by Rachel Caine
“Can you call him?”
“No phones,” he said. “They went dark. I don’t think we’re going to see him again, Eve.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing?” she said. “I mean, maybe out there he can find something else. Something happy that’s not—this.” She meant Morganville, and Michael understood. She knew he did, and their eyes met and held.
“I’d like to believe there’s still something happy here,” he said, and her heart lurched, then sped up. He couldn’t mean that the way she wanted to take it. He couldn’t. And as she obsessed over it, he hurried right on. “Speaking of unhappy things, though, Monica wiggled off the hook. Said she was nowhere near the Collins place when it went up, and got her friends to back her up on it. So if she did it, she’s definitely going to get away with it.”
That made Eve’s blood beat faster in her veins, and she wanted to punch something. Someone. As she stared off into space, she realized she was staring straight at a pink poster with a cartoon heart on it.
She smiled slowly, and pointed. Michael followed her gesture to look at the poster.
“I say we find out what Monica’s got going with this blood drive crap,” she said. “It’s today, right? Maybe we can ruin her day some other way, Michael. Are you in?”
“Are you kidding?” He gave her a smile, a full one, and it was glorious. It was also a little crazy. “I’m all in. Got to look out for each other now, right?”
“Right,” she said, and tried to control the rush of heat that came over her. “Right.”
• • •
Signing up for the blood drive was suspiciously easy; there were only about ten names on the list, and four of them had been crossed off. Rude comments were written about the remaining six, which might or might not be valid. Eve boldly scrawled her name and Michael’s at the bottom, just as Gina, Monica’s BFF / attack dog, came up to grab the sheet off the board. She was dressed for a party, not school, but that was the typical look Monica’s gang went for. Always ready for the camera, not so much for the tests.
Well, Eve probably spent as much time at the makeup table, to be fair, but she felt the results were much more valid. And besides, she studied. Occasionally.
“Seriously?” Gina said, and speared Eve with a scorching look. “You’re giving blood? That’s bullshit.”
“I help babies,” Eve said frostily. “And, you know, old people. Who need blood. Like, you know, normal people do, which I suppose doesn’t include you.”
Gina gave her one of her patented bitchy, half-crazy smiles. The glitter in her eyes was more like the light off the edge of a razor than humor. “Normal? That’s hilarious, Necro Girl. I don’t think they take donations from freaky pervs who want to sleep with dead people and probably already have some rank disease.”
Michael stepped up. That was all, just took one simple step forward, and he met Gina’s eyes. The stare held for a few long seconds, but Michael didn’t blink. He seemed so quiet that it made all the hubbub and roar of the normal school hallway seem to fade into absolute silence.
Eve held her breath. Michael didn’t fight; he rarely even got into arguments. But there was something like steel inside of him that just . . . didn’t . . . bend.
Gina’s brittle edge hit it and shattered, and she looked away with a sneer. “Whatever, not my problem. Take it up with the bloodsuckers on board. Who knows? Maybe you’ll never make it out. That would improve our landscape.”
She flounced off with the paper clutched in one hand. Michael watched her go, then took in a slow breath and relaxed.
Eve punched him in the shoulder. “Damn, boy, you scary,” she said. “I had no idea.”
“I live in Morganville,” Michael said, and flashed her a warm, fast grin that just about broke her heart. “Scary comes standard-issue, right?”
He walked off, in the direction Gina had gone, and after pausing to really appreciate that Michael Glass—Michael Glass—had stood up for her, Eve dashed off in his wake.
• • •
The Bloodmobile was parked outside in the school lot, and it stood out like a sleek, black-painted shark. The bold red blood drop on the side looked real and fresh, and nauseatingly three-dimensional. For the first time, Eve had the thought that it might be a terrible idea to go inside there voluntarily. Legend said that sometimes people didn’t come out.
Maybe it ate them.
She caught up to Michael at the rickety metal steps just as he was reaching for the handle of the door. “Michael . . .”
