Текст книги "Bite Club"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“I thought he was with somebody,” she finally said, miserably. “In his room. Some girl.”

Eve ate a bite of pancakes, thinking about it, and then said, “And you honestly think he’s that big a jerk, that not only does he cheat on you, he brings her back here, to our house? Where, I might add, I would personally open up a ten-gallon drum of whup-ass on him and any skank he dragged in here. Not to mention what Michael would do.”

“No, I—I don’t honestly think that. And, uh, thanks?”

“It’s what friends do,” Eve said graciously. “He didn’t bring anybody back here—you know that. Besides, you were with us last night when he came home. What’d he do, smuggle her in under his coat?”

“I think she was a vampire,” Claire said in a rush, without looking at Eve. In her blurry peripheral vision, she could see that Eve had stopped in the act of raising her fork to her mouth. Syrup dripped off, but the plate caught the damage.

Eve slowly put her fork back down.

“You think Shane’s getting it from some vampire girl?”

Claire’s frustration burned up suddenly, like flash paper. “I don’t know! I’m just telling you what it felt like, Eve! There was a woman talking and laughing, and I went in his room, and there was a blur and wind and then he was alone. Youfill in the blanks!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Eve said. “You know that’s totally frickin’ insane, right? Because for one thing, Shane hates the hell right out of vampires. For another, he loves you.”

“Maybe she’s—I don’t know—making him do it. They can do that, right? Yvette did.”

“The last one who tried it didn’t get very far, if you remember,” Eve said. “And I heard on good authority that Yvette’s ashes got sprinkled on the Founder’s rose garden, so there’s that. Shane’s strong, and I don’t just mean the muscles. I’ve never seen any bite marks on him. Have you?”

Claire had to shake her head reluctantly. She definitely hadn’t seen any bites. She, on the other hand, had a collection of them, the worst from Myrnin. So maybe she was still, and badly, overreacting. Shane was acting jealous, but maybe he had reason, considering everything that had gone on with Myrnin.

Maybe that was why he was turning antivamp again.

“You’re kind of freaking me out, you two,” Eve said. “I mean, you’re the stableone. And Shane, he’s loyal to the point of stupid. If you two can’t keep it together…” She didn’t say it, but Claire knew she was thinking, What chance do Michael and I have?Claire had heard gossip when Eve wasn’t around. Nobody was giving their vampire-and-human Romeo-and-Juliet act anything like good odds to go the distance.

And what wasthe distance, for a relationship where the vampire wasn’t going to get any older, while Eve would? She knew, without even thinking about it, that Eve had spent long nights considering all this, going over and over it. So had Michael, probably.

Maybe love would conquer all. That was a nice thought, even if it wasn’t realistic.

God, she wanted to blurt it all out to Eve—about Jason being held in that room at Founder’s Square. About Bishop out stalking the streets. But she knew that would be a very bad idea. Amelie had been clear enough, and she wasn’t in any mood to be forgiving.

She could tell her about MIT, but…no. That was private. She didn’t want Eve to think she didn’t care about her, because she did. She loved her.

But it was MIT.

Eve ate a couple of bites of pancake, and so did Claire, even though she couldn’t taste it at all.

“CB,” Eve said, and made her look up. “It’s okay. Whatever it was, Shane’s not that guy you’re thinking about. He’s yourguy, and he’s always going to be. Trust me. I know Shane, and he can be a jerk, but he can also be the best man I’ve ever met. And you, you make him better every day he’s with you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Claire said. She felt a little better, and also a lot worse, because that made leaving for Boston much harder. Maybe she hadbeen tired and made a lot out of nothing. “I should get going. I’m going to be late for class.”

“Whatcha learning?”

“Probably nothing, considering how sleepy I am. But in theory, it’s about multidimensional analysis and waveforms.” Like she’d be studying at MIT. Only that would be a thousand times better, somehow.

