Carpe Corpus

by Caine, Rachel

  “Wait a minute. Shane never said anything about coming back to Morganville with a friend,” Eve said.

  “Yeah, he wouldn’t, because he doesn’t know I’m here. Mr. Collins—Shane’s dad—sent me after him. I was supposed to stay to keep an eye on Shane, kind of watch his back.” Dean shook his head. “Except nothing was the way he said it would be. I didn’t know where to hide, so I enrolled at TPU because it gave me an excuse to hang around. Then I kind of lost track of everybody a few weeks ago.” He looked at them hopefully. “So? What do I do now?”

  Claire and Eve stared at him in silence for a moment, and then Eve said, very seriously, “Look. We know Frank Collins—know, hate, whatever. And you need to give up on that evil old loser. You seem like kind of a sweet kid. Pack it in and go away. Get out while you still can.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Dean said. “It was supposed to be easy. I mean, the good guys were supposed to win, you know? The vampires were supposed to die.”

  “And then what, you guys take over and run the town?” Claire sighed. “Not likely. And I’ve met Mr. Collins. Not a good idea to give him the keys to the city, either.”

  Dean looked at her like he thought she was crazy, and that it really was a pity. “At least he’s not a vampire.”

  “They’re not all bad,” Claire said.

  For a split second, she thought she saw an altogether different Dean watching her—same guy, same emo haircut, but his eyes were weird. Not vampire weird. Odd weird.

  Then he blinked, and it was gone, and she thought it was just her imagination. If you couldn’t be paranoid in Morganville, though, where could you?

  “Well, that’s new to me,” Dean said. He smiled, and it was a real smile. A warm one, not at all nervous. “I just always thought the whole bloodsucking thing made being bad a lock.”

  “What you know about vampires could fit into a mosquito’s ass,” Eve said, irritated. “All you know is what you grew up seeing on TV. You ever actually meet one?”

  Dean didn’t answer that, but the tips of his ears grew red and his smile disappeared as he faced Eve directly. “Yeah, well, I’m not some collaborator who’s willing to apologize for what these monsters do. Maybe that’s the point. Anyway—it wasn’t really my choice. I just came because Frank asked, and I didn’t have anyplace else to go. My brother was running with Frank, and he was all I had.”

  Eve’s eyes remained watchful. “So where’s Big Scary Bro now?”

  “Dead,” Dean said softly. “He got killed in the fighting. I’m all alone.”

  Claire stared down at the table, suddenly not interested at all in her mocha, no matter how delicious. The truth was that some of those guys—the foot soldiers, the ones who’d come along to Morganville with Frank Collins as his shock troops—well, some of those guys hadn’t fared well, either in the fight or in jail. She didn’t know who they were, not by name. Up until this moment, they’d just been labeled in her head as Frank Collins’s minions. But they all had names, friends, lives. They all had families. Claire wouldn’t know Dean’s brother from any of his fellow muscle-bound biker dudes, but that didn’t mean Dean didn’t mourn him.

  That led Claire to a terrifyingly real waking nightmare—Bishop summoning her, telling her that he’d decided to let Shane go. Shane lying there, not moving . . .

  “Hey, Claire?” Eve snapped her fingers under Claire’s nose, and Claire jerked so hard she slopped coffee onto the table. “Damn, girl. You space so hard, you ought to look into a career at NASA. So. We agree that Mr. Dean here is a terrible excuse for a vampire hunter, is in a whole lot of trouble if he doesn’t keep his head down, and he should head for the hills if he knows what’s good for him?”

  “Sure,” Claire said, but Dean was already looking oddly stubborn.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “My brother would have wanted me to finish what I started. I told Frank Collins I’d look out for Shane. I’m staying until I know they’re okay.”

  “That’s sweet, but how exactly are you going to look out for him, seeing that he’s in jail?” Eve said. “Unless you want to look after his girl instead.” She winked at Claire.

  The tips of Dean’s ears turned even redder. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Except that Claire had the funny feeling that he did.

  She avoided Eve’s gaze for another few seconds, then pulled out her cell phone and checked the time. She had nowhere to be, but this was turning weirdly uncomfortable all around.

