Текст книги "Fade Out"

Автор книги: Rachel Caine

Соавторы: Rachel Caine
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

6

“Mom?” Claire looked at the clock, bit her lip, and prepared for the worst. “Hey. Sorry to be calling so late. We just got out of the concert—you know Michael was playing tonight, right? So I’m at the Glass House. I’m going to stay over tonight; I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Bye. Love you.”

She hung up and gave a long sigh, leaning back against Shane’s chest. “Thank God for voice mail,” she said. “I don’t think I could have done that if she’d picked up.”

He kissed her neck gently. “I don’t care what your parents say; I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not tonight.”

They were home, safe in the warmth of the Glass House. Michael had gone upstairs to change, but Eve was still there, slinking around in her glam-rags. Also, ugh, Kimwas still with them.

But somehow it felt like the two of them were all alone.

Shane wrapped his arms around her, and she relaxed, all her fear bleeding away. Her small hand wrapped around his forearm, she felt so safe as she sensed his muscles moving underneath his velvety skin.

Even if she wasn’t really safe, ever.

“I need to thank Michael,” she said, and stopped to clear her throat. It didn’t make it feel much better. “He didn’t have to come after me.”

“I’d have killed his ass if he didn’t,” Shane said, and there was a grimness behind it that made her wince. “He wouldn’t let me come with him.”

“You could have gotten hurt in the crash.”

“He wasn’t worried about you.”

“He was. I was about to be dinner.”

Shane sighed and dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. “And he’d have a point.”

“He saved my life.”

“I get that. Could we stop talking about Michael for a second?” He sounded actually pained.

“You are notjealous.”

Shane held up two fingers pinched almost together. “That much, maybe. And only because he’s got that rock-star thing going on. You girls get into that.”

“Shut up!”

“Seriously, you throw panties and stuff. I’ve heard.”

She turned in the circle of his arms to face him, staring up into his face. No words. He was drawn down to her like gravity, lips warm against hers, lazy at first, then getting hotter, breath coming faster. Her brain exploded in a thousand thoughts and memories . . . the soft skin at the back of his neck, the way he said her name in that sweet, hushed whisper, the sheer heat of him against her.

“Hey.” Eve’s voice, mostly amused, made Claire jump. “I know, mad love, et cetera, but could you please not make out in the living room? I really want to be able to tell your parents I’ve never seen anything going on when they bring the Inquisition over for lunch.”

Shane kissed her one more time, lightly and softly, and fluffed her hair back from her face. “To be continued,” he said.

“I hate cliff-hangers.”

“Blame Eve.”

Claire stepped back from him, and the world came back to life around her—funny how it all seemed to disappear when she was with him. Eve was sitting on the couch, flipping channels on the TV. Kim was cross-legged on the floor reading the backs of game cases. “Hey,” Kim said. “Who plays the zombie game?”

“Ugh,” Eve said. “No.”

“I have, a little,” Claire admitted.

“So that’s a no, a maybe—come on, somebody must be game master around here?”

Shane finally held up his hand. Kim smiled.

“Rock on, Collins,” she said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Claire’s lips still tingled from the kisses, and her whole body from anticipation, but the gleam in Kim’s eyes made her tense up. She could tell Shane was reluctant, but also, Shane wasn’t really in the habit of passing up a challenge, either.

Except that this time, he did. “Can’t,” he said. “Got to check on Michael.”

“I already did,” Eve said, “which you’d have known if you weren’t on Planet Wonderful, the two of you. And he’s fine. He’s on the phone with Amelie. I wouldn’t go there.”

“Oh.” Shane’s excuse had just vanished, and Claire could tell he wasn’t quite up to outright telling Kim no. He went to the couch; Eve scooted over and handed him a game controller. Kim snagged the other one from the side table. “Lock and load, I guess.”

