Bite Club

with Ollie on the pointy-object dance floor.”

“I can’t believe you fought him.”

“Fought him? Damn, girlfriend, I got a touch on him. You know how difficult that is? I’ve been a serious fencer for years, but I never even got close to a touch on anybody without a pulse. He used to duel for real, you know. Without the safety tips on the blades.”

Claire could believe it. What she couldn’t get her head around was that Eve thought that was cool.

Maybe, she thought, fencing isn’t my sport after all.

FOUR

Michael was home when they arrived, and surprisingly, he wasn’t playing guitar. He was sitting on the couch in Shane’s customary spot, playing a game. “Hey,” he said as Claire and Eve entered. “Nobody made dinner.”

“Nobody but you was home to eat it,” Eve said. “And I’m taking a wild guess that you didn’t make it, either.”

“Nope.” He killed a zombie with a chainsaw, and ducked instinctively as another one lunged at him out of the shadows on the screen. “Guess we’re all going to bed hungry, like the bad children we are.”

“Guess not.” Eve winked at Claire, who held up a grease-stained bag. “Seriously, you couldn’t smell the burgers? Is your vampire nose on the fritz, Michael?”

“I was hoping I was imagining the burgers.”

“Shut up. I got you one made extra rare. With pickles. I know you like pickles.”

Michael paused the game and put the controller aside, and as he stood up, the door opened and Shane came in. He nodded to Michael as he dropped his canvas bag in the hallway, next to Eve’s. “Who got burgers?”

“See, he can smell the burgers!” Eve yelled from the kitchen.

Michael ignored that. “You guys go to the gym?”

“Yeah,” Shane said. “The martial arts guy is pretty hard-core.”

“I got a bruise!” Eve shouted. “Big one! Right over my heart! Guess who put it there?”

Michael raised his eyebrows at Shane, who held up his hands. “Not me, man. I never touched her.”

“Oliver!” Eve backed out of the kitchen door, holding plates, balancing them like a pro. “Michael, here’s your almost-cooked one. Shane, got you the jalapeño burger. Me and Claire have plain old boring ones.”

“We’re branching out into different forms of junk food,” Michael said. “Exciting.”

“Shut up. Do you want your juice warmed up?” Juice, Claire figured, was Eve’s new code for blood. Well, technically, it was juice, Claire supposed. People juice.

“I’ll get it,” Michael said. “Thanks. Shane, Claire—Cokes?”

“Yes!” Claire yelled, at the same time Shane did. He walked over to put his arm around her and bent to kiss her.

“Jinx,” he whispered.

“I like this version of jinxies better than the one I did in grade school,” she said. He tasted like salt and metal, but it still seemed sexy—and so did the way his damp T-shirt clung to his shoulders and chest. She’d never thought sweaty was all that sexy before, but Shane…well. Shane rocked it.

“So, what did you do at the gym?” he asked. “I thought I saw you on the stair machine.”

Oops. Busted. “I was on it for a while,” she said. “Then Eve took me to teach me how to fence.”

“Not so much how to fence as how to hold a sword and not drop it,” Eve said. “And then I fought Oliver to a draw.”

Shane fluttered his hands. “Oh, and then we were all elected as ice princesses and asked to go to Disneyland!” He rolled his eyes.

“Laugh all you want. I’m going to look way better in full skirts than you,” Eve said. “And besides, I’m not lying. I got a mortal touch on Oliver. Ask your girlfriend.”

“She hit him with her sword,” Claire said, when both Michael and Shane looked at her. “I saw it.”

“And then, to make sure I knew my place, he practically rammed his épée through my heart, but, you know, details. Hence the bruise.” She dragged down the neckline of her shirt to show off the top of it. Shane whistled appreciatively—not at her assets, Claire felt sure. The bruise. That was Shane, through and through.

“I didn’t know fencing was a contact sport,” he said. “I thought it was more, you know, a pretend sport. Like golf. Or competitive eating.”

“Hey, golf is hard.” Eve shrugged. “Anytime you want me to whip your lame ass on eighteen holes, let me know.”

“I got whipped enough, thanks.” Shane flopped down in his chair and pulled the plate toward him. “I could eat roadkill, I’m so hungry. Without hot sauce.”

“Well, you’re in luck, because I have no idea what’s really in these burgers,” Eve said. Michael came out of the kitchen and put three cold cans of Coke on the table, and one sports bottle that might have possibly held juice. Warm juice. Claire was glad it was opaque. “Dinner together. Wow. This is an event.”

It was, recently. They’d all been doing their own thing so much, it had been more like two of them eating together, or maybe three. Having all four at the table was great for a change. Eve chattered on about work, and how awesome the fencing room (the salle?) was at the new gym. Michael put in a few tidbits about what was happening with his music, which was still up in the air after their road trip to Dallas to get his demo recorded. It was sounding positive, but Michael was all about the caution and pessimism.

Claire almost blurted out the whole Myrnin/Frank face-off, but realized that she couldn’t, because Shane was there, and Shane still didn’t know his father had survived…at least, in the form of a brain in a jar, hooked up to a computer. Shane thought Frank was dead, and he was at peace with that, kind of. Claire didn’t know how he was going to feel about the rest of it, and she couldn’t stand to hurt him. There was no reason he had to know.

Or so she kept telling herself, anyway.

It was a nice time together, and it felt like home. The laughter made her warm, and the occasional glances and smiles from Shane made her tingle all over. After dinner, she and Eve did the dishes (but only because it was their turn) while Michael and Shane claimed the couch and loaded up the new game. Turned out it was—no surprise—another zombie game. Blood and guts ensued. Claire curled up between them on the couch with a textbook, while Eve stretched out on the floor and flipped through a magazine.

A normal night. Very, very normal.

Until Shane lost the game.

“Damn it!” he yelled, and threw the controller at the screen. Like, really threw it. It hit the edge of the frame, instead of the softer LCD part, and pieces of the controller broke off and went everywhere. Eve yelped and rolled over, brushing off pieces of plastic. Claire flinched.

“Jesus, Shane, get a grip,” Michael said. “You lost. BFD, man. It’s not the first time.”

“Shut up,” Shane said. He stood up, grabbed the controller, and glared at it. “Piece of crap.”

“Don’t blame the equipment. It was working fine before you scrapped it.”

“How the hell do you know? Were you playing it?”

“I know you owe me for a new controller.”

“Screw you, bro.” Shane threw the broken controller at Michael this time. Not that it was a risk; Michael calmly reached up and caught it, so smoothly it might have been some kind of special effect.

“Maybe you should chill out.”

“Maybe you should stop with the vampire reflexes in game!”

Michael frowned. He didn’t usually let Shane get to him, but Claire could see the anger forming. “I played you fair.”

“Fair?” Shane barked out a laugh. “Man, you have no idea what you’re talking about anymore, do you? You don’t even know when you’re screwing us.”

“Hey!” Claire said, and stood up between them, as Michael got to his feet. The air felt thick and ominous