by Rachel Caine
No idea at all.
The sheriff kept them talking for hours, then locked them in the cell in the back. Shane went in one cell; Eve and Claire together in the other. All of their stuff was taken away, of course, including cell phones. Claire had erased the text messages, but she figured it was only a matter of time before the sheriff got them, anyway. And then he’d know for sure that Michael was out there, a fugitive from justice.
That sounded romantic, but probably wasn’t, especially since he was a vampire caught without shelter in the daytime.
She hoped he and Oliver had remembered to take the cooler of blood with them. They might really need it, especially if they got burned.
And here I am, worrying about a couple of vampires who can take care of themselves, she thought. I ought to be worrying a lot more about what’s going to happen when they call my parents. They would—and that would make it just about a million times worse.
“Hey,” Shane said from the other side of the bars. “Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar.”
“Funny,” Eve said. She was almost back to her old un-Gothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. “How come you’re always behind bars, troublemaker?”
“Look who’s talking. I didn’t try to outrun the cops in a hearse.”
“That hearse had horsepower.” Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. “I love that hearse.”
“Yeah, well, I hope it loves you back, because otherwise, that’s just sad. And a little sick.” Shane drummed his fingers on the bars. “This isn’t so bad. At least I’ve got better company this time around.” And he wasn’t scheduled to be turned into a vampire, or burned alive, but that kind of went without saying. “And they even have toilet paper.”
“Oh, I really didn’t need to hear that, Collins.” Eve sighed and paced around the cell again, hugging herself tight. “It tells me way too much about your past.”
Claire leaned into the bars. Shane leaned in from the other side, and their fingers brushed, then intertwined. “Hey,” he said. “So, this is familiar.”
“Not for me,” she said. “I’m usually outside the bars.”
“You’re doing fine.”
Claire smiled at him, then drew in a quick, shaking breath. “I have to tell you something,” she said. “It’s important.”
Shane’s fingers tightened on hers, and his index finger stroked gently over the silver claddagh ring, with its bright stone. “I know.”
“No, you don’t. I saw Oliver,” she whispered, quickly and as softly as she could. Clearly, that was not what Shane was expecting to hear, and she watched him go through a whole list of reactions before he finally settled on annoyed.
“Great,” he said. “When?”
“Outside the windows while they were talking to you,” Claire said.
“Was he barbecued?”
“No, he was wearing a big coat and hat. I don’t guess he was any too excited about being out in the daytime, though.”
“I guess barbecued was too much to hope for.” Shane fell silent as he thought about it, then finally shook his head. “They’ll wait for dark,” he said. “They’ll have to, whatever they plan to do; Michael’s just too vulnerable out there in the day. I wish we knew what they were doing.”
“I’m pretty sure they’re thinking the same thing about us,” Claire said. “Since they probably have no idea what happened. As far as they know, this hassle is all about Eve’s bad driving.”
“Hey, I heard that!” Eve said.
Shane smiled, but it was brief, and his dark brown eyes never left Claire’s. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I don’t like seeing you two in here.”
“Yeah, well, welcome to my world,” Claire said. “I haven’t enjoyed it much seeing you behind bars, either.” She laughed sadly. “This was supposed to be a fun little trip, remember? We should be in Dallas by now.”
“My dad used to say that life’s a journey, but somebody screwed up and lost the map.”
Claire wasn’t sure she wanted to think about his father right now. Frank Collins wasn’t the kind of ghost she wanted drifting around between them, especially since being in jail—again—probably made Shane think a lot about his dad. Not that Frank was a ghost. Unfortunately. He’d been a terrible, abusive father, and now he was a vampire, and she couldn’t really imagine that it had improved him all that much.
Even if he had saved her life once.
“As long as we’re together,” she said. “That’s what matters.”
“Speaking of that,” Shane said, “we could be together and headed anywhere when we get out of this, you know. I’m just putting that on the table.”
