by Rachel Caine
He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, and Claire’s heart just ... stopped. She thought she might faint. The top of her head felt very hot, and the rest of her felt very cold, and all she could look at was the box in his hand.
He wasn’t. He couldn’t.
Was he?
Shane was looking at the box, too. He turned it in his fingers restlessly. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “It’s not—look, it’s a ring, but I don’t want you to think—” He opened the box and showed her what was inside.
It was a beautiful little ring, silver, with a red stone in the shape of a heart, and hands holding it on either side. “It’s a claddagh ring,” he said. “It belonged to my sister, Alyssa. My mom gave it to her. It was in Alyssa’s locker at school when she—when the house burned.” When Alyssa died. When Shane’s life completely collapsed around him.
Tears burned in Claire’s eyes. The ring glittered, silver and red, and she couldn’t look at Shane’s face. She thought that might destroy her. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “But you’re not asking—”
“No, Claire.” He suddenly sank to his knees, as if the strength had just gone out of him. “I suck, I know, but I can’t do something like that, not yet. I’m ... Look, family doesn’t mean to me what it means to you. Mine fell apart. My sister, my mom—and I can’t even think about my dad. But I love you, Claire. That’s what this means. That I love you. Okay?”
She looked up at him then, and felt tears break free to run hot down her cheeks. “I love you, too,” she said. “I can’t take the ring. It means—it means too much to you. It’s all you have left of them.”
“That’s why it’s better if you have it,” he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand. “Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don’t want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future.” He didn’t blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. “You’re the future, Claire.”
Her head felt light and empty, her whole body hot and cold, shaking and strong.
She reached out and took the velvet box. She pulled the ring out and looked at it. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “Are you sure—”
“Yes. I’m sure.”
He took the ring from her and tried it on her right hand. It fit perfectly on the third finger.
Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and it was definitely better than Michael had done it, definitely sexier, and Claire dropped to her knees with him; then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry, and they fell back together to the throw rug next to the bed, and stayed there, locked in each other’s arms, until the chill finally drove them up to the bed.
3
Of all the mornings Claire didn’t want to get up, the next one was the worst. She woke up warm and drowsy, cuddled like a spoon against Shane, their hands clasped even in sleep. She felt great. Better than any day, ever, in her whole life.
In the still hush of early morning, she tried to freeze the moment, the sound of his soft, steady breathing, the feel of him relaxed and solid next to her.
I want this, she thought. Every day. For life. Forever.
And then her alarm clock went off, shrieking.
Claire flailed and slapped at it, then succeeded in knocking it to the floor. She dived for it and finally got it switched off, feeling like a complete fool that she’d ever left it on in the first place. She twisted around and saw Shane had opened his eyes, but hadn’t otherwise moved. He looked drowsy and sweet and lazy, hair mussed, and she leaned back down to kiss him, sweet and slow.
His arms went around her, and it felt so natural, so perfect, that she felt that glow again, that feeling of absolute rightness.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re cute when you’re panicked.”
“Just when I’m panicked?”
“Ouch. Yeah, that didn’t come out as absolutely complimentary as I’d planned. And you hang around Eve way too much.” His fingers drew lazy circles on her back, which felt like trails of sunlight. “What’s the plan for today? Because I’m in favor of nothing but this.”
She so wanted that, too. But there was a reason her alarm had gone off. “I have class,” she said with a sigh.
“Skip it.” He kissed her bare shoulder.
“I—you’ve got work! Remember? Sharp pointy knives and beef to chop?”
“Fun as that is, this is better.”
Well, his arguments were persuasive. Really persuasive. For about another thirty minutes, and then Claire forced herself to get up, grab the shower before Shane could get to it, and try to get her mind off the fact that he was lying in her bed.
And he still was when she came back in to grab her backpack. His hands were behind his head, and he looked ridiculously satisfied with the world—and with himself.
