get one,” Michael said. He slipped out the door and was gone in seconds, heading for the office. Oliver closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard. He looked so utterly miserable that Claire, without thinking, reached out and, just being kind, put her hand on his arm.
“Claire,” Oliver said softly, without opening his eyes, “did I give you permission to touch me?”
She removed her hand—quickly.
“Just—leave me alone. I’m not myself at the moment.”
Actually, he was pretty much like he always was, as far as Claire could tell, but she let it go.
Eve was fanning out the money, counting it. Her eyes were getting wider the higher she went. “Jeez,” she whispered. “I could buy a genuine pimped-out land yacht with this. Wow. I had no idea running a coffee shop was this good a job.”
“It’s not,” Shane said. “He probably has piles of gold sitting under his couch cushions. He’s had a long time to get rich, Eve.”
“And time enough to lose everything, once or twice,” Oliver said. “If you want to be technical. I have been rich. I am currently ... not as poor as I once was. But not as wealthy, either. The curse of human wars and politics. It’s difficult to keep what you have, especially if you are always an outsider.”
Claire had never really thought about how vampires got the money they had; she supposed it wouldn’t have been easy, really. She remembered all the TV news shows she’d seen, with people running for their lives from war zones, carrying whatever they could.
Oliver would have been one of those people, once upon a time. Amelie, too. And Myrnin. Probably more than once. But they’d come through it.
They were survivors.
“What happened out there?” Claire asked, not really expecting him to answer.
He didn’t disappoint her.
6
Once Oliver had his own room—room three, of course—at the motel, Claire, Eve, and Shane set out lightproofing the rooms Michael and Oliver would be staying in during the day. That wasn’t so hard; the blackout curtains in the windows were pretty good, and a little duct tape around the edges made sure the room stayed dim—that and a DO NOT DISTURB sign on each knob.
“Dead bolt and chain,” Shane told Michael as the three of them left the room. Dawn was starting to pink up on the eastern horizon. “I’ll call when we’re at the door again, on your cell. Don’t open for anybody else.”
“Did you tell that to Oliver?”
“Do I look stupid? Let him figure out his own crap, man.”
Michael shook his head. “Be careful out there. I don’t like sending the three of you out by yourselves.”
“Linda’s riding shotgun with us,” Eve said. “Literally. With an actual, you know, shotgun.”
“Actually, Linda’s driving us. We said we’d buy her breakfast and haul some heavy stuff for her at the store. Kind of a good deal, plus I think everybody likes her. Nobody’s going to come after us while she’s with us.”
It might have been wishful thinking, but Michael seemed a little relieved by it, and he knocked fists with Shane as they closed the door. They heard the bolts click home.
“Well,” Eve said, “it’s the start of a beautiful day in which I have had no sleep, had my car burned, and can’t wear makeup, which is just so great.”
The no-makeup thing was Shane’s idea, and Claire had to admit, it was a good one. Eve was, by far, the most recognizable of their little group, but without the rice powder, thick black eyeliner, and funky-colored lipsticks, she looked like a different person. Claire had lent her a less-than-Gothy shirt, although Eve had insisted on purple. With that and plain blue jeans, Eve looked almost... normal. She’d even pulled her hair back in a single ponytail at the back.
Not a skull in sight, although her boots still looked a little intimidating.
“Think of it as operating in disguise,” Shane said. “In a hostile war zone.”
“Easy for you to say. All you had to do was throw on a camo T-shirt and find a ball cap. If we can find you some chewing tobacco, you’re gold.”
“I’m not in disguise,” Claire said.
Eve snorted. “Honey, you livein disguise. Which is lucky for us. Come on, maybe Linda’s still got some cookies left.”
“For breakfast?”
“I never said I was the Nutrition Nazi.”
Linda was up—yawning and tired, but awake—when they opened up the office door. She was sipping black coffee, and when Eve said good morning, Linda waved at the plate of cookies on the counter. Eve looked relieved. “Ah—could I have some coffee, too?”