Kiss of Death

Kind of like the world in general.

Claire slit open the envelope with a kitchen knife, slipped out the heavy folded paper inside, and read the beautiful, looped handwriting—Amelie’s, without a doubt.

In accordance with recent requests, I hereby am providing you with passes to exit and return to Morganville. You must present these to the checkpoints at the edge of town. Please provide them to your party and give them the same instructions. There are no exceptions to this rule.

Coordinate with Oliver to arrange your exit time.

Claire’s breath left her in a rush. Morley’s passes! Perfect timing, too; she didn’t know how much longer any of them could keep Morley and his people from losing patience, and coming to take it out in blood. They wanted out of Morganville.

She could give it to them.

She realized immediately, however, as she took the passes out of the envelope, that there weren’t nearly enough. Morley’s people would need about thirty passes in total. Instead, there were only four in the envelope.

The names read Michael Glass, Eve Rosser, Shane Collins, and Claire Danvers.

What the hell was going on?

Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit SPEED DIAL. It rang, and rang, but there was no answer. She hung up and tried another number.

“Oliver,” said the voice on the other end.

“Um, hi, it’s Claire? Is—is Amelie there with you?”

“No.”

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up! You’re on the town council—I just got a letter that has some passes in it, but it’s not enough for—”

“We turned down Morley’s request for emigration out of Morganville,” Oliver said. He had a low, even tone to his voice, but Claire felt herself go cold anyway. “He has a philosophy that is too dangerous to those of us who wish to remain ... What’s the phrase? Under the radar.”

“But—we made a deal. Me, Shane, Eve, and Michael. We said we’d get them passes.”

“I’m aware of your deal. What is your question?”

“It’s just—Morley said he’d kill us. If we didn’t get the passes for him. We told you that.”

Oliver was silent for a long second, then said, “What part of I’m aware did you not comprehend, Claire? You and your friends have passes out of Morganville. As it happens, Michael requested leave to travel to Dallas for his recording and concert session. We’ve decided to allow that, under the condition that all of you travel together. With escort.”

“Escort?” Claire asked. “You mean, like police?” She was thinking of Sheriff Hannah Moses, who would be good company in addition to a bad-ass bodyguard; she’d liked Hannah from the moment she’d met her, and she thought Hannah liked her, too, as much as a tough ex-soldier could like a skinny, geeky girl half her age.

“No,” Oliver said, “I don’t mean police.” And he hung up. Claire stared at the screen for a moment, then folded the phone closed and slipped it back in her pocket. She looked down at the passes, the envelope, the letter.

Amelie had decided to really piss off Morley, but at least she’d also decided to get Claire and her friends out of town.

With an escort.

Somehow, Claire knew it wouldn’t be as simple as just picking a responsible adult to go with them.

“Go get your father,” her mom said, and began setting dishes on the table. “He’s upstairs on the computer. Tell him dinner’s ready.”

Claire gathered up everything and put it in her backpack before heading upstairs. Another wave of same- but-not-quite washed over her; her mother and father had reserved the same room for her here that she had over in the Glass House, though the two were nothing alike. Home—in name, anyway—had her frilly white bed and furniture, stuff she’d gotten when she was ten. Pink curtains. Her room at the Glass House was completely different—dark woods, dark fabrics. Adult.

Dad’s computer room would have been Shane’s bedroom in the other house, which woke all kinds of thoughts and memories that really weren’t appropriate right now and caused her face to heat up as she poked her head in the room and quickly said, “Dad, dinner’s ready! Help me eat the stuffed bell peppers before I gag and die?”

Her father looked up from the computer screen with a surprised, guilty jerk, and quickly shut down what he was doing. Claire blinked. Dad? Her dad was ... normal. Boringly normal. Not an activist, not a freak, not somebody who had to hide what he was doing on the computer from his own daughter. “Tell me you weren’t looking at porn,” she said.

“Claire!”

“Well, sorry, but you did the guilty dance. Most people I know, that means porn.”

Her dad pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, “I was playing a game.”

That made her feel oh-so-much better. Until he said, “It’s one of those online multiplayer games.”

“Yeah? Which one? One of the fantasy ones?”

He looked mortally embarrassed now. “Not—not really.”

“Then what?”

In answer, he brought up the screen. On it was a night scene, a castle, a graveyard—typical horror fare, at least if you were from the 1950s.

A character appeared on the screen—pale, tall, dressed in a Dracula cape and tuxedo.

With fangs.

Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at her father, her normal, boring father. “You’re playing a vampire game?”

“It’s called Castlemoor. I’m not just playing it. I get paid to be there, to watch what people are doing online.”

“You—get paid—to play a vampire? By who?” Her father sat back in his chair, and he slowly shook his head. “That’s my business, Claire.”

“Is it Amelie? Oliver?”

“Claire.” This time, his voice had the parental ring of authority. “Enough. It’s a job, and I get paid well enough to do it. We both know it’s the best thing I can find, with all my restrictions. The doctors don’t want me exerting myself too much.”

Her dad wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for a while now. He was frail, fragile, and she worried about him more and more. About her mother, too. Mom looked frayed around the edges, with a kind of suppressed panic in her eyes.

“You’ll be okay?” Claire said. Somehow she made it a question, although she didn’t mean to. “Did they find anything else?”

“No, honey, everything’s fine. I just need time to get stronger.”

He was lying to her, but she could tell that he didn’t want her to pursue it. She wanted to; she wanted to yell and scream and demand to know what was going on.

But instead, she swallowed and said, “Playing a vampire online. That’s a pretty wild career move, Dad.”

“Beats unemployment. So, stuffed bell peppers, huh? I know how much you love those.” Claire made a gagging sound. Her dad reached over and ruffled her dark hair. “Why don’t you just tell her you don’t like them?”

“I did. I do. It’s a mom thing. She just keeps telling me I used to like them.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s a mom thing.”

* * *

Dinner passed the way it normally did, with Claire picking out edible parts of the bell pepper and her mother holding forth about whatever she was doing for the week. Claire contributed when direct questions came her way; otherwise, she just stayed out of it. She always knew what Mom was going to say, anyway. And she knew Dad wouldn’t say much, if anything.

What he did say was, “Why don’t you bring Shane over some night for