“I’m not signing anything!” I screamed, right in his face, and took Brandon’s expensive pen and stomped on it with my Mary Janes until it was a leaking black stain on the floor. “You can be slaves if you want, but not me! Not ever again!”
Brandon didn’t look angry. He looked amused. That was bad.
Dad shoved me and sent me reeling. “Then you’re gone,” he said. “I won’t have you in my house, eating my food, stealing my money. If you want to go out there bare, then do it. See how long you last.” He turned to Brandon. “Our Protection stays intact if she leaves, right?”
Brandon inclined his head and smiled.
I was stunned, at least a little; Dad had never even threatened a thing like that before. I backed away from him, into Mom. She got out of the way, but then, she always did, didn’t she? She had all the backbone of a balloon.
She avoided my eyes completely. “You’d better go, honey,” she said. “You made your choice.”
I turned and ran down the hall to my room, slammed the door, and dragged my biggest suitcase out from under the bed. I couldn’t take much, I knew that; even taking a suitcase was risky, because it slowed me down. But I couldn’t wait for dawn; I had to get out of here now, before Brandon stopped me. He wasn’t supposed to use compulsion on me, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.
I filled up the bag with underwear, shoes, clothes, and a few mementos that I couldn’t leave, just in case Dad decided to fill up the barbecue with my belongings the minute I was out the door. I left the family photos, even the good ones, the ones from when I was a little kid and our family wasn’t a total freak show. I didn’t want those memories, and I didn’t want pictures of my brother Jason, who was better off in jail, where he was currently rotting. Seeing his face made me feel sick.
I went out the back door, since Brandon was still talking to Mom and Dad in the front, and dragged the suitcase as quietly as possible across the backyard to the alley. Alleys in Morganville are freaky at night and wildly dangerous, but I didn’t have much choice. I hurried, bouncing my suitcase over rough, rutted ground and past foul-smelling trash bins, until I was on the street.
And I realized I had no idea where to go. No idea at all. All the friends I’d had were dead—dead tonight—and I couldn’t even really grieve about that; I didn’t have time. Life-saving had to come first, right? That’s what I kept telling myself.
Didn’t help me carry that giant boulder of guilt.
Cabs didn’t run at night, because cabbies knew better, and besides, there were only two in the whole town. No bus service. At night, you either drove or you stayed home, and even driving was dangerous if you were unProtected.
I could go to the local motel for the night, the Sagebrush, but it was a good twenty-minute walk, and I didn’t think I had twenty minutes. Not tonight. I’d officially forfeited Brandon’s Protection when I’d ripped up that paper, and that meant I was an all-you-can-suck buffet until I got somebody to take me in. Houses had automatic Protection. Any house.
Michael. Michael Glass.
Michael lived only a few blocks away. I’d gone to school with Michael, crushed hard on Michael from a distance, and semistalked him after he graduated, attending every single guitar-playing gig he’d landed in Morganville. He was really good, you see. And a sweetheart. And little baby Jesus, he was wicked hot. And he had his own house.
I knew the Glass House. It was one of the historical homes of Morganville, all gently decaying Gothic elegance, and Michael’s parents had moved out of Morganville on waivers two years ago. Michael lived there all alone, as far as I knew.
And it was only three blocks away.
I had no idea if he was home, or if he’d be stupid enough to let me in when I was running for my life, but it was worth a try, right? I broke into a jog, the wheels of my suitcase making a whirring, grating hiss on the sidewalk. The night felt deep and dark, no moon, only starlight, and it smelled like cold dust. Like a graveyard. Like my graveyard.
I thought of Trent, Guy, and Jane, in their silent black bags. Maybe they were in cold metal drawers by now, filed away. Lives over.
I didn’t want to be dead. I didn’t.
So I ran, bumping my suitcase behind me.
I didn’t see a soul on the streets. No cars, no lights in windows, no shadows trailing me. It was eerily quiet outside, and my heart was racing. I wished I had weapons, but those were hard to come by in Morganville, and besides, I had nosy parents who trashed my room regularly looking for contraband of all kinds. Being under eighteen sucked.