Claire left him to go upstairs. The bathroom was free, and she used the facilities, cleaned up, mourned the state of her face and the fast-emerging bruises around her neck, then went to her bedroom and found a pair of comfortable jeans and a top. A cute top. And she made sure it showcased the cross Shane had bought her. She also put on a little lip gloss. Just a little.

She could hear the shouts and smack talk from downstairs when she opened her bedroom door; Kim and Shane were all about the competition, which did not make her feel less left out. “Come on, suck it up,” she told herself in a harsh, hoarse whisper, plastered a smile on, and started down the hall.

The hidden door opposite Eve’s bedroom opened with a soft click, and in the dim reflected light, Claire saw the flicker of a black-and-white image of a woman in full Victorian-style skirts. It looked like a spec ter, which anywhere but in Morganville would have made Claire scream and make a run for the local ghostbusters.

But this wasMorganville, and Claire knew Ada all too well. “What?” she demanded. Ada—or Ada’s image projection, anyway—made a hushing motion of a finger to her lips. She turned, the way a two-dimensional cardboard cutout turns, disappearing in the middle and then expanding again to a back view, and glided up the stairs beyond the hidden door without touching the wood.

“Seriously?” Claire sighed. “Wonderful. Just great.” She followed Ada up. Behind her, the door shut with the same hushed click. Upstairs the lights blazed on, a kaleidoscope of color through Tiffany glass lamps, and Claire saw Ada’s image—face forward again—standing against the wall near the old red velvet sofa. “Okay, I’m here,” she said. “What do you want?”

Ada made the shushing motion again, which was deeply annoying. Ada was a computer—a smart one, and arguably kind of human, but still . . . She was acting all secretive and clever, and Claire really didn’t like the rather cruel smile on those smooth dark gray lips.

Ada touched the wall, and it shimmered, taking on the darkness of one of the portals that Ada controlled through town . . . a kind of magic tunnel, although Claire hated to call it magic. It was physics, that was all. Scary advanced physics. That meant it was the ultimate fast lane, but dangerous. . . . Claire frowned at the opening, trying to feel where the destination might be on the other end. Nothing. And it looked way too dark to be safe.

“No,” she said. “I don’t think so. Sorry.”

Why she was apologizing to a crazy computer lady, she didn’t know. Ada wasn’t her friend. Ada didn’t even like her very much, although—by Myrnin’s orders—Ada kind of had to obey her.

Ada lost her smile. She shrugged, turned, and glided through the portal.

She vanished into the dark. After a few seconds, a slender gray hand came out of the shadows and made a Come onimpatient gesture.

“No,” Claire said again, and this time, sat down on the couch. “No way. I’ve had way too much today. You have your little weird crisis on your own, Ada.”

Her cell phone rang, and the sound of the song echoing through the hidden room made Claire jump and dig the phone out of her pocket. The screen read Shane Calling. She flipped it open.

“Shane?”

Static, and then came Ada’s weird machine-flat voice. “Myrnin needs you. Now. Come!” She sounded angry, and cold, but she usually did unless she was simpering at Myrnin. Claire slapped the phone shut, blew hair off her forehead, and stared at the darkness. It couldbe Myrnin’s lab. She just couldn’t tell. Myrnin had a vampire’s habit of forgetting to turn on lights, which sucked.

“I really need to start carrying flashlights,” she muttered, and then had an inspiration. There was a Tiffany-style pole lamp in the corner by the sofa; Claire lifted off the heavy glass shade, set it aside, and rolled the base to the limit of its electrical cord, then lowered it across the threshold of the portal, into the darkness on the other side.

She saw Ada standing there, hands clasped in front of her, cold and expressionless, surrounded by at least tenalbino-pale vampires, who cried out and flinched back at the touch of the light. They had oversized fangs and sharp talons, and they weren’t like the regular vamps. . . . These were tunnel rats, the ones who stalked the dark places, keeping out of the light and existing just to kill. Failures, Myrnin had called them.

Ada had meant for her to walk right into the middle of them.