“I have no idea what that is, but yawn, anyway, just on principle. Eat up. Pancakes is brain food.”

“Apparently not grammar food.”

“Wow. You college girls are mean.”

Claire had a pleasant enough morning…. The class ended up short one professor, so after ten minutes, they were free to wander off. Her next class was a lab, which she loved (and always aced). Then lunch, and a free afternoon to think things over.

As she sat outside under a tree, listening as the cool wind rustled the leaves overhead, she kept pulling out her phone. Kept pulling up the caller list and looking at the number. Finally, she typed in the contact info. Mr. Radamon, MIT.

Her finger kept hovering over the call button, but she didn’t push it.

Yet.

It scared her when her cell phone vibrated. The picture that came up was a close-up of Myrnin’s vampire bunny slippers. She sighed and answered, a little too sharply. “What?”

His voice sounded metallic and impatient over the tiny speaker. “Is that any way to speak to someone who employs you? And, I might add, could kill you at any time?”

“But won’t,” she said. “Has something happened? You know, with him? The old guy?”

“Him,” Myrnin repeated. “No, heis still safely obscure at the moment, although there is an unprecedented effort to locate him going on, of course. But I need you for something else. Here, in the lab. Now.”

“I thought you didn’t need me today.”

“In fact, I didn’t. And now I do. Please.”

“Thanks for saying please.”

“I do try to be polite. Now, do get a move on.”

She hung up and, just for the sake of being stubborn, finished her Coke before getting up, dusting off, and grabbing her book bag.

She got a text message before she could take more than a few steps, and stopped in the shade of a tree to read it from the tiny screen. It was from Shane, and it said, Sry abt last night luv u.

She smiled in relief, and texted back, OMG luv u 2 so sry. She almost added I need to talk, but that might make things worse. She’d talk later. Tell him. Ask him what to do about…about everything.

Claire closed the phone and held it to her heart for a few seconds, then slipped it back into her pocket. She felt about a thousand times better, no matter what was waiting for her at the lab; in fact, she hadn’t realized how down she was until suddenly she was up again.

She was humming her new favorite song when she walked around the corner, heading for a shortcut to the lab, and ran into a crying girl who was running blindly for the shelter of the trees.

The girl went down. She looked terrified. It took Claire a second to recognize her, because she was expecting a student…but Miranda was far too young to be a student, maybe fifteen years old, and also Miranda was way, way too crazy.

Miranda was—or had been, anyway—Eve’s friend, mostly because Eve took up strays and the vulnerable, and Miranda was both. Eve had also believed the girl was psychic, and Claire was inclined to believe it, too, because Miranda’s guesses on things she shouldn’t have known had always been too close for comfort. She was certainly weird enough, too.

Miranda had come into Claire’s life early on in her Morganville experience, and she’d been vague and dreamy and sported vampire bites from her so-called Protector, whom Claire had considered a lot more predator than anything else. Since his death, Miranda had improved, but she’d stayed vague. Her clothes looked completely random and mismatched. Same for her makeup; she had some on, but it looked more like she’d forgotten to wipe off what she’d put on yesterday and just added to it. It was smudged and smeared, and not at all attractive.

She looked like a thin, starving rabbit of a girl.

And she was terrified.

“Hey,” Claire said, and offered her a hand up. “Sorry about that. Miranda, what are you doing here on campus? You never come here. Do you?” The girl stared up at her in frozen dread, and Claire frowned a little. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I came to warn you,” Miranda said in a breathless rush. Her eyes were very wide and more than half crazy. “But it’s all gone wrong.” She took Claire’s hand and pulled herself up, but she didn’t let go. Her skin felt icy, and her eyes darted around in a paranoia Claire knew all too well. “They’re coming!”

