Claire kept walking. The sun burned on the sore spot on her head, and on her bruises. Her ankle was still sore, but not enough to bother her that much. She’d just have to be careful.
Eve darted around her to face her, then danced backward when Claire kept walking. “Seriously. This is dumb, Claire, and you don’t strike me as somebody with a death wish. I mean,
“I don’t want to get you guys into any trouble.” Michael had been pretty specific about that.
“That’s why Shane’s not coming. He’s—well, he attracts trouble like TV screens attract dust. Besides, it’s better not to put him anywhere near Monica. Bad things happen.” Eve unlocked the car doors. “You have to call shotgun.”
“What?”
“You have to call shotgun to get the passenger seat.”
“But nobody else is—”
“I’m just telling you, get used to the idea, because if Shane was here? He’d already have it and you’d be in the back.”
“Um…” Claire felt stupid even trying to say it. “Shotgun?”
“Keep practicing. Got to be fast on the trigger around here.”
The car had slick vinyl seats, cracked and peeling, and aftermarket seat belts that didn’t feel any too safe. Claire tried not to slide around on the upholstery too much as the big car jolted down the narrow, bumpy road. The shops looked as dim and uninviting as Claire remembered, and the pedestrians just as hunched in on themselves.
“Eve?” she asked. “Why do people stay here? Why don’t they leave? If, you know…vampires.”
“Good question,” Eve said. “People are funny that way. Adults, anyway. Kids pick up and leave all the time, but adults get all bogged down. Houses. Cars. Jobs. Kids. Once you have stuff, it’s easy enough for the vamps to keep you on a leash. It takes a lot to make people just leave everything behind and run. Especially when they know they might not live long if they do.
Claire unhooked her seat belt and slithered down into the dark space under the dash. She didn’t hesitate, because Eve hadn’t been kidding—that had been pure panic in her voice. “What is it?” She barely dared to whisper.
“Cop car,” Eve said, and didn’t move her lips. “Coming right toward us. Stay down.”
She did. Eve nervously tapped fingernails on the hard plastic steering wheel, and then let out a sigh. “Okay, he went past. Just stay down, though. He might come back.”
Claire did, bracing herself against the bumps in the road as Eve turned toward the campus. Another minute or two passed before Eve gave her the all clear, and she flopped back into the seat and strapped in.
“That was close,” Eve said.
“What if they’d seen me?”
“Well, for starters, they’d have hauled me in to the station for interfering, confiscated my car….” Eve patted the steering wheel apologetically. “And you’d have just…disappeared.”
“But—”
“Trust me. They’re not exactly amateurs around here at making that happen. So let’s just get this done and hope like hell your plan works, okay?”
Eve steered slowly through crowds of lunchtime students walking across the streets, hit the turnaround, and followed Claire’s pointed directions toward the dorm.
Howard Hall didn’t look any prettier today than it had yesterday. The parking lot was only half-full, and Eve cruised the big Caddy into a parking space near the back. She clicked off the ignition and squinted at the sunlight glaring off the hood. “Right,” she said. “You go in, get your stuff, be back here in fifteen minutes, or I start launching Operation Get Claire.”
Claire nodded. She wasn’t feeling so good about this idea, now that she was staring at the door’s entrance.
“Here.” Eve was holding something out. A cell phone, thin and sleek. “Shane’s on speed dial—just hit star two. And remember, fifteen minutes, and then I freak out and start acting like your mom. Okay?”
Claire took the phone and slipped it in her pocket. “Be right back.”
She hoped she didn’t sound scared. Not too scared, anyway. There was something about having friends— even brand-new ones—that helped keep the tremors out of her voice, and shakes out of her hands.
She got out of the car, waved awkwardly to Eve, who waved in reply, and turned to walk back into hell.
Chapter 6
T he cold air of the lobby felt dry and lifeless, after the heat outside; Claire shivered and blinked fast to adjust her eyes to the relative dimness. A few girls were in the lobby with books propped up on tables; the TV was running, but nobody was watching it.
Nobody looked at her as she walked by. She went to the glassed-in attendant booth, and the student assistant sitting inside looked up from her magazine, saw her bruises, and made a silent O with her mouth.
“Hi,” Claire said. Her voice sounded thin and dry, and she had to swallow twice. “I’m Claire, up on four? Um, I had an accident yesterday. But I’m okay. Everything’s fine.”
“You’re the—they were looking for you, right?”
“Yeah. Just tell everybody I’m okay. I’ve got to get to class.”
“But—”
“Sorry, I’m late!” Claire hurried to the stairs and went up as fast as her sore ankle would allow. She passed a couple of girls, who gave her wide-eyed looks, but nobody said anything.
She didn’t see Monica. Not on the stairs, not at the top. The hallway was empty, and all the doors were shut. Music pounded from three or four different rooms. She hurried down to the end, where her own room was, and started to unlock it.
The knob turned limply in her fingers.
Sure enough, the room was a wreck. What wasn’t broken was dumped in piles. Books were defaced, which really hurt. Her meager clothes had been dragged out of the closet and scattered over the floor. Some of the blouses had been ripped, but she seriously didn’t care that much; she sorted through, found two or three that were intact, and stuffed them in the garbage bag. One pair of sweatpants was fine, and she added that, too. She had a lucky find of a couple of ratty old pairs of underwear that hadn’t been discovered, shoved in the corner of the drawer, and added those to the sack.
The rest was another pair of shoes, what books she could salvage, and the little bag of makeup and toiletries she kept on the shelf next to the bed. Her iPod was gone. So were her CDs. No telling if that had been Monica’s doing, or the work of some other dorm rat who’d scavenged later.
She looked around, swept the worst of the mess into a corner, and grabbed the photo of her mom and dad off of the dresser to take with her.
And then she left, not bothering to try to lock the door.
She was halfway down the steps when she heard voices on the second-floor landing. “—swear, it’s her! You should see the black eye. Unbelievable. You really clocked her one.”
“Where the hell is she?” Monica’s voice, hard-edged. “And how come nobody came to get me?”
“We—we did!” someone protested. Someone who sounded as scared as Claire suddenly felt. She reached in her pocket, grabbed the phone, and held on to it for security.
