Fade Out

mirror. He caught her watching him, and shook his head.

“What?” she challenged.

“It’s a good thing I’ve got to live with the two of you,” he said, “or I’d be putting this on YouTube later. And mocking you.”

“Ass.”

“Don’t forget bloodsucking ass.”

“Also, undead bloodsucking ass,” Shane said. “That’s kind of critical, too.”

Michael stopped the car. “We’re here.” He grabbed his guitar case and got out, looked in on them, and flashed them a knowing grin. “Lock it when you leave. Oh, and remember—vampires can see through the tinting. I’m just saying.”

“Ugh,” Claire sighed. “And there goes the mood.”

Michael disappeared into the artists’ entrance, walking as if he owned the stage already; Claire and Shane walked, hand in hand, through the parking garage toward the front. There were a lot of other people parking, talking, walking in groups toward the entrance to the theater. Like most of TPU’s buildings, it wasn’t exactly pretty—a product of the blocky 1970s, glass and concrete, solid and plain and functional, at least on the outside.

The lobby was warmer, with dark red carpet and side drapes that looked only about ten years out of fashion. Claire saw people staring at her and wished she’d worn her cap, but since she hadn’t, she held her chin up and clasped Shane’s hand more tightly as he checked their tickets and led her up to the balcony. On the way, Claire spotted a lot of familiar faces—Father Joe, from the church, standing out in his black shirt, white collar, and red hair. People she recognized from classes, who probably had no idea they were coming to hear a vampire play guitar. Oh, and a ton of vamps, blending in except for the glitter in their eyes and the slightly hungry way they scanned the crowd. Some of them even dressed pretty well.

She didn’t see Amelie anywhere, or Myrnin, or Oliver, and they were all pretty notable by their absence. She did see the unpleasant Mr. Pennywell, though, looking smug and remote and sexless in his plain black jacket and pants. He was sitting at a small table near the stairs, watching everyone pass. She had the strong feeling he was like those people who stood in front of the lobster tank to choose what was going on their plate.

Ugh.

“Everything okay?” Shane asked her, and she realized that he wasn’t talking about the vampires or anything else like that. He quickly amended, “You know, between us?”

“Oh. Uh—yeah. I guess so.” She must not have seemed too confident, because he stopped climbing the stairs, looked around, and headed her toward a small group of chairs off to the side at the landing. Nobody near them. It was a darker corner, kind of intimate in the glow of the light on the wall. People moved past in a stream, but nobody seemed to look.

“I need to be sure,” he said. “Because I don’t want you to think Kim is competition. She’s not. Until today, I hadn’t thought about her twice.”

But, by implication, he was thinking about her now—comparing her to Claire. And Claire couldn’t be totally sure she was winning, either. “It’s just that everybody thinks she’s so interesting. And I’m just—you know.”

“A supersmart apprentice to a bipolar vampire, not to mention just about the only person in town Amelie listens to these days? Yeah. You’re dead boring.” Shane’s warm hands cupped her face and tilted her chin up so he could meet her eyes in the dim light. “There. That’s better.”

“Why?” The word trembled on her lips, a restrained wail of bitterness. “So you can see how ugly I look, compared to Kim?”

“You got some layers of skin burned off,” he said. “Big freaking deal. In a week you’ll have a killer tan, and everybody will be wondering where you got the spray-on stuff. It doesn’t matter. Not even a little. Get me?”

She didn’t want to cry, and for a wonder, she didn’t. She gulped in one hitching breath, held it, and let it slowly out, and that was it.

Then she smiled. “I get you.”

“All right then. Because I love you. Remember?”

Warmth zipped through her nerves and took up a hot glowing spot somewhere just below the pit of her stomach. “I remember,” she said. “I love you, too.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “Jealous. I kind of like it.”

Hand in hand, they headed for the concert hall.

Mr. Pennywell blocked their path.

There was something really, unpleasantly wrong about Pennywell, in ways Claire couldn’t put her finger on; the vampire looked awkwardly built, female in one light, male in another, but that wasn’t the thing that made him frightening.

It was the complete, soulless absence of feeling in his expression and eyes. Even when he smiled, nothing happened in the top half of his face. It was just muscles, not emotion.

“Move,” Shane said, and Claire felt his hold on her hand unconsciously tighten. “Dude, you are not crazy enough to go after us in the middle of neutral ground, in front of witnesses. Right?”

“That would entirely depend on what I planned to accomplish,” Pennywell said. “But I am not here to threaten you. I am here to summon you.”

“To our seats? Thanks. Don’t need an usher.” Pennywell stayed right in their path. The crowd was thinning out around them. The last thing Claire wanted was to be alone out here with him, everyone else inside and cheering and clapping and covering up her all-too-likely screams. She traded a look with Shane.

“Oliver would like a word,” Pennywell said, and made a graceful gesture to his left. “If you please.”

“Now?”

“He is not taking appointments. Yes. Now.”

There didn’t seem to be many options available, but Claire could see that Shane was tempted to tell Pennywell to beat it. That would be bad. Pennywell wasn’t someone who took rejection well.

It didn’t come to that, and for the worst possible reason.

“Shane? Shane Collins? Are you kidding me?” A girl’s voice came from over Pennywell’s shoulder, and was followed by the girl sliding around the vampire and throwing herself all over Shane. He dropped Claire’s hand in surprise, and to catch the girl before they both toppled over.

It took a second to put the dyed-black-and-pink hair and voice together, but Claire knew even before her brain supplied the name.

Kim.

Oh, perfect.

And Kim was kissing Shane.

It wasn’t like he was kissing her back . . . more like he was trying to push her off his lips. But still. Her lips. Touching Shane’s.

Even Pennywell looked thrown.

“Hey!” Claire protested, not sure what she ought to do, but she wanted very badly to grab a handful of that black hair and yank, hard. She didn’t need to. Shane picked Kim up, bodily, and set her at arm’s length—and held her there.

“Kim,” he said. “Uh—hi.”

“How’s it going, Collins? Wow, it’s been a while, huh? Sorry about the family stuff, that sucks, man. Oh, did you hear I’ve got a loft now? I’m selling on the Internet. Very cool.” Kim’s wide eyes were fixed on Shane’s face, and there was a sickeningly delighted expression on her face. “I just can’t believe it’s you, Shane. Wow. So great to see you.”

“Yeah,” he said, and looked at Claire, just a quick (and panicked) glance. “This is Claire. My girlfriend.” He stressed the word. It didn’t seem to register, or if it did, Kim shrugged it off. She barely glanced at Claire at all.