Midnight Alley

Claire watched as the cops walked away. They exchanged nods with a tallish young man who was coming her direction. For a second she thought it was Michael — he had the same walk, the same basic shape — but then his hair caught the light. Red hair, not blond like Michael's.

Sam. Sam Glass, Michael's grandfather. Amelie had told her that Sam would escort her to see Myrnin; she'd just forgotten about it. Well, that was okay. Claire liked Sam. He was quiet and kind and didn't seem much like a vampire at all, except for the pale skin and the slight weird shine to his eyes. Exactly like Michael, now that she thought of it. But then, they were the two youngest, and — weirdly — related. Maybe the older the vampires got, the farther they moved from normal.

"Hey, Claire," Sam said, as if they'd just talked five minutes before, although she hadn't seen him for nearly a week, at least. She supposed that time was different for vampires. "What'd they want?" He was wearing a TPU t-shirt and jeans, and it made him look kind of hot. Hot for a redheaded vampire, anyway. And he had a nice, if absent, smile. She wasn't his type. As far as Claire knew, Sam was still totally in love with Amelie, a concept she found harder to wrap her brain around than curved surface string theory.

He was still waiting for an answer. She scrambled to put one together. "There's a dead girl, she was found in our garbage cans. Amy. Amy Callum?"

Sam's mobile, earnest face took on a grim look. "Dammit. I know the family, they're good folks. I'll stop by and see them." He sat down and leaned closer, dropping his volume. "She wasn't a vampire kill, I know that much. I'd have heard by now if someone had stepped out of line."

"No," Claire agreed. "It sounded like she was killed by one of us." She realized, with a rush of horror, that he wasn't "us," exactly, and blushed. "I mean — one of the — humans."

Sam smiled at her, but his eyes were a little sad. "That's all right, Claire, I'm used to it by now. It's an us-and-them town." He looked down at his hands, loose and relaxed on the table top. "I'm supposed to take you to your appointment."

"Yeah." She hastily closed up her books and began loading her backpack. "Sorry, I didn't realize what time it was — "

"No rush," he said. Still not looking at her. Very softly, he continued, "Claire. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"What?"

His hand flashed out and grabbed her wrist — the one with the bracelet hidden under the long sleeve. It dug painfully into her skin. "You know what."

"Ow," she whispered, and he let go. "I had to. I didn't have a choice. I had to sign if I wanted to keep my friends safe."

Sam didn't say anything to that; he was looking at her now, but she didn't dare meet his eyes. She didn't like him knowing about her agreement with Amelie. What if he told Michael? What if Michael told Shane? He's going to find out, sooner or later. Well, she'd much rather it be later.

Sam said, "I know that. I wish you wouldn't do this other thing. With Myrnin. It's — not safe."

"I know. He's sick or something. But he won't hurt me. Amelie — "

"Amelie isn't in the business of worrying about individuals." That, for Sam, was surprisingly bitter, especially when it came to Amelie. "She's using you the way she uses all humans. It's not personal, but it's not in your best interest, either."

"Why? What is it you're not telling me?"

Sam looked at her for a long time, clearly trying to decide, and finally said, "Myrnin's had five apprentices in the past few years. Two of them were vampires."

Claire blinked, surprised, as Sam got to his feet. "Five? What happened to them?"

"You're asking the right questions. Now ask the right people."

He walked away. Claire gasped, grabbed her bag, and followed.

Over at the coffee bar, the two detectives were breaking the news to Eve. As Claire looked back, she saw the precise second that Eve realized her friend was dead. Even from across the room, it hurt to see the pain in her face, quickly masked and locked away. In Morganville, losing someone was something you got used to, Claire supposed.

God, this town sucked sometimes.

###

Sam had a car, a sleek dark-red sedan with dark-tinted windows. It was parked in the underground garage beneath the U.C., in a reserved spot marked SPONSORS ONLY, with a graphic of a sticker that had to appear in the corner of the windshield for the parking to be legal.

A sticker which Sam, of course, had. "So that means what, you donate money or something?"

Sam opened the passenger door for her, a bit of chivalry she wasn't really used to, and Claire climbed inside. "Not exactly," he said. "Amelie gives them to vampires who have campus business."

Once he was in the car, turning the key, Claire said, "You have campus business?"

"I teach night classes," Sam said, and gri

"Cool." The tinting was so dark it was like midnight outside. "You can see through this?"

"Like daylight," Sam said, and she gave up, buckled her seatbelt, and let him drive. It wasn't a long drive — nothing in Morganville was — but she had time to notice some things about Sam's car. It was clean, really clean. No trash at all. (Well, he wouldn't be chowing down on burgers in the car, now, would he? Wait. He could ...) It also didn't smell like most cars. It smelled new and kind of sterile. "How are classes going?"

Oh, Sam was going to do the interested-adult thing now. "Fine," Claire said. Nobody ever wanted to really hear the truth, to a question like that, but fine wasn't a lie, either. "They're not very hard." Also not a lie.

Sam shot her a glance, or so she thought, in the dim lights from the dashboard. "Maybe you're not getting all you can out of them," he said. "Ever thought of that?"

She shrugged. "I've always been ahead. It's better than high school, but I was hoping for something harder."

"Like working for Myrnin?" Sam's voice had gone dry. "That's a challenge, all right. Claire — "

"Amelie didn't exactly give me a choice."

"But you still want to do it, don't you?"

She did. She had to admit that. Myrnin had been scary, but there had been something so bright in him, too. She knew that spark. She felt it herself, and she was always looking for someone, something to feed it. "Maybe he just needs someone to talk to," she said.

Sam made a noncommittal noise that somehow sounded amused, too, and pulled the car to a stop. "I have to move fast," he said. "It's the door at the end of the alley, I'll meet you there in the shade."

He opened his door and just ... vanished. The door slammed shut, but it did it on its own. Claire gaped, unbuckled her seatbelt, and got out, but there was no sign of Sam at all on the street, in the brilliant sunlight. The car was parked at the curb of a cul-de-sac, and it took her a second, but then she recognized the house in front of her. A big gothic ramble of a house, nearly a mirror image of the Glass House where she lived, but this one belonged to a lady named Katherine Day and her granddaughter.

Gramma Day was on her porch, rocking peacefully and stirring the warm air with a paper fan. Claire raised her hand and waved, and Gramma waved back. "You come to see me, girl?" Gramma called. "Come on up, I'll get some lemonade!"