Текст книги "Dead Girls' Dance"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 12 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

“I’m so glad you came!’” Ian said. He hardly had to raise his voice at all to be heard over the roar; he just had that kind of voice, and plus, it was a blessedly dull roar in here. “Can I get you some punch?’”

“Um…do you have anything that’s not, you know…?’”

“Right, yeah. How about some water?’”

“Water would be wonderful.’” Where the hell was Eve? She’d ducked behind two tall guys and now Claire couldn’t see her, and she felt alone and very vulnerable just standing here in her fake Goth getup, and God, this makeup itched; how did Eve stand it? Claire wanted a shower, wanted to scrub her face clean, and wanted to put on plain jeans and a plain T-shirt and never be adventurous again.

Shane. Think about Shane. She felt an uncomfortable twist of guilt that she’d ever let him slip out of her thoughts, even for a minute.

Ian came back with a bottle of water, the top already off. “Here you go,’” he said, and handed it over. He was drinking water, too, not the punch stuff. “Crazy, huh?’”

“Crazy,’” she agreed. In a town full of vampires, this was just about the craziest idea she could imagine, putting a bunch of drunk, horny college kids in a place where vampires could blend right in. “Did you see where my friend went?’”

“Girls,’” Ian sighed. “Always travel in packs. Yeah, she went into the library. Come on.’”

Claire gulped water as she followed him, stepping carefully over the legs of several people who’d decided the kitchen floor looked like a good place to sit down for a chat. And oh God, what was that couple in the corner doing? She blushed under the makeup and looked quickly away, focusing on the back of Ian’s neck. He’d missed a spot on the makeup. It looked pink.

The next room had people, too, but not quite as many as the kitchen and it was practically deserted compared to the dance room. Library was a generous word. It had books, but not as many as Claire would have thought, and most of them were old textbooks. Some were being defaced by people wielding black markers and pens, giggling with one another over the results.

No sign of Eve.

“Huh,’” Ian said. “Hang on.’” He went to ask a question of another guy, taller, dressed in a silky-looking black shirt open halfway down to reveal a strong, muscular chest. It took a while. Claire swigged more water, grateful for the moisture because even the library was steaming hot, and almost wiped at her face before she remembered the careful makeup job.

There was no sign of Sam in this room, either. While Ian was talking, Claire went over to one of the girls defacing books. She looked vaguely familiar—maybe somebody from chemistry? Anna something?

“Hi—Anna?’” It must have been right; the girl looked up. “Have you seen Sam? Red hair…maybe wearing a brown leather jacket…?’” Although he had to have taken it off, in this heat. “Blue eyes?’”

“Oh, sure. Sam. He’s upstairs somewhere.’” Anna went back to her book sabotage, which seemed to involve drawing devils and pitchforks. Upstairs. Claire needed to get upstairs, but most importantly, she needed to find Eve. Fast.

Ian came back. “She went upstairs,’” he said. “She’s looking for a guy named Sam, right?’”

“Yeah,’” Claire said. “Would you mind if—?’”

“No, sure, I’ll go with you.’” He looked at the drained bottle in Claire’s hand. “Want some more?’”

She nodded. He grabbed a bottle from an ice-filled cooler and handed it over. She cracked the seal and took another life-giving mouthful as Ian led the way to the stairs.

The heat was making her feel slow and disconnected. She wanted to pour the cold water over her face, but realized just in time—again—about the makeup. Stupid makeup.

The stairs seemed to go on forever, and it was like dancing around land mines; people were sitting on just about every step, some talking, some mumbling to themselves, some passing joints back and forth. Oh man. She really needed to get out of here, fast.

The upstairs landing seemed like a paradise of open space, and Claire clung to the handrail and breathed for a few seconds. Ian came back to get her. “You okay?’” he asked. She nodded. “I don’t know which room he’s in. We’ll just have to look.’”

She followed him. He swung open the first door on the hall, and behind him she saw about ten people talking very intensely. They all looked at Ian with a definite Get out vibe, and as he shut the door, Claire realized that all ten of them were vampires.