He knew where she was coming from; she could tell from the smile he gave her. “We’re okay,” he said. “I don’t know about you, but I’d rather do something than just—pretend. I’m doing this for Shane.”
For Shane. Eve took in a deep breath and nodded. She hoped it looked resolute.
Then they were inside the dark belly of the beast.
Which was . . . surprisingly well lit, and filled with plush donation chairs that looked more like fancy recliners than terrifying instruments of torture . . . though the built-in restraints looked less than reassuring.
All the couches were empty, and there were two attendants standing quietly, watching as Eve hesitantly walked down the narrow aisle. “Um, hi?” she said. “I’m on the list?” There was no way she could manage to make that a declarative statement. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I mean, I hear it’s for a good cause; is that right?”
“Smooth,” Michael murmured behind her, and she caught herself in a frantic giggle and turned it into a fake cough that turned real, and distressingly deep. One of the attendants—the taller woman with short, neatly trimmed dark hair—opened up a cooler and took out a bottled water, which she handed Eve. Eve popped the cap and drank frantically, and the cough finally stopped tickling her throat.
“Morganville General is low on plasma and platelets,” the woman confirmed. She didn’t sound very concerned about it, and Eve began to think that the lighting in this bus was more about making everyone’s skin look falsely pink than being reassuring. Because she was starting to think both of the lab coats were vamps. “Why don’t you take the couch on the right, dear.”
“Aren’t you supposed to do some kind of test first, or questionnaire, or . . .” Eve had Googled that part. She knew how it was supposed to go.
“We’ve got an in-seat system,” the attendant said. “No waiting.”
Michael moved up closer behind Eve, and despite everything, she couldn’t help but notice how deliciously warm he was. She pressed back against him. It wasn’t deliberate, but she just found herself touching him, and it felt so good.
He didn’t move back, either.
“Want me to go first?” he asked Eve. She turned her head and looked at him; at this extremely close distance, his blue eyes were even more stunning than usual, and for a second she couldn’t think what the answer to that question would be. Or even that there was a question. It wasn’t until the corner of his mouth quirked a little (because he knew exactly what she was thinking, dammit—she could tell) that she jerked herself out of her trance and straightened up to stop leaning on him.
“No,” she said, with as much dignity and courage as she could manage. (It wasn’t much.) “I’m okay. I mean, you only need a pint, right?” A pint seemed like what donations were supposed to be. According to Google.
“We’d of course much prefer a larger donation,” the chilly lady said, with a smile that didn’t seem like a smile at all. More like she’d studied what smiles meant.
“Yeah,” Michael said. “Can we talk to someone in charge about that? I have a cousin who works at Morganville General. Seems like they actually don’t need extra blood right now. I checked.”
That was a record-scratch moment, and Eve was caught just as off guard by it as the vamps. Could have told me that, she tried to eye-communicate to Michael; she wasn’t sure if she just looked sca
red, though. She felt scared, but Michael . . . looked totally calm. She didn’t want to assume she could read him that well, but she thought he was trying to silently tell her, I’ve got this.
The vampires in charge of the Bloodmobile hadn’t expected any lip from mere high school humans, she could tell; the one that had been talking to her seemed annoyed, but the other one, the leaner, Asian one, seemed more amused. “All right,” he said. “So if you know the blood’s not for the hospital, why show up? Most of you have better survival skills.”
“I’ve got excellent survival skills,” Eve said. “Want to see me run away screaming?”
“I’m not in the mood for fast food.” Wow, a vampire with a sense of humor as sharp as his teeth. She could almost appreciate that. “You’re in no danger, I promise. Yes, the blood’s being put to another use. Research.”
“Research,” Michael repeated. “Want to explain what that means exactly?”
“No.”
“Then how do Monica and her Mean Girl posse come into it?” Eve cut in. “Because they’re definitely getting a cut, right? Not of the blood, because, ew, I don’t think they swing that way.”