Being over eighteen wasn’t looking so great, either.
I heard the hiss of tires behind me, over the puffing of my breath, and the low growl of a car engine. I looked back, hoping to see Richard Morrell following me in the police car, but no such luck; it was a nondescript black sports car with dark-tinted windows.
Vampire car. No question.
Two more blocks.
The car seemed content to creep along behind me, tires crunching over pavement, and I had plenty of panic-time to wonder who was inside. Brandon, in the back, almost certainly; he’d be cruising with his friends, and when he took me, he’d do it in front of an audience.
The suitcase hit a crack in the sidewalk and tipped over, dragging me to an off-balance halt. I saw a light go on in one of the houses I was passing, and a curtain twitch aside, and then the blinds snapped shut and the lights flicked off. No help there. But then, in Morganville, that wasn’t unusual.
I wasn’t crying, but it was close; I could feel tears burning in my throat, right above the terror twisting my guts. This was your choice, I told myself. You couldn’t do anything else.
Right now, that wasn’t much comfort.
Up ahead, I saw the looming bulk of the Glass House—one more block to go. I could make it, I could. I had to. Jane and Trent and Guy were gone. I owed it to them to live through this.
The car sped up behind me as I crossed the street to the next corner. Four houses to go, all still and lightless.
There was a porch light on in front of 716, and it cast a glow on the pillars framing the porch, picked out the boards in the white fence in front. There were lights on inside, and I saw someone pass in front of a window.
“Michael!” I screamed it and put everything into one last sprint. The car eased ahead of me and pulled in at the curb with a squeal of brakes, tires bumping concrete. A door flew open to block the sidewalk, and I gasped, picked up my suitcase, and tossed it over the fence. It weighed about fifty pounds, but I managed to pick it up and throw it. I grabbed the rough whitewashed boards with their sharp tops and vaulted over, got my shirt caught on the way and ripped it open. No time to worry about that. I grabbed my suitcase and started dragging it over the night-damp grass toward the pool of light. I yelled again, with even more of an edge of panic. “Michael! It’s Eve! Open the door!”
They were behind me. They were right behind me. I knew it, even though I didn’t dare look back and they made no sound. I could feel it. I felt something grab the suitcase, nearly twisting my arm out of the socket, and I let go, stumbling against the porch stairs. The house stretched above me, gray and ghostly in the dark, but that porch light, that was life.
Something caught my foot. I screamed and kicked, fighting to get free, but I went down to my hands and knees, then flat as whoever had me pulled. My searching fingers scratched at the closed wood of the door, and I tasted dust again. I’d been close, so close….
The door opened, and warm yellow light spilled out over me. Too late. I tried to grab for a handhold but I was being yanked backward…and I could feel breath on the back of my neck. Cold, rancid breath.
Something flew over my head and slammed into the vampire pulling on me, knocking him backward. I crawled back toward the door and got a hand over the threshold.
Michael Glass grabbed my fingers and dragged me inside with one long pull. My feet made it over the line just a fraction of a second before another vampire slammed into the invisi
ble barrier there.
That vampire was Brandon. Oh, damn, he was angry. Really angry. Our vampires were all about fitting in, but right now he clearly didn’t care what we saw. His eyes had turned bloodred, and his face was whiter than I’d ever made mine. And I could see fangs, fangs a viper would have envied, flicking down from their hiding place to flash in menace.
And Michael Glass didn’t flinch. In fact…he smiled. “You’re not coming in, Brandon, so save it,” he said. “Leave.”
He looked like I remembered him from high school, from the concerts, only…better, somehow. Stronger. Tall, built, golden hair that waved and curled surfer-style. He had blue eyes, and they were fixed on Brandon. Wary, but definitely not afraid.
“You okay?” he asked me. I nodded, unable to say anything that would really cover how I felt. “Then get out of the way.”
“Huh?”
“Your legs. Please.”
