by Rachel Caine
“Hush,’” Sam said softly, barely loud enough to be heard over the pounding, relentless beat of the music.
And then Claire heard the screaming.
In a blink, Sam was gone from the doorway. Eve moved out into the hallway, craning her head to look over the rail, and Claire looked, too.
It was chaos down there, and not the happy chaos of a dance. Knots of screaming, pushing people, desperately jamming up the exits from the big open room, all in black clothes, white faces, some splashes of red here and there…
Blood. There was blood.
Sam grabbed both her and Eve by the shoulders, swung them around, and pushed them back inside the room. He looked at Ian, who was still cowering against the wall. “You. O Positive. How many exits?’”
“What?…Oh shit, did you just call me by my blood type?’”
“How many exits?’”
“The stairs! You have to take the stairs!’”
Sam cursed under his breath, went to the closet, and yanked it open. It was a walk-in, pretty large, filled with junk. He shoved Claire and Eve inside and held the door open. “You,’” he said to the four boys. “If you want to live, get in. Touch these girls and I’ll kill you myself. You know I’m serious, yeah?’”
“Yeah,’” Ian said faintly. “Not a finger on ’em. What’s happening? Is it, like, one of those shooting things?’”
“Yes,’” Sam said. “It’s like that. Get in.’”
The boys piled into the closet. Eve dragged Claire to the farthest corner, shoving piles of rank-smelling athletic shoes out of the way, and sat her down. Eve crouched next to her, ready for action, and glared at the guys. They kept their distance.
Sam slammed the door.
Darkness.
“What the hell is going on?’” Coffee Bar Jerk demanded. His voice was shaking.
“People are getting hurt,’” Eve said tightly. “Could be you if you don’t shut up.’”
“But—’”
“Just shut the hell up!’”
Silence. The music was still pounding downstairs, but over it Claire could hear the screaming. She started to go into that funny gray place, but jerked herself back with an effort and squeezed Eve’s tense hand. “It’s okay,’” Eve whispered to her. “You’re okay. I’m so sorry.’”
“I was doing okay,’” Claire said. Surprised, actually, that it was true. “Thanks for saving me.’”
“I didn’t do anything but find Sam. He found you.’” Eve stopped. “All right, who’s touching me?’”
A high-pitched male voice out of the darkness. “Oh shit! Sorry!’”
“Better be.’”
There was a tense silence in the dark.
And then Claire heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.
“Quiet,’” Eve whispered. She didn’t need to say it. Claire felt it, and she knew everybody else did, too. There was something bad out there, something worse than four horny, stupid, cruel boys.
She felt something brush against her. A hand. One of the boys, she didn’t know which one—was it Ian who’d slumped against the wall nearest to her?
She took it and squeezed. He squeezed back, silently.
And Claire waited to see if they were going to die.
10
The screaming stopped, and the music cut off in mid-rave. That was worse, somehow. The silence felt…cold. Claire held on grimly to consciousness. The effects seemed to be coming and going. Maybe she was going to be okay.
A floorboard creaked right outside the closet door.
Claire felt a tremor go through the boy whose hand she held, and she pressed herself harder against the wall and stared at the closet door. It was a big black rectangle outlined in warm yellow.
There was a flicker of shadow, and a snarl, and a man’s full-throated yell, and the sound of a body hitting the floor.
Then the boom of a gun going off. Claire jumped, and felt Eve and the boy jump, too. “Oh God,’” he whispered. He was shaking all over. Claire supposed that was one thing that being roofied was good for—it kept your heart rate down in an emergency. She felt pretty calm, all things considered. Or maybe she was just getting used to being scared out of her mind.
Running footsteps. The banister in the hall creaked. More shouts from downstairs, feet pounding on the stairs, heading down…
And then the distant, shrill sound of sirens.
“Cops,’” somebody whispered, maybe Coffee Bar Jerk. He sounded a whole lot less arrogant. “We’ll be okay. We’re going to be okay.’”
“Yeah, until these two turn us in,’” muttered another boy. “For, you know. The thing.’”