Not Sam, though, but given what Sam had told her, and what she’d heard from Michael and Eve, that made sense. He’d be hanging around the humans, right? The vampires didn’t want any part of him.

“Wrong room,’” Ian said unnecessarily, and moved to the next one. She couldn’t see over his shoulder, but he closed it in a hurry. “Really wrong room. Sorry.’”

There were about ten doors on the hallway, but they didn’t get that far. Claire was feeling kind of light-headed—in fact, she was dizzy. Maybe it was the heat. She took another gulp from the bottle, but that just seemed to make her feel nauseous. As Ian opened the fourth door, she said, “I don’t feel so good.’”

Ian smiled and said, “Well, that was fast,’” and shoved her into the room. “I thought I was going to have to work a little harder, but you’re pretty easy.’”

There were three other guys in the room. She didn’t know any of them…. No, wait, one looked familiar.

The jerk from the UC coffee bar, the one who’d been so mean to Eve. He was one of them. She turned toward Ian, confused, but he was locking the door.

Her knees felt wobbly, and so did her head. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong…but she hadn’t had anything to drink. She’d been careful….

Not careful enough. The first water bottle he’d brought her, he’d opened it first.

Stupid, Claire. Stupid, stupid, stupid. But he’d seemed so…nice.

“You don’t want to do this,’” she said, and backed up as one of the guys reached for her. There wasn’t a lot of space. It was somebody’s bedroom, most of it taken up by a bed, a dresser with the drawers hanging half-open. Dirty laundry piled in a corner. Oh God. It hit her hard that Eve had no idea where she was, she had no cell phone, and even if she screamed, no one would hear her over the music. Or care.

She remembered what Eve had done that terrible evening after the biker shoved his way in. You need a weapon. Yeah, but Eve was older and bigger, and wasn’t drugged at the time….

She nearly tripped over a baseball bat sticking out from under the bed. She grabbed it and took up a bleary, weaving batting stance. “Don’t touch me!’” she said, and screamed at the top of her lungs. “Eve! Eve! I need help!’”

She took a wild swing at Ian, who was strolling forward, and he ducked it easily. She reversed and slammed the butt end of the bat toward him, and that one, he didn’t duck. It hit him squarely in the mouth, and he staggered back, bleeding.

“You bitch!’” he said, and spit blood. “Oh, you are gonna pay for that.’”

“Hold up,’” said the coffee bar jerk, who was leaning against the door with his arms folded. “You put the full dose in her bottle, right? And she drank it?’”

Ian nodded. He fished around in the laundry pile and found a sock to press against his mouth and nose. Good. She hoped it was filthy. And had athlete’s foot on it.

“Then all we have to do is wait a couple of minutes,’” the jerk said. “She’s not going anywhere except to la-la land.’” He high-fived his buddies. Ian continued to glare at her. They were all between her and the door. There was a window, but it was the second floor and she wasn’t even steady enough to stand, much less free-climb. Claire gripped the bat in sweaty, numbed hands, and saw sparkles at the edges of her vision. Everything looked bleary. She felt waves of heat sweep over her, and then an icy chill. Michael? Was Michael here? No, Michael couldn’t leave the house….

Somehow, she was sliding down to a sitting position on the floor. The bat was still clutched in her hands, but she was tired, very tired, and she felt so sick and hot….

Somebody rattled the doorknob. Claire summoned up whatever was left of her strength and screamed, “Help! Get help! Eve!’”

Ian said, and grinned at Claire with bloody teeth, “Just somebody looking for a place to screw. Don’t worry, baby. We won’t hurt you. Not that you’ll remember, anyway.’”

She pretended to be worse off than she really was (although truthfully, she was pretty bad) and, mumbling, let her eyes drift half-closed.

“That’s it,’” the coffee bar jerk said. “She’s out. Get her on the bed.’”

She’d never really done this before, but she was imagining hard how Eve would have handled it. She let the bat kind of wobble and fall to rest in her lap, aligned with her leg, as if it had gotten too heavy to hold up. (Not quite. Just nearly.)

