Ghost Town

Claire felt awkward and a little flushed. She still resented being forced into this; she really hated the casual way Amelie had threatened her friends and family. And she didn’t, at this moment, much care about being nice, so she said, “Don’t ever do that again. Don’t ever threaten the people I love.”

The other vampires—even Myrnin—looked uncomfortable, shocked, or outright angry (Oliver). Not Amelie, though. Her eyebrows rose. “The people you love are constantly at risk, as are all people everywhere. Even mine. You should come to terms with that fact, Claire. I am only one thing that threatens their safety. As they occasionally threaten mine. It is the way of all life.”

Claire balled up her fists, but she wasn’t like Shane. She couldn’t lash out. She just had to breathe through the surges of anger that made red flashes across her eyes until it stopped.

Amelie must have known she wasn’t going to get thanked; she nodded to the others, turned, and left. She hadn’t been alone, Claire realized. Her two usual bodyguards were with her, standing just off in the shadows, and they followed her up the steps and out of the lab.

That left Myrnin, Oliver, and the other vampire, who now bowed stiffly toward her. “Frederick von Hesse,” the vampire said, in what had to be a German accent. “So nice to formally make your acquaintance. This is impressive work. Tell me, how did you come to understand so much of the hermetic arts?”

“I don’t,” Claire said flatly. “A lot of it doesn’t make any sense at all.”

Oliver laughed—actually laughed. “I like this new Claire,” he said. “You should work her this hard all the time, Myrnin. She’s interesting when she’s forthright.”

Claire, possessed by the spirit of Eve, shot him the finger. Which made him laugh again, shake his head, and walk up the steps.

Gone.

Leaving her with von Hesse and Myrnin. Von Hesse had a little in common with Oliver in that he, too, looked like an aging hippie, but it was mostly the fact that his hair was shoulder length, blond, and frizzy. He looked older than most vampires, with a lined face and droopy blue eyes, but he had a nice, if tentative, smile. “I apologize,” he said. “I did not mean to offend you.”

Claire sighed. “You didn’t.” For some reason, it was hard for her to stay mad at von Hesse. Oliver, no problem, but this vampire seemed a little . . . nervous? Fragile, maybe. “I’m Claire.”

“Yes, yes, of course you are. You’ve done an amazing thing, Claire. Truly amazing.” He stood back from the table, admiring the glowing machine. “I never thought it would be possible without the interface of an organic—”

“Please don’t start with the brains again,” Claire said. “I’m tired. I’m going home, okay?”

Myrnin, who hadn’t said much, suddenly reached out and wrapped his arms around her. She stiffened, shocked, and for a panicked second wondered whether he’d suddenly decided to snack on her neck . . . but it was just a hug. His body felt cold against hers, and way too close, but then he let go and stepped back. “You’ve done very well. I’m extremely proud of you,” he said. There was a touch of color high in his pale cheeks. “Do go home now. And shower. You reek like the dead.”

Which, coming from a vampire, was pretty rich.

“Can I take the portal?” Claire asked. Myrnin moved the concealing bookcase and unlocked the door in the wall, swung it open, and bowed so low he practically scraped the floor. He also dug her cell phone out of the pocket of his baggy shorts and handed it over. Claire stepped up and concentrated until the living room of the Glass House was in focus. Nobody was up yet, it seemed. It was still dark outside the windows.

Before she stepped through, she looked at Myrnin and said, “Thanks for taking care of me.”

He smiled faintly, but in a pained sort of way. “I didn’t,” he said. “I put you at risk, all because I do what Amelie says. And I’m sorry for that. But she was right. It had to be done. And it had to be done quickly. I couldn’t have done it alone, Claire.”

“Good-bye,” said von Hesse, waving. Claire awkwardly waved back, and stepped through the portal.

Home.

She took in a deep breath and looked behind her to see what seemed like a solid wall. She might have dreamed all of it, except that she was still shaky and felt oddly empty.

The house smelled so good. Chili—that was normal—and somebody must have done laundry down in the basement, because she could smell the fabric softener. Too much, as usual. That was Shane’s trademark.

She wanted to go straight up to him, but the stairs seemed like too much. Way too much. She could hardly stand up, much less climb.

She compromised by walking to the couch, moving the game controllers, and collapsing on the sagging cushions. There was a blanket draped over one end in an untidy mess, and she wrapped herself up in it and immediately felt better. Safer.

She wiggled around under the blanket, found the cell phone she’d stuck in her pocket, and speed-dialed Shane.

“’Lo?” He coughed and tried again. His voice was husky and low. “Hello?” He must have looked at the screen, because all of a sudden he sounded wide-awake—and alarmed. “Claire? Where are you?”

“Downstairs on the couch,” she said, and yawned. “Can’t come up. Too tired.”

“Stay there.” He hung up, and she heard the thump of footsteps overhead. In just about a minute, Shane was coming down the steps at nearly a run. His jeans were on, but that was all—no shirt, and it made her warm all over to see him that way. He skidded to a stop next to the couch, staring down at her, then crouched to put their eyes on a level. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

“Sure. Just tired.” As proof, she yawned again. “How long have I been gone?”

“Forever,” Shane said, and there was something wrong with his voice; it sounded strange and choked. “Don’t do it again, okay? Scared the shit out of me. Out of all of us.” He smoothed hair back from her face, and she reached up to do it to him, too. His hair really was getting emo length, mainly from laziness and his never wanting to go get it cut.

“You didn’t do anything crazy, right?” It was hard to keep her eyes open, but touching him felt so good. So amazingly good.

“Michael had to pound me a couple of times to convince me not to go stage a rescue.” Shane shrugged. “He hits like a girl, for a vampire.”

“He was trying not to hurt you, dummy.”

“Yeah, I know. Scoot over.”

She did, and opened up the blanket. He slid in next to her, turned on his side, and kissed her before she could protest about needing a shower and toothpaste and all that stuff.

He wrapped her in his arms, so close, and she felt his breath stirring her hair. “You’re safe now,” he said. “You’re safe.”

She drifted off again in seconds into a deep, warm, dreamless sleep, feeling good for the first time in what seemed like years.

SEVEN

Eve woke them up when she clattered downstairs at ten in the morning. Shane groaned, rolled over, and fell off the couch with a thump, tangled in the blanket. Eve stopped on the steps and leaned over the railing. “Wow, Grace, that was impressive. You really stuck the landing. . . . Claire?” She blinked, then practically flew down the rest of the steps. “Claire! You’re back! You’re okay!” She stepped over Shane, who was still trying to get free of the blanket, and pulled Claire up to hug her like a rag doll. “We were so scared; we didn’t know how to get to you—everybody was looking—” She stopped and held Claire at arm’s length. “Ew.”

“Yeah,” Claire said. “I need a shower.”

“I don’t think a shower’s going to cut it. Maybe fire hoses, and those brushes they use on elephants.” Eve stepped back and offered Shane a hand up as he finally got untangled.

“Speaking of elephants, you sounded like a herd of something coming down the stairs,” he said. “What the hell are your shoes made of? Hooves?”