“No, they’re not,” said Monica Morrell, stepping around the corner of the concrete building where the groundskeepers kept their tools and mowers. “They’re here, you crazy bitch. Oh, look, you found a little friend. A little friend who’s completely stupid if she doesn’t start walking away right now.” Monica was pretty, perfectly made up, and wearing designer jeans and a spangled top, but she had an expression that made Claire’s stomach twist. “Danvers. Don’t you have to go save a puppy or the whales or something?”

Claire said nothing. Now it wasn’t just Monica, but both her Lipstick Mafia girls, who came a few seconds late to the party. Gina was wearing a denim skirt and ass-kicking shoes, and Jennifer was basically a duplicate of Monica, only with knockoffs instead of designer originals.

That they’d target Miranda wasn’t unusual; it was their standard operating procedure to pick out the weak and (presumably) helpless. It had been Claire’s introduction to the warm, welcoming community of Morganville, running into these three in her dorm. She’d gotten beaten up and tossed down stairs, and, frankly, she knew she’d been lucky to get off that lightly.

Even so, even as bold as Monica was in her bullying, it was unusual that the Evil Trio was chasing Miranda around outdoors, in full view of the campus. Granted, they were herding her into the trees, where whatever unpleasant thing that was going to happen would happen in relative privacy, but still…this was bold, even for Monica.

Even when Miranda was easy, friendless prey.

“I said get lost, Claire,” Monica said as Gina and Jennifer spread out to cut off easy retreat. “You’ve got about five seconds before I forget you’re wearing that Founder’s Pet pin and start kicking your skinny ass, just like old times.”

“You’re forgetting? I didn’t know you were old enough to get Alzheimer’s,” Claire said. She tugged on Miranda’s cold, trembling hand. “Just that you looked it. Come on, Mir. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” That was Jennifer, stepping up to block their escape. “Not her. She stays.”

“Why?”

“None of your business, bitch. You can go. She can’t.”

Claire glanced over at Miranda. “You said you came to warn me? About what?”

She looked miserable and defeated. “About them,” she said. “I woke up and my head was hurting and all I could think about was that I had to tell you, had to warn you before it was too late. But I think I did the wrong thing. Sometimes it all gets mixed up in my head, what’s coming, and what I should do about it. Sometimes it seems like I actually cause it. But this is definitely wrong now.”

Gina said flatly, “No shit. I was just walking along and that crazy bitch came right up to me, babbled at me, and hit me. Look, I’m going to have a bruise.” She pointed at her chin, which did look red on the side. “So I’m going to hit her back. That’s all. You just stay out of it and we’ll all be fine.”

Claire looked at Monica and Jennifer. “Are yourfriends staying out of it?”

“You really want to go there?” Gina’s flat, dark stare was unsettling. “This isn’t your business, Danvers. Walk away, go do whatever it is that smart freaks do when they’re not being completely annoying.”

She should have. That would have been the smart thing, the easy thing. But instead, something flared up inside her, something stubborn and bright and obstinate, and Claire said, “I’m not leaving anybody for you to pound on, especially not some helpless fifteen-year-old kid. You know that, right? That’s what you’re afraid of, that I’m going to stick around. Because now you’ve got twoof us who aren’t afraid to hit back. And oneof us has people on speed dial that you don’t want to mess with.”

“Are you threatening me?” Gina asked softly.

“Crap,” Monica sighed. “Danvers, you’ve stepped in it now. It’s all on you.”

Gina’s eyes were like a shark’s, Claire realized; just blind menace, no thinking behind them at all.

When she smiled, that made it all the more eerie. Especially when she unfolded the pocketknife with the long, sharp blade she had hidden at her side. It made a soft, metallic clicking sound as it locked into place.

Miranda took in a sharp, shaking breath. “Oh no. It’s all going wrong, so wrong…. This isn’t what I meant to do….”

Claire shifted her attention to Monica, who was standing very still, face closed into a pretty, shallow mask. “You’re going to let your psycho friend come after me. Even knowing what will happen when Amelie finds out.”

