Dead Girls' Dance

“I—uh—yeah. She said—she said Claire was good to go, that she just needed it rough. She wanted to be sure we got her here.’”

“Shhhhhh,’” Claire whispered frantically. She heard another floorboard creak. Everybody fell silent.

The door swung open, blinding them with a wash of light, and Claire squinted at the man standing there.

Red hair.

“Out,’” Sam said. “Move.’”

The boys got up and filed out, looking a whole lot less arrogant than before, and clustered together in the corner. It had been Ian whose hand she’d held, after all, Claire saw. He was looking at her in a weird, new way, as if he actually saw her for the first time.

“I’m sorry about your nose,’” she said. He blinked.

“It’s not so bad,’” he offered. “Look, Claire—’”

“Don’t.’”

“You still going to tell the cops?’” That was Coffee Bar Jerk.

“No,’” Claire said.

“Bullshit! Yes,’” Eve said. “A world of yes. So you’d better not try this again. Ever. And besides, if you do, the last thing you have to worry about is the cops. Right, Sam?’”

Sam nodded without speaking.

“Let’s get out of here. Claire? Can you walk?’”

“I can try.’”

But the world just slipped out from under her when she got up, and she fell into Eve’s arms. Eve juggled her awkwardly, trying to find the right way to hold her up, and suddenly Claire was floating about four feet off the ground.

Oh. Sam had her, and he was holding her as if she were as heavy as a bag of feathers.

“Hey,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. Sam stopped on his way to the door. “Sorry, seriously. It was just—Monica said—’”

“Stop, man,’” Ian said. “Monica just gave us the idea. We were the ones who did it. No excuses.’”

“Yeah,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. “Whatever, man. Won’t happen again.’”

“If it does,’” Sam said, “never mind the police. I’ll find you.’”

Things were melting into one another. Claire felt sick and disoriented, and only having her arms around Sam’s cool, strong neck kept her from floating away on a tide of chemicals. When she opened her eyes she caught flashes…. The EEK frat house was trashed. Furniture broken, walls bashed, people lying on the floor…

And some of them were bloody.

Eve stopped and pressed her fingers to the throat of a boy wearing full vamp gear, including the teeth; his blue eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t move.

“He’s dead,’” she whispered.

There was a wooden stake in his chest.

“But—he wasn’t a vampire,’” Claire said. “Right?’”

“They didn’t care. He looked like one, and he must have gotten in the way,’” Sam said. “There are two vampires dead in the other room. This one was a mistake.’”

“In the other room?’” Claire asked. “How do you know?’”

“I know.’” Sam stepped over the body and moved around a busted-up couch. Glass crunched under his feet. The sirens were getting closer now, late to the party as usual.

“Was it Frank’s guys?’” Eve asked. “The bikers?’”

Sam didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. How many rampaging antivamp gangs could there be in Morganville?

Claire closed her eyes and let her head drop against Sam’s chest, meaning just to rest for a second.

And…she just left the world for a while.

Claire woke up to the sound of voices and a headache the size of Cleveland inside of her skull; her mouth was dry as a bone, and her tongue a thick roll of felt covered in sandpaper. Also, hello, nausea.

She was lying in her own bed, at home.

Claire rolled out, ran to the bathroom, and took care of the sickness first, then looked in the mirror. It was horrible. Her face was smeared with makeup, her black eyeliner smudged every which way, her black-sprayed hair sticking up in thick clumps.

Claire started the shower, stripped off the Goth disguise, and sat in the tub with the water pounding down. There wasn’t enough soap in the world, really, but she tried, scrubbing hard. Scrubbing until her skin was stinging.

She froze at the sound of a knock on the bathroom door. “Claire? It’s Eve. You okay?’”

“Yeah,’” she said. “I’m okay.’” Her voice sounded thick and weak.

Eve must have taken her at her word, because she went away. Claire wished she hadn’t, somehow; she needed somebody to ask; she needed somebody to be there for her. I was almost…

The worst part of it was that they weren’t monsters, those guys. In fact, they were probably okay most of the time. How was that even possible? How could people be good and bad at the same time? Good was good; bad was bad—you had to draw a line, right? Like with the vampires? some part of her mind whispered. Where’s Amelie, then? Where’s Sam? Sam saved your life. Which side of the line do you put him on?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Claire sat under the pounding hard rain of the hot water and let it all go for a while, until the water started to run cool and she remembered that Eve probably wanted to shower, too. Crap. She jumped up, turned off the taps, and dried off, realized she hadn’t brought more clothes in with her, and wrapped in the towel for the fast trip to her room.

When she opened the bathroom door, Michael was standing right outside. He looked up, saw she wasn’t dressed, and looked briefly conflicted.

He solved it by turning his back. “Go get some clothes on,’” he said. “Then I need to talk to you.’”

“What time is it?’” she asked. He didn’t answer, and she felt something sick take hold in her stomach. “Michael? What time is it?’”

“Just get dressed,’” he said. “And come downstairs.’”

She raced to her room, dropped the towel, and grabbed her little travel clock.

It was four a.m. Dawn was just a couple of hours away. “No,’” she whispered. “No…’” She’d been asleep for hours.

No time to waste, then. Claire put on underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, grabbed her shoes and socks, and hurried to the stairs.

She stopped on the first step down when she heard Amelie’s voice. Amelie? In the house? Why? Sam, she kind of expected—not that Michael liked any vampires, but hey, he was family, right? And besides, Sam seemed okay. And sure enough, she caught sight of Sam’s copper-colored hair when she eased down another step; he was standing in the far corner, near the kitchen, with his arms folded.

Amelie and Michael were in the center of the room.

“Hey!’” Eve’s voice, coming from behind her, made her jump. Claire turned and saw Eve standing there in a thick black bathrobe, clothes in her arms. “I’m taking my shower. Tell them I’ll be there soon, okay?’”

Eve looked tired, her makeup sweated or smeared away. Claire felt guilty about using all the hot water. “Okay,’” she said, and edged another step down toward the living room. Eve’s footsteps creaked behind her, and the bathroom door closed. The water went on.

Claire heard Amelie say, “…can’t take it back. Do you understand? Once you make this choice, it is done. There can be no returning.’”

That didn’t sound good. No, that didn’t sound good at all. Claire still felt shaky and sick, as if she’d drunk half a gallon of that red punch at the party, and she didn’t feel in any shape to face Amelie again. Only so much scary she could deal with in one day. Maybe she’d just wait for Eve….

“I understand,’” Michael said. “But there isn’t a lot of choice anymore. I can’t live like this, trapped in this house. I need to leave. I can’t help Shane if I’m stuck here.’”

“You may not be able to help Shane at all,’” Amelie said coolly. “I would not base such a choice on the love of one friend. It may turn out badly for you both.’”

“Life is risk, right? So I have to risk it.’”

She shook her head. “Samuel, please speak to him. Explain.’”

Sam stirred from where he stood in the corner, but he didn’t come closer. “She’s right, kid. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You think you do, but…you don’t. You’ve got a good thing here—you’re alive; you’re safe; you have friends who care about you. Family. Stay where you are.’”