Dead Girls' Dance

She didn’t move or gesture, but her bodyguards swarmed and surrounded her, and the whole mass of them moved out, walking around (or over) the dead men.

Oliver watched her go, then turned back to sweep a glare around the entire room, stopping on Shane.

“Your father thinks he can act without consequences, I see,’” he said. “How sad for you. Put these two where they belong. In cages.’”

The biker and Shane were pulled to their knees and dragged off, behind the curtains. Claire lunged forward, but Gretchen grabbed her and put her hand over Claire’s mouth. Claire winced as her arm was twisted up behind her back, and she realized she was crying, unable to breathe for the pressure of the hand on her mouth and the stuffiness building up in her nose.

Eve wasn’t crying. Eve was staring at Oliver, and even when Detective Hess let go of her, she didn’t move.

“What are you going to do to them?’” she asked. She sounded u

“You know the laws,’” Oliver said. “Don’t you, Eve?’”

“You can’t. Shane had nothing to do with this.’”

Oliver shook his head. “I won’t debate my judgment with you. Mayor? You’ll sign the papers? If you’re done cowering, that is.’”

The mayor had been down in a defensive crouch behind an urn; he got up now, looking flushed and angry. “Of course I’ll sign,’” he said. “The nerve of these bastards! Striking here? Threatening—’”

“Yes, very traumatic,’” Oliver said. “The papers.’”

“I brought a notary. It’ll be all nice and legal.’”

Gretchen let go of Claire, sensing her will to fight was trickling away. “Legal?’” Claire gasped. “But—there hasn’t even been a trial! What about a jury?’”

“He had a jury,’” Detective Hess told her. His tone was gentle, but what he was saying was harsh. “A jury of the victim’s peers. That’s the way the law works here. Same for humans. If a vampire ever got brought up on murder charges, it would be humans deciding whether he lived or died.’”

“Except no vampire has ever been brought up on charges,’” Eve said. She looked nearly cold and pale enough to be a vampire herself. “Or ever will. Don’t kid yourself, Joe. It’s only the humans who get the sharp end of justice around here.’” She looked at the dead guys lying on the carpet at the entrance to the room. “Scared the shit out of you, though, didn’t they?’”

“Don’t flatter them. They had no hope of succeeding,’” Oliver said. He looked at Hans. “I have no further use for these two.’”

“Wait! I want to talk to Shane!’” Claire yelled. Gretchen propelled her toward the exit with a shove. It was move, or fall over the dead, bloody bodies.

Claire moved. Behind her, she heard Eve doing the same.

She blinked away tears, wiped angrily at her face and nose, and tried to think what to do next. Shane’s dad, she thought. Shane’s dad will save him. Although, of course, the dead guys she was stepping over indicated that rescue had already been attempted, and that hadn’t gone so well. Besides, Shane’s dad wasn’t here. He hadn’t stuck around when Shane got caught. Maybe he didn’t care. Maybe nobody cared but her.

“Easy,’” Detective Hess said, and stepped in beside her to take her by the elbow. He managed to make it feel like escorting, instead of arresting. “There’s still time. The law says that the convicts have to be displayed on the square for two nights so that everyone can see them. They’ll be in cages, so they’ll be safe enough. It’s not the Ritz, but it keeps Brandon’s friends from ripping them apart without due process.’”

“How—’” Claire’s throat closed up on her. She cleared it and tried again. “How are they going to—?’”

Hess patted her hand. He looked tired and worried and grim. “You won’t be here when it happens,’” he said. “So don’t think about it. If you want to talk to him, you can. They’re putting them in cages now, at the center of the park.’”

“Oliver said take them back,’” Gretchen said from behind them. Hess shrugged.

“Well, he didn’t say when, did he?’”

The Founder’s Park was a large circle, with walkways like spokes in a wheel, all leading to the center.

And at the center were two cages. Cells just big enough for a man to stand up, not wide enough to stretch out. Shane would have to sleep sitting up, if he slept, or curled in a fetal position.

He was sitting, knees up, head resting on his arms, when Eve and Claire arrived. The biker was yelling and rattling his bars. Not Shane. He was…quiet.

“Shane!’” Claire almost flew across the open space, grabbed the cold iron bars in both hands, and pressed her face between them. “Shane!’”

He looked up. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t crying. At least, not now. He managed to move around in the small, cramped cage until he was sitting closer to her, and reached through the bars to lay his hand against her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. It was the cheek that Oliver had slapped, she realized. She wondered if it was still red.

“I’m sorry,’” Shane said. “My dad—I had to go. I couldn’t let him do this. I had to try to stop it, Claire, I had to—’”

She was crying again, silently. With his thumb, he wiped away the tear that fell. She could feel his hand shaking. “You didn’t do anything, did you? To Brandon?’”

“I didn’t like the son of a bitch, but I didn’t hurt him, and I didn’t kill him. That was already done when I got there.’” Shane laughed, but it sounded forced. “Just my luck, huh? Charging off to be the hero, I get to be the villain instead.’”

“Your dad—’”

He nodded. “Dad’ll get us out. Don’t worry, Claire. It’ll be okay.’”

But the way he said it, she knew he didn’t believe it, either. She bit her lip to hold back a fresh wave of sobbing, and turned her head to kiss his palm.

“Hey,’” he said softly. He moved closer to the bars, pressing his face between them. “I always said you were jailbait, but this is ridiculous.’”

She tried to laugh. She really did.

His smile looked broken. “I’m going to consider this protective custody. At least this way, I can’t do anything that’d get me in real trouble, right?’”

She leaned forward to kiss him. His lips felt just the same, soft and warm and damp, and she didn’t want to move away. Not ever.

He sat back first, leaving her stranded there tingling and once again on the verge of tears. Dammit! Shane could not be blamed for this. It wasn’t fair!

“I’ll talk to Michael,’” she said.

“Yeah.’” Shane nodded. “Tell him—well, hell. Tell him I’m sorry, okay? And he can have the PlayStation.’”

“Stop it! Stop it—you’re not going to die, Shane!’”

He looked at her, and she saw the bright spark of fear in his eyes. “Yeah,’” he said softly. “Right.’”

Claire clenched her fists until they ached, and looked at Eve, who’d been standing quietly in the background. As Eve came toward the cage, Claire turned away and went to Detective Hess. “How?’” she asked again. “How are they going to kill him?’”

He looked deeply uncomfortable, but he looked down and said, “Fire. It’s always fire.’”

That nearly made her cry again. Nearly. Shane already knew, she thought, and so did Eve. They’d known all along. “You have to help him,’” she said. “You have to! He didn’t do anything!’”

“I can’t,’” he said. “I’m sorry.’”

“But—’”

“Claire.’” He put both hands on her shoulders and pulled her into a hug. She realized she was trembling, and then the tears came, a huge flood of them, and she held to the lapels on his coat and cried like her heart was breaking. Hess stroked her hair. “You bring me proof that he had nothing to do with Brandon’s death, and I swear to you, I’ll do everything I can. But until then, my hands are tied.’”

The idea of Shane burning in that cage was the most horrible thing she had ever imagined. Get hold of yourself, she thought furiously. You’re all he has! So she pulled in deep, shaking breaths and stepped back from Hess’s embrace, scrubbing the tears from her face with the sleeve of her T-shirt. Hess offered her a tissue. She took it and blew her nose, feeling stupid, and felt Eve’s hand on her shoulder before she even knew Eve was there behind her.