Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13) - Page 16

CLAIRE

The police took notes, sounding professionally skeptical of the idea that a strong young man might have vanished in ful view of his friends. Because that never happens here, Claire thought cynically, but she knew that in a way they were right to be doubtful…. The vampires picked off strays; they didn't run at the herd. It wasn't smart, and they'd always been very careful not to involve strangers who might have been easily missed.

Angel was as high-profile a visitor as Morganville ever got, if you didn't count a drive-through by the shiny-haired governor two years before.

That guy hadn't even stopped for gas, just whipped through town in a whirlwind of blown sand and shiny cars, though he'd reportedly rolled down the window at a stoplight and waved to people who hadn't really cared.

Carrying off Angel was almost as likely as vampires stopping the governor's caravan, ripping off his sedan door, and dragging him off in the middle of the afternoon.

They'd allprovided statements-Eve, Michael, Shane, Claire, Jenna, and Tyler. Miranda had sensibly stayed inside. Tyler's story had morphed itself into an attack by a gang of teens bent on robbing the van-armed teens-and Jenna had just said she hadn't seen much except for one of them grabbing Angel and taking him off.

Shane had straight-out asked Eve before the first sirens and lights pulled to a stop, "Do you want us to snitch on your brother, or not? Your call, Eve. Personally, I don't think the little monster needs any more breaks, but-"

"Yes," she'd interrupted him. "Do it. I'm going to tel them everything."

So the four of the Glass House residents had allidentified Jason by name and provided the names of the other two vampires as well ; Claire certainly felt a bitter sort of validation in doing that. She'd trusted Jason, for a while, but he'd spun wildly out of control, and he had to be stopped.

Even Eve acknowledged that now.

The cops had cal ed it in, and gone on their way; no one seemed to have much of a sense of urgency about the whole thing. Tyler and Jenna sat together on the front steps, clearly numb and unsure what to do next, so Claire asked them inside, organized coffee, and-after consultation with the others-bedded Jenna down on the sofa in the living room, and Tyler in the parlor. Nobody slept very well , and when Claire came downstairs before dawn to make coffee, she found that the two visitors were up and sitting together at the dinner table, holding hands.

Claire paused on the stairs, watching. It was an odd kind of scene, and there was something definitely weird about it. For a moment, Claire didn't catch what Jenna was saying…and then, with a chil , she did.

"…Close," Jenna said in a distant, drugged voice. "I can sense him out there; he's coming…. Just a moment…It's hard for him to get through the barriers around this place…."

Claire cautiously descended a step, then another. The room was dark, except for flickering candles on the dining table to add sinister mood lighting. What are you doing?

It became very clear in the next second, as Angel's pale, insubstantial ghost drifted through the wal s.

Tyler stiffened in his chair, but Jenna held on to his hand and made him sit down again. Angel hovered there, glowing with the eerie dim light of phosphorescence. He looked lost and distressed.

Claire's legs felt numb. She sat down fast on the stairs, watching with her lips parted on a fast-drawn breath. What the hell is going on? Angel was clearly, well , dead-no doubt of that; you don't get to be that kind of ghost without going allthe way over the line. There was a dark smudge around his throat, and Claire winced seeing it. No doubt it evidenced what Jason had done to him. Or his friends. Whether Angel's body had been recovered or not, he was a victim of Morganville's growing vampire problem.

And Jenna-Jenna had been able to summon him up, and even get him past the house's defenses to appear.

Jenna let go of Tyler's hands, and Claire expected the ghost-Angel to vanish, but he stayed, drifting closer and closer to Jenna as if some kind of gravity were pul ing him toward her. "Angel," she said, "I am so sorry. So sorry."

Claire realized that she was reaching out toward the ghost, and she remembered Miranda's stark fear. "Wait!" she blurted, and came down the stairs at a run. "Wait, don't. Don't touch him."

But it was too late. Jenna had already done it, and when their hands connected, Angel took on form, weight, even a little color-almost a kind of reality.

And Jenna sagged back in her chair, clearly exhausted.

"It's true," Angel said. His voice sounded as if it came from the bottom of a deep well . "It's alltrue what you said. So many spirits here, Jenna. So lost. So angry."

"I'm so sorry we couldn't help you," Jenna whispered.