The female vampire walked away to flip through some paperwork. The male Asian vamp crossed his arms and gazed at her with thoughtful intensity, which made her way more nervous. “The mayor’s daughter receives a fee for each donor she secures,” he said.
“You have an entire town full of donors already,” Michael pointed out. “Why this? Why the high school?”
“The blood of children is different from that of adults. We’d rather have the donors very young, but your age group is a compromise we can accept.”
Creep. Eeeeee. Eve swallowed and looked at Michael. This time, she hoped what she was sending was Let’s just get out of here now. Monica was getting a bounty for lining up her classmates for the needle. That was really all they needed to know, because as social ammunition went, it would fire pretty well.
But Michael wasn’t done. She was starting to recognize that look in his eyes, and it worried her. “What kind of research are you talking about? What are you trying to do, breed a better class of cow? Or are we just not as tasty anymore?”
The vampire exchanged a lightning-fast look with his colleague, and Eve felt the mood change. Michael had said something that made them worried.
“Perhaps you should come with us for better answers,” the friendlier vamp said, although he was far from friendly now. “Please. Sit down. We’re finished here, anyway.”
The female vamp moved to the front of the vehicle and got in the driver’s seat. Eve bolted for the exit, but of course the other vamp was there ahead of her, a blur in her vision for an instant and then, bam, right in the way. She skidded to a halt, bracing herself on the padded donation chairs on either side, and stared at him as he slowly smiled. No fangs, which was nice, but it still gave her a solid chill.
“Get out of the way,” Michael said, coming up behind her. She moved, but he wasn’t talking to her. “Let us out. Now.”
“Sorry,” the vamp said. “Can’t do that. You have a few too many questions to—”
The door behind him suddenly opened, and the vamp almost toppled backward, which would have been funny as hell, but he caught himself and whirled around to face the newcomer—a man dressed in a smothering trench coat, hat, gloves, and sunglasses.
“Sorry,” said Michael’s grandfather, Sam Glass, in the mildest possible tone. “Am I interrupting something? I came to get my grandson.”
Sam Glass was a vampire—a young one, hence all the layers. Without them, he was eerily like Michael in a lot of ways—curling hair that he wore a little shaggy and long, a strong and gorgeous face, the same ocean blue eyes. His hair was more red than blond, and he looked physically to be maybe late twenties . . . but damn, if it wasn’t clear they were related. Brothers, maybe.
But Sam Glass had died long ago, and it was all a weirdly complicated family situation at Glass Christmas dinners.
Sam was the youngest vamp of Morganville by a long stretch, but rumors were he was also a favorite of Amelie’s, and nobody messed with what the Founder liked without risking a painful lesson.
So the Asian guy in charge of the Bloodmobile faked a smile, bowed slightly, and moved out of the way. His eyes tracked Sam as he entered and gestured to Michael. “Come on, kid,” Sam said. “Time to go.”
“Not without Eve,” Michael said. “Sam, I can’t leave her.”
Eve couldn’t read Sam’s expression, and his eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, so she just didn’t know what he was thinking about that. She hoped she didn’t look as terrified as she felt, because if Sam decided Eve didn’t much matter, well . . . she expected this to be her last ride before a well-padded coffin.
“Sure,” Sam said. “You were coming to dinner tonight, weren’t you, Eve? I’ll give you a ride home so you can get ready.”
“Thanks, sir,” she whispered. Her mouth was very dry, and her hands were shaking.
Michael put his arm around her and guided her to the exit. Sam gave her a hand down the stairs, and the warm leather of his gloves felt almost like human skin. That gave her another instinctual shiver. She decided she liked the heat of Michael’s touch much better.
Sam folded up the stairs to the Bloodmobile’s door and shut it, and they all watched as it glided away, sleek as a barracuda. Then Michael’s grandfather hustled them into the shade, stripped off his hat and glasses, and said, “Are you both insane, or just stupid? Why would you go in there if you didn’t have to?”
