Fade Out

She considered exactly how to answer that, and finally said, “Not bad.” Nobody had gotten killed so far. In Morganville, that was probably a good day. “Monica paid me fifty for a private lesson.” Shane held up his hand, and she jumped up to smack it without breaking stride. “And yours?”

“There was meat. I sliced it with a big, sharp knife. Very manly.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Of course you are. So, it’s our anniversary—”

“It’s not!”

“Well, I told Kim it was, and then I promised to take you out to a nice restaurant.”

“With tablecloths,” Claire agreed. “I distinctly remember tablecloths.”

“The point is, I’m taking you out. Okay?”

“I don’t think so. My face is just starting to heal. I’ve got bruises all over my throat. The last thing I want to do is go to a nice restaurant and have everybody stare at us and wonder if you’re abusing me. I wouldn’t enjoy my food at all.”

“You think too much.”

She took his hand. “Probably.”

“Okay then. How about a sandwich offered up on a nice, clean napkin, in my room?”

“You’re such a romantic.”

“It’s in my room.”

They were about two blocks along from Common Grounds—about halfway home—when the streetlights began to go out, one after another, starting behind them and zooming past as each clicked off. It wasn’t quite full dark yet, but it was getting there fast as the last hints of red sunset faded from the horizon.

“Claire?” Shane looked around, and so did she, feeling her instincts start to howl a warning.

“Something’s wrong,” she said. “Something’s here.”

A bloody form lurched out of the darkness toward them, and Shane shoved Claire behind him. It was a vampire—red eyes, fangs down, blood splashed on the pale face and hands.

Claire knew him, she realized after a second of pure adrenaline and shock. He was wearing the same ragged, greasy clothes from the last time she’d seen him: Morley, the graveyard vampire who’d tried to ambush Amelie.

He saw Claire and gasped out, “Fair lady, tell your mistress—tell her—”

He lunged for Claire, off balance, and Shane stiff-armed him away. Morley went sprawling on the pavement, and rolled up into a ball.

Afraid.

“It’s okay,” Claire said, and put a hand on Shane’s arm. She carefully crouched down near Morley’s bloodstained body. “Mr. Morley? What happened?”

“Ruffians,” he whispered. “Tormentors. Hellhounds.” Something made him flinch, and he listened for a second, then rolled painfully to his feet. Claire jumped backward, just in case, but Morley didn’t even look at her. “They’re coming. Run.”

Something was coming, all right. Morley stumbled away, moving at a fraction of normal vampire speed, and Claire heard the distant sound of running feet, voices calling to one another, and excited whoops.

In a few more seconds, she saw them—six young men, most no older than Shane. Two wore TPU jackets. They were all drunk, mean, and looking for trouble, and they all were armed—baseball bats, tire irons, stakes. They slowed when they caught sight of Claire and Shane, and changed course to come toward them.

“Hey!” one of them yelled. “You seen an old dude running through here?”

“Why? What did he do, steal your purse?” Shane shot back. Claire dug her fingernails into his arm in warning, but he wasn’t paying attention. “Jesus, you idiots, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Cleaning up the streets,” another one said, and twirled his bat as if he really knew how to use it. “Somebody’s gotta. The cops don’t do it.”

“We heard that one killed a kid,” said the first man—the least drunk, as far as Claire could tell, and, also, maybe the meanest. She didn’t like the way he was watching Shane, and her. “Drained her dry, right on the playground. We don’t let that pass, man. He has to pay.”

“You have any proof?”

“Screw your proof. These monsters have been running around killing for a hundred years. We catch them, we teach them a lesson they don’t forget.” He laughed, dug in his pocket, and pulled out something. He tossed it on the ground in front of Shane’s feet. Claire couldn’t tell what the scattered pieces were at first, and then she knew.

Teeth: vampire fangs, pulled out at the root.

Shane said, “Knock yourself out, man. He went that way.” He nodded in a direction Morley hadn’t gone. “Keep up the good work.”

“It’s Collins, right? Your dad was one hell of a guy. He stood up for us.”

Shane’s father had been an abusive asshole who didn’t care about anyone, as far as Claire had been able to tell; he certainly hadn’t cared about Shane. The idea that Frank Collins was becoming the underground hero of Morganville made Claire want to puke.

“Thanks,” Shane said. His voice was neutral, and very steady. “I’m taking my girl home.”

“Her? She’s one of them. One of the Renfields. Works for the vamps.”

“No better than the vamps,” another put in.

“I heard she worked for Bishop,” said a third, who had a tire iron resting on his shoulder. “Carrying around his death warrants. Like one of those Nazi collaborators.”

“You heard wrong,” Shane said. “She’s my girl. Now back off.”

“Let’s hear from her,” said the leader of the pack, and locked stares with Claire. “So? You working for the vamps?”

Shane sent her a quick, warning glance. Claire took in a deep breath and said, “Absolutely.”

“Ah hell,” Shane breathed. “Okay, then. Run.”

They took off, catching the minimob by surprise; alcohol slowed them down, Claire thought, and an argument broke out behind them over whom they should be chasing, humans or vampires. Shane grabbed Claire’s hand and pulled her along, running as if their lives depended on it. The streetlights were all out, and Claire had trouble seeing curbs and cracks in the pavement in the dim starlight.

They made it almost a block before she heard a howl behind them. The pack was following.

“Come on,” Shane gasped, and pushed her faster. It was harder for Claire; she was a bookworm, not a runner, and besides, her legs were about six inches shorter than his. “Come on, Claire! Don’t slow down!”

Her lungs were already on fire.

Need to exercise more, she thought crazily. Note to self: practice wind sprints.

Something hit her in the back, and Claire lost her balance and hit the pavement hard. Shane yelled, stopped, and turned to cover her. In seconds, the pack of guys was on them, and Claire saw Shane taking a bat away from one guy and using it to smack the tire iron away from another attacker.

A shadow loomed over her, and she looked up to see a guy who looked about ten feet tall raise a baseball bat over his head, aiming straight for hers.

Claire grabbed him around the knees and yanked, hard. He yelled in surprise as his legs folded, and he fell backward. The bat hit the ground with a clatter, and Claire picked it up as she climbed to her feet. Shane was swinging with precision, taking out weapons and maybe breaking an arm here and there if he had to. All she had to do was stand there and look threatening.

It was over in a few seconds. Something turned for the pack, and they’d had enough. Claire stood there shaking, bat still cocked in the ready position, as the last guy scrambled up off the pavement and lurched away.

Shane dropped his bat and put both hands on her shoulders. “Claire? Look at me. Are you all right? Anybody hit you?”

“No.” She felt shaky, and she had some skinned knees and palms from her fall, but that was all. “My God. They were going to kill us. Humans were going to kill us. Because of me.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Shane told her, and kissed her forehead with burning hot lips. “They were going to go after anybody they came across. The vampire thing is just an excuse. God, Claire. Good job.”