"I know." He included Tyler in that, with a sideways glance, and the younger man flinched. He'd probably hoped to be ignored completely. As Ghost-Angel's gaze moved past him to brush across Claire, she knew how Tyler felt. There was something really, truly terrifying in that empty gaze.

"And you," Angel said to Claire. "Not your fault. I know you blame yourself."

Claire shivered. The air in the room was feeling icy cold, as Angel's spirit drew in energy from the world around him. "I'm sorry we lost you."

"Angel's not lost," Jenna said. "I've got him. He can help us."

"I don't-" Claire took in a deep breath, and it felt like breathing in winter. "I don't think it's a good idea, Jenna. You know what Miranda said…."

"Miranda's not here, and I'm certainly not abandoning our friend."

"You should," said a soft voice from the kitchen door, and Claire turned to see Miranda standing there with a mug in her hand that steamed fiercely in the chil . "You need to let him go. The longer he stays here, the hungrier he wil be. And after a while he won't be your friend anymore, Jenna. Just like your sister."

"Don't talk about her!"

"You have to let him go," Miranda said. She walked to the table and set down her mug-the contents smel ed like hot chocolate-and took a deep breath. "I can show you how to make him go on to where he needs to be."

Jenna's eyes widened, then narrowed. "How do I know you can do that?"

"Because I was there, and I came back. He's confused and scared. I can take him there if you'l let me. But I can only do it in the morning."

Miranda looked out the window. It was still dark, but there was a strong glow to the east. "And I can only do it if he wants to go with me. The more you make him want to be here, with you, the harder that is. You have to let go of his hand, right now."

Jenna frowned, but she pulled her hand away from Angel's, and he immediately began to lose color and substance, taking on the wispy, foggy character of a ghost just barely together. The change, along with the obvious pain and horror on Angel's face, was so alarming that Jenna immediately tried to reach out again for him.

Miranda pulled her hand away. "No," she said. "You can't. Understand? You just can't. He's okay. What he feels…It isn't pain like you know it. It's confusion. I'll take him once the sun comes up. It'l be okay."

"Mir?" Claire asked softly. "Is this-is this okay for you to do? Is it dangerous?"

The girl sighed and shrugged, just a little. "It's hard," she said. "But I'm not ready to go, so I can come back. Not everybody can. And not every time. You remember, don't you? That feeling?"

Claire did remember, though she earnestly tried not to…. She'd died here, briefly, in the Glass House, and there had been this sensation, when the house's protections had col apsed, that had given her the feeling of being sucked up somewhere, thrown into chaos. And maybe that would have turned out all right, but it was genuinely terrifying.

She nodded.

"I can do it," Miranda said quietly. "I just don't like it. That's why they were allfol owing me, before. Because they know I can help. I just…I just don't want to."

"Can you talk to them?" Claire asked.

"I can," Jenna said, and Miranda nodded as well . "I guess we both can."

"I was thinking…" She really hesitated on this, because it seemed like such a selfish use of what she'd just learned. "I was thinking maybe, if it was possible, you could ask them to find out something for me."

"What?"

"About Myrnin," she said. "Jenna, you had a vision of him, before. I think he's being held somewhere against his wil . I need to help him, but I need some idea where to look. Can you help me? Can they help me figure out where it is?" She was trying not to make the desperation in her voice sound obvious, but she probably failed hard in that. "Please?"

"It's too dangerous for her," Miranda said, and nodded toward Jenna. "She shouldn't be trying to talk to any more of them. I wil , though. As long as she stops making them excited, I should be able to get out and see them…." She looked toward the window suddenly. "The sun's coming up. Angel and I have to go now. Sorry."

Miranda walked to Angel and took his hand, and he seemed to give a sigh of deep relief that he wasn't alone anymore. They were both fading.

Tyler, who had been sitting in silent, dumb amazement the whole time, jumped back from the table, sending his chair flying; Jenna scrambled away, too, as Miranda threw her head back, closed her eyes, and her very real body seemed to just…dissolve, along with Angel's.

Then they were both gone.

Claire gulped back the instinctive fear, and said, "Mir? You still around?" She got a cold pulse that moved through her, and she understood that to mean yes. "It's okay. She's still here; we just can't see her right now. She'l get Angel where he needs to go, I guess."