Claire yelled in shock, and slammed the portal closed in her mind, then put her hand on the blank wall of the room as it took on weight and reality again. There was a way to lock it—maybe—and she searched for the right frequency to trigger the security. It was like a deadbolt, and it would hold against Ada or anyone else who wanted to come through.

She hoped.

Closing the portal had chopped the pole lamp in half, and she dropped the base part as it sputtered and sparked, then kicked the plug out of the wall. Claire stood there staring at the wall, and the mutilated lamp, for a long moment with her hands curled into fists, then took out her phone and dialed Myrnin’s lab.

“How kind of you to check up on me,” he said. “I’m fine, as it happens.”

“We’ve got a problem.”

“Really? The stake in my chest didn’t indicate that at all. I must send Oliver a bill for a new shirt.”

“Ada just tried to kill me.”

Myrnin was silent for a moment. Claire could almost see him, hunched over the old-fashioned wired phone that looked like it had come from a Victorian junk shop. “I see,” he said, in an entirely different tone. “Are you certain?”

“She told me you needed to see me, and opened a portal into a nest of hungry vamps. So, yes. I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh my. I will have a talk with her. I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.”

“Myrnin—” Claire squeezed her eyes closed, counted to five, and started over. “She’s not listening to you anymore. Don’t you get that? She’s doing her own thing, and her own thing means getting rid of the competition.”

“Competition for what?”

“For you,” Claire said. “Not that I am. But she thinks I am. Because you haven’t killed me.”

She was babbling, because saying this was making her feel a little sick and giddy. She wasn’t in love with Myrnin, but she did love him, a little. He was crazy; he was dangerous ; he was a vampire—and yet, he was somehow not any of those things, in his better moments.

“Claire.” He sounded wounded. “I do notfind you attractive, except for your mind. I hope you know that. I would never take such advantage of you.” He paused, and thought about it for a second. “Except if I was hungry, of course. But probably not. Most likely.”

“Yeah, that’s comforting. The point is, Ada thinks you care for me, and she wants me out of the way so you’ll care more for her. Right?”

“Right. I’ll go have a talk with her.”

“You need to pull her plug, Myrnin.”

“Over that? Pshaw. It’s merely a flaw in her programming. I’ll take good care of it.” He paused, then said, “Of course, in the meantime, I wouldn’t follow her anywhere if I were you.”

“No kidding. Thanks.”

“Oh, don’t mention it, my dear. Enjoy your evening. Oh, and tell Michael that I enjoyed his concert.”

“You were there?”

She heard the smile in Myrnin’s voice. “We were all there, Claire. All the vampires. We do so enjoy our entertainments.”

That was ever so slightly creepy, and Claire hung up without saying good-bye.

* * *

Downstairs, the video game raged on; Kim was as good a player as Shane, apparently, which didn’t surprise Claire but depressed her kind of a lot. Shane didn’t even notice her reappearance; he was wiggling around on the couch, putting body language into his shooting as his game character ducked zombie attacks and kicked, punched, and shot his way out of trouble.

Kim’s character was a slinky-looking girl with black hair in a ponytail, and half a costume. She fought in high heels.

Great.

Claire sat down on the stairs, watching through the railing, and hugged her knees to her chest. Eve was gone, probably to change clothes, so it was just Shane and Kim.

They looked oblivious to everything but the drama on the screen.

She was developing some kind of sixth sense where Michael was concerned; he didn’t make any noise coming down the steps, but she knew he was coming, and turned her head to see that he’d switched out his rock-star gear for a faded, old gray T-shirt and, like her, jeans. He took a look at what was happening in the living room, then crouched down next to her. “Hey,” he said. “You all right?”

“I wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t crashed into us,” Claire said. “Thank you.”

He looked ashamed. “Yeah, well, that wasn’t quite the plan. I was just trying to make him stop. I didn’t think he’d actually hitme.”

She almost laughed, because he sounded so sad about it. She took his cool hand and squeezed. He squeezed back. “It was still a good plan.”

