Bite Club

do….”

Claire shifted her attention to Monica, who was standing very still, face closed into a pretty, shallow mask. “You’re going to let your psycho friend come after me. Even knowing what will happen when Amelie finds out.”

Monica smiled, just a little. “What makes you think I can’t make you disappear? Lots of places in this town to hide a body, especially if it’s in little pieces. And you’re just a little bitty thing, anyway.”

Claire shook her head and looked at Miranda. “Why did you hit her?” she asked. “Gina. You came on campus, looked for her, and hit her. Why?”

“Because it had to happen that way.” Miranda sometimes didn’t make a whole lot of sense, and this was definitely one of those times.

Monica wasn’t going to back down, not in front of her friends. Something had to change first. The balance had to shift, and fast, because Gina was working herself up to some genuine psycho-quality violence. As Gina was wont to do, actually.

Claire looked at Jennifer.

Jennifer seemed scared. This had clearly gone further than she’d thought or was comfortable with; Jen had always been the softest of the three of them, and this was especially true now. She’d been hurt recently, when a rave in town had turned into an all-out humans-versus-vamps brawl. When Shane and Claire had finally found her, she’d been balled up in a corner, thin party dress torn and stained with blood. She’d been cut with broken glass, and had a couple of cracked ribs.

But from the haunted look in her eyes, Claire had to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she’d learned how it felt to be on the receiving end.

“Jen,” she said, very quietly. “You don’t have to be here. You know what it’s like to be hurt, and you don’t want to make someone else go through that. Just walk away.”

Jen flinched and took a small step backward. She looked over at Monica, then at Gina.

“We were there for you, Jen,” Monica said. “We’ve always been there for you. Don’t you turn your back on us now. We know where you live, bitch.”

“Yeah, she knows where I live, too,” Claire said. “But she knows better than to show up there.” She turned her attention back to Monica. “It’s not just about scaring people out of their lunch money anymore, Monica. You’re not the school bully. You’re talking about real trouble, jail trouble, and you know how this is going to end. You need to stop this before you all get hurt, lots worse than anything you’d do to Miranda. Or to me.”

Monica was staring back at her, and Claire had the oddest feeling that for the first time, Monica was seeing her. After all this time, all this anger, she was actually communicating.

“Think,” Claire said very softly. “Just think. You don’t have to make this happen. You don’t need it, Monica. Everybody knows who you are. You don’t have to keep on proving it to yourself and to everybody else.”

That rocked Monica’s head back, as if Claire had actually punched her in a vulnerable spot. Her lips parted, but whatever she was going to say…she didn’t have time.

“You know what? I’m tired of the blah, blah, blah. Screw all this talking,” Gina said, and came at Claire with the knife.

“Gina, no!” Monica yelled. She sounded shocked, as if she hadn’t actually thought Gina would do it. As if Gina was all threat, no action.

But Claire had always known better.

That didn’t make it feel any better as she watched Gina and the knife lunge straight for her.

EIGHT

Claire’s world got suddenly very clear—high-definition clear. She could see the light glittering along the blade of Gina’s knife. The sweat on Gina’s forehead. The way she balanced her weight as she attacked.

Claire shoved Miranda out of the way, and in the same motion, slammed her forearm at a right angle to Gina’s as the hand holding the knife came at her. She remembered Eve’s fencing poses. Seemed like the right thing to do.

Gina’s knife missed. Claire watched the edge glide past her, an inch from her left elbow, and knew she ought to be afraid, because, my God, she was in a knife fight with Gina, and nobody was coming to help her. Nobody even knew what was going on. Not Shane or Michael or Eve, not Amelie, not even Myrnin.

But, weirdly, right now it didn’t matter. Everything was still and quiet inside, and she supposed she should have felt scared, but she didn’t. She didn’t feel anything.

Shane had given her lessons in how to trip people up—it had been a game, one that had ended up with her on her back more than him on his, and she’d loved the laughter and the feel of his weight pinning her down. But now she walled all that away and stripped it down to its purest parts.

She could do this. She had to do it.

She stepped forward into Gina’s body, and got her left foot behind and between Gina’s. That put her lower leg at an angle, below Gina’s knee.

As Gina stabbed at her with the knife, Claire grabbed her wrist, forced it up and in, and overbalanced her. Gina started to step backward, then yelped as Claire’s braced leg took the strength out of her knee.

She went down on her back. Claire twisted the knife out of Gina’s hand and dropped down with one knee on her chest, holding her down. She froze, looking down at her, breathing hard. She felt hot and shivery now, and the impulse to take that knife and do something terrible with it boiled up inside. It tasted like rage and fear and all the terrible things she’d ever felt, and for a second, just a second, she thought about what it would be like to make Gina feel that, to make Gina hurt.

Gina’s eyes went wide, watching her. She knew. She could see it, too, and for the first time ever, Claire saw that Gina was actually afraid.

“This is what I saw,” Miranda said, a quiet little voice at Claire’s elbow. “But you’re not going to do it. You’re a good person.”

Claire didn’t feel like a good person, not at the moment. She felt sick and a little bit faint, and she didn’t resist when Miranda took the knife out of her hand.

“But I’m not that good,” Miranda said, and stabbed the knife down at Gina’s chest.

Claire screamed and knocked Miranda out of the way, a firm body check that sent Mir stumbling, then rolling. The knife fell to the grass. Gina scrambled for it, but Claire got there first, picked it up, and held it at her side. Gina slowly climbed to her feet, breathing fast, chin down. The fear was gone now, replaced with an insane amount of rage.

“Monica,” Claire said. “Call off the pit bull. Now, before this gets worse.”

A few torturous seconds of silence passed before Monica said, “Gina. Yo, bitch, chill. We’ll finish this some other time.”

“Give me back my knife,” Gina said.

“Um…no.” Claire folded it up and slipped it into her jeans pocket. “The last thing you need is a weapon.”

“I’ll buy you another one. Come on, Gina. We’re going.” Jennifer took Gina’s arm and tugged on it, glancing at Claire with a mixture of fear and respect. “Like Monica said. We’ll get this later.”

Gina pointed at Claire. “You. I’ll get you later.”

Claire shrugged. “Go for it.”

Jennifer pulled her friend away. Monica had already turned her back and was walking away. She paused right before she turned the corner to glance back and nod slightly to Claire.

Odd. It almost looked like respect, too.

Silence. Claire listened to the breeze, the distant laughter of students coming from beyond the trees, and all of a sudden she couldn’t stay on her feet. She sat down—sprawled—and rested her forehead in her hands.