Bite Club

“But—”

“No one,” Amelie said. Oliver nodded. “They’ve allowed humans to fight on equal terms, and humans have the advantage of numbers. They will destroy us with this, even without the danger of exposure. It must stop. Dead.”

That, Claire thought with a sick feeling, wasn’t a metaphor.

She had to find them first and get Shane out.

Eve was waiting on the street next to her car when the limousine dropped Claire off at home. Amelie hadn’t said a word to her, although Claire had tried to talk. It was like she no longer acknowledged Claire existed at all.

“What the hell is going on?” Eve demanded as the limo sped away, gliding like a sleek, black shark. She was dressed in a black corset dress with purple net underneath it, and her lipstick was a shocking magenta. When Eve got distressed, she sometimes cha

“No,” Claire said very reluctantly. She took a step toward her friend. “I don’t know where he is, but I think Michael went to go talk to Shane without us, to try to get him to snap out of it.”

“And that didn’t go well,” Eve finished. Her eyes were dark and bleak. “Guys. Why do they never listen? Even the cute, hot, smart ones? Didn’t we agree you’d talk to Shane?”

“I think Michael was trying to protect me,” Claire said. She felt miserable, and she ached all over. “In case Shane got violent. I’m sorry, Eve. I’m so sorry.” She wanted to cry. Everything had gone so wrong, and unlike most times, she felt like she couldn’t control any of it. Everybody was lying or sneaking around or under someone else’s control. Amelie had gone all Warrior Princess on her, and Oliver—well, he was being Oliver, but squared. Even Kim had boned her, and she’d expected that one. But it still hurt, at least physically.

“Oh, honey, it’s all right,” Eve said. She blinked and looked closer. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Kim lured us into a trap. A building blew up.”

“A building blew—” Eve edited herself, backed up, and said, “Wait, did you just say Kim? My Kim? I mean, the Kim we all hate now who’s in prison? That one? Were you locked up? When were you locked up? Why were you—”

“They let her out,” Claire interrupted, and squeezed her eyes shut. “And it was my idea. I thought she could help us trace the signal to where they were holding the fights.”

“Oh? Oh. Well, that was a pretty good idea, actually.”

“It was a terrible idea. She alerted them somehow. They almost killed us. And they royally pissed Amelie off.” Claire’s tears were really threatening now, triggered by the warm, concerned look Eve was giving her. “It’s all coming apart. I don’t know…I think they know we’re looking for them. I think—oh, God, Eve—I think Amelie’s going to kill everybody now and I don’t know what to do!” It came out as a plaintive little wail, and Claire instantly felt ashamed of herself. She was falling apart, and it wasn’t like her. She’d stood up to Oliver. To Bishop. To Amelie. Even to Bad Crazy Myrnin.

The problem was that this time, the enemy, though known, was for all intents and purposes invisible. Faceless. Worse, the enemy she’d seen, faced, was Shane. And that hurt; it had cracked some fundamental, unshakeable strength in her that she needed right now. Desperately. There wasn’t anyone or anything she could stand up to, because they were shadows, smoke, invisible or untouchable, like Bishop and Gloriana and Vassily.

Or like Kim. The thought hit her and vanished. God, she hated her. She hated her most, truthfully, for saying that she hoped Shane died.

That, Claire couldn’t forgive. It burned in her guts like a beaker full of acid.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and caught her breath. Her voice sounded ragged. “I’m sorry. It’s been a very bad morning.”

“You look like somebody dragged you by the hair through an ash factory,” Eve said. “Come in. You need a shower.”

“No. We need to find Michael and Shane!”

“And we’re not going to do it without getting a plan together, right? Because I’m pretty sure that wherever they are, they’re not wandering the town looking for us.” Eve, suddenly, was all business. Usually Claire was (or, at least, thought she was) the logical, pla

“Eve, we have to do something.”

“I know,” Eve said. “And the first thing you’re going to do is take a shower, wash off the—Oh, my God, is that blood?”

“It’s not his,” Claire said. “It’s not Shane’s, I mean.”

“Or Michael’s?”

She hadn’t even asked. That made her want to beat her head against the wall…but then she remembered Oliver had been specific. “No, it was human blood, but it wasn’t Shane’s. So not Michael’s, either.”

“Thank God.” Eve rested her shoulder against the wall of the house for a second, next to the door, and squeezed her eyes shut. She looked almost dizzy with relief. “Okay, inside. I don’t know whose blood it is, but it doesn’t need to be all over you.”

No arguing with that, really.

Cleaning up had a definite stabilizing effect, to Claire’s surprise; she got her emotional bearings again, dressed, and found Eve pacing downstairs in the living room, talking on the phone. When she saw Claire descending the stairs, she hung up and dropped her cell back in her pocket. “Listen, I was thinking. What if we go talk to Frank again? Now that Kim busted open the encryption on that Web site, maybe he can tell us more. What do you think?”

“I think I should have thought of it,” Claire said, and managed a smile. “I’ll call Myrnin. We can use the portal.”

“Ugh. I hate that thing,” Eve said. “But yeah, okay, I’m up for scrambled molecules today. But if that thing ruins my dress, I am hurting somebody. Probably your boss.” She reached down and grabbed a black canvas bag, which she slid across to Claire as she lifted another, identical one.

“What’s this?”

“Picnic lunch. What do you think it is?”

“Antivampire kit?”

“Yes. And lunch. I made us sandwiches. I even cut off the crusts.” Eve gri

She faced the wall, did the mental calculations, and created the portal that led through to Myrnin’s lab. It was dark on the other end, and she sensed the presence of the locked door. “Dammit.” She pulled out her phone and dialed. “Myrnin? Open the portal. I need to get through.”

“It’s not a good time,” Myrnin said. He sounded distracted.

“That’s too bad. I’m coming through. If you don’t want to see me get splattered and killed, open the door.”

He sighed in exasperation and dropped the phone, which might have been read as whatever, but in the next moment, she sensed the door unlocking and opening, and beyond, a slice of light widened and became the lab. Myrnin was standing there, holding open the door, looking just as harassed as he’d sounded.