  “Gotta go,” she said, and grabbed up her backpack. She’d had about all the Dean time she wanted.

  Eve blinked. “You barely touched the mocha!”

  “Sorry. You have it.”

  “I work in a coffee bar. No. Here, Dean. Knock yourself out.”

  The last she saw before she ducked off into the crowds, heading for nowhere in particular, was Eve handing Dean her abandoned drink, and chatting like old friends.

  Claire really didn’t have a lot of ideas about what to do for the rest of the day, but one thing she did not intend to do was go against Michael’s instructions. No way was she going anywhere near Vampire Central today. Going home didn’t have much appeal, either, but it seemed the safest thing to do. As she walked, she dialed Richard Morrell’s cell phone number. It went to voice mail. She tried the new chief of police next.

  “Hannah Moses, go,” said the brisk, calm voice on the other end.

  “Hey, Hannah, it’s Claire. You know, Claire Danvers?”

  Hannah laughed. She was one of the few people Claire had ever met in Morganville who wasn’t afraid to really laugh like she meant it. “I know who you are, Claire. How are you?”

  “Fine.” That was stretching the truth, Claire supposed, but not according to the standards of Morganville, maybe. “How does it feel to be in charge?”

  “I’d like to say good, but you know.” Claire could almost hear the shrug in the older woman’s voice. “Sometimes being a know-nothing spear carrier’s comforting. Don’t have to know about how the war’s going, just the battle in front of you.” Hannah was, in real-world terms, a soldier—she’d just come back from Afghanistan a few months ago, and she was as badass a fighter as Claire could even imagine, outside of ninja TV stars. She might not do the fancy high kicks and midair spins, but she could get the job done in a real fight.

  Even against vampires.

  Hannah finally said, “I’m guessing you didn’t call just because you missed me.”

  “Oh. No . . . I just . . . Did you know Richard Morrell is missing?”

  “All over it,” Hannah said, without a change at all in her tone. “Nothing to be concerned about. Let me guess, Monica put you onto it. I already told her it’s handled.”

  “I don’t think she believes you.”

  On the other end of the phone, Hannah was probably grinning. “No shit? Well, she’s bad; she’s not stupid. But her brother’s safe enough. Don’t worry. Richard can take care of himself, always has.”

  “Is something going on? Something I should know about?” Hannah said nothing, and Claire felt a hot prickle of shame. “Right. I forgot. I’m wearing the wrong team jersey, right?”

  “Not your fault,” Hannah said. “You were drafted; you didn’t join up. But I can’t talk strategy with you, Claire. You know that.”

  “I know.” Claire sighed. “I wish . . . you know.”

  “I really do. You go home, and stay there. Understand?”

  “On my way,” Claire promised, and hung up.

  On the other side of the street, college-adjacent businesses were starting to close up shop, even though it was still early. Nobody liked to be caught outside as night approached; it was unsafe during the day, but it was a hell of a lot worse at twilight, and after.

  Claire slowed as she passed Common Grounds. The security shutters were still down, the door was closed, but there was something . . . something . . .

  She crossed the street, not really sure why she did, and stood there f
or a few seconds, staring like an idiot at the locked door.

  Then she heard the distinct, metallic sound of a dead bolt snapping back, and in slow motion, the door sagged open just a bare inch. Nothing showed but darkness.

  I am not going to say, “Hello, is anyone there,” like some stupid, too-dumb-to-live chick in a movie, Claire thought. Also, I am not going in there.

  I’m really not.

  The door opened another inch. More darkness. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Claire said. “How stupid do you really think I am?”

  This time, the gap opened to about a foot. Standing well back from any hint of sunlight was someone she knew: Theo Goldman, vampire and doctor.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t come to you. Will you do me the honor . . . ?”

  There were a lot of vampires in Morganville who scared Claire, but Theo wasn’t one of them. In fact, she liked him. She didn’t blame him for trying to save his family, which included both humans and vampires. He’d done what he had to do, and she knew it hadn’t been for any bad motives.

