Rachel Caine - Feast of Fools

And that of others.

“I don’t admit that I did send him,” Oliver said. “But if I did, obviously I would have had a very good reason, yes?”

She didn’t answer. His gaze flashed back to her, bright and very, very focused. “I have never made any secret of my desire for power, Claire. I don’t like Amelie, and she doesn’t care for me, but our games are honest ones. We know the rules and we abide by them. But Bishop—Bishop is beyond all rules. He would take our game board and overturn it completely, and that I cannot have. Not even if I gain in the process.”

The light dawned, finally. “Bishop tried to recruit you. Against Amelie.” Claire’s blood chilled a couple of degrees. “You couldn’t tell her directly. So you wanted to use Jason to tell me, and let me tell her.”

“Too late now. Things are moving too quickly to the edge. It’s not within my power to halt it, or hers. Much less yours, Claire.”

Claire realized she was clutching the table in a death grip, and let go. Her fingers ached from the pressure. “What were you talking to Eve about?”

Oliver’s eyes fixed on hers, and he said, “She is accompanying me to the feast.”

Eve was going to the masked ball. With Oliver.

Claire sat back, unable to think of a single thing to say for a moment, and then it hit her exactly what that meant. “Does Michael know?”

“Frankly, I could not care less. Eve can explain it as and if she chooses; it’s no concern of mine. I believe I’m finished assisting you with your inquiries, Claire. But if I might give you a piece of advice—” Oliver leaned forward, and it put him completely in the sun. He didn’t flinch, though the pupils of his eyes contracted to almost nothing, and his skin began to take on a definite pink tinge. “Stay home tomorrow. Lock your doors and windows, and if you’re a religious person, a little prayer might not go amiss.”

It was such a startling thing for him to say that Claire almost laughed. “I’m supposed to pray? For who, you?”

Oliver didn’t blink. “If you would,” he said, “that would be comforting. I don’t think anyone’s done it in quite some time.”

He stood up and walked away. Claire sat for a while staring off into the afternoon sunlight, sipping a mocha long gone cold and tasting nothing at all. When a knot of big upper-class jocks asked her, none too politely, if she was done with the table, she left without any protest. She went for a walk, following the curve of streets without any real awareness of where she was, or where she might be going.

All these people. She was away from the college crowd now, and Morganville natives took advantage of the sunshine any way they could—sunbathing, working in their gardens, painting their houses.

And tomorrow, if Oliver was right, it could be all over. If Bishop succeeded in taking over from Amelie . . .

Claire realized with a start that the sun was slipping toward the horizon, and turned at the nearest cross street to head for home. She made it with the day still officially in the late-afternoon phase, although twilight was creeping in, but as she opened the gate and came through the walk, she realized that someone was sitting on the front steps waiting for her.

Shane.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” she returned, and sat down next to him. He was looking out at the street, the occasional passing car. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the sunlight made his skin look like it had a faint brushing of gold.

God, he was so . . . perfect. And he was breaking her heart with the look in his eyes.

“So,” Shane said. “I was thinking we should go out tonight.”

“Out?” she repeated blankly. “Out where?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Movies. Dinner. I’d take you to the local bar for a blowout, but your dad might kill me.” Shane looked at her for a few seconds, then went back to his careful study of nothing. “I just want to spend tonight doing something with you. Whatever it is.”

Because tomorrow, it could all change. It was the same eerie feeling Claire had felt walking around town: the feeling that the world was ending, and only a few people had a clue it was coming.

“Any place you’ve always wanted to go?” Claire asked.

“Sure. I play a great game of Anywhere but Here. You mean in Morganville?” He was quiet for a second, as if the question had caught him by surprise. “Maybe. You up for a drive?”

“In whose car?”

“Eve’s.” He held up the car keys and jangled them. “I made her a deal. I get the car two nights a week; I do her share of the chores two more days. I’m exercising my rental coupon.”

“The sun’s going down,” Claire felt compelled to point out.

“So it is.” He jangled the car keys again. “Well?”

Really, he already knew what the answer would be.

They drove to a restaurant near the vampire downtown area—far enough that it had mostly human patronage, but still stayed open late. There was a lounge area with a dance floor, and a jukebox that played oldies. Shane had a beer he was too young to order. Claire had a Coke, and they spent a roll of quarters on choosing songs, one right after another.

"This is the biggest damn iPod I’ve ever seen,” Claire said, which made him choke on his beer. “Kidding. I have seen a jukebox before.”

“The way you’re feeding it, I’m not so sure. You think you picked enough songs?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “How many will it take to play all night?”

He put his beer down on the table, put his arms around her, and they swayed together as the songs changed, and changed, and changed.

And around them, Morganville slowly went quiet.

Saturday dawned cooler and windier, with a breath of chill cutting like metal.

Shane and Claire drove in just before dawn, exhausted but peaceful. They’d danced until the restaurant closed down, then drove, then parked. It had been sweet and urgent and Claire had almost, almost wanted it to go further . . . at least into the backseat.

But Shane had held to his word, no matter how frustrating that was for both of them, and she supposed that was still a good thing.

Mostly, she just wanted to get his clothes off and dive into the bed with him and never, ever come out. But he kissed her at her bedroom door, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn’t trusting himself that far with her.

Not tonight. Not even with the whole world changing.

Claire fell asleep just before dawn and slept right through sunrise. Through lunch. She only woke up at all because the next-door neighbor started up his monster gas-powered lawn mower for the last trim of the season. It was like a gardening jet engine, and no matter how many pillows Claire piled on her head, it didn’t help.

The house was eerily quiet. Claire put on her robe and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. She tapped on Eve’s door on the way, but there was no answer. None at Shane’s or Michael’s, either. She took the fastest shower on record and went downstairs, only to find . . . nothing. No Michael, no Shane, no Eve. And no note. There was coffee in the pot, but it had long cooked down to sludge.

Claire sat down at the kitchen table and paged through numbers on her phone. No answer from Eve’s cell, and Michael’s rang to voice mail. So did Shane’s.

“Hey,” Claire said when his recorded voice told her to leave her message. “I’m—I just was hoping I’d see you. You know, this morning. But—look, can you give me a call, please? I want to talk to you. Please.”

She felt so alone that tears prickled her eyes. The feast. It’s today.

Everything was changing.

A rap at the back door made her jump, and she peered through the window for a long time before she eased open the door a crack. She left the security chain on. “What do you want, Richard?”