She smacked his bare foot, which was sticking out from under the sheet. “Get up, Lord of the Barbecue.”
“Ha. Don’t have to yet. You’re the one who had the bad idea to sign up for seven a.m. classes. Me, I go to work at a sensible hour.”
“Well, you’re not lying around in my bed all day, so get up. I don’t trust you alone in here.”
His smile was wicked and really, really dangerous. “Probably a good idea,” he said. “Not that you can exactly trust me in here when you’re with me.”
Oh, she was not going to climb back in bed with him. She was not. She had things to do. After gulping in a few deep breaths, she leaned over, gave him a quick kiss, avoided his grabby hands, and dashed to the door. “Out of my bed,” she said. “I mean it.”
He yawned. She grinned and shut the door on her way out.
Downstairs, the coffeepot was already brewing, and Michael was sitting at the table, a laptop computer open in front of him. She was a little surprised; Michael wasn’t really the computer type. He had one, and she supposed he had e-mail and stuff, but he wasn’t always on it or anything. Not like most people their age. (Not like her, honestly.)
He looked up at her, then down at the screen, and then back up, to stare at her as if he’d never seen her before.
“What?” she asked. “Don’t tell me some of Kim’s skanky home video made YouTube.” That was something she really didn’t ever want to think about again. Kim and her little sneaky spying habits. Kim and her plans to make herself a star with all her hidden video cameras recording every aspect of life in Morganville.
Yeah, that hadn’t gone so well for Kim, in the end.
He shook his head and went back to the computer. “I’ve been checking about the studio, the recording session, you know? They’re serious, Claire. They want me in there on Thursday.”
“Really?” She grabbed a cup of coffee and slid into a chair across from him, then doctored up her drink with milk and sugar. “So we have to leave Thursday morning?”
“No, I’m thinking we leave tonight. Just in case. And besides, it gives us some time to get used to Dallas, and I don’t want to travel during the day.” Right. Vampires. Road trip. Sunlight. Probably not the best idea.
“We can’t take your car, can we? I mean, the tinting’s not legal outside of Morganville.”
“Yeah. Which is another reason for night driving. I figure we can take Eve’s car. It’s roomy and it’s got a big trunk, in case.”
In case they got caught in the sun, he meant. Claire tapped her fingers on the coffee cup, thinking. “What about supplies?” she said. “You know.”
“I’ll stop at the blood bank and pick up a cooler,” he said. “To go.”
“Seriously? They do that?”
“You’d be surprised. We can even put Cokes in there, too.”
That didn’t seem too sanitary, somehow. Claire tried not to think about it. “How long are we going to be gone?”
“If we leave tonight and I do the demo on Thursday during the day, we could be back on Friday night. Or Saturday, depending on what kind of stuff you guys want to do. I’m easy.”
That made Clai
re remember something. “Uh—you know we’re going to have an escort, right?”
“Escort?” Michael frowned. “What kind of escort?” Claire mimed fangs. Michael rolled his eyes. “Perfect. Who?”
“No idea. All I know is Amelie’s letter said we had to clear our departure time with Oliver.”
Michael kept on frowning. He reached for his cell phone and dialed as he sipped more coffee. “It’s Michael,” he said. “I hear we have to clear leaving town with you. We’re planning on going tonight, around dusk.”
His face went entirely blank as he listened to whatever Oliver said on the other end. Michael didn’t say anything at all.
Finally, he put the coffee cup down and said, “Do we have a choice?” Pause. “I didn’t think so. We’ll meet you there.”
He hung up, carefully laid the cell phone down on the table next to his coffee, and sank back in his chair, eyes closed. He looked—indescribable, Claire decided. It was as if there were so many things inside him fighting to come out that he couldn’t decide which one to let off the leash first.
“What?” she finally asked, half afraid to even try.
Eyes still shut, Michael said, “We’ve got an escort, all right.”
“Who?”
“Oliver.”