  Claire stepped inside. Theo shut the door and locked it securely after her. “This way,” he said. “We keep all the lights off in the front, of course. Here, allow me, my dear. I know you won’t be able to see your way.”

  His strong, cool hand closed around her upper arm in a firm, but not harsh grip, and he guided her through blind darkness, zigzagging around (she assumed) tables and chairs. When he let go, she heard a door close behind them, and Theo said, “Shield your eyes. Lights coming on.”

  She closed her eyes, and a flare of brightness reddened the inside of her lids. When she looked, Theo was stepping away from the light switch and moving toward the group of people sitting at the far end of the room. His dark-haired wife rose from her chair, smiling; except for her generally pale skin, she didn’t look much like a vampire, really. Theo’s kids and grandkids—some physically older than Claire, some younger—sat in a group playing cards. In the dark, because all the ones playing were vampires. The humans weren’t here at all.

  “Claire,” Patience Goldman said, and extended her hand. “Thank you for coming inside.”

  “Um . . . no problem,” she said. “Is everything okay?” It hadn’t been for a while. Bishop had been thinking of killing all the Goldmans, or making them leave Morganville. Something about their being Jews. Claire didn’t really understand all the dynamics of it, but she knew it was an old anger, and a very old feud.

  “Yes, we are fine,” Theo said. “But I wanted to tell you that we will be leaving Morganville tonight.”

  “You . . . what? I thought Bishop said you could stay—”

  “Oh, he did,” Theo said, and his kindly face took on a harder look. “Promises were made. None that I believe, of course. It’s no sin for a man like him to break a promise to a man like me; after all, I am hardly better than a human to him.” His wife made a sound of protest, and Theo blinked. “I did not mean that to slight you, Claire. You understand what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” Bishop had carried over some prejudices from his human days, and a big one had to do with a dislike of Jewish people, so maybe he didn’t look at Jewish vampires as being any different—any better—than mere humans, who weren’t real to Bishop, anyway. “But . . . why tell me? You can’t trust me, you know.” She rubbed her arm under the long-sleeved T-shirt, feeling ashamed all over again. “I can’t help it. If he asks me, I have to tell him about you.”

  Theo and his wife exchanged a look. “Actually,” Patience said, “you don’t. I thought you knew.”

  “Knew what?”

  “That the influence of the charm he used on you is fading.” Patience stepped forward. “May I?”

  Claire had no idea what she was asking for, but since Patience was holding out her cool white hands, Claire hesitantly extended hers. Mrs. Goldman pushed the shirt sleeve up to expose the tattoo, turning it this way and that, studying it.

  “Well?” Theo asked. “Can you tell?”

  “It’s definitely significantly weakened,” his wife said. “How much, it’s hard to tell, but I don’t think he can compel her without a large effort. Not anymore.”

  That was news to Claire. Good news, actually. “Does he know what I’m thinking?”

  “He never did, my dear,” Patience said, and patted her hand before releasing it. “Mr. Bishop’s skills are hardly all-powerful. He simply uses our fear to make them seem so.” She nodded to her husband. “I think I can safely mask her from him, if he should look for her.”

  “Wait, what?” Claire asked.

  Their eldest son, Virgil, threw down a handful of cards in annoyance and crossed his arms. “Oh, just tell her,” he said. “They want to take you with us.”

  “What?”

  “It’s for the best,” Theo said quickly. “We can escort you safely out of town. If you stay, he’ll kill you, or turn you vampire so he can control you better. You simply have no options here, my dear. We only want to help you, but it has to be now. Tonight. We can’t risk waiting any longer.”

  “That’s . . . kind of sweet,” Claire said carefully, and measured the distance between where she stood and the door. Not that she could outrun one vampire, much less six. “But I’m okay here. Besides, I really can’t leave now. Shane—”

  “Ah.” Theo snapped his fingers, and his smile took on a wicked sort of tilt around the edges. “Yes, of course. The boy. As it happens, I did not forget young Mr. Collins; Clarence and Minnie have gone to fetch him. Once they arrive here, we will make sure you both are safely away.”