“You mean for attempted rape?’” Eve whispered fiercely. “Jesus, listen to you. The thing. Call it what it is, you asshole.’”
“Look, it was just—I’m sorry, okay? We didn’t want to hurt her. We just—’”
“She’s sixteen, man.’”
“What?’”
“Sixteen. So you can thank me now for saving you serious jail time, because attempted rape is a hell of a lot better than actual rape. The statutory kind. Did Monica put you up to it?’”
“I—uh—yeah. She said—she said Claire was good to go, that she just needed it rough. She wanted to be sure we got her here.’”
“Shhhhhh,’” Claire whispered frantically. She heard another floorboard creak. Everybody fell silent.
The door swung open, blinding them with a wash of light, and Claire squinted at the man standing there.
Red hair.
“Out,’” Sam said. “Move.’”
The boys got up and filed out, looking a whole lot less arrogant than before, and clustered together in the corner. It had been Ian whose hand she’d held, after all, Claire saw. He was looking at her in a weird, new way, as if he actually saw her for the first time.
“I’m sorry about your nose,’” she said. He blinked.
“It’s not so bad,’” he offered. “Look, Claire—’”
“Don’t.’”
“You still going to tell the cops?’” That was Coffee Bar Jerk.
“No,’” Claire said.
“Bullshit! Yes,’” Eve said. “A world of yes. So you’d better not try this again. Ever. And besides, if you do, the last thing you have to worry about is the cops. Right, Sam?’”
Sam nodded without speaking.
“Let’s get out of here. Claire? Can you walk?’”
“I can try.’”
But the world just slipped out from under her when she got up, and she fell into Eve’s arms. Eve juggled her awkwardly, trying to find the right way to hold her up, and suddenly Claire was floating about four feet off the ground.
Oh. Sam had her, and he was holding her as if she were as heavy as a bag of feathers.
“Hey,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. Sam stopped on his way to the door. “Sorry, seriously. It was just—Monica said—’”
“Stop, man,’” Ian said. “Monica just gave us the idea. We were the ones who did it. No excuses.’”
“Yeah,’” Coffee Bar Jerk said. “Whatever, man. Won’t happen again.’”
“If it does,’” Sam said, “never mind the police. I’ll find you.’”
Things were melting into one another. Claire felt sick and disoriented, and only having her arms around Sam’s cool, strong neck kept her from floating away on a tide of chemicals. When she opened her eyes she caught flashes…. The EEK frat house was trashed. Furniture broken, walls bashed, people lying on the floor…
And some of them were bloody.
Eve stopped and pressed her fingers to the throat of a boy wearing full vamp gear, including the teeth; his blue eyes were open, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t move.
“He’s dead,’” she whispered.
There was a wooden stake in his chest.
“But—he wasn’t a vampire,’” Claire said. “Right?’”
“They didn’t care. He looked like one, and he must have gotten in the way,’” Sam s
aid. “There are two vampires dead in the other room. This one was a mistake.’”
“In the other room?’” Claire asked. “How do you know?’”
“I know.’” Sam stepped over the body and moved around a busted-up couch. Glass crunched under his feet. The sirens were getting closer now, late to the party as usual.
“Was it Frank’s guys?’” Eve asked. “The bikers?’”
Sam didn’t answer, but he didn’t really have to. How many rampaging antivamp gangs could there be in Morganville?
Claire closed her eyes and let her head drop against Sam’s chest, meaning just to rest for a second.
And…she just left the world for a while.
Claire woke up to the sound of voices and a headache the size of Cleveland inside of her skull; her mouth was dry as a bone, and her tongue a thick roll of felt covered in sandpaper. Also, hello, nausea.
She was lying in her own bed, at home.
Claire rolled out, ran to the bathroom, and took care of the sickness first, then looked in the mirror. It was horrible. Her face was smeared with makeup, her black eyeliner smudged every which way, her black-sprayed hair sticking up in thick clumps.