He was talking about not going back; about leaving Morganville. She’d been contemplating it, and she knew he had, too. “I—I can’t, Shane. My parents ...”
He bent his head closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Do you really think they want you to be there? Risking your life, every day? Don’t you think they want you out, and safe?”
“I can’t, Shane. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”
Shane was silent a moment, then let out a long breath. “I bet I could convince you if I could get through these bars....”
“You’d get arrested all over again.”
“Well, you’re just that tempting. Jailbait.” He kissed her fingers, which made her shiver all over; his lips lingered warm on her skin, reminding her of what it felt like to be alone with him, in that timeless, special silence. “Not a lot we can do until—” He stopped, then, frowning, looked over at the barred door that led into the sheriff’s office. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” Even as she asked it, Claire heard the growl of an engine outside—a big one. It had to be some kind of truck, maybe, but not just a pickup—a big delivery van, or an eighteen wheeler. The brakes sighed, and the roar of the engine cut out. “I guess they’re getting some sort of delivery, maybe?”
Maybe, but somehow, Claire didn’t think so. She had a bad feeling. From the way Shane was staring at the jail door—which wasn’t telling them anything—he was feeling the same thing.
And then in the outer office, glass crashed, someone yelled, and Claire heard laughter.
Then more crashing. More yelling.
Shane let go of her. “Claire, Eve—get to the back of the cell.” When they hesitated, he snapped, “Just go!”
They did it, not that there was anywhere in particular to go, or to hide. They sat together on one of the two small cots, close together, watching the jail door to see what would come through.
What came through wasn’t Oliver. It wasn’t even Michael.
It was Morley, the vampire from Morganville, in all his homeless-bum glory. He was dressed in layers of threadbare clothes, and he had a large, floppy black hat on his head over his straggly graying hair.
He looked at the bars on the jail cell door, sneered, and snapped the whole thing off its hinges with a heave. He tossed the iron aside as if it weighed next to nothing.
Morley stepped through the open space, surveyed the three of them, and swept off his hat in a low, mocking bow. He was good at the bowing thing. Claire supposed he’d probably had a lot of practice. He seemed old enough to have lived in a time when bowing well got you somewhere.
“Like lobsters in a tank,” he said. “I know we agreed you’d give up your blood to me, but really, this is just too easy.”
He smiled.
With fangs.
Claire got up and walked toward the bars. She didn’t like letting Morley—or any vampire—see she was afraid of him; from working with Myrnin in his crazy days—crazier?—she’d realized that showing fear was an invitation to them. One they found really hard to resist.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Because for a confusing few seconds, she thought that maybe Oliver had teamed up with Morley to rescue them. But that was flat-out impossible. The idea of Oliver and Morley ever being able to have a civilized conversati
on, much less actually work together, was completely ridiculous. “You’re not supposed to leave Morganville!”
“Ah, yes. Amelie’s rules.” He said that last word with a lot of relish, and there was a muddy red flare in his eyes to match. “Poor, dear Amelie is operating at a disadvantage these days. Rumors said she was unable to keep the boundaries of the town in quite the same condition they had been. I decided to test the theory, and behold. I am free.”
That was really, really not a good thing. Claire didn’t know a whole lot about Morley, but she knew he tended more to the bad-old-days model of vampire—take what you want, when you want, and don’t care about the consequences. The opposite of how Amelie—and even Oliver—ran things. To Morley, people were just blood bags that could talk—and sometimes outrun him, which only made it more exciting.
“They’ll come after you,” Claire said. “Amelie’s people. You know that.”
“And I look forward to seeing how that turns out for her.” Morley paced back and forth in front of the bars, humming a song Claire didn’t recognize. In the net of his wild hair, his eyes glittered with a kind of silvery light. They expressed not exactly hunger, but more like amusement. “You look cramped in there, my friends. Shall I get you out?”
“Actually, it’s pretty roomy,” Shane said. “I’m feeling better about it all the time.”
