Carpe Corpus

as I recall.”

The vampire taking Claire’s side was Sam Glass, Michael’s grandfather; he still looked college-age, even after all these years. He was probably the only one of the nonbreathing who could have stepped in on Claire’s behalf—or would have.

He touched Amelie’s shoulder.

She turned on him, but he wrapped her in his arms, and for a second, one second, Amelie let herself be held before she pushed him away and stalked to the far corner of the room, agitation in every movement. “Oh, just get her out,” she said. “Myrnin, get her out. Now! Before I do something I regret. Or possibly, which I don’t.”

Claire could hardly breathe, much less protest. Myrnin took her hand in his and yanked, hard. She brushed by Oliver, whose eyes were flaring in hunting-vampire colors, and felt a low-decibel growl fill the room.

Myrnin shoved her toward what looked like a blank wall, and for an instant of panic Claire thought she was going to hit it face-first . . . and then she felt the telltale tingle of one of Myrnin’s stable wormhole portals, his alchemical travel network that led to some of the most dangerous places in Morganville. The wall dissolved in a swirl of mist, and Claire had the feeling of helplessly falling into the dark, with no idea of where she’d land. It seemed to last forever, but then she was stumbling out . . . into her home.

4

The Glass House was pretty much as she’d last left it, when she’d packed her pitifully few belongings and moved in with her parents after they’d been brought to Morganville. The house seemed quiet, lonely, somehowto sad and colorless. That was just its mood. Shane’s things were still strewn around—a new game console that he’d only just gotten hooked up, games piled in the corners along with his Wii controllers, his ratty old black sweatshirt crumpled on the corner of the couch. Claire walked to it, sat down, and pulled it into her lap like a pet, then held it up to her face and breathed.

I’m home. It felt wonderful and sad and horrible, all at the same time.

Holding Shane’s shirt was like having him holding her, just for a moment.

When she looked up, Myrnin was watching her. “What?” she demanded. He shrugged and turned away. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I had to bring you somewhere,” Myrnin said. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy this more than, say, the sewage treatment plant.”

Michael’s guitar lay in its case on the floor near the bookcases. Some of Eve’s magazines still littered the coffee table, edges curling up from neglect more than use.

It still smelled so familiar, and Claire felt the loss of Shane, of her friends, hit her hard once again.

“Is Eve here?” she asked him, but Myrnin didn’t answer.

Eve did, from the kitchen doorway. “Where else would I be?” she asked. She leaned against the doorjamb and crossed her arms, staring at them. “What are you doing in my house, freaks?”

“Hey, it’s my house, too!” Claire knew she sounded defensive, but she couldn’t help it. From the very first time they’d met, Eve had been on her side—always in her corner, always believing her. Believing in her, which was even more important.

It hurt that all that had changed now.

Eve’s face was a rice-powder mask, aggressively marked up with black lipstick and way too much eye-liner. Her black hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail, and she was wearing a skintight black knit shirt with a red skull on the front, and oversize cargo pants with loads of pockets and chains. Heavy combat-style boots.

Eve was ready to kick ass, and she wouldn’t bother to take names while she was at it.

“I’m serious,” Eve said. “I’m giving you about five seconds to get out of my house. And take your pet leech with you before I play a game of Pin the Stake in the Vamp.”

Claire held Shane’s sweatshirt in her arms for comfort. “Aren’t you going to at least ask how they are?”

Eve stared at her with eyes like burned black holes. “I’ve got sources,” she said. “My boyfriend’s still evil. Your boyfriend’s still in jail. You’re still sucking up to the Dark Lord of Mordor. By the way, I’m going to start calling you Gollum, you little creep.”

“Eve, wait. It’s not like that—”

“Actually, it is exactly like that,” Myrnin said. “We should go, Claire. Now.”

He tried to take her hand; she shook him off and moved closer to Eve, who straightened from her slouch and slipped one hand into a pocket on her cargo pants. “I’m not screwing around, Claire. Get out of my house!”

“I live here!”

“No, you used to live here!” That came out of Eve’s blackened lips in a raw, vicious snarl. “This is still Michael’s house, and no matter what’s happened to him, I’m going to defend it, do you understand? I’m not letting you—”

“Michael’s not evil,” Claire blurted out desperately. “He’s working for Amelie.”

Eve stopped, lips parted, eyes wide.

“Claire,” Myrnin warned softly from behind her. “Secrets are best kept cold.”

“Not from her.” Claire tried again, desperate to see some of that anger leave her friend. “Michael’s working for Amelie. He’s not on Bishop’s side. He’d want me to tell you that. He never left us, Eve. He never left you.”

Silence. Dead, cold silence, and in it, Claire could hear Eve’s breathing. Nothing else.

Eve took her hand out of her pocket. She was holding a knife.

“So this is Bishop’s latest game? Taunt the loser? See how crazy you can make me? Because honestly, that’s not much of a challenge—I’m pretty crazy already.” Her dark eyes sparkled with tears. “Runs in my family, I guess.”

“Claire isn’t lying to you,” Myrnin said, and stepped around Claire to block any threatening moves Eve might make. “Do you have to be so full of—”

Eve lunged at him. Myrnin didn’t seem to move at all, but suddenly he had her from behind, arms pinned, and the knife was spinning on the floor and skidding to bump into Claire’s feet. Eve didn’t even have time to scream. Once he had her, she wasn’t able to, because his hand was across her mouth, muffling any sounds.

Myrnin’s eyes sparked an unholy color of red, and he brushed his lips against Eve’s pale neck. “—so full of useless bravado?” he finished, in exactly the same tone as before. “She didn’t lie to you. She’s an awful liar, when it comes down to it. That’s what makes her so terrifyingly useful to us—we always know where we stand with little Claire. Now play nicely, make-believe dead girl. Or I will fulfill your darkest wishes.”

He shoved Eve away, toward Claire, who kicked the knife far out of anybody’s reach. Eve whirled, evidently (and understandably) finding Myrnin more of a threat. Under the rice-powder makeup, her face was flushed, her eyes shining with fear.

Myrnin circled like a hyena. He grinned like one, too.

“Call him off,” Eve said. “Claire, call him off!”

“Myrnin, leave Eve alone. Please?” Which was about the closest Claire dared come to telling Myrnin to do anything, especially when he had that particular glow in his eyes. He was enjoying this. “I need to talk to her, and I can’t do that if you’re scaring the crap out of her. Please.”

He paced a few more steps, and she saw him get control of himself with a real physical effort. He sat down in a chair at the dining table and put his dirty feet up. “Fine,” he said, and crossed his arms. “Talk. I’ll just wait, shall I? Because my mission to save this town is of no importance whatsoever next to your girl talk.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, shut up, you medieval drama queen.” Now that he was sitting down and the glow was gone from his eyes, she could say it, and he could acknowledge it with a snort and a roll of his shoulders.“Eve, I tried to call. I tried to come by and see you.” She was talking to her friend now, and Eve was staring right at her, not at Myrnin, as if Claire were the actual threat in the room. “Eve?”