And when Ian walked up to grab her, she brought the bat straight up with as much force as she could manage. It smacked him right where it would hurt the most, and Ian crumpled with a high-pitched, breathless scream, huddled in on himself.

Claire forced her legs to hold her, and slid back up to a standing position. She was leaning for support, and lucky to be in a corner, where the two angled walls let her look like she wasn’t about to topple over. Her arms were shaking, and the guys would have seen that if she’d tried to raise the bat, so she tapped it casually against her leg. “Who wants some?’” she asked. “I won’t hurt you. Much.’”

It was all show, and they only had to wait. Coffee Bar Jerk knew that, all too well, and she could feel the drug—what the hell was it?—stealing away her concentration, her strength, making her slow and stupid and all-too-easy prey.

Shane, she thought, and forced herself to stand upright just a little longer. Shane needs me. I’m not letting this happen.

“You’re bluffing,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said, and came around the bed. Claire took a swing at him, missed, and smacked the bat into the wood so hard it rattled her teeth.

He grabbed the bat on the backswing and easily twisted it out of her grip. He tossed it to one of the other two guys, who caught it one-handed. “That,’” he said, “was really stupid. This could have been real nice and easy, you know that, right?’”

“I have Amelie’s Protection,’” Claire said.

He grabbed her by the throat of her sheer black skull-printed shirt, and dragged her forward. Her legs folded when she tried to pull away.

“I don’t care,’” he said. “I’m not from this stupid town. None of us are. Monica said that was the way to go, to get around the dumbass rules, whatever they are. Whoever Amelie is, she can kiss my ass. After you’re done doing it.’”

The door to the hall gave a dry, metallic pop, and swung slowly open. Claire blinked and tried to focus her eyes, because there was someone standing there. No, two someones. One had red hair. Wasn’t there something about red hair…? Oh yeah. Sam had red hair. Sam the vampire. Sam I Am. Michael’s grandpa, wasn’t that just too weird?

The door no longer had a knob on the outside. The one on the inside fell out with a dull thud to the carpet and rolled under the bed.

“Claire!’” Oh, that was Eve. “Oh my God…’”

“Excuse me,’” Sam said, “but what did you say about Amelie?’”

Coffee Bar Jerk let go of Claire’s top, and she slid back down the wall. She fumbled around for something to use for a weapon, but all she came up with was another set of filthy socks that had missed the laundry. For some reason, that seemed funny. She giggled and rested her head against the wall to let her neck relax. Her neck was working too hard.

“I said that Amelie can kiss my ass, Red. And what are you going to do about it? Stare me to death?’”

Sam just stood there. Claire couldn’t see anything about him change, but it was like the room just went…cold. “You really don’t want to do this,’” Sam said. “Eve, go get your friend.’”

“Yeah, Eve, come on in, we’ve got a nice big bed!’” Ian giggled. “I hear you know how to have a real good time.’” He tossed the bloody sock he’d been pressing to his nose down on the floor and got ready to grab Eve if she came inside. Sam looked at the discarded sock for a second, then picked it up and squeezed it, drizzling blood into the palm of his hand.

And then he licked it up. Slowly. Meeting the eyes of every guy facing him.

“I said,’” he whispered, “you really don’t want to do this.’”

Claire heard a great big buzzing in her head, like a hive full of bees. Oh, I’m going to pass out, because that was gross.

“Shit,’” Ian whispered, and backed up. Fast. “You’re sick, man!’”

“Sometimes,’” Sam agreed. “Eve, go get her. Nobody’s going to touch you.’”

Eve cautiously edged past him, hurried to Claire, and gave her a fast embrace before she hauled her upright again. “Can you walk?’”

“Not very well,’” Claire said, and gulped down nausea. The world kept coming in hot and cold flashes, and she felt like she was going to throw up, but somehow it was all smeared and funny, even the terror in Eve’s eyes.