  Claire’s eyes widened, and suddenly she couldn’t get a breath. Her heart started to pound, first from anticipation, then from outright fear. “You . . . you decided to break Shane out of jail?”

  “Call it our last good act of charity,” Theo said. “Or our revenge on Mr. Bishop, if you like. Either way, it’s of benefit to you, I think.”

  “Does Amelie know what you’re doing?”

  Theo’s expression smoothed out into a frighteningly blank mask. “Amelie finds it better to skulk in the shadows, while people die for her lack of courage. No, she does not know. If she did, she’d no doubt have a dozen reasons why this was a mistake.”

  It was a mistake. Claire couldn’t say why, but she knew it, deep down. “She promised me she’d take care of him,” Claire said. “She’s got a plan, Theo. You shouldn’t have interfered.”

  “Amelie’s plans are subject to her own needs, and she never bothered to include me,” Theo said. “I am offering you and your boy a way out of Morganville. Now. Tonight. And you need never return here again.”

  It wasn’t that simple. “My parents.”

  “We can take them with us as well.”

  “But . . . Bishop can find us,” Claire said. “Vampires found Shane’s family when they left town before. They killed his mother.”

  “Shane and his father blame vampires for what was only a very natural human despair. Shane’s mother took her own life. You see that, don’t you? Claire?” Theo seemed to want her to agree, and she wasn’t sure why. Maybe he doubted it himself. When she didn’t, he looked disappointed. “Well, it’s too late now, in any case. We can discuss this once we’re safely away. We will help you find a place well beyond Bishop’s—and Amelie’s—reach before we move on ourselves.”

  One of the grandsons—the middle one, Claire couldn’t remember his name—made a rude sound and threw down his cards. “Grandpapa, we don’t want to leave.” The other children tried to shush him, but he stood up. “We don’t! None of us do! We have lives here. We stopped running. It was safe for us. Now you want us to go out there again, start over again—”

  “Jacob!” Theo’s wife seemed shocked. “Don’t talk to your grandfather so!”

  “You never ask us. You want us all to pretend that we’re still children. We’re not, Grandmother. I know you and Grandpapa can’t accept that; I know you don’t want to let us go, but we can make our own decisions.”

  Mrs. Go
ldman seemed not to know what to say. Theo looked very thoughtful, and then nodded. “All right. I’m listening. What decision have you made?”

  “To stay here,” Jacob said. “We’re staying here.” He looked down at his brothers and sisters, who all nodded—some reluctantly, though. “You can go if you want, but we’re not letting Bishop drive us out. And no matter what you say, that’s what you’re doing. You’re just saving him the trouble of exiling us.”

  “If exile was what I was worried about, I would agree with you. It isn’t.”

  “You think he’ll try to kill us?” Jacob shook his head. “No. It’s not the old days, Grandpapa. Nobody’s hunting us here.”

  “If I have learned anything in my long life, it is that someone is always hunting us,” Theo’s wife said. “Now sit down, Jacob. The rest of you, sit down. We’ll have no more of this. You’re being rude in front of our friend.”

  Claire wanted to apologize, somehow; Jacob shot her a borderline-angry look, but he dropped back in his place on the floor, shoulders slumped. She’d never thought about it, but she supposed for a lot of vampires Morganville was about as good as it could get—no looking over your shoulder, waiting to be discovered. No worrying about putting down roots, making friends, having some kind of a life.

  “Theo,” Mrs. Goldman said, and nodded toward the door where they’d come in. “I hear someone coming.”

  “She has better ears than I do,” Theo confessed to Claire. “Stay here. I will let them in.”

  “But—”

  “Stay here. There’s nothing to fear. You’ll be with your young man soon.”

  He left, shutting the door behind him. Mrs. Goldman drifted quietly over to speak to her children and grand-children in a low, urgent voice—the way moms always talked to kids who were throwing tantrums in front of company—and Claire was left not quite knowing what she ought to do. If they had managed to bust Shane out of jail, well, that was good, wasn’t it? Maybe not according to Amelie’s plan, but that didn’t make it a bad thing. Not automatically.