Carpe Corpus

“Sure,” Claire said, but Dean was already looking oddly stubborn.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “My brother would have wanted me to finish what I started. I told Frank Collins I’d look out for Shane. I’m staying until I know they’re okay.”

“That’s sweet, but how exactly are you going to look out for him, seeing that he’s in jail?” Eve said. “Unless you want to look after his girl instead.” She winked at Claire.

The tips of Dean’s ears turned even redder. “That’s not what I meant.”

Except that Claire had the fu

She avoided Eve’s gaze for another few seconds, then pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. She had nowhere to be, but this was turning weirdly uncomfortable all around.

“Gotta go,” she said, and grabbed up her backpack. She’d had about all the Dean time she wanted.

Eve blinked. “You barely touched the mocha!”

“Sorry. You have it.”

“I work in a coffee bar. No. Here, Dean. Knock yourself out.”

The last she saw before she ducked off into the crowds, heading for nowhere in particular, was Eve handing Dean her abandoned drink, and chatting like old friends.

Claire really didn’t have a lot of ideas about what to do for the rest of the day, but one thing she did not intend to do was go against Michael’s instructions. No way was she going anywhere near Vampire Central today. Going home didn’t have much appeal, either, but it seemed the safest thing to do. As she walked, she dialed Richard Morrell’s cell phone number. It went to voice mail. She tried the new chief of police next.

“Ha

“Hey, Ha

Ha

“Fine.” That was stretching the truth, Claire supposed, but not according to the standards of Morganville, maybe. “How does it feel to be in charge?”

“I’d like to say good, but you know.” Claire could almost hear the shrug in the older woman’s voice. “Sometimes being a know-nothing spear carrier’s comforting. Don’t have to know about how the war’s going, just the battle in front of you.” Ha

Even against vampires.

Ha

“Oh. No . . . I just . . . Did you know Richard Morrell is missing?”

“All over it,” Ha

“I don’t think she believes you.”

On the other end of the phone, Ha

“Is something going on? Something I should know about?” Ha

“Not your fault,” Ha

“I know.” Claire sighed. “I wish . . . you know.”

“I really do. You go home, and stay there. Understand?”

“On my way,” Claire promised, and hung up.

On the other side of the street, college-adjacent businesses were starting to close up shop, even though it was still early. Nobody liked to be caught outside as night approached; it was unsafe during the day, but it was a hell of a lot worse at twilight, and after.

Claire slowed as she passed Common Grounds. The security shutters were still down, the door was closed, but there was something . . . something . . .

She crossed the street, not really sure why she did, and stood there for a few seconds, staring like an idiot at the locked door.

Then she heard the distinct, metallic sound of a dead bolt snapping back, and in slow motion, the door sagged open just a bare inch. Nothing showed but darkness.

I am not going to say, “Hello, is anyone there,” like some stupid, too-dumb-to-live chick in a movie, Claire thought. Also, I am not going in there.

I’m really not.

The door opened another inch. More darkness. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Claire said. “How stupid do you really think I am?”

This time, the gap opened to about a foot. Standing well back from any hint of sunlight was someone she knew: Theo Goldman, vampire and doctor.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t come to you. Will you do me the honor . . . ?”

There were a lot of vampires in Morganville who scared Claire, but Theo wasn’t one of them. In fact, she liked him. She didn’t blame him for trying to save his family, which included both humans and vampires. He’d done what he had to do, and she knew it hadn’t been for any bad motives.

Claire stepped inside. Theo shut the door and locked it securely after her. “This way,” he said. “We keep all the lights off in the front, of course. Here, allow me, my dear. I know you won’t be able to see your way.”

His strong, cool hand closed around her upper arm in a firm, but not harsh grip, and he guided her through blind darkness, zigzagging around (she assumed) tables and chairs. When he let go, she heard a door close behind them, and Theo said, “Shield your eyes. Lights coming on.”

She closed her eyes, and a flare of brightness reddened the inside of her lids. When she looked, Theo was stepping away from the light switch and moving toward the group of people sitting at the far end of the room. His dark-haired wife rose from her chair, smiling; except for her generally pale skin, she didn’t look much like a vampire, really. Theo’s kids and grandkids—some physically older than Claire, some younger—sat in a group playing cards. In the dark, because all the ones playing were vampires. The humans weren’t here at all.

“Claire,” Patience Goldman said, and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming inside.”

“Um . . . no problem,” she said. “Is everything okay?” It hadn’t been for a while. Bishop had been thinking of killing all the Goldmans, or making them leave Morganville. Something about their being Jews. Claire didn’t really understand all the dynamics of it, but she knew it was an old anger, and a very old feud.

“Yes, we are fine,” Theo said. “But I wanted to tell you that we will be leaving Morganville tonight.”

“You . . . what? I thought Bishop said you could stay—”

“Oh, he did,” Theo said, and his kindly face took on a harder look. “Promises were made. None that I believe, of course. It’s no sin for a man like him to break a promise to a man like me; after all, I am hardly better than a human to him.” His wife made a sound of protest, and Theo blinked. “I did not mean that to slight you, Claire. You understand what I mean.”

“Yeah.” Bishop had carried over some prejudices from his human days, and a big one had to do with a dislike of Jewish people, so maybe he didn’t look at Jewish vampires as being any different—any better—than mere humans, who weren’t real to Bishop, anyway. “But . . . why tell me? You can’t trust me, you know.” She rubbed her arm under the long-sleeved T-shirt, feeling ashamed all over again. “I can’t help it. If he asks me, I have to tell him about you.”

Theo and his wife exchanged a look. “Actually,” Patience said, “you don’t. I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That the influence of the charm he used on you is fading.” Patience stepped forward. “May I?”