Not so funny when Coffee Bar Jerk decided to grab Eve, though.

He lunged over the bed, reaching for Eve’s wrist—Claire was too fuzzy to know why he was doing it. Maybe he was hoping to use her as some kind of shield against Sam. But whatever he meant, it was a bad decision.

Sam moved in a flicker, and when Claire blinked, Coffee Bar Jerk was up against the wall, eyes wide, staring at Sam’s face from a distance of about three inches.

“I said,’” Sam whispered, “nobody was going to touch her. Are you deaf?’”

Claire didn’t see it, but she imagined he probably flashed some fang right about then, because Coffee Bar Jerk whimpered like a sick dog.

The other boys moved out of Eve’s way without even trying to stop her.

“Monica,’” Claire said. “I think it was Monica. She got Ian to ask me.’”

“What?’”

“Monica got him to ask me. Told them to do this.’”

“Bitch! Okay, I take it all back. She needs a good blowtorching.’”

“No,’” Claire said faintly. “Nobody deserves that. Nobody.’”

“Great. Saint Claire, the patron saint of the kick-me sign. Look, keep it together, okay? We need to get out of here. Sam! Come on! Leave them!’”

Sam didn’t seem inclined to listen. “Manners, boys,’” he said. “Looks to me like nobody ever taught you any. It’s time you had a lesson before somebody else gets hurt.’”

“Hey, man—’” Ian was holding out his hands in surrender. “Seriously. Just having fun. We weren’t going to hurt her. No need to go all Charles Bronson. We didn’t even really touch her. Look. Clothes still on.’”

“Don’t even try.’” Sam continued to stare at Coffee Bar Jerk, who was looking less like a predator, and more and more like a scared kid faced with the big, bad wolf. “I like these girls. I don’t like you. Do the math. Consider yourself subtracted.’”

“Sam!’” Eve’s voice was loud and flat. “Enough with the macho hero stuff. We came to find you. Let’s get out of here and talk.’”

“I’m not leaving,’” Sam said, his eyes fixed on the boy he was holding. “Not until Disney Princess here apologizes, or his head comes off, one of the two.’”

“Sam! What we need to talk about is important, and Disney Princess is not!’”

For a second Claire thought nothing Eve could say would get through, but then she saw Sam smile—it wasn’t a nice smile—and he let Coffee Bar Jerk slide back to the floor. “Fine,’” he said. “Consider yourself horribly tortured. Make sure you think about all the ways I could have hurt you, because if I hear about anything like this happening again, I want you to know what’s coming.’”

Coffee Bar Jerk nodded shakily, and kept his back to the wall as he slid over to join his posse.

Sam turned toward the girls, and came forward to touch Claire lightly on the shoulder. “Are you all right?’”

Claire nodded, a loose flop of her head. That was a mistake; she nearly pitched over, and it took all of Eve’s strength to keep her on her feet.

When she was able to open her eyes and focus again, Sam had moved away, to the door.

“What?’” Eve asked. “And by the way, you’re blocking the escape hatch.’”

“Hush,’” Sam said softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding, relentless beat of the music.

And then Claire heard the screaming.

In a blink, Sam was gone from the doorway. Eve moved out into the hallway, craning her head to look over the rail, and Claire looked, too.

It was chaos down there, and not the happy chaos of a dance. Knots of screaming, pushing people, desperately jamming up the exits from the big open room, all in black clothes, white faces, some splashes of red here and there…

Blood. There was blood.

Sam grabbed both her and Eve by the shoulders, swung them around, and pushed them back inside the room. He looked at Ian, who was still cowering against the wall. “You. O Positive. How many exits?’”

“What?…Oh shit, did you just call me by my blood type?’”

“How many exits?’”

“The stairs! You have to take the stairs!’”

Sam cursed under his breath, went to the closet, and yanked it open. It was a walk-in, pretty large, filled with junk. He shoved Claire and Eve inside and held the door open. “You,’” he said to the four boys. “If you want to live, get in. Touch these girls and I’ll kill you myself. You know I’m serious, yeah?’”

