Dead Girls' Dance

Lisa and Gramma both looked at her sharply. Neither one of them replied. They were both wearing bracelets, she noticed, plain silver with the Founder’s symbol on a metal plaque, like those Medic Alert bracelets. Finally, Lisa said, softly, “You need to leave now.’”

“But—’”

“Go!’” Lisa yelled it, grabbed the glass out of Claire’s hand, and thumped it down on the table. “Don’t you make me throw you down the stairs in front of my gramma!’”

“Hush, Lisa,’” Gramma said, and leaned forward with a creaking sound, from either the wooden porch swing or her old bones. “Girl’s got no better sense than God gave a sheep, but that’s all right. It’s the Founder’s symbol, child, and this is the Founder’s house, and we’re the Founder’s people. Just like you.’”

Lisa looked at her, openmouthed. “What?’” she finally said when she got control of her voice.

“Can’t you see it?’” Gramma waved her hand in front of Claire. “She shines, baby. They see it, I guarantee you they do. They won’t touch her, mark or no mark. Worth their lives if they do.’”

“But—’” Lisa looked as frustrated and helpless as Claire felt. “Gramma, you’re seeing things again.’”

“I do not see things, missy, and you better remember just who in this family stayed alive when everybody else fell.’” Gramma’s faded eyes fixed on Claire, who shivered despite the oppressive, still heat. “Don’t know why she marked you, child, but she did. Now you just got to live with it. Go on, now. Go home. You got what you came for.’”

“She did?’” Lisa scowled fiercely. “Swear to God, if you lifted anything from our house—’”

“Hush. She didn’t steal. But she got what she needed, didn’t you, girl?’”

Claire nodded and nervously ran a hand through her hair. She was sweating buckets; her hair felt sticky and wet. Home suddenly sounded like a real good idea.

“Thank you, ma’am,’” she said, and extended her hand. Gramma looked at it for a few seconds, then took it in a birdlike grip and shook. “Can I come back and see you sometime?’”

“Long as you bring me some chocolate,’” Gramma said, and smiled. “I’m partial to chocolate.’”

“Gramma, you’re diabetic.’”

“I’m old, girl. Go

They were still arguing as Claire retreated down the steps, through the neatly kept front garden, and out through the gate in the white picket fence. She looked at that alley, the one she’d almost taken, and this time she felt a shiver of warning. Trapdoor spiders. No, she no longer had any desire to take shortcuts. And she’d learned about as much as she could stomach about Jason Rosser. At least she knew now who to watch out for, if he started following her around again.

Claire hitched her backpack to a more comfortable position, and began walking.

7

There was no sign of Shane’s dad or the bikers. In fact, it was very quiet in Morganville, despite Claire’s fears. Travis Lowe and Joe Hess dropped by early the next morning to deliver the no-news-is-good-news party line to Eve and the house in general; they were polite and kind, and generally seemed like okay guys for cops, but they made Claire feel scared and paranoid. She supposed all cops were like that, when they were on Official Business. It didn’t seem to bother Eve at all; she was up, bleary-eyed and yawning, fresh out of the shower and still wrapped in a Hello Kitty bathrobe, free of the Goth mask. Shane was, predictably, asleep, and who knew where Michael was? Watching, Claire thought. Always watching. She supposed that should have been creepy, except that in Michael’s case, it was just…comforting.

“Hey, guys,’” Eve said after wandering down the stairs into the living room. She plopped on the couch, bounced, and yawned again. “Coffee. Need coffee.’”

“I made some,’” Claire said, and went into the kitchen to get it. Travis Lowe followed her silently and carried the cups back out. He and his partner drank it black; Claire could barely stand it even with more milk and sugar than actual coffee. Eve was cream only, no sugar, and she sucked it down like Gatorade after a hard work-out, then collapsed against the couch cushions and sighed happily.

“Morning, Officers,’” she said, and closed her eyes. “It’s too early for this.’”

“Heard you got a job on campus,’” Hess said. “Congratulations, Eve.’”

“Yea, me.’” She made a lazy woo-hoo gesture. “You come all this way to say that?’”

“Not a long way in Morganville.’” Hess shrugged. “But no. Like I told Claire, there’s no sign of your intruders. So I think you’re in the clear on that. Hope that makes your day better.’”

Eve shot Claire a fast, tentative look. “Sure,’” she said. “Um…about…the other thing…?’”

“You want to talk in private?’” Claire asked, and stood up with her coffee cup in hand. “’Cause I can go on to school…’”

“Sit,’” Hess said. “You’re not going anywhere yet. And you’re not going anywhere by yourself.’”

“I’m…what?’”

“We’re giving you girls a ride to school,’” Lowe said, and sipped his coffee. “And a ride home when you’re done. Consider us your Thin Blue Line Taxi Service.’”

“No!’” Claire blurted, appalled. “I mean, you can’t—you shouldn’t—why?’”

“Eve knows why,’” Hess said. “Don’t you, Eve?’”

Eve put her coffee cup on the side table and crossed her arms against her chest. She looked very young in pink and white, and very scared. “Jason.’”

“Yeah, Jason.’” Hess cleared his throat, glanced at Claire, and continued. “We found Karla Gast late last night. Well, actually, some of our more night-inclined colleagues found her. Dumped in a vacant lot about six blocks from here behind some piled-up lumber.’”

In a flash, Claire remembered walking past the empty lot on her way to her unintended visit with Amelie. She’d even smelled decay. She put her coffee cup down and put both hands over her mouth, fighting an impulse to gag.

“You think—’” Eve looked tense and pale. She licked her lips, swallowed, and continued. “You think Jason was involved.’”

“Yeah,’” Hess said softly. “We think. No proof, though. No witnesses, no forensic evidence, but she was definitely not killed by a vampire. Look, Jason’s been spotted in the area, so I don’t want you out there by yourself for now, okay? Either one of you.’”

“He’s my brother!’” Eve sounded angry now, voice shaking. “How could he do this? What kind of—of—’”

“It’s not your fault,’” Lowe said. “You tried to get him help. He just got sicker.’”

“It is my fault!’” she shouted. “I’m the one who turned him in! I’m the one who didn’t stop Brandon from—’”

“From what?’” Lowe asked, very quietly.

Eve didn’t answer. She looked down at her black-painted fingernails, and picked at them restlessly.

“From moving on to an easier target,’” she said. “Once I made sure he couldn’t get to me.’”

“Christ,’” Lowe muttered in weary disgust. “Someday, that goddamn vamp’s going to get his—’”

“Trav,’” Hess said. “It ain’t laundry day. Let’s not air it in public.’”

“Yeah, I know, but Jesus Christ, Joe, it ain’t like this is the first time….’”

It took Claire a few seconds to work out what they were all talking about, but then she remembered Eve’s poetry that she’d looked through on the computer…all romantic Aren’t vampires great? stuff until she was about fifteen, and then…no more romance. Brandon. Brandon tried to mess with her when she was fifteen.

And Jason was her younger brother.

“What did he do to him?’” Claire asked in a very small voice. “Brandon, I mean. Did he—bite him?’”

Eve didn’t look up, but her cheeks went pink to match her robe. “Sometimes,’” she said. “And sometimes it was worse than that. We’re just toys to him, you know. Dolls. We’re not real. People aren’t real at all.’”

“I’m afraid the same goes for Jason now,’” Hess said. “Can’t really blame the kid. He didn’t have much of a chance. But I repeat, Eve, you can’t blame yourself, either. You saved yourself, and that’s important.’”