“Perhaps ...” Morley turned. “Ah, you’re playing the gentleman, I see. Of course, by all means. Ladies first.”
“No!” Shane lunged at the bars. Morley had his eyes fixed on Eve and Claire now, and Claire thought, with a sinking sensation, that putting on a brave face wasn’t going to get her very far—not with him. “Changed my mind. Sure. I’ll go first.”
Morley shook his finger gently in Shane’s direction, but without taking those shining eyes off the girls. “No, you had your chance. And I despise those who think themselves gentlemen in any case. You’re not making friends that way.”
“No!” Shane yelled, and slammed his hand into the bars, which rattled uneasily. “Over here, you ratty flea-bag! Come and get it!”
“Fleas suck blood,” Morley said mildly. “Quite the cousin of the vampire, those clever little creatures, so why should I find that insulting? You really must find more interesting ways to bait me, boy. Tell me my beard would better stuff a butcher’s cushion. Or that I have more hair than wit. Live up to your heritage, I beg you.”
Shane had no idea what to say to that. Claire cleared her throat. “Like ... you’re... an inhuman wretch, void and empty from any dram of mercy?” She hated Shakespeare. But she’d had to memorize lines back in high school for a production of The Merchant of Venice.
And it had finally paid off, from the surprise in Morley’s face. He actually took a step back.
“It speaks!” he said. “And in lilting, glorious words. Though I am not so partial to the Bard, myself. He was a pitiful man to drink with, always dashing off to scribble away in the dark. Writers. Such a boring lot.”
“What are you doing here? Because I know you didn’t come to get us,” Claire said. She advanced and wrapped her hands around the bars, as though she wasn’t at all afraid of him. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heartbeat, but she knew he could. “We’re not important enough.”
“Well, that’s certainly true. You’re entirely incidental. Actually, we’re in search of a town. Something small, remote, easily controllable. This seemed a good possibility, but it’s rather too large for our purposes.”
We. Morley hadn’t just slipped out of Morganville alone. Claire remembered the big, throbbing engine outside. Might be a big truck. Might be a bus. Either way, it would probably hold a lot of vampires—like the ones Morley had applied to be allowed to leave Morganville with in the first place.
Oh, this just got better and better.
“You can’t just move in here,” Claire said, trying to sound reasonable, as if that would do any good. She let go of the bars and backed away as Morley took a step toward her again. “People live here.”
“Indeed, I’m not planning on it. Too much trouble to subdue such a large population. However, we’re in need of supplies, and this town’s quite well stocked. Couldn’t be better.” Morley suddenly lunged forward, grabbed the bars of their cell, and ripped the door off—just like that, with a shriek of iron and sharp snapping sounds.
Eve, behind Claire, screamed, and then the sound went muffled, as if she’d covered her mouth.
Claire didn’t move. There didn’t seem to be much point. Shane was yelling something, and for some odd reason the place on her neck hurt, the place where Myrnin had bitten her, where there was still a nasty scar.
Morley stood there for a moment, hands on both sides of the doorway, and then stepped inside. He glided, like a tiger. And his eyes turned red, the irises lighting up the glittering color of blood.
“Get down!” somebody yelled from behind him, and Claire hit the floor, not daring to hesitate even for a second. There was a loud roar that it took her a second to identify as gunfire, and Morley staggered and went down to one knee.
The sheriff looked dazed, and there was blood on the side of his head, but he held his gun very steady. “Get down, mister,” he said. “Don’t make me shoot you again.”
Morley slowly toppled forward, face-forward, on the floor. The sheriff breathed a sigh of relief and gestured for Eve and Claire to come out. Claire did, jumping over Morley’s outstretched hand and expecting that any second, any second at all, he’d reach up and grab her, just like in the movies.
He didn’t. Eve hesitated for a few seconds, then jumped for it, clearing Morley by at least a couple of feet, straight up. The sheriff grabbed them and hustled them off to the side, then unlocked Shane’s cell. “Out,” he said. “Help me get him inside.”