Claire set down her own coffee cup with a thump that slopped brown liquid over the rim. “What?”
“I know.”
“We have to be trapped in a car with Oliver?”
“I know.”
“So much for the fun. Fun all gone.”
He sighed and finally opened his eyes. She knew that look; she remembered it from when she’d first met him. Bitter and guarded. Hurt. Trapped. Then, he’d been a ghost, unable to leave this house, caught between human and vampire.
Now he was just as trapped, only instead of the house, his boundaries were the town limits. He’d felt, for the last few hours, as if he could break free, be someone else.
Oliver had just taken that away from him.
“I’m sorry,” Claire said. He shut the computer, unplugged it, and stood up. He didn’t meet her eyes again.
“Be ready at six,” he said. “Tell Shane. I’ll tell Eve.”
She nodded. He kept his head down as he walked toward the kitchen door. When he got there, he stopped for a few seconds without turning back to look at her. “Thanks,” he said. “Sucks, you know?”
“I know.”
Michael laughed bitterly. “Shane would have said, And so do you. ”
“I’m not Shane.”
“Yeah.” He still didn’t turn around. “I’m glad you’re happy with him. He’s a good guy, you know.”
“Michael—”
He was already gone by the time she said his name, just the swinging door left behind. There was no sense chasing him. He wanted to brood in private.
She called Shane to tell him what time they were leaving, but not about Oliver. Frankly, she didn’t want to have that grief just yet. She went on to class. After her early ones, she had a two-hour break, which meant she had things to do, so she could leave town with a clear conscience.
And besides, she’d been looking forward to this since she’d first thought of it.
First step—she walked the few blocks from campus to Common Grounds, Oliver’s coffee shop, and ordered up a mocha. He was behind the bar—a tall older man, with hippie hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt under his coffee-stained apron. When he was serving customers, you’d never know he was a vampire, much less one of the meanest she’d ever met.
Mocha in hand, Claire texted Monica’s cell. Meet me at Common Grounds ASAP.
She got back an immediate Btr B good.
Oh, it would be.
Claire sipped and waited, and Monica eventually rolled up in her hot red convertible; no Gina and Jennifer this time. Monica seemed to be getting out more and more without her backup singers, which was interesting. Claire supposed even they were getting tired of providing constant on-demand validation.
Monica blew in the front door of the shop in a dress that was too short for her, but showed off her long tanned legs; the swirl of wind almost made it illegal. She shoved her expensive sunglasses up on top of her glossy black hair and scanned the room. The sneer that twisted her full lips was probably mostly reflex.
After putting in her coffee order, Monica slipped into a chair across from Claire. “Well?” she said, and dropped her tiny purse on the table. “Like I said, this had better be good.”
When Oliver brought over Monica’s coffee, Claire said, “Would you mind staying for a minute?”
“What?”
“As a moderator.” Oliver was a broker of deals in Morganville. Common Grounds was a key place where humans and vampires could meet, mingle in safety, and reach all kinds of agreements that Oliver would witness and enforce.
Pretty rarely between humans, though.
Oliver shrugged and sat down between the two girls. “All right. Make it quick.”
Monica already looked thunderously angry, so Claire spoke first. “Monica made a deal with me for test answers. I want you to witness me handing them over.”
Oliver’s eyebrows twitched up, and the look on his face was bitterly amused. “You’re asking me to witness a schoolyard transaction for cheating. How ... quaint.”
Claire didn’t wait. She pushed over a thumb drive toward Monica. “There’s an electronic file on there,” she said. “It’s password protected. If you can figure out the password, you can have the answers.”
Monica’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
“You said I had to give them to you. I did. That’s what I wanted Oliver to see. Now you have them, so we’re done. No comebacks. Right?”
“You put them under a password?”
“One you can guess,” Claire said. “If you did the homework. Or can read fast.”
“You little bitch.” Monica’s hand flashed out—not for the thumb drive, but for Claire’s arm. She crushed it to the table, her nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. “I told you, I’ll fry your ass.”
