Lord of Misrule

He lied. Claire’s lips parted, and she almost blurted something out, but she just couldn’t think what to say. “Shane,” she whispered. He shook his head.

“Tell you what, Richard, you catch my dad, you’ve got my personal endorsement for tossing him in the deepest pit you’ve got around here,” Shane said. “If he’s in Morganville, he’s got a plan, but he won’t be working for or with the vamps. Not that he knows, anyway.”

“Fair enough. You hear from him—”

“You’re on speed dial. Got it.” Shane set the radio back in the center of the table. Claire kept staring at him, willing him to speak, to say something, but he didn’t.

“Don’t do this,” she said. “Don’t put me in the middle.”

“I’m not,” Shane said. “Nothing I said was a lie. My dad told me he was coming, not that he’s here. I haven’t seen him, and I don’t want to. I meant what I said. If he’s here, Dick and his brownshirts are welcome to him. I’ve got nothing to do with him, not anymore.”

Claire wasn’t sure she believed that, but she didn’t think he was intentionally lying now. He probably did mean it. She just thought that no matter how much he thought he was done with his dad, all it would take would be a snap of Frank Collins’s fingers to bring him ru

Not good.

Richard was answering questions from others on the radio, but Michael was no longer listening. He was fixed on Shane. “You knew? You knew he was coming back here, and you didn’t warn me?”

Shane stirred uneasily. “Look—”

“No, you look. I’m the one who got knifed and decapitated and buried in the backyard, among other things! Good thing I was a ghost!”

Shane looked down. “Who was I supposed to tell? The vamps? Come on.”

“You could have told me!”

“You’re a vamp,” Shane said. “In case you haven’t checked the mirror lately.”

Michael stood up. His chair slid about two feet across the floor and skidded to an uneven stop; he leaned his hands on the table and loomed over Shane. “Oh, I do,” he said. “I check it every day. How about you? You taken a good look recently, Shane? Because I’m not so sure I know you anymore.”

Shane looked up at that, and there was a flash of pain in his face. “I didn’t mean—”

“I could be just about the last vampire around here,” Michael interrupted. “Maybe the others are dead. Maybe they will be soon. Between the mobs out there willing to rip our heads off and Bishop waiting to take over, having your dad stalking me is all I need.”

“He wouldn’t—”

“He killed me once, or tried to. He’d do it again in a second, and he wouldn’t blink, and you know that, Shane. You know it! He thinks I’m some kind of a traitor to the human race. He’ll come after me in particular.”

Shane didn’t say anything this time. Michael retrieved the radio from the table and clipped it to the pocket of his jeans. He shone, all blazing gold and hard, white angles, and Shane couldn’t meet his stare.

“You decide you want to help your dad kill some vampires, Shane, you know where to find me.”

Michael went upstairs. It was as if the room had lost all its air, and Claire found herself breathing very hard, trying not to tremble.

Eve’s dark eyes were very wide, and fixed on Shane as well. She slowly got up from the table.

“Eve—” he said, and reached out toward her. She stepped out of reach.

“I can’t believe you,” she said. “You see me ru

“Morganville needs to change.”

“Wake up, Shane, it has! It started months ago. It’s been changing right in front of you! Vampires and humans working together. Trusting one another. They’re trying. Sure, it’s hard, but they’ve got reason to be afraid of us, good reason. And now you want to throw all that away and help your dad set up a guillotine in Founder’s Square or something?” Eve’s eyes turned bitter black. “Screw you.”

“I didn’t—”

She clomped away toward the stairs, leaving Shane and Claire together.

Shane swallowed, then tried to make it a joke. “That could have gone better.” Claire slipped out of her chair. “Claire? Oh, come on, not you, too. Don’t go. Please.”

“You should have told him. I can’t believe you didn’t. He’s your friend, or at least I thought he was.”

“Where are you going?”

She pulled in a deep breath. “I’m packing. I’ve decided to move in with my parents.”

She didn’t pack, though. She went upstairs, closed the door to her room, and pulled out her pitifully few possessions. Most of it was dirty laundry. She sat there on the bed, staring at it, feeling lost and alone and a little sick, and wondered if she was making a point or just ru

It looked utterly pathetic.

When the knock came on her door, she didn’t immediately answer it. She knew it was Shane, even though he didn’t speak. Go away, she thought at him, but he still wasn’t much of a mind reader. He knocked again.

“It’s not locked,” she said.

“It’s also not open,” Shane said quietly, through the wood. “I’m not a complete ass.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Okay, sometimes I am.” He hesitated, and she heard the floor creak as he shifted his weight. “Claire.”

“Come in.”

He froze when he saw the stuff piled in front of her, waiting to be put in bags and her one suitcase. “You’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You’re just going to pick up and leave.”

“You know my parents want me to come home.”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, then reached into his back pocket and took out a black case, about the size of his hand. “Here, then. I was going to give it to you later, but I guess I’d better do it now, before you take off on us.”

His voice sounded offhand and normal, but his fingers felt cold when she touched them in taking the case, and there was an expression on his face she didn’t know—fear, maybe; bracing himself for something painful.

It was a hard, leather-wrapped case, on spring hinges. She hesitated for a breath, then pried up one end. It snapped open.

Oh.

The cross was beautiful—delicate silver, traceries of leaves wrapped around it. It was on a silver chain so thin it looked like a breath would melt it. When Claire picked up the necklace, it felt like air in her hand.

“I—” She had no idea what to say, what to feel. Her whole body seemed to have gone into shock. “It’s beautiful.”

“I know it doesn’t work against the vamps,” Shane said. “Okay, well, I didn’t know that when I got it for you. But it’s still silver, and silver works, so I hope that’s okay.”

This wasn’t a small present. Shane didn’t have a lot of money; he picked up odd jobs here and there, and spent very little. This wasn’t some cheap costume jewelry; it was real silver, and really beautiful.

“I can’t—it’s too expensive.” Claire’s heart was pounding again, and she wished she could think. She wished she knew what she was supposed to feel, supposed to do. On impulse, she put the necklace back in the box and snapped it shut, and held it out to him. “Shane, I can’t.”

He gave her a broken sort of smile. “It’s not a ring or anything. Keep it. Besides, it doesn’t match my eyes.”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, rounded his shoulders, and walked out of the room.

Claire clutched the leather box in one sweaty hand, eyes wide, and then opened it again. The cross gleamed on black velvet, clean and beautiful and shining, and it blurred as her eyes filled with tears.

Now she felt something, something big and overwhelming and far too much to fit inside her small, fragile body.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh God.” This hadn’t been just any gift. He’d put a lot of time and effort into getting it. There was love in it, real love.

She took the cross, put it around her neck, and fastened the clasp with shaking fingers. It took her two tries. Then she went down the hall and, without knocking, opened Shane’s door. He was standing at the window, staring outside. He looked different to her. Older. Sadder.