“Good question,” Eve said, and laughed. It was hysterical laughter, and she clapped her hands over her mouth to try to shut it off. The giggles kept escaping, and she had to blink hard to keep tears from leaking, too. “Seemed like a good idea at the time . . . ?”
“We wanted to know why Monica was strong-arming our classmates for blood donations,” Michael said. “Do you know?” That was . . . blunt. Edging in on aggressive, Eve thought.
Sam gave his grandson a steady look, then changed the subject. “Leave the mayor’s daughter alone, Michael. She’s not worth your time. People like that self-destruct, or they change, but it’s up to her, not you.”
“She’s done a lot of damage,” Michael said. “What about what she did to Shane and his family?”
“I’m sorry about your friend, but he and his parents are gone now. They’re out of Morganville. Stop thinking about revenge and start thinking about your future, kids.”
“Oh, I have,” Michael shot back. “I’m getting the hell out of this place as soon as I can. I already talked to Mom and Dad about it. They’re planning to move—didn’t you know? They’ve already applied and gotten exit papers to go to the East Coast so Mom can get her surgery next year. And once I’m eighteen, I’m gone.”
“I know about your parents,” Sam said. “I support their decision. Yours, I’m not so sure. Morganville is all you know, Michael. You have no idea how hard the world outside can be for a kid on his own.”
“I’m not a kid,” Michael said. “Stop calling me one, Grandpa.”
He pushed off and walked away into the school, leaving Sam standing there. Eve felt weirdly awkward, and she reached out to pat the man’s arm just a little. “Sorry,” she said. “He, ah, probably didn’t mean that. He’s just upset.”
“I know,” Sam said. “It’s not easy for him, with a sick mom; losing his best friend only makes it that much worse. I’m glad he still has you.”
“Has me? Uh . . . I’m just . . .” Eve scrambled for some kind of definition for what she was. “A friend.”
“He needs friends,” Sam said. There was a distant, sad look in those blue eyes now, but he still smiled at her. “We all do. What I said to him goes for you, too, Eve. Leave Monica Morrell alone.”
“The question is, how do I get her to leave me alone?”
He shook his head, put on his hat and sunglasses, and went out into the sun, walking fast.
Eve winced at the bright stab of sunlight, and went into the school. Michael was nowhere to be found . . . but later, she found a note stuffed into her locker. She opened it carefully; Monica and her buds were always writing hate mail. But this just read simply THANKS, and had a little guitar drawn at the bottom . . . and she knew it was from him.
“Love notes?” Monica’s voice came from right over her shoulder, and Eve almost tore the paper in half as she convulsively shivered. She turned, banging into the lockers hard enough to leave a bruise, and shoved the note back into the depths of her book stash. “Who’s it from, Stinky George? Has to be somebody from the bottom of the loser pile.”
Leave Monica alone. She almost heard Sam’s voice in her ear, but what did he know, really, about being a girl trapped in a high school hallway with someone who ate the weak alive?
Eve turned, looked Monica full in the face, and said, “George might be bath-challenged, but he’s smarter than you, and he can always take a shower. You’ll always be as dumb as a supersized bag of stupid.”
Monica threw a punch. Eve bent her knees, dropping fast, and the punch went high and smacked hard into the metal of the locker door. Something snapped with a muffled sound, and Monica let out a choked, disbelieving cry of pain as she reeled backward. It was only then that Eve realized neither of her normal backup singers was with her. Just Monica Morrell. Alone.
Eve took a step in as Monica cradled her broken hand to her chest, big eyes filling with tears of pain. She did feel a stab of empathy—just a little. She did remember how it felt, getting hurt. She’d been hurt plenty.
“Word of advice,” Eve said. She suddenly realized that she was taller than Monica, and she felt stronger than her, too, as Monica flinched. “Stay away from Michael Glass. You hurt his friend. He’s not going to forget.”
Eve slammed her locker, whirled the combo lock, and walked away. Monica yelled something at her, but Eve just responded with a quick middle finger and no look back.