Rachel Caine - Fade Out

Michael looked at Claire, then Shane.

“She’s not wrong,” Shane said. “Sorry, man.”

Michael had lied to them, and Claire caught him at it.

She was on her way to the bathroom with her tank top and pajama bottoms over one arm, thinking about curling up warm in Shane’s arms, when she heard Michael talking in his room. The door was open a crack. Shane and Eve were still downstairs, cleaning up the kitchen.

He was on his cell phone. “No,” he was saying. “No, I’m sure. I just need to go check it out, tonight. Make sure nobody is using the facility without—”

Claire pushed the door open, and Michael twisted around to look at her.

So busted.

He froze for a second, then said, “I’ll call you back,” and hung up.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Oliver. You’re telling him everything, aren’t you?”

“Claire—”

“We asked you. We asked you if you were with us, and you said you were. You promised .”

“Claire, please.”

“No.” She stepped back when he stretched out a hand. “Eve was right. You’re not Michael anymore. You’re Vampire Michael. It’s really us and them, and you’re with them.”

“Claire.”

“What?”

“That wasn’t Oliver.”

“Then who was it?”

“Detective Hess. He was going to meet me at the station and check it out, tonight. Eve was right. We really can’t wait, not even for morning.” Michael’s expression took on a dangerous edge. “Kim crossed the line. She tricked her way in here, and she screwed us over. I can forgive a lot of things, Claire, but I can’t forgive her for this.”

“So you were going to leave us behind.”

His eyes flared hot. “Because I care about you. Yes. Do you know how close Eve came to getting herself killed tonight? And Shane? No more. I’m not risking you guys, not for this. Not for her. ”

“Hey! You’re not our father! You can’t just decide we need protecting—we’re all in this together!”

“No,” he said. “We’re not. Some of us get hurt a lot easier than others, and I love you guys. I’m not going to lose you. Not like this.”

He stripped off his ripped shirt and pulled on another one, grabbed his keys from the table, and very gently picked Claire up and moved her when she tried to block his path. “Don’t,” he said. “Claire, I mean it. Don’t tell them where I went. Let me handle this.”

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t want to lie to him.

Michael stared at her for a few long seconds, long enough that she was almost sure he could read her mind, and then he shoved his keys in his pocket and moved off down the stairs.

She sat down on his bed, staring up at the vent where she’d found the camera. Claire didn’t actually know what she was going to do until she heard Michael’s new replacement car starting up outside, and then she stood, walked down to the kitchen, and interrupted an intense conversation between Shane and Eve at the sink to say, “Michael’s gone to get Kim, and we need to go, right now.”

They both stopped and looked over their shoulders at her. Eve had her arms elbow-deep in soapy water. Shane held a dish towel and a plate.

“Right now,” Claire repeated. “Please.”

Eve yanked the plug on the sink, grabbed the towel from Shane’s hands, and wiped her hands and arms. She three-pointed the towel onto the counter. “I’ll drive,” she said, and ran to grab her keys. Shane stayed where he was, still holding the plate in one hand, watching Claire. He opened his mouth.

“Don’t you dare tell me I can’t go,” she said. “Don’t even, Shane. I’m on those videos, too. You know I am.”

He put the plate down. “Michael went alone?”

“Mr. Vampire Superhero doesn’t need backup.” Well, that wasn’t quite fair. “He’s meeting Detective Hess there. But still.”

The kitchen door swung open, and Eve blazed back in, vivid in black and white, a mime on a mission. She tossed her keys in a nervous jingle of metal and said, “Weapons.”

Nobody argued that it would only be Kim they were going up against. Shane grabbed a black nylon bag from under the counter—in other towns, people might keep emergency supplies of food and water, maybe a medical kit, but in Morganville, their emergency readiness kit consisted of stakes and silver-coated knives. “Got it,” he said, and tossed it over one shoulder. “Claire—”

“Don’t even !”

He grinned and tossed her a second bag. “Silver nitrate and water in a Super Soaker,” he told her. “My own invention. Ought to be good at twenty feet, kind of like wasp spray.”

Oh. “You get me the nicest things.”

“Anybody can get jewelry. Posers.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, comedian.”

As she tossed the keys again, Shane grabbed them in midair. “I may be a comedian, but you look like a mime, anybody ever tell you that?”

He dashed for the door. Eve followed. Claire shouldered the nylon bag and prepared to shut the door of the house; as she did, she felt a wave of emotion sweep through her. The house, Michael’s house, was worried. It was almost alive, some of the time. Like now.

“It’ll be okay,” she told it, and patted the countertop. “He’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

The lights dimmed a little as she shut the door.

Eve’s car wouldn’t start.

“Um . . . this isn’t good,” Eve said as Shane cranked the engine again. There was a click, and nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is not the time, stupid evil hunk of junk!” She slapped the dashboard, which had zero effect. “Come on, work !”

It was very dark outside—no streetlights on, and the moon and stars were veiled by thick, fast-moving clouds. In the glow of the dashboard, Shane and Eve looked worried. Shane pulled the old-fashioned lever under the dash, and the hood of the car popped up with a thick clunk of metal. “Stay inside,” he said. “I’m going to take a look.”

“Because you’ve got guy parts, you’re automatically a better mechanic than me? I don’t think so,” Eve said, and bailed out of the passenger side. Shane banged the back of his head against the seat.

“Seriously,” he said. “Why is it always so hard with her?”

“She’s worried,” Claire said.

“We’re all worried. You stay in the car.”

“ I don’t know anything about cars. I will.”

“Finally, a girl with some sense.” He leaned over the seat to kiss her, then got out to join Eve as she hauled the giant, heavy hood of the car upward. From that point on, Claire had a limited view of what was going on—the hood, the dark night outside, some lights glowing in nearby houses. . . .

A car turned the corner, and its headlights swept color over darkness, lighting up the Glass House in all its decaying Victorian glory, then the sun-faded picket fence, the spring crop of weeds along the curb. . . .

And then came a group of vampires out of the darkness, heading for Shane and Eve. One of them was Morley, the skanky homeless dude from the cemetery. She supposed the others were his friends; they didn’t look as polished and well-groomed as most of the other vamps seemed to be. These looked hungry, mean, and dirty.

Claire lunged across the big bench seat from the back and slammed her hand down on the horn. It was as loud as a foghorn, and she heard a sharp bang as either Eve or Shane hit their head on the hood of the car as they straightened up.

“Guys!” she yelled. “Trouble!”

Shane, one hand held to the top of his head, opened the back door and pulled her out. “Door,” he said. “Get back inside. The car thing isn’t happening.”