Dead Girls' Dance

“Eve—’”

“Whatever,’” Eve said flatly. “There’s still one vampire who might help us. If we can find him and get him to agree. He could get into Founder’s Square without any problem. He might even be willing to open up Shane’s cage if we create some kind of diversion.’”

Michael turned toward her. “Eve.’” He didn’t sound guilty, at least. He sounded worried, though. “No. We talked about this.’”

“Michael, it’s the last thing we can do. I know that. But we need to go for it now, if we’re going to do it at all.’”

“What vampire?’” Claire asked.

“His name is Sam,’” Michael said, “and this is going to sound weird, but he’s my grandfather.’”

“Sam? He’s your—your—’”

“Grandfather. Yeah. I know. Freaks me the hell out, too. It has all my life.’”

Claire had to sit down. Fast.

When she recovered her breath, she told Eve and Michael about ru

“Damn straight,’” Michael said.

Eve wasn’t looking at him. “Sam’s okay,’” she said.

“I thought you hated vampires.’”

“I do! But…I guess if there’s a most-hated-vampire list, he’s at the bottom. He always seems so lonely,’” Eve said. “He came into Common Grounds pretty much every night and just talked for hours. Just talked. Oliver always watched him like a hawk, but he never did anything, never threatened anybody—not like Brandon. In fact, I sometimes wondered—’”

“Wondered what?’”

“If Sam was there keeping an eye on Brandon. Maybe on Oliver, although I didn’t know that at the time. Looking out for…’”

“For the rest of us?’” Michael nodded slowly. “I don’t know how true it is, because I always avoided him, but family talk always said Sam was a good guy, before he was changed. And he is the youngest of all of them. The most like…well, like us.’”

Eve had gone over to the dark window, and was looking out, hands behind her back. “You know anything else about him? Family secrets, I mean?’”

“Just that supposedly he took on the vampires and won.’”

“Won? He’s one of them! How exactly is that wi

Michael shook his head, moved up behind her, and put his hands on her shoulders. He kissed the nape of her neck gently. “I don’t know, Eve. I’m just telling you what I heard. He got some kind of agreement out of the vampires. And it was because Amelie loved him.’”

“Yeah, loved him enough to kill him and turn him into a bloodsucking fiend,’” Eve said grimly. “How sweet. Romance isn’t dead. Oh, wait. It is.’”

She pulled free of Michael and walked into the kitchen. Michael looked at Claire mutely. She shrugged.

When they got downstairs, they found that Eve was making bologna and cheese sandwiches. Claire wolfed down one in about six bites, then took a second sandwich. The other two looked at her. “What?’” she asked. “I’m starved. Honest.’”

“Be my guest,’” Michael said. “I hate bologna. Besides, not like I can starve.’”

Eve snorted. “I made you roast beef, genius.’” She handed him one. “So go on. This is the first I’ve heard from you about the History of Sam. What made him so special to be the last vampire ever?’”

“I don’t really know,’” Michael said. “The only thing Mom ever told me was what I just told you. The point is, Sam’s never really fit in with the vampires. Amelie doesn’t like to be reminded of weakness, and he was a constant neon sign. She really cared about him. So she cut him off—last I heard, she wouldn’t see him or talk to him. He hangs around humans a lot more than other vampires.’”

“And that’s why I said he could help us,’” Eve said. “Or at least, he’d be willing to listen. Bonus if he’s family.’”

“So where do we find him?’” Claire looked from Michael to Eve, then back again. “At Common Grounds?’”

“Off-limits to you,’” Eve said. “Hess told me what happened with you and Oliver.’”

“Something happened?’” Michael mumbled around his roast beef. “Why don’t I know this? God, I needed this. Tastes great.’”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Yeah, sandwiches take great skill. I’m thinking of teaching a class. Meanwhile, back on the subject, Claire is not going anywhere near Common Grounds. I said so. If anybody’s going, it’s me.’”

“No,’” Michael said. Eve glared at him.

“We had this talk,’” she said. “You may be dead sexy, and I mean, like, really dead and really sexy, but you don’t get to tell me what to do. Right? And no headshrinker stuff, either, or I swear to God, I’ll pack my shit and move!’”

Claire scraped her chair back, walked over to the cordless phone lying on the counter, and dialed from the business card still stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. Four rings, and a cheerful voice answered on the other end and a

“Sam? Hold on.’” The phone clattered, and Claire could hear the buzz of activity in the background—milk being steamed, people chatting, the usual excitement of a busy coffee shop. She waited, jittering one leg impatiently, until the voice came back on the line. “Sorry,’” it said. “He’s not here tonight. I think he went to the party.’”

“The party?’”

“You know, the zombie frat party? Epsilon Epsilon Kappa? The Dead Girls’ Dance?’”

“Thanks,’” Claire said. She hung up and turned to face Michael and Eve, who were staring at her in outright surprise. She held up the phone. “The power of technology. Embrace it.’”

“You found him.’”

“Without going into Common Grounds,’” Claire pointed out. “He’s at a party on campus. The big frat thing. The one—’” She paused, felt a chill, then a rush of heat. “The one I was invited to. It was kind of a date. I was supposed to meet this boy there. Ian Jameson.’”

“Guess what?’” Eve said. “We’re both going. Time to put on the dead look, Claire.’”

“The—what?’”

Eve was looking at her critically while she munched her sandwich. “Size one, maybe two, right? I’ve got some things that would fit you.’”

“I’m not getting dressed up!’”

“I don’t make the rules, but everybody knows you don’t get into the Dead Girls’ Dance without making an effort. Besides, you’ll look way cute as a teeny little Goth girl.’”

Michael was frowning at them both now. “No,’” he said. “It’s too dangerous for you to be out at night without an escort.’”

“Well, we’re fresh out of escorts. I think Claire broke Detective Hess last night. And I’m not going to just sit and wait, Michael. You know that.’” Eve locked eyes with him, and softened as he reached across the table and took her hand. “No head stuff. You promised.’”

“I promised,’” he agreed. “Never happen again.’”

“Cute as you are when you worry, it’s a party—there are hundreds of people there. It’s safe enough.’” Eve held his gaze steadily. “Safer than Shane is, in that cage, waiting to die. Unless you’re giving up on him.’”

Michael let go of her hand and walked away. He stiff-armed his way out of the kitchen door.

“Guess not,’” Eve said softly. “Good. Claire. We need to find out what the timeline is. Whether they’ve moved it.’”

“I’ll do it,’” Claire said, and punched in the number from another card. It was Detective Hess’s private number, the one penciled in on the back, and it rang four times before he picked up. He sounded bleary and exhausted. “Sir? It’s Claire. Claire Danvers. I’m sorry to wake you—’”

“Not asleep,’” he said, and yawned. “Claire, whatever you’re thinking, don’t. Stay home, lock the doors, and keep your head down. I mean it.’”

“Yes, sir,’” she lied. “I just want to know—there was talk about moving up the—the execution?’”

“The mayor said no,’” Hess said. “Said he wanted due process, and called for Shane’s dad to give himself up. Looks like a Mexican standoff to me: he’s got Shane; Shane’s dad has Monica. Nobody wants to blink.’”