“Yeah,’” Ian said faintly. “Not a finger on ’em. What’s happening? Is it, like, one of those shooting things?’”

“Yes,’” Sam said. “It’s like that. Get in.’”

The boys piled into the closet. Eve dragged Claire to the farthest corner, shoving piles of rank-smelling athletic shoes out of the way, and sat her down. Eve crouched next to her, ready for action, and glared at the guys. They kept their distance.

Sam slammed the door.

Darkness.

“What the hell is going on?’” Coffee Bar Jerk demanded. His voice was shaking.

“People are getting hurt,’” Eve said tightly. “Could be you if you don’t shut up.’”

“But—’”

“Just shut the hell up!’”

Silence. The music was still pounding downstairs, but over it Claire could hear the screaming. She started to go into that funny gray place, but jerked herself back with an effort and squeezed Eve’s tense hand. “It’s okay,’” Eve whispered to her. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry.’”

“I was doing okay,’” Claire said. Surprised, actually, that it was true. “Thanks for saving me.’”

“I didn’t do anything but find Sam. He found you.’” Eve stopped. “All right, who’s touching me?’”

A high-pitched male voice out of the darkness. “Oh shit! Sorry!’”

“Better be.’”

There was a tense silence in the dark.

And then Claire heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

“Quiet,’” Eve whispered. She didn’t need to say it. Claire felt it, and she knew everybody else did, too. There was something bad out there, something worse than four horny, stupid, cruel boys.

She felt something brush against her. A hand. One of the boys, she didn’t know which one—was it Ian who’d slumped against the wall nearest to her?

She took it and squeezed. He squeezed back, silently.

And Claire waited to see if they were going to die.

10

The screaming stopped, and the music cut off in mid-rave. That was worse, somehow. The silence felt…cold. Claire held on grimly to consciousness. The effects seemed to be coming and going. Maybe she was going to be okay.

A floorboard creaked right outside the closet door.

Claire felt a tremor go through the boy whose hand she held, and she pressed herself harder against the wall and stared at the closet door. It was a big black rectangle outlined in warm yellow.

There was a flicker of shadow, and a snarl, and a man’s full-throated yell, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.

Then the boom of a gun going off. Claire jumped, and felt Eve and the boy jump, too. “Oh God,’” he whispered. He was shaking all over. Claire supposed that was one thing that being roofied was good for—it kept your heart rate down in an emergency. She felt pretty calm, all things considered. Or maybe she was just getting used to being scared out of her mind.

Running footsteps. The banister in the hall creaked. More shouts from downstairs, feet pounding on the stairs, heading down…

And then the distant, shrill sound of sirens.

“Cops,’” somebody whispered, maybe Coffee Bar Jerk. He sounded a whole lot less arrogant. “We’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay.’”

“Yeah, until these two turn us in,’” muttered another boy. “For, you know. The thing.’”

“You mean for attempted rape?’” Eve whispered fiercely. “Jesus, listen to you. The thing. Call it what it is, you asshole.’”

“Look, it was just—I’m sorry, okay? We didn’t want to hurt her. We just—’”

“She’s sixteen, man.’”

“What?’”

“Sixteen. So you can thank me now for saving you serious jail time, because attempted rape is a hell of a lot better than actual rape. The statutory kind. Did Monica put you up to it?’”

“I—uh—yeah. She said—she said Claire was good to go, that she just needed it rough. She wanted to be sure we got her here.’”

“Shhhhhh,’” Claire whispered frantically. She heard another floorboard creak. Everybody fell silent.

The door swung open, blinding them with a wash of light, and Claire squinted at the man standing there.

Red hair.

“Out,’” Sam said. “Move.’”

The boys got up and filed out, looking a whole lot less arrogant than before, and clustered together in the corner. It had been Ian whose hand she’d held, after all, Claire saw. He was looking at her in a weird, new way, as if he actually saw her for the first time.

“I’m sorry about your nose,’” she said. He blinked.