Claire started the shower, stripped off the Goth disguise, and sat in the tub with the water pounding down. There wasn’t enough soap in the world, really, but she tried, scrubbing hard. Scrubbing until her skin was stinging.
She froze at the sound of a knock on the bathroom door. “Claire? It’s Eve. You okay?’”
“Yeah,’” she said. “I’m okay.’” Her voice sounded thick and weak.
Eve must have taken her at her word, because she went away. Claire wished she hadn’t, somehow; she needed somebody to ask; she needed somebody to be there for her. I was almost…
The worst part of it was that they weren’t monsters, those guys. In fact, they were probably okay most of the time. How was that even possible? How could people be good and bad at the same time? Good was good; bad was bad—you had to draw a line, right? Like with the vampires? some part of her mind whispered. Where’s Amelie, then? Where’s Sam? Sam saved your life. Which side of the line do you put him on?
She didn’t know. And she didn’t want to think about it anymore. Claire sat under the pounding hard rain of the hot water and let it all go for a while, until the water started to run cool and she remembered that Eve probably wanted to shower, too. Crap. She jumped up, turned off the taps, and dried off, realized she hadn’t brought more clothes in with her, and wrapped in the towel for the fast trip to her room.
When she opened the bathroom door, Michael was standing right outside. He looked up, saw she wasn’t dressed, and looked briefly conflicted.
He solved it by turning his back. “Go get some clothes on,’” he said. “Then I need to talk to you.’”
“What time is it?’” she asked. He didn’t answer, and she felt something sick take hold in her stomach. “Michael? What time is it?’”
“Just get dressed,’” he said. “And come downstairs.’”
She raced to her room, dropped the towel, and grabbed her little travel clock.
It was four a.m. Dawn was just a couple of hours away. “No,’” she whispered. “No…’” She’d been asleep for hours.
No time to waste, then. Claire put on underwear, jeans, and a T-shirt, grabbed her shoes and socks, and hurried to the stairs.
She stopped on the first step down when she heard Amelie’s voice. Amelie? In the house? Why? Sam, she kind of expected—not that Michael liked any vampires, but hey, he was family, right? And besides, Sam seemed okay. And sure enough, she caught sight of Sam’s copper-colored hair when she eased down another step; he was standing in the far corner, near the kitchen, with his arms folded.
Amelie and Michael were in the center of the room.
“Hey!’” Eve’s voice, coming from behind her, made her jump. Claire turned and saw Eve standing there in a thick black bathrobe, clothes in her arms. “I’m taking my shower. Tell them I’ll be there soon, okay?’”
Eve looked tired, her makeup sweated or smeared away. Claire felt guilty about using all the hot water. “Okay,’” she said, and edged another step down toward the living room. Eve’s footsteps creaked behind her, and the bathroom door closed. The water went on.
Claire heard Amelie say, “…can’t take it back. Do you understand? Once you make this choice, it is done. There can be no returning.’”
That didn’t sound good. No, that didn’t sound good at all. Claire still felt shaky and sick, as if she’d drunk half a gallon of that red punch at the party, and she didn’t feel in any shape to face Amelie again. Only so much scary she could deal with in one day. Maybe she’d just wait for Eve….
“I understand,’” Michael said. “But there isn’t a lot of choice anymore. I can’t live like this, trapped in this house. I need to leave. I can’t help Shane if I’m stuck here.’”
“You may not be able to help Shane at all,’” Amelie said coolly. “I would not base such a choice on the love of one friend. It may turn out badly for you both.’”
“Life is risk, right? So I have to risk it.’”
She shook her head. “Samuel, please speak to him. Explain.’”
Sam stirred from where he stood in the corner, but he didn’t come closer. “She’s right, kid. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You think you do, but…you don’t. You’ve got a good thing here—you’re alive; you’re safe; you have friends who care about you. Family. Stay where you are.’”
Michael let out a hollow laugh that sounded a little crazy. “Stay where I am? Jesus Christ, what choice do I have? This house is twenty-five hundred square feet of tomb. I’m not alive. I’m buried alive.’”
