Kiss of Death

I will take it away from you and introduce you to the sharp end, with great pleasure. Are we clear, girl?”

“Yeah,” she said, and kept the arrow pointed away from him. “You got your butt kicked by Morley, and you’re threatening me because I actually solved your problem for you. I think we’re very clear. But don’t worry. I won’t hurt you, Oliver.”

For a brief, deadly second, there was utter silence.

Then Oliver laughed.

It wasn’t the bitter, angry, terrible laugh she expected. Oliver actually sounded almost human. He sagged back against the wall, still laughing, and sank down to a crouch, hands loosely braced on his knees. It sounded as if he hadn’t laughed that much, or that deeply, for a very long time. It was weirdly infectious; Eve giggled in little hiccups, trying not to; Michael started laughing at her struggle not to laugh. Before too long, even Claire was fighting to keep her aim steady on the arrow.

“Ease up,” Michael said, and touched her arm, which was trembling with effort. “You made your point. Nobody’s coming after us. Not in here.”

She sighed, finally, and loosened the draw on the bow. Her shoulders were aching, and her arms felt like raw meat. She hadn’t even felt the strain until it was gone.

“Claire,” Oliver said. She looked over at him, suddenly alarmed and wondering if she had the strength to try to draw the bow again, but he was smiling. It gave his sharp face a relaxed look she wasn’t really used to seeing, and his eyes held what looked like genuine warmth. “It’s too bad you’re not a vampire.”

“I guess that was a compliment, so thanks, but no thanks.”

He shrugged and left it at that. Still, Claire had a second’s flash of temptation. All those years. All those things to learn, to feel, to know ... Myrnin lived for the excitement of knowledge; she knew that. The only difference between the two of them, really, was that he could go on forever learning.

But despite all of that, despite all the shiny immortality and the fact that there were a few vamps she didn’t actually hate—even Oliver now—Claire knew she was meant to be human. Just plain Claire.

And that was really okay.

As if to prove it, Shane slid his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. “You rock, you know that?”

“I’m a rock star,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m probably the saddest little rock star ever, though. What did Mrs. Grant say?”

“She says they’ll set up a donation center there and bring it over in bottles. She’s not risking her people to bring it over. Somebody has to go pick up and deliver.”

“Does she believe us?”

“She wants to,” Shane said. “Her husband’s in here, somewhere. So’s her son.”

And that, Claire thought, was why Morley had been right about this, even if he was a complete vampire about it.

You had to save what you could.

Amelie had understood that all along, Claire realized. That was why Morganville existed. Because you had to try.

Oliver ended up doing the blood pickup himself, maybe as a kind of offhand apology for putting Eve and Shane at risk in the first place, though that of course went unsaid. As the stuff was being passed around—one small plastic cup per vampire, to start—Claire knelt beside Morley’s still body, rolled him on his side, and snapped the arrow off just below the point. Then she pulled it out of his chest and hands with one sharp tug, dropping it to the concrete.

Morley took in a huge gasp of air and let it out in a frustrated shout. He held up his hands and stared at the holes punched through them until the flesh and bone started to knit itself again.

He rolled over on his back, staring up at nothing, and said, “I was going to say you aren’t a killer. And I still stand by that statement, because evidently I’m not dead. Only very upset.”

“Here.” Claire handed him a cup of blood. “You’re right. I’m not a killer. I hope you’re not, either.”

Morley sat up and sipped, eyes narrowed and fixed on her. “Of course I’m a killer, girl,” he said. “Don’t be stupid. It’s my nature. We’re predators, no matter what Amelie likes to pretend in her little artificial hothouse of Morganville. We kill to survive.”

“But you don’t have to,” Claire pointed out. “Right now, you’re drinking blood someone gave you. So it doesn’t have to be kill-or-be-killed. It can be different. All you have to do is decide to be something else.”

He smiled, but not with fangs this time. “You think it’s so simple?”

“No.” She got up, dusting her knees. “But I know you’re not as simple as you like people to think you are.”

Morley’s eyebrows went up. “You know nothing of me.”

“I know you’re smart, people follow you, and you can make something good happen for the people who trust you. People like Patience and Jacob, who’ve got good instincts. Don’t betray them.”

“I wouldn’t—” He stopped, and looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I promised to get them all out. They’re out. What they do now is up to them.”

“No, it’s not,” Oliver said. He was standing near them, leaning on a stack of old tires as he sipped from his own plastic cup. “You made yourself responsible for them when you left Morganville, Morley. Like it or not, you’re now the patriarch of the Blacke vampires. The question is, what are you going to do with them?”

“Do?” Morley looked almost panicked. “Nothing!”

“Not an answer. I suggest you devote some thought to it.” Oliver smiled, eyes unfocused as he drank with evident pleasure. “Blacke could be an ideal location, you know. Remote, isolated, little traffic in or out. The humans remaining have a vested interest in keeping your secrets, since their own have been turned. It could be the start of something quite ... interesting.”

Morley laughed. “You’re trying to make me Amelie.”

“Goodness, no. You’d look terrible in a skirt.”

Claire shook her head and left them arguing. Dawn was rolling over the town’s sky in waves of gold, pink, and soft oranges; it was beautiful, and it felt ... new, somehow. The destruction was still there; Hiram’s statue was still facedown in the weeds; there were still a dozen feral vampires hiding out somewhere in the shadows.

But it felt as if the town had just come alive again. Maybe that was because across the square, the Blacke library doors were wide-open, and people were coming outside into the cool morning air.

Coming across the square to see those they’d thought they’d lost forever.

Shane was sitting on the curb next to the old, cracked gas pumps, eating a candy bar. Claire plopped down next to him. “Half?” she asked.

“And now I know you’re my girlfriend, since you’re not afraid to demand community property,” he said, and pulled off the uneaten half to hand it over. “Look. We’re alive.”

“And we have chocolate.”

“It’s not just a miracle; it’s a miracle with chocolate. Best kind.”

Eve emerged from the garage doorway and settled down next to Claire, leaning her chin on her fists. “I am so tired, I could throw up,” she said. “What’s for breakfast ? Please don’t say blood.”

Claire separated her half of the candy bar into two pieces and gave Eve one. “Snickers,” she said. “Breakfast of—”

“Champions?” Eve mumbled around a mouthful of sticky goodness.

“Not unless it’s competitive eating,” Shane said. “So, Morley’s staying? He’s becoming King of Blacke?”

“I think it’s more like Undead Mayor, but yeah. Probably.”

“So can we ditch Oliver now?”

“Don’t think so,” Claire said. “He says we leave soon.”

“How are we planning to do that, exactly?”

“No idea—”

She heard the engine first as a faint buzz, like a stray but persistent mosquito; then it built into a roar.

A big, black hearse slewed around the corner from the highway and skidded to a stop in front of the garage.

The window rolled down, and Jason Rosser looked out. He grinned. “Anybody need a ride? I figured I’d head back to Durram and grab yours, sis. Since it’s officially legal and all. Oh, and I got your cell phones, too.”