“It’s not so bad,’” he offered. “Look, Claire—’”

“Don’t.’”

“You still going to tell the cops?’” That was Coffee Bar Jerk.

“No,’” Claire said.

“Bullshit! Yes,’” Eve said. “A world of yes. So you’d better not try this again. Ever. And besides, if you do, the last thing you have to worry about is the cops. Right, Sam?’”

Sam nodded without speaking.

“Let’s get out of here. Claire? Can you walk?’”

“I can try.’”

But the world just slipped out from under her when she got up, and she fell into Eve’s arms. Eve juggled her awkwardly, trying to find the right way to hold her up, and suddenly Claire was floating about four feet off the ground.

Oh. Sam had her, and he was holding her as if she were as heavy as a bag of feathers.

“Hey,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. Sam stopped on his way to the door. “Sorry, seriously. It was just—Monica said—’”

“Stop, man,’” Ian said. “Monica just gave us the idea. We were the ones who did it. No excuses.’”

“Yeah,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. “Whatever, man. Won’t happen again.’”

“If it does,’” Sam said, “never mind the police. I’ll find you.’”

Things were melting into one another. Claire felt sick and disoriented, and only having her arms around Sam’s cool, strong neck kept her from floating away on a tide of chemicals. When she opened her eyes she caught flashes…. The EEK frat house was trashed. Furniture broken, walls bashed, people lying on the floor…

And some of them were bloody.

Eve stopped and pressed her fingers to the throat of a boy wearing full vamp gear, including the teeth; his blue eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t move.

“He’s dead,’” she whispered.

There was a wooden stake in his chest.

“But—he wasn’t a vampire,’” Claire said. “Right?’”

“They didn’t care. He looked like one, and he must have gotten in the way,’” Sam said. “There are two vampires dead in the other room. This one was a mistake.’”

“In the other room?’” Claire asked. “How do you know?’”

“I know.’” Sam stepped over the body and moved around a busted-up couch. Glass crunched under his feet. The sirens were getting closer now, late to the party as usual.

“Was it Frank’s guys?’” Eve asked. “The bikers?’”

Sam didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. How many rampaging antivamp gangs could there be in Morganville?

Claire closed her eyes and let her head drop against Sam’s chest, meaning just to rest for a second.

And…she just left the world for a while.

Claire woke up to the sound of voices and a headache the size of Cleveland inside of her skull; her mouth was dry as a bone, and her tongue a thick roll of felt covered in sandpaper. Also, hello, nausea.

She was lying in her own bed, at home.

Claire rolled out, ran to the bathroom, and took care of the sickness first, then looked in the mirror. It was horrible. Her face was smeared with makeup, her black eyeliner smudged every which way, her black-sprayed hair sticking up in thick clumps.

Claire started the shower, stripped off the Goth disguise, and sat in the tub with the water pounding down. There wasn’t enough soap in the world, really, but she tried, scrubbing hard. Scrubbing until her skin was stinging.

She froze at the sound of a knock on the bathroom door. “Claire? It’s Eve. You okay?’”

“Yeah,’” she said. “I’m okay.’” Her voice sounded thick and weak.

Eve must have taken her at her word, because she went away. Claire wished she hadn’t, somehow; she needed somebody to ask; she needed somebody to be there for her. I was almost…

The worst part of it was that they weren’t monsters, those guys. In fact, they were probably okay most of the time. How was that even possible? How could people be good and bad at the same time? Good was good; bad was bad—you had to draw a line, right? Like with the vampires? some part of her mind whispered. Where’s Amelie, then? Where’s Sam? Sam saved your life. Which side of the line do you put him on?

She didn’t know. And she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Claire sat under the pounding hard rain of the hot water and let it all go for a while, until the water started to run cool and she remembered that Eve probably wanted to shower, too. Crap. She jumped up, turned off the taps, and dried off, realized she hadn’t brought more clothes in with her, and wrapped in the towel for the fast trip to her room.

When she opened the bathroom door, Michael was standing right outside. He looked up, saw she wasn’t dressed, and looked briefly conflicted.