Sam shook his head and bent his head, avoiding Michael’s stare.
Amelie stepped closer to him. “Michael. Please think what you are asking. It is not only difficult for you; it is difficult for me. If I give you your freedom from this house, it comes at a terrible price. There will be great pain, and the loss of things that neither you nor I can fully name. What you are will change, and change forever. You would live and die at my command, do you understand? And you would never be even the half human you are now, never again.’” She shook her head slowly. “I believe you will regret this, and regret is like cancer to us. It rots our will to live.’”
“Yeah? What do you think it’s like, being trapped here when people need me?’” Michael asked. His fists were clenched, his face tense and flushed. “I’ve watched my girlfriend nearly get killed five feet away from me, and I couldn’t do anything because she was outside the house. Now it’s Shane, and he’s all alone out there. It couldn’t be worse than this, Amelie. Trust me. If you’re not going to save Shane, then you have to do this for me. Please.’”
He was asking Amelie for…what? Something she could do that would set him free? Claire eased down another step, and saw Sam’s eyes shift and lock on her. She expected him to say something, but he just gave her a very small shake of his head. Warning her.
She retreated back to the top of the stairs, hesitating. Maybe she should get Eve…. No, the shower was still running. She should wait. Michael wouldn’t do anything stupid…would he?
While she was hesitating, she heard Amelie say something that she couldn’t quite understand, except for one word.
“Vampire.’”
And she heard Michael say, “Yes.’”
“No!’” Claire jumped up and pelted down the steps, fast as she could, but before she could get to the bottom Sam was standing there, looking up at her. Blocking her path. She looked over the railing at Michael and Amelie, and saw Michael watching her.
He looked scared, but he gave her a smile—broken, like the one Shane had put on for her in the cage. Trying to show it didn’t matter.
“It’s okay, Claire,’” he said. “I know what I’m doing. This is the way it has to be.’”
“No, it doesn’t!’” She edged down another step, clinging to the rail
with both hands. She felt hot and disoriented again, but she figured if she was going to fall, at least Sam was there to cushion her. “Michael, please. Don’t do this!’”
“Oliver tried to make me a vampire. He made me into—’” Michael made a disgusted gesture at himself. “I’m half-alive, Claire, and there’s no going back. I can only go forward.’”
She couldn’t say anything to that, because he was right. Right at every point. He couldn’t go back to being just a regular guy; he couldn’t live with being stuck here, helpless. Maybe he could have, if Shane hadn’t been taken, but now…
“Michael, please.’” Her eyes were filling up with tears. “I don’t want you to change.’”
“Everybody changes.’”
“Not as you will,’” Amelie said. She was standing there like the Snow Queen, all perfect and white and smooth, nothing really human about her at all. “You will not be the man she knows, Michael. Or the one Eve loves. Will you risk that, too?’”
Michael took in a deep breath and turned back toward her. “Yes,’” he said. “I will.’”
Amelie stood in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Sam,’” she said. “Take the child away. This wants no witnesses.’”
“I’m not leaving!’” Claire said.
Yeah, good plan. Sam walked up three steps, scooped her into his arms, and carried her upstairs. Claire tried to grab for the railing, but her fingers slipped away. “Michael! Michael, no! Don’t do this!’”
Sam carried her to her room and dumped her on the bed, and before she could struggle up to a sitting position he was already outside, closing the door.
Later, thinking back on it, Claire couldn’t say if she heard the scream or felt it; either way, it seemed to vibrate through the bones and boards of the Glass House, through her head, and she moaned and clapped her hands over her ears. That didn’t stop it. The scream just went on and on, shrill and painful as a steam whistle, and Claire felt something…pull at her, like she was made of cloth, and a gigantic, malicious kid was yanking at her loose threads.
And then it just…stopped.
She slid off the bed, ran to the door, and opened it. Sam was nowhere to be seen. Eve was rushing out of the bathroom, clutching her bathrobe around her dripping body, her black hair plastered wet against her face. “What’s happening?’” she yelled. “Michael? Where’s Michael?’”