Tyler looked about to cry. "Who are you people?"

But Jenna wasn't looking like that at all. She seemed…focused. There was a light dawning in her eyes, and her shoulders went back and squared up. "This is why I was led here," she said. "This is what I was meant to do. Meet this girl. And help her."

"Yeah?" Tyler shot back. "What about me, Jenna? What am I supposed to do, exactly? How am I supposed to go back to having a normal life now? Jesus, this was just a job, a stupid job. I never was some true believer, not like you…."

But now he was, clearly. And he didn't like it. He tugged at his messy hair as if he wanted to pul it allout, then flopped facedown on the table, utterly spent.

"I can never leave here, can I?" His muffled voice floated up, almost as ghostly as Angel's had been. "Dammit. I had season tickets to the Red Sox. Good seats."

Claire heard footsteps behind her, and Eve appeared, Doc Martens clunking heavily on the stairs. She paused, yawning. There was something weird about her hair-it was sticking up like a cockatoo's crest. Probably not on purpose. She still had on an adorable pair of pajama pants, a giant White Stripes concert T-shirt, and she hadn't put on her makeup yet. "What'd I miss?" she asked. "You'd better sit down," Claire said, "and I'd better make coffee."

The police finally cal ed after breakfast-breakfast meaning Pop-Tarts and arguments over whether it would be a good idea to knock Jenna and Tyler over the head and lock them in a room until they could decide what to do with them, which was Shane's idea. Claire half expected the cops to want the two surviving After Death crew members, but no, they wanted Eve down at the station. Just Eve, which was good, because Claire had to head off to class; she was aching to talk to Miranda again, and see if her ghostly connections might be able to find Myrnin, but hanging around the house demanding answers wasn't going to get her anywhere. And neither would blowing off classes.

"I have a jam session in five minutes at Common Grounds," Michael said, shifting as he checked his watch. Eve was sitting at her dressing table, applying eyeliner.

"And?" she asked. Claire was fascinated, watching her; she had so much concentration and precision, it was eerie. Claire wasn't good with eyeliner. It took skil .

"And I need to get moving," he said. "Are you coming?"

"Sweetie, true beauty can't be rushed." Eve switched to mascara. "You go ahead. I'll be fine."

"Not on your own," Michael said. "New rules. None of you walks alone. Not even Shane."

"Gee, Overprotective Dad, you probably should have told him that before he left this morning."

"Where was he going?"

"Job interview-he didn't tel me what it was for, so maybe it was something embarrassing, like flower arranging or male stripping," Eve said. "Relax; he's fine. And anyway, I can drive. The Car of the Dead is finally ready to go again." She meant her custom hearse, which had seen so many repairs and replacements, it was almost a brand-new vehicle again. "Besides, I'm seeing the cops, not hunting for vamps in dark alleys. I've got all the vampire I need." She blew him a kiss.

Michael leaned over and kissed the top of her head-now that her hair was tamed again, not such a dangerous proposition-and said, "Be careful."

"Always am."

He left in a hurry, carrying both his acoustic and electric guitars. Eve smiled serenely and did her other eye with the mascara in careful, even strokes.

"Can you give me a lift?" Claire asked. "I've got classes. And what are we going to do about our visitors, anyway?"

"Nothing," Eve said. "It's not our business."

"But-what if Jenna decides to go public? Or Tyler? They know too much, way too much."

"They've got no proof now. And that's what I'm going to tel the cops," Eve said. "It's not a Glass House problem anymore. It's a Morganville problem, and it needs to be officially handled. Hel , Jason is the one who made allthis happen, not us."

It still felt wrong; Claire was afraid the official Morganville solution would involve two more bodies in a car crash, the end of the After Death story. But she had to admit, she couldn't see any way out of it without tel ing the cops, or Oliver, or Amelie. Things had gone a little too far. And, she had to admit, she was carrying around a staggering load of guilt over Angel's death. She had the nagging feeling that she could have done something to stop it…even though, in practical terms, she knew she couldn't have.

It was a tangled mess, and it would take time to sort it out, but one thing was certain: they couldn't afford to let Jason get away with it. He was already dangerous. If he thought he had a free hand, who knew what he'd do? well , Claire knew; she knew that eventually, he'd come after Eve.

And there was no way she could let that happen.