He solved it by turning his back. “Go get some clothes on,’” he said. “Then I need to talk to you.’”

“What time is it?’” she asked. He didn’t answer, and she felt something sick take hold in her stomach. “Michael? What time is it?’”

“Just get dressed,’” he said. “And come downstairs.’”

She raced to her room, dropped the towel, and grabbed her little travel clock.

It was four a.m. Dawn was just a couple of hours away. “No,’” she whispered. “No…’” She’d been asleep for hours.

No time to waste, then. Claire put on underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, grabbed her shoes and socks, and hurried to the stairs.

She stopped on the first step down when she heard Amelie’s voice. Amelie? In the house? Why? Sam, she kind of expected—not that Michael liked any vampires, but hey, he was family, right? And besides, Sam seemed okay. And sure enough, she caught sight of Sam’s copper-colored hair when she eased down another step; he was standing in the far corner, near the kitchen, with his arms folded.

Amelie and Michael were in the center of the room.

“Hey!’” Eve’s voice, coming from behind her, made her jump. Claire turned and saw Eve standing there in a thick black bathrobe, clothes in her arms. “I’m taking my shower. Tell them I’ll be there soon, okay?’”

Eve looked tired, her makeup sweated or smeared away. Claire felt guilty about using all the hot water. “Okay,’” she said, and edged another step down toward the living room. Eve’s footsteps creaked behind her, and the bathroom door closed. The water went on.

Claire heard Amelie say, “…can’t take it back. Do you understand? Once you make this choice, it is done. There can be no returning.’”

That didn’t sound good. No, that didn’t sound good at all. Claire still felt shaky and sick, as if she’d drunk half a gallon of that red punch at the party, and she didn’t feel in any shape to face Amelie again. Only so much scary she could deal with in one day. Maybe she’d just wait for Eve….

“I understand,’” Michael said. “But there isn’t a lot of choice anymore. I can’t live like this, trapped in this house. I need to leave. I can’t help Shane if I’m stuck here.’”

“You may not be able to help Shane at all,’” Amelie said coolly. “I would not base such a choice on the love of one friend. It may turn out badly for you both.’”

“Life is risk, right? So I have to risk it.’”

She shook her head. “Samuel, please speak to him. Explain.’”

Sam stirred from where he stood in the corner, but he didn’t come closer. “She’s right, kid. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You think you do, but…you don’t. You’ve got a good thing here—you’re alive; you’re safe; you have friends who care about you. Family. Stay where you are.’”

Michael let out a hollow laugh that sounded a little crazy. “Stay where I am? Jesus Christ, what choice do I have? This house is twenty-five hundred square feet of tomb. I’m not alive. I’m buried alive.’”

Sam shook his head and bent his head, avoiding Michael’s stare.

Amelie stepped closer to him. “Michael. Please think what you are asking. It is not only difficult for you; it is difficult for me. If I give you your freedom from this house, it comes at a terrible price. There will be great pain, and the loss of things that neither you nor I can fully name. What you are will change, and change forever. You would live and die at my command, do you understand? And you would never be even the half human you are now, never again.’” She shook her head slowly. “I believe you will regret this, and regret is like cancer to us. It rots our will to live.’”

“Yeah? What do you think it’s like, being trapped here when people need me?’” Michael asked. His fists were clenched, his face tense and flushed. “I’ve watched my girlfriend nearly get killed five feet away from me, and I couldn’t do anything because she was outside the house. Now it’s Shane, and he’s all alone out there. It couldn’t be worse than this, Amelie. Trust me. If you’re not going to save Shane, then you have to do this for me. Please.’”

He was asking Amelie for…what? Something she could do that would set him free? Claire eased down another step, and saw Sam’s eyes shift and lock on her. She expected him to say something, but he just gave her a very small shake of his head. Warning her.

She retreated back to the top of the stairs, hesitating. Maybe she should get Eve…. No, the shower was still running. She should wait. Michael wouldn’t do anything stupid…would he?