Fade Out

She slammed the knife into the floor next to Oliver’s head, close enough that the edge left a bloody streak down his cheek, then rose to her feet and swept out of the room and down the stairs. Claire dug her cell phone out and called the number to Amelie’s security, and told them to meet her downstairs.

By the time she was done, Oliver was sitting on the sofa. He dabbed at the cut on his face, looking a lot less upset than Claire expected him to be.

“Wow, you pla

He shrugged. “She loved Sam. She needs someone to fill the void inside her—either a lover, or an enemy.”

“And you’re the enemy.”

Oliver dusted himself off. “Through all the long, long years, it’s what we’ve always had between us. Anger, and respect.” He smiled a little. “And sometimes a glimmer of something else, not that we would ever admit it to each other. No, enemies are easier. She likes being my enemy. And I rather enjoy being hers.”

Claire really, really didn’t get it, but she didn’t think that either one of them would care.

“Hey,” she said. “You came through the portal. Did anything weird happen?”

“Weird?” He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I mean—never mind. I’m just kind of worried about the portals. I want to recalibrate the system.”

“I was pla

“Oliver?”

He stopped at the head of the stairs.

“What would happen if someone got word out about the town?”

“Out?”

“Out in the world. You know.”

“Oh, it’s happened before. But no one believes. No one ever believes.”

“What if—what if they had proof?”

“The only possible proof would be a genuine vampire, and that will never happen. Short of that, any proof can be denied easily enough.”

“What about—video?”

“Claire. You go to the cinema, don’t you? Do you imagine, in this age of digital trickery, that anyone would believe video of vampires?” He shook his head. “They would believe it now less than ever. The very popularity of vampires in your stories protects us.” He sent her a sharp glance. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Stop wondering. It’s not healthy.”

Then he was gone. Claire sat down on the couch and smoothed her palms over her jeans.

Oliver was right; people probably wouldn’t believe it. Most people didn’t believe all the ghost reality shows, either. The problem was that these days, reality didn’t have to be real to be a hit—and Morganville couldn’t stand up to real scrutiny.

They had to stop Kim, before it all fell apart.

Plus, as a bonus, they had to really kick her ass about the cameras, because that was just wrong.

Eve and Shane got home first, while Claire was devouring a peanut butter sandwich. She didn’t tell them about the visit from Amelie and Oliver, and besides, they looked pretty grim. She was sure they wouldn’t really care.

“What?” she asked. Shane snagged half her sandwich from her plate as he passed. “Hey!”

“Worked up an appetite, watching Miss Bad Attitude’s back,” he said around a mouthful of bread. “She goes to the most interesting places. I mean interesting in terms of scary as hell.”

“Do not tell Claire about that club,” Eve said, and took off her metallic sunglasses. Behind them, her mascara was smeared, and her eyes were red—not vampire red, but more like an overdose of tears. “Besides, it’s not like I just randomly decided to go there. It’s where Kim liked to hang out.”

“What kind of club?” Claire whispered to Shane.

“Leather,” he whispered back. “She’s right; you really don’t want to know.”

“Kim hasn’t been there in a couple of days,” Eve said. “But we found a few vampires who did interviews with her recently, for her history project.”

From the expression on Shane’s face, there was more to the story. Claire said, doubtfully, “And they just told you? Just like that?”

“I had to make some deals to get the details.” Eve avoided making eye contact on that. She shed her black leather jacket, the one with all the buckles, and snagged a corner of Claire’s leftover half sandwich. “Hmm, this is good; did you put honey on it?”

“You didwhat?” Making any kind of deal with any kind of vampire in Morganville was crazy. Making deals with the kind of vampires hanging out in a leather bar was . . . suicidal. Claire rounded on Shane. “You let her do that?”

“Seriously, you can’t even think about blaming me when she gets like this. I’m the bodyguard. Unless you wanted me to tie her up and gag her . . .”

“They’d probably have gotten into it there,” Eve said. “Look, I can get out of the deals. Amelie’s our get-out-of-deals-free card. But I needed to find Kim, and to do that, we needed information. Unless you waved your magic techno-wand and . . . ?”

Claire had to shake her head.

“Okay then, quit looking at me like I broke house training or something.” Eve, Claire realized, was really uncomfortable about this. She’d probably had to force herself to talk to these vamps, and the last thing she needed was the postgame analysis on what she’d done wrong.

Claire cleared her throat. “What did you get?”

“I found four vamps that Kim either talked to on camera, or set up interviews with in the next week or so, which means she wasn’t pla

“Hookups,” Shane confirmed. “Which is Kim’s style. Although I can’t say much for her taste. It’s kind of gone downhill.”

“So, wait—what does that tell us that we didn’t already know? And what did you promise these vamps, anyway?”

“Things,” Eve said, without adding any details. Shane looked away. “Not important right now. The point is, two of the vamps she interviewed she filmed at Common Grounds, but the other vamps said she took them to a kind of studio.”

“A studio,” Claire repeated. “That sounds promising.”

“Thought so. It wasn’t knee-deep in crap, so it couldn’t have been her apartment, right?”

“Did they tell you where?”

“No,” Shane said, leaning over Eve’s shoulder. “They wanted more for that little gem. And I told them to stuff it sideways.”

Claire blinked. Vampires. Leather bar. “And they just thought that was okay?”

“Honestly? Not so much. They mostly decided we’d make good chew toys.”

“Shane!” Claire looked at him with pleading eyes. “You didn’t—”

“Fight? Didn’t have to,” he said. Before he could explain, the front door opened and closed, and Claire heard the locks clicking shut again. Eve stiffened and looked down, burying her black-painted fingernails in her palms as she made fists.

Michael looked—like he’d been through a rough night in a bad bar, Claire guessed. Mussed, clothes torn at the seams. Something dark on his shirt that could have been blood.

“Are you okay?” Claire came to her feet, staring at him. He wasn’t bruised or anything, but he looked tired. There was a little flush of red in his eyes, and his hands were shaking.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just need—something to drink. Be right back.”

He disappeared into the kitchen. The silence in the room was sharp and uncomfortable, and Claire looked at Eve, who folded her arms across her chest.

“I didn’t ask him to come rescue us,” she said, and looked down. “I didn’t want him to come at all.”

Michael came back carrying a black sports bottle. They all knew what he had in it, but nobody mentioned it as he sipped through the built-in straw.

“I had my reasons for going,” Michael said. And didn’t look at Eve. And Eve didn’t look at him. “Thanks for getting her out of there when you did, Shane.”