Monica smiled, just a little. “What makes you think I can’t make you disappear? Lots of places in this town to hide a body, especially if it’s in little pieces. And you’re just a little bitty thing, anyway.”

Claire shook her head and looked at Miranda. “Why did you hit her?” she asked. “Gina. You came on campus, looked for her, and hit her. Why?”

“Because it had to happen that way.” Miranda sometimes didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and this was definitely one of those times.

Monica wasn’t going to back down, not in front of her friends. Something had to change first. The balance had to shift, and fast, because Gina was working herself up to some genuine psycho-quality violence. As Gina was wont to do, actually.

Claire looked at Jennifer.

Jennifer seemed scared. This had clearly gone further than she’d thought or was comfortable with; Jen had always been the softest of the three of them, and this was especially true now. She’d been hurt recently, when a rave in town had turned into an all-out humans-versus-vamps brawl. When Shane and Claire had finally found her, she’d been balled up in a corner, thin party dress torn and stained with blood. She’d been cut with broken glass, and had a couple of cracked ribs.

But from the haunted look in her eyes, Claire had to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d learned how it felt to be on the receiving end.

“Jen,” she said, very quietly. “You don’t have to be here. You know what it’s like to be hurt, and you don’t want to make someone else go through that. Just walk away.”

Jen flinched and took a small step backward. She looked over at Monica, then at Gina.

“We were there for you, Jen,” Monica said. “We’ve always been there for you. Don’t you turn your back on us now. We know where you live, bitch.”

“Yeah, she knows where I live, too,” Claire said. “But she knows better than to show up there.” She turned her attention back to Monica. “It’s not just about scaring people out of their lunch money anymore, Monica. You’re not the school bully. You’re talking about real trouble, jailtrouble, and you know how this is going to end. You need to stop this before you all get hurt, lots worse than anything you’d do to Miranda. Or to me.”

Monica was staring back at her, and Claire had the oddest feeling that for the first time, Monica was seeingher. After all this time, all this anger, she was actually communicating.

“Think,” Claire said very softly. “Just think. You don’t have to make this happen. You don’t needit, Monica. Everybody knows who you are. You don’t have to keep on proving it to yourself and to everybody else.”

That rocked Monica’s head back, as if Claire had actually punched her in a vulnerable spot. Her lips parted, but whatever she was going to say…she didn’t have time.

“You know what? I’m tired of the blah, blah, blah. Screw all this talking,” Gina said, and came at Claire with the knife.

“Gina, no!” Monica yelled. She sounded shocked, as if she hadn’t actually thought Gina would do it. As if Gina was all threat, no action.

But Claire had always known better.

That didn’t make it feel any better as she watched Gina and the knife lunge straight for her.

EIGHT

Claire’s world got suddenly very clear—high-definition clear. She could see the light glittering along the blade of Gina’s knife. The sweat on Gina’s forehead. The way she balanced her weight as she attacked.

Claire shoved Miranda out of the way, and in the same motion, slammed her forearm at a right angle to Gina’s as the hand holding the knife came at her. She remembered Eve’s fencing poses. Seemed like the right thing to do.

Gina’s knife missed. Claire watched the edge glide past her, an inch from her left elbow, and knew she ought to be afraid, because, my God, she was in a knife fight with Gina, and nobody was coming to help her. Nobody even knew what was going on. Not Shane or Michael or Eve, not Amelie, not even Myrnin.

But, weirdly, right now it didn’t matter. Everything was still and quiet inside, and she supposed she should have felt scared, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel anything.

Shane had given her lessons in how to trip people up—it had been a game, one that had ended up with her on her back more than him on his, and she’d loved the laughter and the feel of his weight pinning her down. But now she walled all that away and stripped it down to its purest parts.

She could do this. She had to do it.

She stepped forward into Gina’s body, and got her left foot behind and between Gina’s. That put her lower leg at an angle, below Gina’s knee.

