Rachel Caine: Dead Girls' Dance

Claire and Eve came slowly up the walk.

“I’ll—’” Claire swallowed hard. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry. He’s just a little—it’s been a long day, you know? He’ll be okay.’”

Michael nodded. Eve put an arm around him and helped him into the house.

Shane was nowhere to be seen when Claire entered the living room, but she heard his door slam upstairs. Damn, he was fast when he wanted to be. And bitter. Who said girls were moody? She eyed the couch—it was the first comfortable spot to lie down—with weary longing. Maybe she should just let Shane get through it alone. Not like he wasn’t used to dealing with trauma.

Then again…just because he could do it alone didn’t mean he ought to have to.

There was something odd about the room, and for a long second, Claire couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it dawned on her.

The room smelled like flowers. Roses, to be exact.

Claire frowned, turned, and saw a huge bunch of red roses lying on the side table. There was an envelope next to it with her name on it in old-fashioned copper-plate handwriting.

She tore it open and unfolded the papers inside.

Dear Claire,

My informal Protection is no longer sufficient for you and your friends, and I think you know that now. More drastic steps must be taken, and soon, or your friends will pay the price. Oliver will not allow today’s events to go unanswered. You have been brave, but extremely foolish in your enemies.

Consider my proposal carefully.

I shall not offer it again.

There wasn’t a signature, but Claire didn’t have any doubt who had written it. Amelie. The letter was water-marked with her seal.

The other papers in the stack looked legal. She read them, frowning, trying to understand what they meant, and some of the language leaped out at her.

I, Claire Elizabeth Danvers, swear my life, my blood, and my service to the Founder, now and for my lifetime, that the Founder may command me in all things.

It was the same thing Oliver had said, back at the hospital, when he’d been trying to make her…

…make her his slave.

Claire dropped the paper like it had caught on fire. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t.

Or your friends will pay the price.

Claire swallowed, stuffed the contract back into the envelope, and shoved it in her pocket just as Eve came around the corner and said, “Roses! Jeez, who died?’”

“Nobody,’” Claire said hoarsely. “They’re for you. From Michael.’”

Michael looked surprised, but his back was to Eve, and if he had any sense at all, he’d play along.

Claire went upstairs to take a shower.

Being clean made it better. Not a whole lot better, but some. She sat for a while, staring at the white envelope with her name on it, wishing she could talk to Shane about it, or Eve, or Michael, but not daring to do any of that because this was her choice. Not theirs. And she knew what they’d say, anyway.

Not enough no in the world, that’s what they’d say.

It was after dark when Shane finally knocked on her door. She opened it and stood there looking at him. Just looking, because somehow she didn’t think she’d ever see enough of him. He looked tired, and rumpled, and sleep creased.

And he was so beautiful she felt her heart break into a million little sharp-edged pieces.

He shifted uncertainly. “Can I come in? Or do you just want me to—?’” He pointed back down the hall. She stepped back and let him inside, then shut the door behind him. “I freaked about Michael.’”

“Yeah, you think?’”

“Why didn’t you tell me?’”

“Well, it didn’t exactly seem like the right time,’” she said tiredly, and sat down on the bed, back to the head-board. “Come on, Shane. We were running for our lives.’”

He granted that argument with a shrug. “How did this happen?’”

“You mean, who? Amelie. She was here, and Michael asked.’” Claire looked at him for a long second before she added the coup de graĉe. “He asked because he wanted to be able to leave the house.’”

Shane looked stricken. He lowered himself down on the corner of the bed, staring at her with those wounded, vulnerable eyes. The ones that made her heart break all over again. “No,’” he said. “Not because of me. Tell me it wasn’t—’”

“He said it wasn’t. Not, you know, completely, anyway. He had to do this, Shane. He couldn’t live like this, not forever.’”

Shane looked away. “Christ. I mean, he knows how I feel about vampires. Now I’m living with one. Now I’m best friends with one. That’s not good.’”

“Doesn’t have to be bad, either,’” she said. “Shane—don’t be angry, okay? He did what he thought he had to do.’”

“Don’t we all?’” He flopped back on the bed, hands under his head. Staring up at the ceiling. “Long day.’”

“Yeah.’”

“So,’” he said. “You got plans for tonight? Because suddenly I’m free.’”

He made her laugh, even though she thought she didn’t have any of that left. Shane rolled up on one elbow, and the gentleness in the way he smiled at her made her breath catch in her throat.

He reached out and tugged at her hair, smiling. “You’re all wild today,’” he said. “Hero.’”

“Me? No way.’”

“Yeah, you. You saved lives, Claire. Granted, some people I’d just as soon see gone, but…still. I think you even saved my dad. If he’d blown up that building, killed all those people…he couldn’t have walked away from it. I couldn’t have let him.’” They just looked at each other, and Claire felt tension coiling up between them, pulling them closer. She saw him leaning toward her, drawn by the same thing. He reached out and traced one hand slowly along her bare foot. “So. What’s the plan, hero? Want to watch a movie?’”

She felt odd. Crazy and strange and full of uncertainty. “No.’”

“Kill some video zombies?’”

“No.’”

“If we get down to canasta, I’m jumping…off…the…what are you doing?’”

She stretched out across the bed on her side, facing him. “Nothing. What do you want to do?’”

“Oh, let’s not go there.’”

“Why not?’”

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?’”

She kissed him. It wasn’t an innocent kiss—anything but. She felt like those roses downstairs, dark and red and full of passion, and it was new to her, so new, but she couldn’t stop the feeling that she had to do this, now, because she’d almost lost him, and—

Shane leaned his forehead against hers and broke the kiss with a gasp, like a drowning man. “Hang on,’” he said. “Slow down. I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right? You don’t have to put out to keep me here. Well, as long as you eventually—’”

“Shut up.’”

He did, mainly by pressing his lips back to hers. A slower kiss this time, warm and then hot. She thought she’d never get enough of the taste of him; it just jolted through her like raw current and lit her up inside. Lit her up in ways she knew weren’t good, or at least weren’t completely legal.

“Want to play baseball?’” she asked. Shane’s eyes opened, and he stopped stroking her hair.

“What?’”

“First base,’” she said. “You’re already there.’”

“I’m not running the bases.’”

“Well, you could at least steal second.’”

“Jeez, Claire. I used to distract myself with sports stats at times like these, but now you’ve gone and ruined it.’” Another damp, hot kiss, and his hands trailed down her neck, featherlight. Over her shoulders, brushing skin her thin jersey nightshirt left bare. Down…

“Dammit.’” He rolled over on his back, breathing hard, staring at the ceiling again.