Glass Houses

“The point is, I couldn’t give a crap about you, your friends, or your problems, because for me this isn’t personal. Monica will kill you because she’s nuts. I’ll kill you because you make me kill you. Are we straight?”

“Well,” Shane said, “that’s kind of a personal question.”

Richard aimed directly at Claire. It wasn’t much of a change, but she definitely felt it, like being in the center of the spotlight instead of just on the edges, and she heard Shane say, “Dude, I’m kidding, all right? Kidding!”

She didn’t dare blink, or move her eyes away from the gun. If she could just keep staring at it, somehow, that would keep him from shooting her. She knew that didn’t make sense, but…

In her side vision she saw Shane reach behind his back and pull out a book. Black leather cover. Oh no. He’s really going to…he can’t. Not after all this. Although she didn’t have any answers for how he was supposed to avoid it, either.

Shane held up his left hand, showing it empty, and held out the black Bible with his right.

“That’s it?” Richard asked.

“Swear to God.”

“Monica. Take it.”

She did, scowling at Shane. “You are not my high school crush, idiot.”

“Great. I can die happy, then.”

“I’m shooting the next person who talks who isn’t my sister,” Richard said. “Monica?”

She opened the Bible. “There’s a hole in it. And another book.” She stopped, staring at the inside. “Oh my God. It really is. I thought for sure she was bullshitting us.”

“She knows better. Let me see.”

Monica tilted the open Bible toward him, and Claire’s last faint hope went away, because yes, that was the cover, with its scratchy home-engraved symbol.

Shane had done it. He’d given it up.

Somehow she’d expected better.

“So. We’re square, right?” Shane asked tensely. “No shooting or anything.”

Richard reached out, took the Bible from Monica, and flipped it close to tuck it under one arm. “No shooting,” he agreed. “I meant what I said. I’ll only kill you if you make me. So thanks, I really didn’t need the paperwork.”

He walked past Shane to the stairs, and started down.

“Hey, wait!” Shane said. “Want to take your psycho sister with you?”

Richard stopped and sighed. “Right. Monica? Let’s go.”

“I don’t want to,” she said. “Oliver told me I could have them.”

“Oliver’s not here, and I am, and I’m telling you that we have to go. Right now.” When she didn’t move, he looked back. “Now. Move, unless you want to fry.”

She blew Claire and Shane a mocking kiss. “Yeah. Enjoy the barbecue!”

She followed her brother down. Gina went after, and that just left Jennifer standing there, looking oddly helpless even with a knife in her hands.

She bent over and put it on the floor, held up her hands, and said, “Monica set a fire. You should get out while you can, and run like hell. It probably won’t help, but—I’m sorry.”

And then she was gone. Shane stared after them for a frozen second, then moved over to kneel next to Eve. “Hey. You okay?”

“Taking a nap,” Eve said. “I thought maybe if I stayed down, you’d have it easier.” She sounded shaky, though. “Help me up.”

Shane and Claire each took a hand and pulled her up; she swayed woozily. “Did I get that right? You actually handed it over?”

“You know what? I did. And it kept you guys alive, so there you go. Hate me.” He was going to say something else, but then stopped and frowned and nodded down the hallway.

There was a thin thread of smoke curling out from underneath the door of Claire’s bedroom.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, and ran for it; the knob was hot. She instantly let go and backed away. “We have to get out of here!”

“Like they’re going to let us go?” Shane asked. “And no way am I letting this house burn. What about Michael? He can’t leave!”

She hadn’t even thought of that, and it hit her hard. Michael was trapped. Would he die if the house burned? Could he? “Fire trucks!” she yelled. “There are fire trucks outside—”

“Yeah, to keep everything else from going up,” Eve said. “Trust me. This is their easy answer. The Glass House goes up in flames, along with all their problem kids. Nobody’s going to help us!”

“Then we have to do it,” Shane said. “Yo, Michael! You there?”

“Here’s there,” Eve said. “I’m cold.”

“Anything you can do?”

Eve looked puzzled. “Yes? No? Oh. Maybe. He says maybe.”

“Maybe’s not good enough.” Shane opened the door to Eve’s room and grabbed the black comforter off the bed. “Blankets, towels, whatever, get it in the bathroom and soak it down. Oh, and let Miranda out, will you? We can hate her later.”

Claire kicked the chair out of the way from under the doorknob. The closet door flew open, and Miranda spilled out, coughing. She took one look at them and ran for the stairs.

“My clothes!” Eve yelped, and grabbed a double armful of hangers, then ran to Michael’s room to dump them in a pile.

“Yeah, way to stay focused, Eve!” Shane yelled. He had the tap going in the bath, and seconds later he was back, dragging the soaking wet bundle. “Stay back.”

He kicked open the door, and behind it Claire saw fire licking from the curtains up toward the ceiling. Her bed was on fire, too. It looked like that was where Monica had started it, since it was mostly in flames.

“Be careful!” she yelled, and hesitated to watch as Shane yanked the curtains down, threw the wet comforter over the bed, and began stomping down flames.

“Don’t just stand there!” he said. “Blankets! Towels! Water! Move!”

She dashed off.

Chapter 16

T he whole house smelled like smoke and burned mattress, but on the whole, it could have been a lot worse. Claire’s room was a mess, and her bed and curtains were a dead loss. Scorches on the floor and smoke damage on the ceiling.

Still.

Shane dumped more water on the mattress, which was already a sodden mess, and collapsed against the wall next to Claire and Eve.

“They’ve got to be wondering why we’re not all screaming and burning by now,” Eve said. “I mean, logically.”

“Go look.”

“You go look. I’ve had a tough night.”

Claire sighed, got up, and went to the unbroken window at the far end of the room. She couldn’t see anything. No vampires, obviously, since the sun was blazing in the sky by now, but no human flunkies, either. “Maybe they’re all out front,” she said.

In the silence, she distinctly heard…the doorbell.

“You’re kidding me,” Shane said. “Hey, did you order pizza? Good thinking. I’m starved.”

“I think you have brain damage,” Eve shot back.

“Yeah, because I’m starved.”

There was a crash from downstairs, and Shane stopped smiling. His eyes went dark and focused. “I guess this is it,” he said. “Sorry. Last stand at the Alamo.”