“With you, I know that’s not an empty threat,” Claire said. “Alyssa Collins is proof of that.”
Monica went very still, and something flickered across her eyes—shock? Maybe even regret and guilt. “I’m not taking this thing. You give me the answers without the password.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “Did you specify how she had to give you the answers?”
“No,” Claire said. “She just said I had to. I did. Hey, this is the nicest way I could have done it. I could have given it to her in Latin or something.”
“Let go of her,” Oliver said mildly. When Monica didn’t, his tone turned icy. “Let. Go.”
She pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest, glaring at Claire, her jaw set hard. “This isn’t over.”
“It is,” Oliver said. “Not her fault you made a poor definition of what it was you wanted from her. She satisfied all requirements. She’s even given you a reasonable chance of discovering the password. Take it and walk away, Monica.”
“This isn’t over,” Monica repeated, ignoring him. When she reached for the thumb drive, Oliver’s pale, strong hand slapped down over it, and over her fingers, holding her in place. Monica yelped. It must have hurt.
“Look at me,” he said. Monica blinked and focused on his face, and Claire saw her pupils widen. Her lips parted a little. “Monica Morrell, you are my responsibility. You owe me respect, and you owe me obedience. And you will leave Claire Danvers alone. If you have cause to attack her, you will tell me first. I will decide whether or not you can take action. And you do not have my permission. Not for this.” He let go. Monica yanked her hand back and cradled it against her chest. “Now, take your business and your coffee elsewhere. Both of you.”
Monica reached out and snatched up the small memory stick. As she did, Claire said, “The thumb drive cost me ten bucks.” Monica’s glare reached nuclear levels, but since Oliver was still sitting there, sh
e dug in her tiny purse, found a crumpled ten-dollar bill, and flung it over the table to Claire. She smoothed it out, smiled, and put it in her pocket.
“If you’re quite finished,” Oliver said. “Leave. Monica, go first. I won’t have you doing anything messy. I’m not your maid.”
Monica sent him a look that was definitely not a glare; it was much more scared than angry. She picked up her purse, the coffee, and stalked to the door. She didn’t look back as she piled into her convertible and burned rubber pulling out.
“One of these days,” Oliver said, still looking toward the street, “you’re going to be too clever for your own good, Claire. You do realize that.”
She did, actually. But sometimes, it was just impossible to do anything else.
“I guess you’re coming with us tonight?”
Oliver turned his head to look at her this time, and there was something so cold and distant in his eyes that she shivered. “Did you hear me when I told you to leave? I don’t like being used to settle your problems.”
She swallowed, picked up her stuff, and left.
The afternoon was spent with Myrnin at his freaky mad-scientist lab, which was actually much nicer after the renovations he’d done: new equipment; computers; nice bookcases; decent lighting instead of crazy turn-of-last-century things that emitted sparks when you tried to turn them off or on.
Still, no matter how nice the decor, Myrnin was never less than half crazy. He was under pressure from Amelie, Claire knew; with the death—could computers die?—of Ada, the town’s master computer; he was struggling to figure out a way to make a replacement, but without putting a human brain into it, which Claire strongly discouraged, seeing how well that had worked out with Ada, and the fact that Claire herself was almost certainly the next candidate.
“Computers,” Myrnin said, then shoved the laptop she’d put out for him aside and glared at it as if it had personally insulted him. “The technology is entirely idiotic. Who built this? Baboons?”
“It works fine,” Claire said, and took command of the computer to bring up the interface she’d designed. “All you have to do is explain to me how Ada was connected into the portal and security systems, and I can build some kind of connector. You can run it right from this screen. See?” She’d even gotten an art student at the school to design the interface in a steampunky kind of way, which she thought would make him feel more at home. Myrnin continued to frown at it, but in a less aggressive way. “Try it. Just touch the screen.”