Eve did look beautiful, in a very Eve-ish way; she'd toned down the skul -themed clothes but kept the Goth color scheme of black, black, and some accent color. Her jewelry remained edgy, and her makeup was something normally seen only on fashion ads and outer-space movies.

She kept the clunky work boots, though, and Claire had to admit that it suited her.

The Car of the Dead looked shiny and new again, and Eve had added a bobblehead Grim Reaper to the front dashboard, complete with scythe and glowing red eyes that flashed when his head bobbed. She'd also swapped stuff for a kickin' stereo that she cranked up to twelve and a half on a ten-point scale, the better to advertise for Florence + The Machine in a town that, Claire thought, had probably never heard of the band at all.

The music was too loud to talk, and that was okay; Claire was in a brooding mood anyway. She hadn't slept well , and she was increasingly anxious about Myrnin. The day, by contrast, was a typical hot Texas day, low on humidity and high on sunburn potential. She kept the window rolled down for the arid breeze, such as it was.

Heads turned as they cruised past. Some, mostly older people, of course, were annoyed by the noise; some seemed neutral until they spotted the hearse. It was easily recognizable as Eve's car; nobody else in Morganville, except the Ransom Funeral Home, owned anything even vaguely like it, certainly not with Death as a dash ornament. Claire, suddenly nervous, reached over and turned down the music.

"What?" Eve asked. She was in a surprisingly sunny mood, considering the events of the night before and her brother's suddenly murderous turn, but then, Claire imagined she was relieved to be taking some kind of positive action against him for a change. "C'mon, it's not that emo."

"No, it's cool. I just-" Claire couldn't explain what her unease was, really, except that she definitely had a weird feeling. Maybe it was just allthe flyers that they'd seen, and the fact that their front window was still shattered and braced up with plywood.

But it definitely felt personal, the glares they had coming these days.

The car cruised past Common Grounds, and in a glimpse through the front window, she saw that Michael was setting up his guitars. He didn't get to play as much as he liked, so this was a special event for him. Becoming a vampire might have modified his rock-star ambitions a little, but there was no denying that he was really, really, really good. He'd even had an offer of a recording deal, but he'd turned it down, since touring seemed like a bad idea (and, of course, Amelie had forbidden it). After all, he had a substance problem that even major record labels wouldn't be able to keep quiet about.

He didn't say much about that, Claire realized; about how his whole life had been centered on music, and then it had changed without warning, and without his permission. He never complained about how unfair it was-at least not out loud. And not to her.

"He should have more people there," Eve said.

"What?"

"A crowd. Michael always draws a crowd, but-look back there. Do you see a line of people?" Eve sounded shocked at first, then angry. "Those idiots. They're not mad at him, are they? Why?"

Because he's a vampire married to a human, Claire thought, but didn't say. Eve knew that. She just couldn't accept that people could hate Michael on principle, without counting who he really was.

"It'l break his heart if they don't come to hear him play. It's allhe ever wanted, to play and make people happy. If they take that away from him…"

Eve bit her lip, and tears shimmered in her dark eyes. Claire reached over and grabbed her hand, and squeezed, and her best friend sucked in a deep breath and tried for a smile. "Yeah. He'l be okay. We'l be okay. Right?"

"Right," Claire said, and felt the hol ow ring of saying something she didn't quite feel. She covered it with a big smile.

Eve paused at one of the town's few stoplights, waiting for a few beat-up pickup trucks to crawl through the intersection, and said, "You in a big hurry to get to TPU?"

Claire checked her watch. "My class is in twenty minutes."

"Oh. I was thinking maybe a coffee at Common Grounds…"

And making Michael feel better by their support, Claire guessed. She hated to do it, but she said, "Aren't the police waiting for you, though?"

"Yes. Like there's anything else I can tel them they don't already have in the five-inch-thick file on my brother."

"I guess they want to know who his friends are now, things like that."

"Like I'd know."

True. Jason and Eve had gone very separate ways from an early age. Claire wondered sometimes what it would be like, having brothers and sisters, but considering how bad Eve's experience with it was, maybe she ought to be grateful to be an only child….

"Hey!" Eve said sharply. "What are you doing?"

