"News flash, boy, you're supposed to be evil, not redneck!"
Claire ripped open the package and upended it, and small jewelry box slid out into her hand. A nice one — red velvet, with some kind of gold crest embossed on it. She felt the skin tighten up on the back of her neck. Oh no.
Suspicions confirmed as she flipped up the lid and saw the gold bracelet nestled on blood-red velvet. It was pretty, and it wasn't too big; delicate enough to circle one of her small wrists.
The Founder's Symbol was embossed discreetly in a small gold cartouche.
Oh, no.
Claire bit her lip and stared at the bracelet for a long time, then snapped the lid shut, put it back in the envelope, and went to join Eve and Michael in the kitchen.
"So?" Eve was getting down pots, and Michael was rummaging in the refrigerator. "Spaghetti okay with you?"
"Fine," Claire said. She wondered if she looked spooked. She hoped not, but even if she did Eve was looking at Michael, and he was looking back, and she was safe from any kind of major inspection while they were making eyes at each other.
Until she turned, and ran into Shane, who'd come in the kitchen door behind her. The package felt hot and heavy in her right hand, and she took an involuntary step back.
Which hurt him. She saw the flash of it in his eyes. "Hey," he said. "You all right?"
She nodded, unable to speak, because if she said anything it would have to be a lie, and she didn't want to lie to him. Shane stepped closer and put a warm hand on her face, and it felt good, so very good that she leaned into it, then further, into his arms. He made her feel small and loved, and for just a second, what was in the package in her hand didn't matter.
"You're working too hard," he said. "You look pale. School okay?"
"School's fine," she said. That wasn't a lie, school was definitely not what scared her anymore. "I guess I need more sleep."
"Just a few more days until the weekend." He kissed the top of her head, bent closer, and whispered, "My room. I need to talk to you."
She blinked, but he was already stepping back and heading out the door. She looked over her shoulder at Eve and Michael, but they were happily talking as Eve adjusted the flame under the pots, and they hadn't noticed anything.
Claire shoved the package into her backpack, zipped it up, and followed Shane upstairs.
Shane's room was very utilitarian — his bed was never made, though he made an attempt as she came in to straighten out the sheets and toss the blanket over it. Couple of posters on the wall, nothing special. No photos, no mementos. He didn't spend a lot of time here, except to sleep.
Claire leaned her backpack against the wall and sat down next to him on the bed. "What?" she asked. If she'd expected a wild pre-dinner make-out session, she was disappointed. He didn't even put his arm around her.
"I'm thinking of leaving," he said.
"Leaving? But Eve's making dinner — "
He turned and made eye contact. "Leaving Morganville."
She felt a surge of utter panic. "No. You can't!"
"Done it before. Look, this place, it's — I didn't come back here because I missed it. I came back because my Dad sent me, and now that he's been and gone and I'm not doing his dirty work anymore — " Shane's eyes were begging her to understand. "I want a life, Claire. And you don't belong here. You can't stay. They'll kill you. No, worse. They'll make you into one of them, one of the walking dead. I'm not talking about the vampires, either. Nobody who lives here has a pulse, not really."
"Shane — "
He kissed her, and his lips were warm and damp and soft and urgent. "Please," he whispered. "We need to leave this town. It's going to get bad. I can feel it."
God, why was he doing this? Why now? "I can't," she said. "I — school, and — I just can't, Shane. I can't leave." Her signature on a piece of paper. Her soul on a platter. It had been the price to keep them safe, but she'd have to keep on paying, right? As apprentice to Myrnin. And she guessed that wouldn't be a long-distance study course.
"Please." It was barely a whisper from him, his lips brushing hers, and honestly, she would have done almost anything for him when he used that tone, but this time ...
"What happened?" she asked.
"What?"
"Was it something with Michael? Did he — did you — ?" She didn't even know what she was asking, but something had deeply disturbed Shane, and she had no idea what it was.
He looked at her for a long few seconds, then pulled away, stood up, and walked to his window to look down on the back yard they never really used. "My dad called," he said. "He told me that he was coming back, and he wanted me to be prepared to take out some vampires. If I stay, I'm going to have to kill Michael. I don't want to be here, Claire. I can't."
He didn't want to make the choice, not again. Claire bit her lip, hard; she could hear the pain in his voice, although he wasn't going to let her see it in his expression. "You really think your dad will come back?"
"Yeah. Eventually. Maybe not this month, maybe not this year, but ... someday. And next time, he'll have what he needs to start a real war around here." Shane shivered; she saw the muscles in his back tense up under the tight gray shirt he was wearing. "I need to get you out of here before you get hurt."
Claire got up, walked to him, and put her arms around him from behind. She leaned against him, her head on his back, sighed. "I'm more worried about you," she said. "You and trouble ..."
"Yeah." She heard the smile in his voice. "We're like that."
CHAPTER FOUR
The spaghetti was good, and a little pleading got Shane to sit down and eat. He sat across from Michael, but they didn't talk, and they didn't make eye contact. All in all, pretty polite, and Claire was just starting to relax when Shane asked, blandly, "You put extra garlic in this, Eve? You know how I like the garlic."
She shot him a dirty look. "Oh, the neighborhood knows." And then an apologetic one toward Michael. "It's okay, right? Not too much?" Because garlic wasn't something vampires were especially fond of. That was why Shane tended to use it as garnish on everything he ate.
"It's fine," Michael said, but he was picking at his food, and he looked a little pale. "Monica stopped by today. Looking for you, Claire."
Both Shane and Eve groaned. For once, all three of her housemates were entirely in agreement. And they were all looking at her.
"What?" she asked. "I swear, it's not — I'm not sucking up to her or anything! She's just — crazy, okay? I'm not her friend. I don't know why she's coming around."
"She's probably going to set you up again," Eve said, and scooped more spaghetti into her bowl. "Like she did at the frat dance. Hey, she's throwing a party this Friday, did you hear? Super exclusive, flying in out of towners and everything. I guess it's her birthday, or Daddy-gave-me-money day, or whatever. We should crash."
"I like the sound of that," Shane said. "Crashing Monica's party." He glanced at Michael, then quickly away. "What about you? That break some kind of vampire rules of conduct or something?"
"Blow me, Shane."
"Boys," Eve said primly. "Language. Minor at the table."
"Well," Shane said, "I wasn't actually planning to do it."
Claire rolled her eyes. "Not like it's the first time I've heard it. Or said it."
"You shouldn't say it," Michael said, all seriousness. "No, I mean it. Girls should say 'eat me,' not 'blow me.' Wouldn't recommend 'bite me,' though. Not around here."
Eve choked on her spaghetti. Shane pounded her on the back, but he was laughing too, and so was Michael, and Claire glared at them for a little bit before giving in and admitting it was funny, after all.
Everything was all right.
"So. Friday night?" Eve asked, wiping her eyes and gasping through her giggles. "Par-tay? Because I could so use a good blowout."