Rachel Caine: Lord of Misrule

Lots, she thought. Shane, in some ways, still had a rose-colored view of his father. It had been a while since his dad had blown out of town, and she thought that Shane had probably convinced himself that the guy wasn’t all that bad. He was probably thinking now that his dad would come sweeping in to save them.

It wasn’t going to happen. Frank Collins was a fanatic, car-bomb variety, and he didn’t care who got hurt.

Not even his own son.

“Let’s just—” She chewed her lip for a second, staring at him. “Let’s just get through the day, okay? Please? Be careful. Call me.”

He had his cell phone, and he showed it to her in mute promise. Then he stepped closer, and when his arms closed around her, she felt a sweet, trembling relief.

“Better get ready,” he said. “It’s going to be a long day.”

Claire wasn’t sure if get ready meant put on her game face, brush her teeth, or pack up a lot of weapons, but she followed Shane to say good-bye to Michael first.

Michael was standing in the middle of a bunch of hard-looking types—some were vampires, and many she’d never seen before. They didn’t look happy about playing defense, and they had that smelling-something-rotten expression that meant they didn’t like hanging out with the human help, either.

The non-vamps with Michael were older, post-college—tough guys with lots of muscles. Even so, the humans mostly looked nervous.

Shane seemed almost small in comparison—not that he let it slow him down as he rushed the defensive line. He pushed a vampire out of his way as he headed for Michael; the vampire flashed fang at him, but Shane didn’t even notice.

Michael did. He stepped in the way of the offended vamp as it made a move for Shane’s back, and the two of them froze that way, predators facing off. Michael wasn’t the one to look down first.

Michael had a strange intensity about him now—something that had always been there, but being a vampire had ramped it up to about eleven, Claire thought. He still looked angelic, but there were moments when his angel was more fallen than flying. But the smile was real, and completely the Michael she knew and loved when he turned it on them.

He held out his hand for a manly kind of shake. Shane batted it aside and hugged him. There were manly backslaps, and if there was a brief flash of red in Michael’s eyes, Shane didn’t see it.

“You be careful, man,” Shane said. “Those college chicks, they’re wild. Don’t let them drag you into any Jell-O shot parties. Stay strong.”

“You too,” Michael said. “Be careful.”

“Driving around in a big, black, obvious lunch wagon in a town full of starving vampires? Yeah. I’ll try to keep it low profile.” Shane swallowed. “Seriously—”

“I know. Same here.”

They nodded at each other.

Claire and Eve watched them for a moment. The two of them shrugged. “What?” Michael asked.

“That’s it? That’s your big good-bye?” Eve asked.

“What was wrong with it?”

Claire looked at Eve, mystified. “I think I need guy CliffsNotes.”

“Guys aren’t deep enough to need CliffsNotes.”

“What were you waiting for, flowery poetry?” Shane snorted. “I hugged. I’m done.”

Michael’s grin didn’t last. He looked at Shane, then Claire, and last—and longest—at Eve. “Don’t let anything happen to you,” he said. “I love you guys.”

“Ditto,” Shane said, which was, for Shane, positively gushing.

They might have had time to say more, but one of the vampires standing around, looking pissed off and impatient, tapped Michael on the shoulder. His pale lips moved near Michael’s ear.

“Time to go,” Michael said. He hugged Eve hard, and had to peel her off at the end. “Don’t trust Oliver.”

“Yeah, like you had to tell me that,” Eve said. Her voice was shaking again. “Michael—”

“I love you,” he said, and kissed her, fast and hard. “I’ll see you soon.”

He left in a blur, taking most of the vampires with him. The mayor’s son, Richard Morrell—still in his police uniform, although he was looking wrinkled and smoke stained now—led the humans at a more normal pace to follow.

Eve stood there with her kiss-smudged lips parted, looking stunned and astonished. When she regained the power of speech, she said, “Did he just say—?”

“Yes,” Claire said, smiling. “Yes, he did.”

“Whoa. Guess I’d better stay alive, then.”

The crowd of people—fewer now than there had been just a few minutes before—parted around them, and Oliver strode through the gap. The second-most badass vampire in town had shed his costume and was dressed in plain black, with a long, black leather coat. His long graying hair was tied back in a tight knot at the back of his head, and he looked like he was ready to snap the head off anyone, vampire or human, who got in the way.

“You,” he snapped at Eve. “Come.”

He turned on his heel and walked away. This was not the Oliver they’d known before—certainly not the friendly proprietor of the local coffee shop. Even once he’d been revealed as a vampire, he hadn’t been this intense.

Clearly, he was done pretending to like people.

Eve watched him go, and the look in her eyes was boiling with resentment. She finally shrugged and took a deep breath. “Yeah,” she said. “This’ll be so much fun. See ya, Claire Bear.”

“See you,” Claire said. They hugged one last time, just for comfort, and then Eve was leaving, back straight, head high.

She was probably crying, Claire thought. Eve cried at times like these. Claire didn’t seem to be able to cry when it counted, like now. It felt like pieces of her were being pulled off, and she felt cold and empty inside. No tears.

And now it was her heart being ripped out, because Shane was being summoned impatiently by yet another hard-looking bunch of vampires and humans near the door. He nodded to them, took her hands, and looked into her eyes.

Say it, she thought.

But he didn’t. He just kissed her hands, turned, and walked away, dragging her red, bleeding heart with him—metaphorically, anyway.

“I love you,” she whispered. She’d said it before, but he’d hung up the phone before she’d gotten it out. Then she’d said it in the hospital, but he’d been doped up on painkillers. And he didn’t hear her now, as he walked away from her.

But at least she had the guts to try.

He waved to her from the door, and then he was gone, and she suddenly felt very alone in the world—and very . . . young. Those who were left in the Glass House had jobs of their own, and she was in the way. She found a chair—Michael’s armchair, as it turned out—and pulled her feet up under her as humans and vampires moved around, fortifying windows and doors, distributing weapons, talking in low tones.

She might have become a ghost, for all the attention they paid her.

She didn’t have to wait long. In just a few minutes, Amelie came sweeping down the stairs. She had a whole scary bunch of vampires behind her, and a few humans, including two in police uniforms.

They were all armed—knives, clubs, swords. Some had stakes, including the policemen; they had them, instead of riot batons, hanging from their utility belts. Standard-issue equipment for Morganville, Claire thought, and had to suppress a manic giggle. Maybe instead of pepper spray, they have garlic spray.

Amelie handed Claire two things: a thin, silver knife, and a wooden stake. “A wooden stake in the heart will put one of us down,” she said. “You must use the silver knife to kill us. No steel, unless you plan to take our heads off with it. The stake alone will not do it, unless you’re very lucky or sunlight catches us helpless, and even then, we are slower to die the older we are. Do you understand?”