“Except for the part where I nearly killed you, destroyed Amelie’s limo, and my own car? Yeah. It rocked the house.”

“Are they going to get you a new one? A car, I mean?”

“Amelie said they would.”

“I shut all the portals to the house,” Claire said. “Ada’s acting weird.”

“I thought that was normal.”

“Weirder.”

“Ah. Okay.” Michael looked past the railings, at Kim and Shane. “Are you freaking out about Kim?” Claire made the same little-bit mime with her finger and thumb that Shane had earlier. “Yeah, well don’t. Kim’s not his type.”

“I’m not sure I’mhis type.” Okay, that sounded really, really whiny. Claire bit her lip. “She’s just so—much.”

“Yep. She is that.” He rose to his feet and padded down the last few steps silently, came up behind Kim, and leaned over her to say, “I vant to drink your blood” in a heavy, fake Dracula accent. She shrieked, flailed, and a zombie ate her brains on-screen.

“You bastard!” Kim yelled, dropped the controller, and smacked him hard on the chest. “I can’t believe you just totally sabotaged me!”

“Can’t let him lose,” Michael said, as Shane hit the high score and the victory music sounded. “Gotta live with the dude.”

They high-fived.

“You’re seriously going to take that as a win,” Kim said. “When he totally cheated for you.”

“Yes,” Shane said. “I seriously am.” He canceled the game, put the controller down, and rose to stretch and yawn. “Damn. It’s late. Don’t you have someplace to go or something?”

Kim looked actually hurt for a second, and Claire felt a twinge of—something. Maybe pity. She hoped not.

“Sure,” she said. “Johnny Depp’s waiting for me back home. Guess I’d better blaze. Hey, where’s Eve?”

“What, you’re going?” Eve called from the top of the stairs, and jumped down past Claire in her eagerness to get to the bottom. “You can’t! Kim, we need to run lines and stuff!”

“No, Shane’s right. It’s really late. How about tomorrow? I can meet you at Common Grounds—how about three? You’re working until about then, right?”

“Yeah,” Eve said. She still sounded disappointed.

“Sure, that’s okay. Hey—you want to go out tomorrow night? Maybe catch a movie? Um—Claire, you want to go, too?”

Great. She was officially an also-invited. “No thanks,” she said. “I’ve got plans.”

“Seriously? What?”

Claire looked at Shane, and he took one for the team. “Dinner with me,” he said. “It’s kind of an anniversary.”

“Awwww, really? That’s so sweet!” Eve leveled a finger at him. “Do nottake her to the chili dog place.”

“A real restaurant. With tablecloths. Hey, I’m not a complete idiot.”

Kim stared at Shane, and in that moment, Claire realized this wasn’t just an act. . . . Kim really didlike Shane—a lot.

She recognized pain when she saw it.

“So,” Eve said, and turned to Kim. “Movies, right? Something scary?”

Kim got herself together before Eve could see the same thing Claire had noticed. “Sure,” she said. “What ev. You pick. No girly movies.”

Eve looked deeply offended. “Me? Girly movies? Bite your tongue off. No, seriously. Right now.”

Kim laughed, and Eve walked her to the door. Claire said to Shane, “Anniversary?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Depends on how you count things,” he said. “Yeah. It’s got to be somekind of anniversary. Probably of one of us not getting killed.”

Michael said, “Speak for yourself, man.” He picked up the controller and restarted the game. “I can’t believe you almost let her win.”

“Man, I almost let youwin sometimes,” Shane said, and dropped into his spot on the other end of the couch. “Game on.”

7

The next day, Claire sat through classes without any real sense of accomplishment, took a quiz—which she aced—and dropped in on Myrnin’s lab around noon. It looked neat and clean again, which was two miracles in a row as far as she was concerned. She went to the bookshelves and started looking over journals, trying to find the most recent ones, although those would be the most difficult to figure out, given that most of his notes would have been taken when he was sick, and mostly crazy.

But she was curious.