Claire jumped, thinking she'd directed it at her, but no, Eve had rolled down the window and was yel ing out. As Claire started to turn her head, she heard a high-pitched screeching sound, metal on metal, and Eve yelped, threw open her car door, and jumped out. Claire fumbled at her seat belt and finally got it loose, then exited after her. "What happened?" she asked, but it was immediately obvious, because a group of teens stood there on the sidewalk next to the intersection, and one of them had keys out and was scraping out letters into the paint of Eve's car. He had a B and an I already incised. Claire guessed the T-C-H were coming.

"God, it's like high school allover again!" Eve said, and shoved the boy away from the hearse. "Get your hands off my car, Aaron!"

"How about you get your hands off me, fang-banger?" he sneered, and shoved her back to slam hard against the scratched paint. "What goes around comes around."

"You know, you weren't the brightest crayon in the box even before you flunked out of school, but those were your glory days, weren't they? You really want to get into it with me, dumbass? Biggest mistake of your life!" Eve, color managing to burn bright in her cheeks even through the Goth makeup, was furious, her body tight and shaking, her fists clenched.

"You think you've got some kind of magic shield, what with your hot vampire boyfriend?" one of the girls said from the curb. "You don't."

"Not boyfriend. Husband," another one said, and made a retching sound. "God, don't you have any self-respect? Marrying him? That's just gross. It's like a cow marrying a butcher. They ought to throw you both in jail for being sickening."

Aaron laughed. "Oh, sure, you'd say that, Melanie. You dated the guy in junior high."

"Sure, before he turned into one of them!"

"My dad says you're a traitor," said another boy, and he had a very different tone-quiet, sure, dangerous. "My uncle Jake disappeared the other night. Just another casualty in a town ful of them, right? And you helped. You helped put the vamps right back on top where they've always been. Just like allthe Founder House families. You're nothing but whores giving it up to the vamps for money."

Eve lunged at him. Claire darted around the end of the limo with a sinking conviction that she'd never be fast enough to stop her, and she was right: Eve landed a solid slap right across his face. "Don't you ever, Roy Farmer!" Eve shouted at him. "Don't you-"

He hit her back, clocking her, hard, right on the point of her jaw, and before Claire could even draw a breath. It was as if some invisible signal had gone out to allthe other kids-her age or just a couple of years older-to attack.

"No!" Claire screamed as Eve was grabbed, dragged forward, and thrown to the ground. It allhappened so fast, and in such chaos, that she didn't know where to aim a shove or a punch to get to her friend's rescue. Everyone was moving allat once, and Eve was in the middle of it, and it was alljust insane.

It seemed as if it went on forever until Claire grabbed hold of one girl by the hair and yanked. The girl, foot raised to deliver a furious kick, lost her balance and fel backward, and Claire dragged her a few feet away as she screamed and twisted and clawed. Whatever the girl was screaming, it involved a lot of curse words, and Claire wasn't paying attention. She shoved the girl into a thorny shrub and lunged back toward the circle of attackers. Stopping one hadn't put an end to the beating. The weapons she had were for vampires, not humans, and she couldn't use them on people who couldn't heal…though if this went on any longer, she might have to inflict real and lasting damage to save Eve's life.

Deep breath. She let herself take a second's pause, and identified the ringleader, the one Eve had slapped; he was the one laying into her with real viciousness. Claire quickly stepped up behind him, tried to channel Shane as hard as she could, and did two moves he had taught her: first, a hard, fast punch to the kidneys; second, putting the toe of her shoe in the bend of his knee as he twisted in her direction.

It worked. He broke off the attack and fel to his knees; then he got up, staggering, and turned on her. The others were still going after Eve, but as he came after Claire, they began to break off and follow.

She danced backward, screamed for help (probably uselessly), and tore off, running.

They followed.

Everybody in Morganville was pretty good at running, of course, but Claire had motivation; she slowed down just enough to make them believe they could catch her, and still stayed out of easy grabbing range. The ringleader of the group-what was his name? Roy something?-Roy was fast, and she had to work to stay just a few inches past his lunges. If he caught up with her, she had no doubt he'd take out his rage on her just as he had with Eve.

Let her be okay. Please, let her be okay!