As Gina stabbed at her with the knife, Claire grabbed her wrist, forced it up and in, and overbalanced her. Gina started to step backward, then yelped as Claire’s braced leg took the strength out of her knee.

She went down on her back. Claire twisted the knife out of Gina’s hand and dropped down with one knee on her chest, holding her down. She froze, looking down at her, breathing hard. She felt hot and shivery now, and the impulse to take that knife and do something terrible with it boiled up inside. It tasted like rage and fear and all the terrible things she’d ever felt, and for a second, just a second, she thought about what it would be like to make Gina feel that, to make Gina hurt.

Gina’s eyes went wide, watching her. She knew. She could see it, too, and for the first time ever, Claire saw that Gina was actually afraid.

“This is what I saw,” Miranda said, a quiet little voice at Claire’s elbow. “But you’re not going to do it. You’re a good person.”

Claire didn’t feel like a good person, not at the moment. She felt sick and a little bit faint, and she didn’t resist when Miranda took the knife out of her hand.

“But I’m not that good,” Miranda said, and stabbed the knife down at Gina’s chest.

Claire screamed and knocked Miranda out of the way, a firm body check that sent Mir stumbling, then rolling. The knife fell to the grass. Gina scrambled for it, but Claire got there first, picked it up, and held it at her side. Gina slowly climbed to her feet, breathing fast, chin down. The fear was gone now, replaced with an insane amount of rage.

“Monica,” Claire said. “Call off the pit bull. Now, before this gets worse.”

A few torturous seconds of silence passed before Monica said, “Gina. Yo, bitch, chill. We’ll finish this some other time.”

“Give me back my knife,” Gina said.

“Um…no.” Claire folded it up and slipped it into her jeans pocket. “The last thing you need is a weapon.”

“I’ll buy you another one. Come on, Gina. We’re going.” Jennifer took Gina’s arm and tugged on it, glancing at Claire with a mixture of fear and respect. “Like Monica said. We’ll get this later.”

Gina pointed at Claire. “You. I’ll get youlater.”

Claire shrugged. “Go for it.”

Jennifer pulled her friend away. Monica had already turned her back and was walking away. She paused right before she turned the corner to glance back and nod slightly to Claire.

Odd. It almost looked like respect, too.

Silence. Claire listened to the breeze, the distant laughter of students coming from beyond the trees, and all of a sudden she couldn’t stay on her feet. She sat down—sprawled—and rested her forehead in her hands.

Miranda crawled over to sit next to her. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Stopping me. But you don’t know. You don’t know what it’s like.”

“Getting bullied? Kind of do.”

Miranda was looking at her with sadness and a strange kind of pity. “No, you don’t,” she said. “It’s been happening since I was in kindergarten. Not them all the time, but other kids, you know. Every day. It never stops, and it never goes away, thanks to the Internet—it just keeps happening every minute, every day. And I just want it to stop. I think about how to do it, you know. How to kill them. All kinds of elaborate things, like trapping them in pits and burying them alive, or covering them with concrete.”

It was the most sensible thing Claire had ever heard her say—and the most painful, too. She put her arm around Miranda. Close up, she expected Mir to smell bad, but she didn’t; she smelled like lemon shampoo and soap. With a little clothing upgrade and better makeup and hair, she’d be pretty.

Oh, God,she thought, amused. Eve’s rubbed off on me.Because the old Claire, the one she’d been before the Glass House, would have never even thought about Miranda’s appearance.

“Explain to me why you came to find me,” she said. “Was it just that you saw the knife fight?”

“Yes,” Miranda said. And then, immediately, “No. There’s something else.”

“What?”

Miranda looked up at her with those odd, unsettling, luminous eyes. “It’s about Shane. I think he’s in trouble. There’s something wrong in his head. I can almost see it.”

Claire’s phone beeped for attention—a text. She checked it. It was, shockingly, from Myrnin; she didn’t think he even knew howto text. Evidently, he’d found his cell phone again.