She was struggling through last summer’s book when Myrnin popped in through the portal, wearing a big floppy black hat and a kind of crazy/stylish pimp coat that covered him from neck to ankles, black leather gloves, and a black and silver walking stick with a dragon’s head on it.

And on his lapel was a button that said, IF YOU CAN READ THIS, THANK A TEACHER.

It was typical Myrnin, really. She was surprised the bunny slippers were absent.

“I didn’t know you were coming today,” he said, and draped his hat, coat, and cane on a nearby coat rack. “And I assume it isn’t just a random occurrence, like gravity.”

“Gravity isn’t random.”

“So yousay.” He came to the opposite side of the table and looked at the book, then turned his head weirdly sideways to read the title. “Ah. Some of my best work. If only I could figure out what it actually meant.”

“I was trying to figure out if you ever met a girl named Kim. Kim—” What the hell was her last name? Had anybody even told her? “Kim, something. Kind of Goth?”

“Oh, her,” Myrnin said. He didn’t sound too impressed, which made Claire just a little happy. “Yes, Kimberlie’s known to us. She asked permission to film some of us, for the archives—a sort of permanent record of our histories. As you know, we do value that sort of thing. Many have agreed. She’s been named our video historian, I believe.”

“You haven’t done it, though?”

“I write my own history. I see no reason to entrust it to a human with a video camera. Paper and ink, girl. Paper and ink will always survive, when electronic storage becomes random impulses lost to the ages.”

“But the vampires do know her.”

“Yes. She’s a bit of a pet for the older ones. Besides me, of course. I don’t like pets. They bite—ah! I almost forgot! Time to feed Bob.” And Myrnin bustled off to another part of the lab, where presumably he’d stashed Bob the spider.

Or possibly Bob the auto mechanic—Claire wouldn’t put anything past him. He seemed slightly manic today, from the glitter in his eyes. It made her nervous.

She was about to close the book, when she saw, in his spiky black handwriting, something about her: New girl. Claire something. Small and fragile. No doubt they believe that will make me protective of her. It only makes me think how easy it is to destroy her. . . .

She shuddered, and decided she didn’t really want to read the rest.

She left Myrnin making little weird kissy faces to Bob the spider as he shook a container of flies into Bob’s plastic case, and went to the archives.

Since the first time she’d seen the Vampire Archives—which had been on the run, in a time of war, and it had been a place they’d hit up for weapons—she’d been fascinated by the idea. The vampires were packrats, no doubt about it; they loved things—historical things. Also—apparently—junk, because there were entire vaults of stuff that nobody had gotten around to categorizing yet, and probably never would. But the upper floors were amazing. The library was meticulous, and there was an entire section that contained every known book, magazine, and pamphlet with anything about vampires in it, cross-referenced by accuracy.

Draculascored only about a six, apparently.

Apart from that, the vampires had donated, bought, or stolen six floors of historical texts, in a wide variety of languages. There were even ancient scrolls that looked too delicate to properly handle, and a few wax tablets that Amelie had told her dated from Roman times.

The audiovisual area was new, but it contained everything from samples of the flickers made for penny arcades in the early 1900s to silent film, sound film, color film, all the way up to DVDs. Again, most of it was concerned somehow with vampires, but not everything. There seemed to be an awful lot of costume drama. And, for some reason, musicals.

Claire found the digital video interviews on the computer kiosk, listed by the vampire’s name and date of—birth? Making? What did they call it? Anyway, the date they got fanged.

The newest one was Michael Glass.

Claire brought up the player and blinked as Michael fidgeted in front of the camera. He wasn’t comfortable. This wasn’t being onstage for him, obviously. He messed with the clip-on microphone until Kim’s off-screen voice told him to cut it out, and then he sat, looking like he wished he’d never agreed to any of this, until the questions started. The first ones were obvious—name, current age, age at death, original birthplace.

Then Kim asked, “How did you become a vampire?” Michael thought about his answer for a few seconds before he said, “Total stupidity.”

“Yeah? Tell me.”