Her legs were starting to burn; Claire could run a fair distance, but adrenaline and fear were taking their tol , and she knew that the kids baying like hounds behind her weren't going to get tired as fast-they had mob mentality to urge them on. There was another intersection ahead, but she didn't see anyone on the street. No, wait-there was a car, cruising up to the stoplight.

A red, flirty sports car with an open roof.

Monica Morrel 's car.

Monica had a scarf looped over her head to prevent the dry wind from blowing her glossy dark hair allover the place, and she was wearing big rock-star sunglasses; when she turned toward the noise of Claire's pursuit, it was impossible to read her expression.

Claire took a chance. Jumping over the door of the car and into the passenger seat, she narrowly missed flattening Monica's expensive designer purse.

Monica stared at her for a second in silence, then looked past her as Roy Farmer skidded to a stop a foot away from the car, breathing hard and crimson with fury.

"What?" Monica demanded. "Touch my car and die, Roy Toy." And then, without turning her head to even look at the light, or oncoming traffic, she gunned the convertible straight through the intersection with a burning squeal of rubber. The mob-wel , it wasn't actually a mob, Claire realized, so much as six teens fired up with rage-fel behind fast, even though they took a couple of steps in pursuit. Monica watched in the rearview for a couple of seconds, speeding up to a limit-breaking sixty miles per hour and blasting through two more stop signs without slowing down, then said, "Any particular reason for that? Not that I care, except somehow trash blew into my passenger seat."

"Thanks," Claire said, because regardless of the insult, Monica really had just done her a solid. She was having trouble catching her breath both from the run and from real worry. "Right turn!"

"Not heading that way, sunshine. I'm going shopping."

Claire grabbed the wheel and forced it, and Monica swore-honestly, she knew words Claire had never heard of, in interesting and colorful combinations-and smacked Claire's hand away to manage the turn carefully. "I swear to God, if you make me dent this car, I wil end you!"

"They got Eve," Claire said. "Right turn! Make the block!"

"Why should I?"

"They beat her up. She's hurt. They could go back!"

"And I care because…?"

"Monica, they could kil her! Just do it!"

Monica hesitated just long enough to make Claire consider diving out of the car while it was speeding, but then she hit the brakes and fishtailed into a hard right, then another one, then U-turned to squeal to a halt in the intersection where Eve's hearse still idled.

Monica didn't say anything at all. Claire took one look at Eve lying on the pavement in a pool of her own blood, time just seemed to freeze into a block of ice for a long breath. Then it shattered, and Claire scrambled out to kneel beside her. Eve's eyes were closed. She was breathing, but her skin looked ashen, and she was bleeding freely from cuts on her head; Claire didn't dare move her, but she could see the livid red marks on her arms where she'd been kicked and stomped. There could be internal injuries, broken bones….

Ambulance, she thought, but even as she reached for her phone, she heard Monica saying, "Yeah, 911? There's somebody bleeding allover the sidewalk at Fifth and still water. Just look for the hearse."

Claire looked up at her as Monica shut off her cel phone and tossed it into her purse. Monica returned the glance, shrugged, and checked her lipstick in the mirror. "Hey," she said. "Never let it be said I'm not civic-minded. That sidewalk might stain."

Then she drove off with a roar of the convertible's engine.

Claire was right about Roy leading the others back, but by the time they arrived, half of his friends had come to their senses, and the ones still with him weren't enough to really work up a good frenzy. They were further held back by the sound of the ambulance siren piercing the air and moving closer. Claire sat back on her heels as she stared at Roy. He was a nondescript boy, nothing really-an okay kind of face, neutral hair, standard high school clothes. The only thing that really made him stand out at allwas the blood on his hands, and even as she noticed, he must have, too, because he pulled out his shirttail and scrubbed the skin clean, then tucked the fabric back into his pants. Evidence gone, except for the bruises on his knuckles.

He pointed at Claire as the ambulance pulled to a stop, siren winding down, behind the hearse. "This ain't over," he said. "Captain Obvious says vamp lovers get what they deserve. You do, too, for sticking up for her."

She had an almost-uncontrol able desire to scream at him, but she could see it wouldn't do any good. They were alllooking at her as if she were the monster and as if Eve were some kind of pervert that deserved to die. Shane might have known what to say, but Shane wasn't here. Michael wasn't here. It was just her, alone, holding the limp and bloody hand of her best friend.

She met his ga