Dead Girls' Dance

Hess reached in his pocket and pulled out a folding pocket map—a Morganville map. It was marked in grids, color-coded: yellow for the university, pale red for the human enclaves, blue for the vampires. The center of town, Founder’s Square, was black. “Here,’” he said, and walked to the dining room table. Michael moved his guitar case out of the way, and Hess spread the map out. “Travis, you know who owns what near the square, right?’”

“Yeah.’” Lowe leaned forward, fished some reading glasses out of his coat pocket, and looked closer. “Okay, these are warehouses here. Vallery Kosomov owns some of them. Most of these belong to Josefina Lowell.’”

“Anything owned by Oliver down there?’”

“Why down there?’” Lowe asked.

“You want to answer that one, Officer Morrell?’” Hess asked. Richard edged in to consider the map, and marked out something with his finger.

“Underground runs right through here,’” he said. “This is the only area of the Underground where we didn’t see the van come and go.’”

“Which tells you what?’” Hess asked.

“Crap. They were faking the video. Showing us where they weren’t, sending us all over town. And hiding where they were.’” Richard looked up at Hess, then Lowe. “Oliver’s warehouses are off of Bond Street. It’s mostly storage.’”

“Gentlemen, we have exactly’”—Hess consulted his watch—“fifty-two minutes. Let’s get moving.’”

They all moved to the door, and it was going fine until Richard Morrell glanced at Claire and Eve, put his arm up like a barricade, and said, “Oh, I don’t think so, kids.’”

“We’ve got a right to—’”

“Yeah, I’m getting all choked up about your rights, Eve. You stay here.’”

“Michael’s going!’” Claire said, and winced, because she sounded like a disappointed little kid instead of the responsible, trustworthy adult she’d intended.

Richard rolled his eyes nearly as well as Eve. “You sound like my sister,’” he said. “That’s really not attractive. And it’s not going to work. Michael can take care of himself on a whole bunch of levels you can’t, kid, so you. Stay. Here.’”

And Hess and Lowe backed him up.

Michael just looked vaguely sorry to be in the middle of it, but relieved all the same that they weren’t going. It was Michael who took Eve’s car keys from the tray on the hall table, where she always left them. “Just in case,’” he said, and dropped them in his pocket. “Not that I don’t trust you or anything, just that I know you never listen to me.’”

He slammed the door on Eve’s frustrated cry.

And that, Claire thought, was that.

“I can’t believe they left us,’” Claire said numbly, staring at the door. Eve kicked it hard enough to leave a black mark on the wood and stalked away, into the living room. She stood at the window until the police cruiser pulled away from the curb and glided off into the night. Then she turned and looked at Claire.

She was smiling.

“What?’” Claire asked, confused, as Eve gri

“Yes, we’re happy. Because now I know where they’re going,’” Eve said, and reached in her pocket. She pulled out a second key ring and shook it with a merry, metallic jingle. “And I’ve got a spare set of keys. Let’s go save their asses.’”

It was a good thing the Morganville police force was otherwise occupied, because Claire thought that Eve probably broke every traffic law that was on the books. Twice. She couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes very often—just peeks every other block or so—but it seemed like they were going very, very fast, and taking corners at speeds that would have given a driver’s-ed instructor a heart attack. Not much traffic, at least, in this predawn darkness. That was something, Claire supposed. She clung to the stiff aftermarket shoulder belt as Eve screeched the big black Cadillac through a hairpin right-hand turn, then another, and into one of the storm-drain tu

“Oh God,’” Claire whispered. If she’d been in danger of motion sickness before, it was ten times worse in the tu

“Almost there,’” Eve said, but Claire thought she said it to herself. Eve wasn’t calm, either. That was…not comforting. “Left turn up ahead…’”

“That’s not a turn!’” Claire yelped, and braced herself against the dashboard as Eve slammed on the brakes and the big car shimmied and sprayed shallow water as it skidded. “That’s a dead end!’”

“Nope, that’s a turn,’” Eve panted, fought the wheel, and somehow—Claire had no idea how—got the car to make the impossible corner with only a little bang and scrape up against the concrete wall. “Ouch. That’s go

Claire thought they were already there, actually.

She lost track of the nauseatingly twisty course they were following. In fact, she started to think that Eve didn’t know where she was going at all, and was just making random turns hoping to find an exit, when suddenly the tu

“Bond Street,’” Eve said. “Home of upscale vampire shopping, fine restaurants, and…oh shit.’”

She hit the brakes and brought them to a fast, complete stop that tossed Claire painfully against the restraints. Not that Claire noticed all that much, because like Eve, she was pretty much horror-struck by what she was seeing ahead.

“Tell me that’s not the place,’” she said.

Because if it was, the place was on fire.

Richard Morrell’s police cruiser was parked at the wrought-iron gates, its doors hanging open. The guys had bailed out fast. Eve moved the Caddy closer, then shut off the engine, and the two girls looked in dawning horror at the flames shooting out from the windows and roof of the big stone building.

“Where’s the fire department?’” Claire asked. “Where are the cops?’”

“I don’t know, but we can’t count on help. Not tonight.’” Eve opened the door on her side and stepped out. “Do you see them? Anywhere?’”

“No!’” Claire flinched as glass exploded from one of the upper windows. “Do you?’”

“We have to go in!’”

“Go in?’” Claire was about to point out how crazy that was, but then she saw someone inside the gates, lying very still. “Eve!’” She ran to the gate and rattled it, but it was locked tight.

“Up!’” Eve yelled, and scrambled up on the wrought iron. Claire followed. It was slippery and sharp, and cut her hands, but somehow she made it to the top, then dangled from the crossbar and let herself fall on the other side. She hit hard, and rolled clumsily back to her feet. Eve, who’d come down a lot more gracefully, was already moving toward the guy lying on the ground…

…who was one of Frank’s guys. Dead. Eve looked up at Claire wordlessly and showed her the blood on her hand, shaking her head. “He was shot,’” she said. “Oh, God. They’re inside, Claire. Michael’s inside!’”

Only he wasn’t, because between one blink and the next, as Eve tried to rush into the open smoke-filled door, Michael plunged out of it, and he grabbed her and hauled her back. “No!’” he yelled. “What the hell are you doing here?’”

“Michael!’” Eve turned and threw herself into his arms. “Where’s Monica?’”

“In there.’” Michael looked terrible—smoke-stained and red-eyed, with little burned patches in his shirt. “The others went in to get her. I—I had to come out.’”

Vampires could be killed by fire. Claire remembered that from the list she’d made shortly after moving to Morganville. She couldn’t believe he’d risked his just barely begun life to get as far as he’d gone.

“Damn right you can’t!’” Eve yelled. “If you go and get yourself killed for Monica Morrell, I’ll never forgive you!’”