“My sources say somebody set up a spark board down under the hospital,’” he said. “Connected up the wires and got ready to blow the building. Looks like somebody trashed it before anything happened.’”
Shane said, “Claire pulled the wires. My dad was going to blow it and kill everybody inside.’”
The Morrells, father and son, exchanged a look. Even Sam raised his head, though he stayed where he was, arms folded, looking relaxed and neutral. “And where’s your dad?’” Richard asked. “Shane, you don’t owe him. You know that.’”
“Yeah,’” Shane said. “I know. He’s gone. I wish I could tell you he wouldn’t be back, but—’” He shrugged. “Let Claire go, man. She saved people. She didn’t hurt anybody.’”
Mayor Morrell nodded at the cop standing behind Claire. She felt her handcuffs jiggle, then loosen, and gratefully folded her arms across her chest.
“What about Shane?’” she asked.
“The vampires caught two of Frank’s men. They admitted that Frank murdered Brandon. Shane’s in the clear,’” Richard said.
Shane blinked at him. “What?’”
“Go home,’” Richard said, and the cop unlocked Shane’s handcuffs, as well. “Sam’s taken care of getting word out to the vampires. They don’t like you much, so watch your step, but you’re not guilty of any crimes. Not major ones.’”
“Great!’” Eve said, and grabbed Claire’s hand, then Shane’s. “We’re outta here.’”
Eve’s Cadillac was parked a few spaces away. The back and side windows had been blacked out, Claire realized, and there was a fresh smell of paint in the air, and two cans of spray enamel lying on the ground. She got in the front seat, and Michael slid into the backseat. Shane hesitated, looking in at him, then climbed in and slammed the door.
Eve started the car. “Shane?’”
“Yeah?’”
“I’m freaking killing you when we get home.’”
“Good,’” Shane said. “Because right now, death seems like a better idea than talking about any of this.’”
The town was strangely quiet—fires out, mobs dispersed, nothing to see here, move along. But Claire didn’t really think it was over. Not at all.
She leaned against the window on the ride home, exhausted and unhappy. There was an ominous silence coming from the backseat, a feeling like thunderclouds rolling in and ready to break. Eve rambled on nervously about Shane’s dad, and where he might have gone; nobody responded. I hope he leaves, Claire thought. I hope he gets away. Not because he shouldn’t pay—he should—but because if he did, all it meant for Shane was more grief. Losing the last member of his already destroyed family. Better if his dad just…disappeared.
“Have you told Shane?’” Eve asked. Claire sat up, blinking and yawning, as Eve pulled the Caddy to a halt in front of their house.
“About what?’”
Eve pointed at Michael. “You know.’”
Claire turned to look at him. Shane was staring straight ahead, his face like stone. “Let me guess,’” he said. “You came up with some magical fairy who granted you your freedom, and now you can come and go whenever you want,’” he said. “Tell me that’s it, Michael. Because I’ve been thinking about why you’re sitting in this car the whole way, and I can’t really come up with any other answer that won’t make me vomit.’”
“Shane—,’” Michael said, and then shook his head. “Yeah. My fairy godmother came and granted me a wish. Let’s just get past this.’”
“Get past it?’” Shane said. “How exactly do I do that? Fuck off.’”
He got out of the car and stalked up the walkway. Eve grabbed a huge black umbrella and hurried around to Michael’s side of the car; she opened it like a valet, and he stepped out, grabbed the umbrella, and ran after Shane. Even with the thin shade, his skin began to smoke lightly as it cooked.
Michael made it to the shade of the porch, he dropped the umbrella, and Shane turned and punched him.
Hard.
Michael rode the punch, caught the second one in his open palm, stepped in, and hugged him.
“Get off me!’” Shane yelled, and shoved him back. “Damn! Get off!’”
“I wasn’t going to bite you, idiot,’” Michael said wearily. “Jesus. I’m just glad you’re alive.’”
“Wish I could say the same, but since you’re not—’” Shane slammed open the door and vanished inside, leaving Michael leaning against the wall.
Claire and Eve came slowly up the walk.
“I’ll—’” Claire swallowed hard. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sorry. He’s just a little—it’s been a long day, you know? He’ll be okay.’”
Michael nodded. Eve put an arm around him and helped him into the house.
Shane was nowhere to be seen when Claire entered the living room, but she heard his door slam upstairs. Damn, he was fast when he wanted to be. And bitter. Who said girls were moody? She eyed the couch—it was the first comfortable spot to lie down—with weary longing. Maybe she should just let Shane get through it alone. Not like he wasn’t used to dealing with trauma.
Then again…just because he could do it alone didn’t mean he ought to have to.
There was something odd about the room, and for a long second, Claire couldn’t put her finger on it. Then it dawned on her.
The room smelled like flowers. Roses, to be exact.
Claire frowned, turned, and saw a huge bunch of red roses lying on the side table. There was an envelope next to it with her name on it in old-fashioned copper-plate handwriting.
She tore it open and unfolded the papers inside.
Dear Claire,
My informal Protection is no longer sufficient for you and your friends, and I think you know that now. More drastic steps must be taken, and soon, or your friends will pay the price. Oliver will not allow today’s events to go unanswered. You have been brave, but extremely foolish in your enemies.
Consider my proposal carefully.
I shall not offer it again.
There wasn’t a signature, but Claire didn’t have any doubt who had written it. Amelie. The letter was water-marked with her seal.
The other papers in the stack looked legal. She read them, frowning, trying to understand what they meant, and some of the language leaped out at her.
I, Claire Elizabeth Danvers, swear my life, my blood, and my service to the Founder, now and for my lifetime, that the Founder may command me in all things.
It was the same thing Oliver had said, back at the hospital, when he’d been trying to make her…
…make her his slave.
Claire dropped the paper like it had caught on fire. No, she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t.
Or your friends will pay the price.
Claire swallowed, stuffed the contract back into the envelope, and shoved it in her pocket just as Eve came around the corner and said, “Roses! Jeez, who died?’”
“Nobody,’” Claire said hoarsely. “They’re for you. From Michael.’”
Michael looked surprised, but his back was to Eve, and if he had any sense at all, he’d play along.
Claire went upstairs to take a shower.
Being clean made it better. Not a whole lot better, but some. She sat for a while, staring at the white envelope with her name on it, wishing she could talk to Shane about it, or Eve, or Michael, but not daring to do any of that because this was her choice. Not theirs. And she knew what they’d say, anyway.
Not enough no in the world, that’s what they’d say.
It was after dark when Shane finally knocked on her door. She opened it and stood there looking at him. Just looking, because somehow she didn’t think she’d ever see enough of him. He looked tired, and rumpled, and sleep creased.
And he was so beautiful she felt her heart break into a million little sharp-edged pieces.
