Midnight Alley

"Don't come by the hospital," Richard continued. "I'm trying to convince her you weren't out to kill her. If you show up, I may not be able to keep a lid on things. As it is — " He shifted uncomfortably and looked away. "Just watch your back, Claire."

"She doesn't need to," Eve said, and put her arm around Claire's shoulders. "Tell your sister, if she messes with Claire, she messes with all of us."

Richard's expression went deliberately bland. "I'm sure that'll terrify her," he said. "Night, Claire. Eve." He nodded to Michael. Shane hadn't gotten up from the table, partly because hey, bullet wound, but also he wasn't about to put himself out for any Morrell, even Richard. Claire had the impression Richard was just as happy not to have to make nice.

Claire saw Richard out the door, locked it, and came back to fight over who would get the last taco. Which, of course, turned out to be Shane. "Wounded!" was his new comeback, and it was one they couldn't really argue with, at least for a couple of weeks. He happily loaded up his plate, and Claire sat back and felt, for the first time in days, a little of the tension relax. Shane was even being civil to Michael again, especially after she'd explained to him how Michael had raced to her rescue. That mattered to Shane, in ways that other things didn't.

When the knock came on the front door, the four of them froze, and Michael sighed. "Right. My turn to play doorman, I guess."

Claire nabbed some meat off of Shane's plate. He pretend-stabbed her hand, and ended up licking Claire's fingers for her, one at a time.

"Okay, that's either gross or hot, but I'm thinking gross, so quit it," Eve said. "If you're going to be licking each other, get a room."

"Good idea," Shane whispered.

"Wounded!" Claire whispered back. "And anyway, I thought you wanted to play it safe."

"Dude, I live in Morganville. How exactly is that playing it safe?"

Michael came back down the hall with a very odd expression. "Claire," he said. "I think you should come."

She pushed away from the table and went after him. He opened the door and stepped aside.

Her parents were standing on the step.

"Mom! Dad!" Claire threw herself into their arms. It was stupid to be so cheered by the sight of them, but for a second she enjoyed being stupid, through and through.

And then she backed up and said, "What are you doing here?"

Her mother — dressed in pressed blue jeans and a starched blue work shirt and a Coldwater Creek jacket, even in the heat of summer —looked taken aback. "We wanted to surprise you," she said. "Isn't that all right? Claire, you are only sixteen —"

"Nearly seventeen," Claire sighed, under her breath.

" — and really, we ought to be able to come see you when we want to, to be sure you're safe and happy." Claire's mom gave Michael a distracted, nervous smile. "All right, then, I'll tell you the truth. We've been very worried about you, honey. First you had that trouble in the dorm, then you were attacked and ended up in the hospital — and someone told us about that party. The one where Shane was shot."

"What?" She sent Michael a look, but he looked just as surprised as she felt. "Who told you?"

"I don't know. An email. You know I can never figure those things out, anyway, it was some friend of yours."

"Oh," Claire breathed, "I really don't think it was. Mom, look, it was — "

"Don't tell us it was nothing, honey," her dad cut in. "I read all about it. Drinking, drugs, fighting, destruction of property. Kids having sex. And you were at this party, weren't you?"

"I — no, dad, not like — " She couldn't lie about it. "I was there. We were all there. But Shane wasn't shot at the party, it was after, on the way home."

"I don't think that matters," her father said. He looked so grim now. "We've decided we had to make a change."

"A change?" Claire echoed.

"We're moving," he said. "We bought a nice house on the other side of town. Looks kind of like this one, maybe a little smaller. Even has the same layout to the place, I think."

"You're — " She could not have heard that right. "Moving here? To this town? You can't! You can't move here."

"Oh, Claire, I was so hoping you'd be happy," her mom said, in that tone that Claire dreaded. The I'm-so-disappointed-in-you tone. "We've already sold our old house. The truck with the furniture should get here tomorrow. Oh — " She turned to Claire's father. "Did we remember to — "

"Oh, for heaven's sake — Yes," he rumbled. "Whatever it is, yes, we remembered."

"Well, you don't have to be — "

"Mom!" Claire interrupted desperately. "You can't move here!"

Michael put his hand on her shoulder. "Just a second," he said to her parents, and pulled Claire a few feet back. "Claire, don't. It's already too late. If the Council hadn't wanted them here, they wouldn't be here, and they wouldn't have a house. Especially not a Founder House. If it looks like this house and has the same layout, that's what it is, a Founder house. That means Amelie wants it to happen. Probably made it happen."

That didn't exactly make her feel any better. She was shaking all over now with reaction. "But they're my parents!" she whispered fiercely. "Can't you do something?"

He looked grim, and he shook his head. "I don't know. I'll try. But for now we'd better just make nice, okay?"

She didn't want to. She wanted to drag her parents out to their car and make them go.

How could Amelie do this to her? No, that was obvious: it was easy. Her parents were just another way to force Claire to do whatever the vampires needed.

"Hello?" Claire's mom called. "Can we come in?"

Michael kept his expression blank and friendly. "Sure. Everybody inside." Because it was getting dark.

Claire's mom and dad stepped over the threshold. As Michael started to swing the door shut, a third person stopped the door from closing with an open hand and stepped through. Claire had no idea who he was. She'd never seen him before, and she was sure she'd have remembered. He had thick gray hair, a big gray mustache, and huge green eyes behind thick '50s-style eyeglasses.

Michael froze, and Claire knew instantly that something was very, very wrong.

"Oh," Claire's mother said. "This is Mr. Bishop. We met him on our way into town, his car was broken down."

Mr. Bishop smiled and tipped an invisible hat. "Thank you for the kind invitation to enter your home," he said, and his voice was incredibly deep and smooth, with an inflection that sounded like Russian. "Although I really didn't require one."

Because he was a vampire.

Claire backed slowly away. Michael looked like he couldn't move at all as Bishop walked into the house.

"I don't want to upset your nice family," Bishop said, focusing on Claire, "but if Amelie isn't here to talk to me in half an hour, I'll kill everyone breathing in this house."

"No," Michael said. "You won't. This is my house. Get out now, or I'll have to hurt you."

Bishop looked him up and down. "Nice bark, puppy, but you don't have the teeth. Get Amelie."

"Who are you?" Claire whispered. There was menace boiling off of this old man like fog. She could almost see it.