I pulled them toward me, and he calmly shut the door in Brandon’s face. I sat there on the wooden floor, knees pulled in to my chest, and tried to slow my heart down from triple digits. “God,” I whispered, and rested my forehead on my knees. “That was close.”
I heard the rustle of fabric. Michael had crouched down across from me, back to the opposite wall. He was wearing some comfortable old jeans, a faded green cotton shirt, and his feet were long and narrow and bare. “Eve Rosser, right?” he asked. “Hi.”
“Hi, Michael.” I was having trouble getting my breath.
“How have you been?”
“Good. You?”
“Fine. What the hell is going on?”
“Um…my eighteenth birthday.” I was shivering, and I realized my skull shirt was displaying a whole lot more bra than I’d ever intended. Kind of a plunge bra. Victoria’s Secret. Not so much of a secret right now. “Brandon’s kind of pissed. I didn’t sign.”
Michael rested his head against the wall and looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t sign. Oh, man.”
I shook my head, unable to say much more about that. I knew what he was thinking, and he was right: I’d brought trouble right to his door. Some friend. Acquaintance. Whatever. My cousin Bob always used to say No good deed goes unpunished. In Morganville, Bob was damn sure right.
Michael said, “You got someplace to go? Relatives, maybe?”
I just looked at him miserably, and I felt tears starting to bubble up again. What had I been hoping for? Some white knight hottie to save me? Well, I wasn’t going to get it from Michael. He hadn’t even come outside to get me, he’d just thrown a chair or something.
Still, he’d opened the door. Nobody else on this street had or would have.
“Okay,” Michael said softly. He stretched out a hand and awkwardly patted me on the knee. “Hey. You’re okay, right? You’re safe in here now. Don’t cry.”
I didn’t want to cry, but that was how I vented, and boy, did I need to vent. All the fury and grief and rage and confusion just boiled up inside and forced their way out. I was sobbing like a punk, and after a couple of shaking breaths I felt Michael move across to sit next to me. His arm went around me, and I turned toward his warmth, soaking his shirt with tears. I would have told him everything then, all the bad stuff…the van, my friends, Brandon. I would have told him how Brandon gave my dad a pay raise when I was fifteen in return for unrestricted access to me and Jason. I would have told him everything.
Lucky for him I couldn’t get my breath.
Michael was good at soothing; he knew not to talk, and he knew just how to touch my hair and how to hold me. It wasn’t until the storm became more like occasional showers, and I was able to hiccup steady breaths, that I realized he had a clear view down my bra.
“Hey!” I said, and tried to artfully tuck the torn edges of my shirt under the strap. Michael had an odd look on his face. “Free show’s over, Glass.”
Trent would have snapped back some snazzy insult, but not Michael. Michael just looked uncomfortable and edged away from me. “Sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t—”
Well, if he wasn’t, I was offended. I gave good bra: 34B.
He must have seen it in my expression, because Michael held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, yeah. I was. That makes me an asshole, right?”
“No, that makes you male and straight,” I said. Was it wrong I felt relieved? “I just need to change my—Oh, damn. My suitcase! It’s still out there—”
“Come on.” Michael got up and walked down the polished wooden hallway. The house felt warm but strange—old, and despite the big open rooms, kind of claustrophobic. Like it was…watching. I loved it. I had no idea why, but it just felt…right. Strange and odd and right.
The living room was normal stuff—couch, chairs, bookcases, throw rugs. A guitar case lying open on a small dining table, and the acoustic was abandoned on the couch as if he’d put it down to see what the trouble was out in the yard. I’d heard Michael play before, though not recently. People had said he’d given it up…but I guessed he hadn’t. Maybe he’d just given up performing.
Michael pulled the blinds and looked out. “It’s on the lawn,” he said. “They’re going through it.”
“What?” I pushed him out of the way and tried to see for myself, but it was all just a black blur. “They’re going through my stuff? Bastards!” Because I had some lingerie in there that I seriously wanted to keep private. Well, maybe share with one other person. But privately. I yanked the cord on the blinds and moved them up, then unlocked the window and threw up the sash. I leaned out and yelled, “Hey, assholes, you touch my underwear and—”
Michael yanked me back by my belt and slammed the window shut about one second before Brandon’s face appeared there. “Let’s not taunt the angry vampires,” he said. “I have to live here.”