“I grew up in Morganville. I knew the rules. I knew how dangerous things were, but when you grow up with Protection, I think you get careless. I’d just turned eighteen. My parents had already left town, my mom was sick and needed cancer treatments, so I was on my own. I wanted to sell the house and get on with my life.”

“How’s that going for you?”

Michael didn’t smile. “Not like I’d hoped. I got careless. I met a guy who wanted to buy the house, somebody new in town. It never occurred to me he was a vampire. He—didn’t come across that way. But the second he crossed the threshold, I knew. I just knew.”

He shook his head. Kim cleared her throat. “Can I ask who . . . ?”

“Oliver,” Michael said. “He killed me his first day in town.”

“Wow. That sucks completely. But you didn’t become a vampire then, right?”

“No. I died. Sort of. I remember dying, and then . . . then it was the next night, and I couldn’t remember anything in between. I was fine. No holes in the neck, nothing. I figured maybe I’d dreamed it, but then—then I tried to leave the house.”

“What happened?”

“I started to drift away. Like smoke. I got back inside before it was too late, but I realized after a few more tries that I couldn’t leave. Didn’t matter which door, or how I did it. I just—stopped being me.” Michael’s eyes looked haunted now, and Claire saw a shiver run through him. “That was bad enough, but then morning came.”

“And what happened?”

“I died,” Michael said. “All over again. And it hurt.”

Claire turned it off. There was something wrong about hearing this, seeing him let down his guard so completely. Michael had always tried to make it all okay, somehow. She hadn’t known how much it had freaked him out. And, she found, she didn’t really want to know how it had felt when he’d been made a real vampire by Amelie, in order to be able to live outside of the house.

She knew too much already.

There were about twenty other video interviews in the folder, but there was one that made Claire hesitate, then double-click the icon.

The camera zoomed in, steadied focus, and then the lights came up. “Please give us your name, the date you became a vampire, your birthplace, and your death age.” It was Kim’s voice, but this time she sounded nervous, not at all the smart-ass Claire knew. “Please.”

Oliver leaned back in his chair, looking like he’d smelled something nasty, and said, “Oliver. I will keep my family name to myself, if you please. I was made vampire in 1658. I was born in Huntingdon, Cambridgeshire, East Anglia, England, in 1599. So as you see, I was not a young man when I was turned.”

“Was it your choice?”

Oliver stared at Kim, off camera, for so long that even Claire felt nervous. Then he said, “Yes. I was dying. It was my one chance to retain the power I’d attained. The thieving trick of it was that once I’d made my devil’s bargain, I couldn’t hold the power I sought to keep. So I gained new life, and lost my old one.”

“Who made you?”

“Bishop.”

“Ah—do you want to say anything about Bishop—”

“No.” Oliver suddenly stood up, fire in his eyes, and stripped the microphone off in a hail of static. “I’ll do no more of this prying. Past is past. Let it die.”

Kim, very quietly, said, “But you killed him. Didn’t you? You and Amelie?”

Oliver’s eyes turned red. “You know nothing about it, little girl with your foolish toys. And pray to God you never will.”

Oliver knocked the camera over, and Kim yelped, and that was it.

Fade to black.

“Enjoying yourself?” Oliver’s voice said, and for a second Claire thought it was on the computer screen, then realized that it came from behindher. She turned her head, slowly, to find him standing near the door of the small room, leaning against the wall. He was wearing a T-shirt with the Common Grounds logo on it, and cargo pants, and he didn’t look like a five-hundred-year-old vampire. He even had a peace-sign earring in one ear.

“I—wanted to know about the historical interview project, that’s all. Sorry.” Claire shut down the kiosk and stood up. “Are you going to try to kill me again?”

“Why? Do you want to be prepared?” He cocked his head at her.

“I’d like to see it coming.”

That got her a thin smile. “Not all of us have that luxury. But no. I have been schooled by my mistress. I won’t raise a finger to you, little Claire. Not even if you ask me to.”

