Ghost Town

He wasn’t too upset. “Girls love interesting scars,” he said. “Right? Girls? Are you with me?” Eve held up her hand. So did Claire. Michael and Shane high-fived, but not very hard, because Shane winced. “At least whatever’s going on hasn’t hit any of us four. That’s good.”

Claire looked at Michael, but he didn’t seem to know why she was staring his way. He didn’t remember. Or if he did, he’d chalked it up to dreams, the way so many people probably had.

Eve suddenly turned her head and watched someone walk by behind Claire. “Wow,” she said. “Can’t even come here to get away from the bad elements. Monica on your six, CB.”

Claire looked. It was definitely Monica, heading straight for them. She was trailed by Gina, but not Jennifer— both dressed as if they expected a party to break out any moment, but in oddly out-of-date dresses. There was something strange about the way Monica moved, though. It looked less graceful than Claire was used to, almost awkward.

Monica went right past Claire without a glance, glared at Eve, smiled at Michael, and focused on Shane. “Oh, my God, you’re here, too! I was wondering where you were. Didn’t you get my texts?”

Shane looked at her, winced, and shut his eyes. “Please make the bad thing go away.” He groaned. “I’ve already got a headache.”

Monica’s bright smile faltered, and Claire could have sworn she saw hurt flare briefly across her expression. Then the smile just got brighter. “Oh,” she said. “I guess you didn’t get them. I e-mailed you, too. I’ll send everything again.”

“Let’s not,” Shane said. “Are you kidding me? What are we, friends?”

Monica frowned at him. “Quit being a little prick, Shane. Of course we’re friends.” She giggled. Giggled. “Well, you know. Kissing friends.”

Shane opened his eyes and stared at her. He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked at Michael, who was staring at Monica with exactly the same WTF look.

“Not that we couldn’t be more,” Monica said, and winked at him. “Remember that makeout session in the closet at school? That was hot, right?”

Shane actually blushed. Little red spots high on his cheeks. Claire stared at them, fascinated, and thought, This is like watching one of those reality-show train wrecks. It was almost . . . entertaining. “Shut up,” Shane said. He sounded like he was choking on something.

“Oh, relax. It’s not like we did it or anything. Yet.”

“Seriously. Shut. Up.”

Monica must have finally gotten the idea that Shane was really not joking, because she looked a little thrown, then hurried on to another topic. “So what happened to you? Oh, we’re here because Jennifer got into her mom’s gin or something and forgot how to drive, even though she just learned. So funny! She totally destroyed her mom’s car—at least, I think it was her mom’s car. Some kind of red convertible. Tacky! So she’s a couple of rooms over. You?”

“Just do me a favor and leave, Monica. I don’t need the aggravation right now.” When Shane wanted to be, he could be blunt and kind of mean, and Claire actually felt a twinge of sympathy for the way Monica’s smile collapsed.

“Jeez, I was just trying to be nice, Collins,” Monica said. “You don’t have to be such a toe rag all the time. You’re not that cute, you know. I can do better. Lots better.”

She flounced off. Literally flounced, with her hair bouncing. So odd.

Shane said, finally, “Did that remind anybody else of something?”

“Yes,” Eve said, tapping her lower lip with a bloodred fingernail. “How much I need to shave her head while she’s sleeping.”

“That’s not what I meant. Mike?”

“School,” Michael said instantly. “That’s what she was like in school when she was coming on to you.”

“Speaking of school . . .” Eve said. “What the hell was this about the closet makeout session?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you seriously tongue-wrestle Monica in the—”

“Eve, shut up.”

“No, seriously, I have to know this. Were you high? Because that is honestly the only excuse I can think of.”

“It wasn’t my fault. She grabbed me and pulled me in.” Shane got that flush in his cheeks again. “Once. It was once. And I told her to fuck off the next day.” Shane’s eyes widened, and Claire saw his expression change. “The next day. That was the day she . . . the day she told me she’d make me sorry.”

“Oh, man,” Michael said. “It was only a couple of weeks before—”

Shane shut his eyes again. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

Even Eve let that one go, because what was going unsaid was that two weeks later, the fire had started at Shane’s house, and Monica had been to blame. Maybe.

And Shane’s sister had died.

“She didn’t even look at me,” Claire said. “She always looks at me.”

“What?” Michael asked, distracted.

“Monica. She never lets a chance go by to say something rude to me. But she didn’t. It was like she didn’t even know I existed.”

That was why Monica had ignored her, Claire realized. She wasn’t her enemy. She didn’t even know her. Monica was mentally back in . . . What had it been, tenth grade? Before Shane’s house had burned, and his family had left town.

Monica thought they were all still in high school.

“Creepy,” Claire said.

Shane swallowed. “You have no idea. Monica used to follow me everywhere. Send me porn notes and texts. She told people she was my girlfriend. She beat up any girl I talked to. It was miserable.”

Wow. Monica had been Shane’s stalker. That put a whole different light on things. “How long did that go on?”

“I guess about three months, maybe. Michael?”

“Yeah, that sounds right. It was after she decided I was off-limits.” He shook his head when Claire opened her mouth. “Don’t ask. She was a serial stalker. Worked her way through most of the jocks, but I don’t know why she picked on the two of us.”

“Well, how about you’re adorably cute and talented?” Eve said. “I crushed all over you, too. Not you, Collins. You, Glass.”

The doctor came in around then, and expelled them while Shane got stitches. Claire was happy enough to miss that part. Stitches were painful; she knew that from experience.

Monica and Gina were sipping cans of cola from straws and giggling while they checked out the butts on the interns and doctors. It was so . . . not them. And yet, it was, at the same time. Monica kept looking toward the curtain that hid Shane from view with hungry, fascinated eyes, and that made Claire feel hot and furious and filthy.

Monica still thought Shane was interested in her. All evidence to the contrary.

“This isn’t right,” Michael said, looking around. “It just doesn’t feel right. You know? It’s like everything’s just . . . out of tune. I don’t know if you feel it the way I do. Vampires sense things differently.”

“That may be why some get violent,” Claire said. “We have to fix it. Somehow. It can only get worse.”

“Well, you can’t go back to Myrnin. Not after—”

“Michael, I have to! This thing comes and goes, right? People snap out of it. He’ll come back, and when he does I have to be there and find out what to do.” She took a deep breath. “Or, like Shane said, we have to pull the plug. That’s the only other solution.”

“Nuke the site from orbit,” Eve said. “It’s the only way to be sure.”

“Do not quote Aliens at me; I’m freaked-out enough already!”

“Sorry. But it’s always good advice.”

“It actually is good advice,” Michael said. “I can go pull the plug. Myrnin won’t