Ghost Town

thank God. Eve, where are you?”

“Home, duh. Who’s this?”

Her heart sank. “C-Claire.”

“From school?”

“Uh . . . yeah. From school.” She only lied because she felt so bad, and she needed to just hear a friendly voice. Even if that person didn’t know who she really was. “In math.”

“Oh, yeah, you sit at the back, I remember.”

Claire cleared her throat, because her voice sounded thick and teary. “What are you doing?”

“There is some weird shit going down in Weirdsville, let me tell you. I came home and my mom won’t talk to me, which is actually nice for a change, but my room is gone. I mean, it’s here, but it’s full of junk. I had to move stuff to get to my bed! It’s like they didn’t care if I ever came back.” Eve sounded manic, and nervous. “It’s weird, I mean, my stuff . . . I think she trashed everything. I can’t find my clothes. I think my parents are trying to make me leave. Which, fab, I’ll go, you know? I hate it here. Don’t you?”

Claire sniffled and wiped her nose. “Yeah,” she said faintly. “I do. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know. Away, you know? Away from all this crap. Someplace sunny, if you get me.”

“What about Michael?”

“Michael? Glass?” Eve laughed, but it sounded edgy and strange. “Like he knows I live at all. I mean, he’s hella cute, but he’s not ever going to notice me.”

“I think he will,” Claire said. “I mean, I think he thinks you’re cute.”

“Really?” Eve’s voice sharpened and got suspicious. “You think I’m really going to fall for that? Am I supposed to go up and fall all over Mr. Perfect Glass and get humiliated? Is that what this is about? Who are you, one of Bitch Queen Monica’s posse? Because if you are—”

“I’m not! I promise!”

But Eve’s paranoia switch was well and truly tripped now. “Yeah, well, nice talking to you. Have a great life.”

And she hung up.

Claire clutched the phone to her chest, hard, and tried not to scream out her frustration. When the phone rang, she thought it would be Eve calling back, maybe to give her more attitude. “Yeah?” she said miserably.

“Claire?” Shane. “Claire, are you okay?”

She almost started crying again. “I’m home; I’m at the Glass House. Where are you?”

“On my way there now,” he said. “Stay put. It’s not safe out here.”

“I know.” She sat up and hugged her pillow. “Oliver wasn’t affected; he was going to help me get to Myrnin.”

“Claire, I told you not to—”

“It doesn’t matter. We got ambushed on the way. Amelie hauled him off. I think she thinks he came to kill her. She doesn’t remember him living here, or that he was her . . . friend.” Friend didn’t sound right, especially given what had gone on between them. “I don’t know what happened to him.”

“Well, sorry to say this, but if she kills him, boo-hoo, and I’ll get counseling. Look, just stay there. I’ll be home in about ten minutes. I’m bringing food.”

“What about Michael?”

Shane was silent for a long few seconds, so long Claire checked the screen to see if she’d lost the connection. “I couldn’t get him to remember,” he finally said. “It was safer to leave him with the vamps. He nearly took my throat out, and he kept screaming he wasn’t . . . you know. It was bad.”

“It’s all bad,” Claire said. “And it’s all my fault. I can’t stop it, Shane. I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hey, hey, stop that. We’re going to figure this out, okay? We’ll find a way. But first, we eat, we get some rest, and then we save the world. Right?”

“Just hurry,” she said. “Nothing bad can happen when I’m with you.”

“Wow. I’m not sure if I feel shiny or scared.”

“Scared is useful right now.”

“Good point. I’m coming, okay? I’m running.”

She was smiling, though faintly, as she hung up. She stayed in bed, crossbow at her side, until she heard the front door downstairs open and close, and Shane’s voice called her name. Then she got up and took the crossbow and phone downstairs to meet him.

He looked a little worried about the crossbow as he set a grease-stained bag on the dining table in the corner. “Expecting somebody else?” he asked. “Because I hope that’s not for me.”

She put it down, ran to him, and kissed him frantically. He held her close and kissed her back, warm and sweet and soft, and just the fact that he was here with her made things so, so, so much better.

She finally broke free of the kiss and put her head on his chest. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for remembering.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said. He sounded amused. “You may not thank me for the burgers and fries, though. I don’t think Dan’s Drive-In is doing its best work today.”

“Anything,” she said. “As long as you’re here.”

“Claire.” He pushed her away a little, and tilted her chin up. He looked tired, and worried, and she thought he was, deep down, just as freaked-out as she was. “Don’t forget me, okay?”

“I won’t,” she promised. “I don’t think I ever could. Not even . . . not even if . . .”

He hugged her, and they really didn’t need to finish that conversation at all. It was all . . . better.

Eventually, he said, “The burgers are getting cold,” and Claire let go and went into the kitchen to retrieve the all-important drinks to go with dinner. And yeah, the burgers were kind of gross and the fries were a little cold, but she savored every bite. It tasted like normal life, and she needed every bit of that she could get. They cleaned up afterward, and Shane decided that he’d better wash the dishes, because it was Eve’s turn and she wasn’t going to remember anyway, even if by some miracle she found her way back here. And that felt good, too.

It felt like being in control, at least of the kitchen.

Claire called her mom, who talked about the tests they were running on her dad, and how they planned surgery to fix the valve in his heart, and how he was doing so well, really, all things considered. Claire said very little, because she was afraid she’d just start crying hysterically if she did. Mom didn’t seem to notice; her focus was on Dad, of course. And that was okay.

The last thing her mother said to her was, “I love you so much, honey. Be safe. And call me tomorrow.”

“I will,” Claire whispered. “Love you, too, Mom.”

She hung up before her voice could tremble, and saw Shane watching her with a kind of warm understanding in his face.

“That was hard, huh?” he asked, and put an arm around her. “Your dad’s okay?”

“Doing better than they expected,” Claire said, and took in a deep breath. “Unlike us, I guess.”

“Hey, don’t count us out yet.”

“I don’t,” Claire said. “But it’s bad, Shane. I feel like we’re really alone this time. Just the two of us.”

He hugged her closer. “And that’s not all terrible. Tomorrow we’re going to get this handled, all right? You’re too shaky right now, and going out in the dark isn’t a fabulous plan. We’ll fight monsters in the morning.”

The Morganville TV station was showing reruns of shows from three years ago. Shane put in a movie, and they talked some about . . . well, nothing, really, and kissed and stayed together until finally there was nothing to do but go to bed.

Shane walked her to her bedroom door, and before he could say anything, she said, “Stay, okay? I want you with me.” He just nodded, and she saw relief on his face. He’d been going to ask, anyway.

They got undressed—mostly—in silence, and slipped under the blankets to hold each other. Claire was too worried and scared to want to do anything else, and she thought he felt the same, really; it was more holding on for comfort right now. And that was good. That was really good.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do tomorrow,” Claire said finally, into the dark. Shane’s arms tightened around her, pulling her closer against his chest.

“Tomorrow, we’re going to find out who can still fight, and get down there and pin Myrnin down and fix this,” he said. “I swear. We’re going to make this work.”