“It won’t do any good to lock him up,” Shane said. “He already ripped off two of your doors. You want him to go for three?”
The sheriff had clearly been trying not to think about that. “What the hell are these people?” he snarled. “Some kind of damn monsters?”
“Some kind of,” Shane said. He’d put his hands on Claire, and now he wrapped his arms around her, and after a second, included Eve in the hug, too. “Thanks. I know you don’t believe us, but we’re not the bad guys here.”
“I’m starting to think you might be right about that.”
“What gave you your first clue? The fangs, or the door ripping?” Shane didn’t wait for an answer. “He’s not dead. He’s playing with you.”
“What?”
“You can’t kill him with that thing,” Eve said. “Can’t even slow him down, really.”
The sheriff whirled to stare at Morley, who was still facedown on the floor. He aimed his gun at the body again and kept it there.
Morley didn’t move.
“No, he’s down,” the sheriff said, and walked over to press fingers to Morley’s dirty neck. He yanked his hand away quickly, stumbling back. “He’s cold.”
Morley laughed, rolled over, and sat up, doing his very best risen-from-the-grave imitation. It helped that he was filthy and looked kind of crazy scary.
The sheriff backed away, far away, all the way to the wall, then aimed his gun at Morley and pulled the trigger, again.
Morley brushed his clothes lightly, dismissing the bullet even before the echoes from the shockingly loud gunshot stopped ringing in Claire’s ears. “Please,” he said, and practically levitated to his feet. He reached out and took the sheriff’s gun from him, then tossed it in the corner of the cell where Eve and Claire had been kept. “I hate loud noises. Unless it’s screaming. Screaming’s all right. Let me demonstrate.”
He reached out and grabbed the sheriff around the neck.
Something pale and very fast flashed through the doorway, and suddenly another vampire was there—Patience Goldman, with her slender hand wrapped around Morley’s wrist. She was a dark-haired young woman, pretty, with big dark eyes and skin that would have probably been olive had s
he still been alive. It added a honey undertone to her pallor.
“No,” Patience said. Claire had met her—and the entire Goldman family—more than once. She liked them, actually. For vampires, they had real concern for other people-as demonstrated by Patience’s trying to keep Morley from killing the sheriff. “There’s no need for this.”
Morley looked offended, and shoved her back with his free hand. “Do not lay hands on me, woman! This is none of your concern.”
“We came to—get supplies,” Patience said. She seemed uncomfortable with that, and Claire immediately realized that supplies was code for people-to eat. “We have what we need. Let’s go. The longer we delay, the more attention we attract. It’s unnecessary risk!”
Patience and Jacob, her brother, had been hanging out with Morley for a while, and they’d wanted to break out of Morganville, and their parents’ restrictions—Theo Goldman was a good guy, but kind of strict, as far as his family went, or at least that had been Claire’s impression. Claire could easily believe that Morley had convinced Patience and Jacob to come along, since he was leaving, anyway, but she also didn’t believe they’d go along with killing people.
Not unnecessarily, anyway. Vampires in general were a little shaky on the details of morality in that area—a hazard of being top predator, Claire guessed.
“Hmmm,” Morley said, and turned his gaze back to the sheriff. “She does have a point. Fortunately for you.” He released the man, who slammed back against the wall, looking sick and shaky. “Stay. If you move, speak, or in any way irritate me, I’ll snap your neck.”
The sheriff froze in place, clearly taking it all very seriously. Claire didn’t really blame him. She remembered her first encounter with vampires, her first realization that the world wasn’t the neatly ordered place she’d always been told it was. It could really mess up your head.
In fact, she wasn’t entirely sure hers had ever recovered, come to think of it.
She was just starting to relax when Morley reached out and grabbed her and Eve by the arms. When Shane yelled a protest, Morley squeezed, and Claire felt agony shoot in a white bolt up her arm. Yeah, that was almost broken.