It said, Where are you, stupid girl? Run faster!

Claire sighed. “Dammit! Can you tell me about it while we walk?”

Miranda didn’t, of course, have many details. Psychic impressions were the most useless things ever, as far as Claire could tell…it was always feelings and impressions and vague warnings, and half the time it seemed like Miranda made things worse by trying to prevent something bad. Like today. The whole thing with Gina wouldn’t have happened if Miranda hadn’t come along trying to stop it. Well, probably.

Miranda’s cold-blooded violent streak worried Claire almost as much as Gina’s psycho tendencies. She thought about revenge in dangerously graphic terms.

“Let’s try this again,” she said as they walked down the mostly deserted street that led to the cul-de-sac where Myrnin’s lab entrance was located. “So what you see is that Shane’s in trouble because he gets in a fight.”

Miranda nodded, so vigorously her tangled hair bounced. “A bad one,” she said. “And gets hurt. I can’t tell how much, but he gets hurt a lot, I think.”

“Is it day or night?”

Miranda thought about it, frowning. She kicked an empty plastic bottle and flinched when a dog barked in one of the yards they were passing. The houses on this street were run-down, with bars on the windows. Only the Day house at the end of the street—a mirror for the house where Claire lived, the one owned by Michael Glass—looked nicely kept up, and even it needed a new coat of paint. “I can’t tell,” she finally said. “It happens inside. In a room. People are watching. There are bars.”

“Like, with drinks?”

“No, like a cage.”

That was sickly likely, because Shane seemed to end up behind thosekinds of bars way too often. “How many people?”

She shrugged. “It’s dark; I can’t tell. Maybe a lot? No—more. More than a lot. From a long ways off. There but not there.”

That was definitely vague and not at all helpful. The fighting—well, that was something that honestly wasn’t all that unusual. Shane was a born fighter. But the getting badly hurt—that was unsettling, all right.

“Is there any way to tell when it’s going to happen?”

Miranda shook her head. “It’s pretty clear, so maybe a few days? A week? But I don’t know. Sometimes it’s tricky. And sometimes it goes away, too. Things aren’t always obvious.”

“Okay, well, thanks. I’ll try to look out for him.” That wasn’t much, because Claire knew she couldn’t spend all her time watching out for him. Warning him would help, but knowing Shane, it wouldn’t solve the problem, either. If he felt like he needed to be in the fight, he’d be in it—whether he got hurt or not.

“You should get home,” Claire said. “I have to go to work. Mir?”

Miranda stopped, looking at her. She was getting taller, Claire realized; still growing. She was taller than Claire was now, and would probably be Eve’s height or better before she was done.

“Tomorrow, meet me at the house,” Claire said. “If Myrnin doesn’t need me, we’ll go shopping. Okay?”

Miranda smiled at her—a sweet, delighted, heartfelt expression that lit up her whole face. No, her whole body.It was like nobody had ever offered before. “Okay!” she said. “I’ve never been shopping.”

Claire blinked. “Never?”

“No. My parents used to buy me things before they died. And now people sometimes bring me things, but I’ve never gone myself. Is it fun? It looks fun.”

“It’s fun,” Claire said. She had a sudden impulse to hug the girl, so she did. Miranda felt all bones and awkward angles, but she hugged back enthusiastically. “You go straight home and stay there. Monica may back off, but Gina’s kind of nuts. I think she’s after me, though.”

“She is,” Miranda said, in that distant, weird kind of voice Claire dreaded. “She’ll be coming. Soon.” She blinked and smiled. “See you tomorrow!”

She practically skipped away. Claire watched her go, shook her head, and headed into the monster’s lair.

The monster himself was standing in the middle of the lab, pacing and shaking his cell phone as if he was trying to get it to work by sheer force. He’d changed clothes again—this time, to a Victorian long-tailed coat in black, a purple vest, no shirt, and black pants. He’d ditched the bunny slippers this time, in favor of real shoes. When she came jogging down the steps, he looked so relieved she almost backed up a step or two.

