by Rachel Caine
"Oh," Claire breathed, "I really don't think it was. Mom, look, it was — "
"Don't tell us it was nothing, honey," her dad cut in. "I read all about it. Drinking, drugs, fighting, destruction of property. Kids having sex. And you were at this party, weren't you?"
"I — no, dad, not like — " She couldn't lie about it. "I was there. We were all there. But Shane wasn't shot at the party, it was after, on the way home."
"I don't think that matters," her father said. He looked so grim now. "We've decided we had to make a change."
"A change?" Claire echoed.
"We're moving," he said. "We bought a nice house on the other side of town. Looks kind of like this one, maybe a little smaller. Even has the same layout to the place, I think."
"You're — " She could not have heard that right. "Moving here? To this town? You can't! You can't move here."
"Oh, Claire, I was so hoping you'd be happy," her mom said, in that tone that Claire dreaded. The I'm-so-disappointed-in-you tone. "We've already sold our old house. The truck with the furniture should get here tomorrow. Oh — " She turned to Claire's father. "Did we remember to — "
"Oh, for heaven's sake — Yes," he rumbled. "Whatever it is, yes, we remembered."
"Well, you don't have to be — "
"Mom!" Claire interrupted desperately. "You can't move here!"
Michael put his hand on her shoulder. "Just a second," he said to her parents, and pulled Claire a few feet back. "Claire, don't. It's already too late. If the Council hadn't wanted them here, they wouldn't be here, and they wouldn't have a house. Especially not a Founder House. If it looks like this house and has the same layout, that's what it is, a Founder house. That means Amelie wants it to happen. Probably made it happen."
That didn't exactly make her feel any better. She was shaking all over now with reaction. "But they're my parents!" she whispered fiercely. "Can't you do something?"
He looked grim, and he shook his head. "I don't know. I'll try. But for now we'd better just make nice, okay?"
She didn't want to. She wanted to drag her parents out to their car and make them go.
How could Amelie do this to her? No, that was obvious: it was easy. Her parents were just another way to force Claire to do whatever the vampires needed.
"Hello?" Claire's mom called. "Can we come in?"
Michael kept his expression blank and friendly. "Sure. Everybody inside." Because it was getting dark.
Claire's mom and dad stepped over the threshold. As Michael started to swing the door shut, a third person stopped the door from closing with an open hand and stepped through. Claire had no idea who he was. She'd never seen him before, and she was sure she'd have remembered. He had thick gray hair, a big gray mustache, and huge green eyes behind thick '50s-style eyeglasses.
Michael froze, and Claire knew instantly that something was very, very wrong.
"Oh," Claire's mother said. "This is Mr. Bishop. We met him on our way into town, his car was broken down."
Mr. Bishop smiled and tipped an invisible hat. "Thank you for the kind invitation to enter your home," he said, and his voice was incredibly deep and smooth, with an inflection that sounded like Russian. "Although I really didn't require one."
Because he was a vampire.
Claire backed slowly away. Michael looked like he couldn't move at all as Bishop walked into the house.
"I don't want to upset your nice family," Bishop said, focusing on Claire, "but if Amelie isn't here to talk to me in half an hour, I'll kill everyone breathing in this house."
"No," Michael said. "You won't. This is my house. Get out now, or I'll have to hurt you."
Bishop looked him up and down. "Nice bark, puppy, but you don't have the teeth. Get Amelie."
"Who are you?" Claire whispered. There was menace boiling off of this old man like fog. She could almost see it.
"Tell her that her father's come to visit," he said, and smiled. "Aren't family reunions nice?"
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Document ID: d690e981-3eab-4fd9-be4d-3162e492d8c5
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Document creation date: 15.5.2011
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