Glass Houses

“I don’t have a lot of time,” he said. “Where are they? Shane and Eve?”

“Inside,” she said, and pulled it open wider, the universal signal for Come in. He didn’t. He held up a hand instead, waved it in the air in front of him with a puzzled frown. “Oliver?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask me in,” he said. “It seems this house has some very detailed Protections in place. I can’t come in unless you ask.”

“Oh. Sorry about that.” She was about to ask him inside when it occurred to her that maybe it wasn’t the best idea, just asking people in without okaying it with the rest of the Glass House first. Especially since she was living here only another day. “Um, can you wait just a second?”

“No, Claire, I really can’t,” Oliver said impatiently. He was still wearing the hippie gear from Common Grounds, but somehow he looked…different. Odd. “Please invite me in. I don’t have time to wait.”

“But I—”

“Claire, I can’t help you if you won’t trust me! Now quickly, before it’s too late, let me in!”

“But I—” She pulled in a deep breath. “All right. I invite you—”

“No!” It was a roar from behind her, absolutely terrifying, and she threw herself to one side and covered her mouth with both hands to hold in her scream. It wasn’t Shane bearing down on her; it was Michael. Shane was behind him, and Eve. “Claire, get back!”

Michael looked like an avenging angel, and nobody argued with angels. Claire scurried backward, still holding her hands over her mouth, as Michael strode past her, right up to the doorway. The edge of his territory.

Oliver looked disappointed but, she saw, not particularly surprised. “Ah, Michael. Good to see you again. I see you’re surviving nicely.”

Michael didn’t say anything, but from Claire’s vantage point to the side, she saw the look he was giving Oliver, and it frightened her. She hadn’t thought Michael could get that angry.

“What do you want here?” he asked tightly. Oliver sighed.

“I know you won’t believe me,” he said, “but in truth, I had the best interests of your young friend at heart.”

Michael laughed bitterly. “Yeah. I’ll bet.”

“Also your friend Shane—” Oliver’s eyes darted past Michael to lock on Shane, then Eve. “And of course my dear sweet Eve. Such a fine employee.”

Michael turned slowly to look at Eve, whose eyes were wide with what Claire hoped was horror. Or at least confusion. “You know each other?” Eve blurted. “But—Michael, you said you didn’t know Oliver, and—”

“I didn’t,” Michael said, and turned back, “until he killed me. We were never formally introducted.”

“Yes,” Oliver said, and shrugged. “Sorry about that. Nothing personal about it; it was an experiment of sorts that didn’t quite work out. But I’m pleased to see you survived, even if not quite in the form that I’d hoped.”

Michael made a sound Claire hoped never to hear again from any person, living or dead. It was Eve’s turn to clap her hands over her mouth, then quickly take them away to yell, “Oh my God! Oliver!”

“We can discuss my moral shortcomings later,” he said. “For now, you need to let me inside this house, and as quickly as possible.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Michael said. “I think one of us dead in here is good enough. I’m not letting you in to kill the rest.”

Oliver studied him silently for a long moment. “I’d hoped to be able to avoid this,” he finally said. “Your little Claire is quite the prodigy, you know. She says she’s found the book. I think she has quite a promising future in Morganville…provided she survives the night.”

Michael looked like he wanted to vomit. His eyes darted to Claire, then away. “Doesn’t matter. Go away. Nobody’s asking you in.”

“No?” Oliver smiled widely, and his fangs came down with lazy slowness. That was absolutely the scariest thing Claire had ever seen, that and the sincerity in his eyes. “I think someone will. Sooner or later.”

“I’d say over my dead body, but I think you already made that point,” Michael snapped. “Thanks for the visit. Now fuck off, man.”

He started to close the door. Oliver held up a hand—not like he was trying to stop him physically, just a warning—and his fangs folded up to leave his face kind and trustworthy again. Like…the face of a really cool teacher, the kind who made school worth living through. That, Claire thought, was a bigger betrayal than anything else.

“Wait. Do they understand why they’re here, Michael? Why you risked exposing your secrets to them?” Michael didn’t stop. The door was swinging closed on Oliver. “Shane, listen to me! Michael needed someone living to activate the house Protection! You think he cares about you, he doesn’t! You’re just arms and legs for him! Beating hearts! He’s no different from me!”

“Except for the not-bloodsucking part, you freak!” Shane yelled, and then the door slammed shut on Oliver’s face. Michael threw the bolt with shaking fingers. “Christ, man. Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I—about what?” Michael asked, not turning to face him. He looked pale, Claire saw. Scared.

“Any damn thing! How did this happen, Michael? How did you get to be—?” Shane made a gesture that was vague enough to mean anything. “Was he trying to, you know, vamp you out?”

“I think so. It didn’t work. This is as far as I got.” Michael swallowed hard and turned to face him. “He’s right about the Protections. The house won’t enforce any Protection unless there’s someone living in it. I don’t exactly count. I’m—part of it now. I did need you.”

“Whatever, man. I don’t care about that. I care that you went and got yourself drained by some damn leech while my back was turned—”

“He can’t be a vampire,” Eve said suddenly. “He can’t. He’s my boss! And…and he works days! How is that even possible?”

“Ask him,” Michael said. “Next time you go to work.”

“Oh, right, as if I didn’t just quit that job!” Eve moved up beside Michael and put her arms around him. He hugged her back, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they’d been doing that all along—which, Claire admitted, maybe they had and she just hadn’t known. Michael stroked Eve’s hair. “God, I am so sorry!”

“Not your fault,” he said. “Not anybody’s fault except his.”

“How’d you—?”

“I played a set at Common Grounds. I didn’t know he owned the place. I was dealing with a guy named Chad—”

“Oh. Right. Chad died,” Eve said.

“Wonder how that happened?” Shane put in acidly.

“This guy—Oliver, but I never knew his name—said he was a musician and he was looking for a room to rent. I thought it was a good idea. He came over to see the house.” Michael closed his eyes tight, like he couldn’t bear to see the pictures in his head again. Not that it would help, Claire knew. “As soon as I asked him in. I felt it. But it was too late, and—he had friends.”

Shane cursed, one harsh word that boomed off the wood floor like a gunshot, and leaned back against the wall, head down. Slumped. “I should have been here,” he said.

“Then we’d both be dead.”

“And you still will be,” said Oliver’s voice through the door. “Eve, my dear. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. Let me in.”

“Leave her alone!” Michael roared, and turned to face the door.

Claire saw something happen in Eve’s face—the will go out of it, the light go out of her eyes. Oh no, she thought, frozen, and tried to open her mouth to warn Michael.

Before she could do it, Eve said, “Yes, Oliver. Come inside.”

And the lock snapped on the door with a crisp, bright ringing sound, and the door drifted open on the night, and Oliver stepped over the threshold.