“There you are!” he cried, and held his phone out to her. “This thing doesn’t work.”

“It does. I got your text.”

“But I’ve been sending it over and over, and then it just stopped working.”

It had stopped working because, evidently, he’d been pushing buttons so hard he’d broken them. Claire shook her head, took the phone, and tossed it in the garbage can in the corner. “I’ll get you another one,” she said. “Well? I’m here. What’s the crisis?”

He stopped and stared at her. “Bishop is on the loose, and you’re asking me what the crisis might be? Really?”

“I…thought the vampires would be taking care of that.”

“Indeed. Oliver’s got half the vampires in Morganville making inquiries of the other half.”

“Only half?”

“The half we can trust interrogating the half we can’t,” Myrnin said. “A sad truth, but there are more than a few who preferred Bishop’s open tyranny to Amelie’s more reasonable approach. There are always a few, Claire, who like being told what to do instead of being required to think. And those are the ones you should fear. That goes equally for humans, I’m afraid. Critical thinking has become a sadly rare skill these days.”

She nodded, because she already knew that. “So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to speak with Frank. We need him to be on the alert for any sign of Bishop. He has control of the monitoring systems, and he should be able to provide us solid leads.”

“Wait, you want meto do it? Why didn’t you?”

Myrnin drew himself up to his full height, hands clasped behind his back. “I have things to do,” he said. “And…Frank and I mayhave had a little disagreement. He isn’t speaking to me anymore.”

“He—Wait, can he do that?”

“Damn straight I can.” Frank’s gravelly voice came from her cell phone speaker, muffled by her pocket, but still clearly audible. “I can do what I want, and I don’t want to hear anything from that jackass anymore.”

“Frank—” Claire sighed. “Fine. I hate this, you know. I hate that you’re all fangs-out at each other when one of you doesn’t even have any fangs anymore. But we don’t have time for your girl fight, okay? Will you please look for Bishop, so he doesn’t get us all killed horribly?”

“Well,” Frank said, “you’ve got a point about that.”

Claire turned to Myrnin. “Anybody else you want monitored?”

“Well, there’s Gloriana,” Myrnin said. “I would definitely look out for Gloriana, since she’s the newest in town, and, well, you’ve met her, haven’t you?”

Claire frowned. Gloriana… oh.She’d met her once, briefly, at a party about a month ago. Gloriana—or Glory, for cutesy-short—was beautiful, in an antique kind of way; she had waves of long blond hair and bright blue eyes and a smile that made men melt like ice cream in the sun. Vampire, of course. Charming. But she’d taken a special interest in Michael, and that hadn’t sat very well with Eve at all. “Glory’s a Bishop girl?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Myrnin said, “but Gloriana has a history of betting with the winners, and she was Bishop’s pet for a short time, about three hundred years ago, I believe. She may still have some fond memories of him, as difficult as that is to understand. Old loyalties die hard among our kind. So do old enemies, and she never was Amelie’s friend, though they’re polite enough in public.”

“Is she yourfriend?” Claire hesitated, then said, “Or, you know, friend?”

He raised his eyebrows and air quoted. “Friend?”

“You know what I mean. Oliver practically admitted he’d had a fling with her once.”

“I don’t have flings.” Again with the air quotes. “And, no, Gloriana is not my friend. Nor my enemy, particularly; I rarely had anything to do with her at all. She’s agreed to abide by the laws of Morganville, but if a situation arises where she might sidestep them…well. I would not like to stand between her and her desires. She can be quite cold-blooded.”

Claire felt a stab of dread. “Uh, she could be after Shane, then?”

“Shane?” Myrnin rolled his eyes. “Why in the world would you leap to such a conclusion? Definitely not. She doesn’t do humans. She finds them commonplace. And, strangely enough, not everyone is as fascinated by your beau as you are.”