Deep breaths, Eve. Right. Suitcase not as important as jugular. I sat down in one of the chairs, trying to get hold of myself and not even sure who that was anymore. Myself, I mean. So much had changed in five hours, right? I was an adult now. I was on my own in a town where being alone was a death sentence. I’d made a very bad enemy, and I’d done it deliberately. I’d been disowned by my own family, not that they’d been much of a family in the first place.
“I am so screwed,” I said. Michael didn’t say anything to that; it was kind of rhetorical. “So. You look like a nice, nonpsycho kind of guy. Need an unstable roommate with lots of enemies?” I asked, and tried for a mocking smile. Michael hesitated in the act of reaching for his guitar, then settled in on the couch with the instrument cradled in his lap like a favorite pet. He picked out random notes, pure and cool, and bent his head. “Sorry. Bad joke.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “Actually—I might consider it.”
“What?”
“I didn’t sign, either,” he said.
Oh, man. No, I hadn’t known that; I couldn’t remember who his family’s Protector had been, but it couldn’t have been Brandon. Michael wasn’t wearing a symbol bracelet, so no clues there.
“I was thinking,” he continued, “that maybe we ought to stick together. Those of us who don’t have contracts. Besides, you and me, we always got along in school. I mean, we didn’t know each other that well, but—” Nobody had known Michael really well, except his buddy Shane Collins, but Shane had bugged out of Morganville with his parents after his sister’s death. Everybody had wanted to know Michael, but he was private. Shy, maybe. “It’s a big house. Four bedrooms, two baths. Hard to manage it by myself. Bills and crap.”
Was he offering? Really? I swallowed and leaned forward. My shirt was coming loose again, but I left it that way. I needed every advantage I could get. “I swear, I’m good for rent. I’ll get a job somewhere, at one of the neutral places. And I clean stuff. I’m a demon with the cleaning.”
“Cook?” He looked hopeful, but I had to shake my head. “Damn. I’m not so great at it.”
“You’d have to be better than me. I can screw up the recipe for water.”
He smiled
. He had one of those smiles. You know the ones—the kind that unleashes lethal force on girls in the vicinity. I couldn’t remember him smiling in high school. He was probably aware that it might cause girls to faint or unbutton clothes or something.
“We’ll think about it until tomorrow night,” he said. “Pick any room but the first one; that’s mine. Sheets are in the closet. Towels are in the bathroom.”
“My suitcase—”
“After dawn.” He was looking down again, picking out a sweet, quiet melody from the strings. “Look, I’ve got someplace I have to go before then, but you’ll be safe enough if you just go out to get it and come right back inside. I don’t think Brandon’s pissed enough to hang around in the sun.”
“But you can’t go out in the dark! He could—”
“Brandon? No, he couldn’t. Trust me.”
Oh, no. Alarm bells went off. “You’re not—”
He looked up sharply. “I’m not what?”
I mimed fangs.
Michael sighed. “No, I’m not.”
“Well, you know, the whole gone-during-daylight thing…”
“I have a job; maybe you’ve heard of it. You leave the house, make money…? Any other questions?”
“Yeah. Then how come you’re up so late if you have to get up so early?”
He looked at me for a second blankly, like he couldn’t believe I’d asked. “Well,” he said slowly, “I do get up to eat, shower, that kind of thing before work. Why? Don’t you?”
Oh. Put like that, it didn’t sound quite as suspiciously vampiric. I swallowed hard, wondering if I could trust him. If I should. Well, idiot, what choices do you have?
I pulled the silver chain around my neck and flipped the tiny silver cross out to hang over the tattered rags of my shirt. “Touch it,” I said.
“What?” He now clearly thought I was crazy.
“Touch the cross, Michael.”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake—”
“I have to be sure.”
He reached out and put a fingertip squarely on the cross, then spread his whole hand over it.
Many Bloody Returns Page 20