Claire edged slowly toward the door. He smiled wider, and his gaze followed her all the way . . . but he let her go.

When she looked back, he was at the kiosk, clicking the mouse. She heard his interview start, and heard his nonrecorded voice murmur a curse. The recording cut off.

Then the entire kiosk was ripped out and smashed on the floor with enough force to shatter a window three feet ahead of her.

Somebodywasn’t happy with how he looked on camera.

Claire broke into a run, dodged around another row of books, turned left at the German books to make for the exit—

And tripped over Kim, who was sitting on the floor of the library, staring down at the screen of her cell phone as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“Hey!” Kim protested, and Claire pitched headlong to the carpet. She caught herself on the way down, kicked free of Kim’s legs, and crawled backward. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Claire said, and got up to dust herself off. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Research,” Kim said.

“In German?”

“I didn’t say I was looking at the books, dummy. But I couldread German. It’s possible.”

“Do you?”

Kim grinned. “Just curse words. And where’s the bathroom, in case I get stuck in Berlin. Hey, what was the crash?”

“Oh. Oliver. He just found the interview you did with him.”

Kim’s grin left the building. “He killed my computer, right? He just went all Hulk Smash on it.”

“He wasn’t happy.”

“No,” Oliver said, and rounded the corner of the aisle. There were flickers of red in his eyes, and his bone-pale hands were curled into fists. “No, Oliver isn’t happy at all. You told me you’d destroyed the interview.”

“I lied,” Kim said. “Dude, I don’t work for you. I was given a job to do by the council, with a grant and everything. I’m doing it. And now you owe me for a new computer. I’m thinking maybe a laptop.”

She looked way too calm. Oliver noticed it, too. “That wasn’t the only copy.”

“Digital age. It’s a sad, sad world, and it’s just full of downloadable copies.”

“You’re going to bring them all to me.”

“Duh, no,” Kim said, and closed up her phone. “I’m pretty sure I’m not. And I’m pretty sure you’re going to have to just get over it, because this is Amelie’s pet project. We didn’t even get that far, anyway. It’s not like you told me you collect Precious Moments figures or something embarrassing. Get over it.” She checked the big, clunky watch on her wrist, and rolled to her feet. “Whoops, time to go. I have rehearsal in half an hour. And hey, so do you, Mitch. No hard feelings, okay?”

Oliver said nothing. Kim shrugged and headed for the exit.

“I don’t like her,” Claire offered.

“At last, we have something in common,” Oliver said. “But she is right about one thing: I have to get to rehearsal.”

That sounded very—normal. More normal than most things Oliver said. Claire felt some of her tension slip away. “So how’s that going? The play thing?”

“I have no idea. I haven’t done a play in a hundred years, and the idea of Eve and Kim being our leading ladies doesn’t fill me with confidence.” That just drippedwith sarcasm, and Claire winced a little.

“A hundred years. What was the last thing you performed?”

“Hamlet.”

Of course.

How rehearsal went Claire didn’t know; she headed for Common Grounds, where she was set to meet up with (ugh) Monica. At least it was profitable.

“Money up front,” she said, as she slid into the seat across from the mayor’s favorite—and only—sister. Monica had done something cute with her hair, and it framed her face in feathered curves. For once, she was alone; no sign of Gina and Jennifer, not even as coffee fetchers.

Monica sent Claire a dirty look, but she reached into her designer backpack, got out her designer wallet, and counted out fifty dollars that she shoved across the table. “Better be worth it,” she said. “I really hate this class.”

“Then drop it.”

“Can’t. It’s a core class for my major.”

“Which is?”

“Business.”

It figured. “So where do you want to start? What’s giving you the most trouble?”

“The teacher, since he keeps giving these stupid pop quizzes and I keep flunking them.” Monica dug in her backpack and tossed over three stapled tests, which were marked up in green—the teacher must have read somewhere that red made students nervous or something, but Claire thought that with this many marks, the color of the pen was the least of Monica’s problems.