Dinner passed the way it normally did, with Claire picking out edible parts of the bell pepper and her mother holding forth about whatever she was doing for the week. Claire contributed when direct questions came her way; otherwise, she just stayed out of it. She always knew what Mom was going to say, anyway. And she knew Dad wouldn't say much, if anything. What he did say was, "Why don't you bring Shane over some night for dinner?" It was as if time stopped. Her mother froze, fork halfway to her mouth; Claire froze, too, but unfortunately she was in the process of gulping down a mouthful of Coke at the time, which meant coughing and sputtering, watering eyes, the whole embarrassing bit. "Honey, I'm sure Shane's very busy," her mother said, recovering. "Right, Claire?"

"I'd like to talk to him," her father said, and right now there wasn't any warm-and-fuzzy daddy vibe. It was more PARENT, in big, flashing red letters. "Soon."

"Uh--okay, I'll see if--Okay." Claire frantically cut up a piece of stuffed bell pepper and ate it, bell pepper and all. She nearly choked again, but she managed to get it down. "Hey, I might be taking a trip."

"What kind of a trip?"

"To Dallas. With my friends."

"We'll see," Dad said, which meant no, of course. "I'd need to talk to Shane first." Oh God, now they were bargaining. Or she was being blackmailed. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Claire mumbled that she'd try, or something like that, choked down another bite of food that no longer tasted even a little good, and jumped up to clear her plate. "Claire!" her mother called after her as she dashed into the kitchen. "You're not running off tonight, are you? I was hoping we could spend some time with you!"

"You just did," Claire muttered as she rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. She raised her voice and yelled back, "Can't, Mom! I've got to study! All my books are over at the Glass House!"

"Well, you're not walking over there in the dark," Mom said. "Obviously."

"I told you, I've got a pin from Amelie! They're not going to bother me!" Her dad opened the door of the kitchen. "And what about just garden-variety humans? You think that little pin protects you from everything that could hurt you?"

"Dad--"

"I worry about you, Claire. You take these risks, and I don't know why. I don't know why you think it's okay." She bit her lip. There was something in his voice, a kind of weary disappointment that cut her to the core and nearly brought tears to her eyes. She loved him, but he could be so clueless. "I didn't say I'd walk, Dad," she said. "I make mistakes, sure, but I'm not stupid. " She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and turned her back on her father. When Eve answered with a bright, chirping, "Hit me!" Claire said, "Can you come get me? At my house?"

"Claire," her father said. She turned to look at him. "Dad, I really have to study."

"I know," he said. "I'll drive you home." He said it with a funny little smile, sad and resigned. And it wasn't until she smiled that she realized what he'd really said. Home. The Glass House. "It's hard for us to let go," he said. "You know that, right?" She did. She hesitated for a second, then said into the phone, "Never mind, Eve. Sorry. Dad's bringing me." Then she hugged her father, and he hugged her back, hard, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "I love you, sweetie."

"I know. I love you, too."

"But not enough to eat more stuffed bell peppers and play Jenga with your folks."

"No more bell peppers, but I'd completely play Jenga," she said. "One game?" He hugged her even harder. "I'll get the game." Three games of Jenga later, Claire was tired, happy, and a little bit sad. She'd seen her mom laugh, and her dad look happy, and that was good, but there'd been something odd about it, too. She felt like a visitor, as if she didn't fit here anymore, the way she once had. They were her family, but seen from the outside. She had too many experiences now that didn't include them. "Claire," her dad said as he drove her home through the darkened streets of Morganville. It was quiet out, only a few cars moving about. Two of them were white police cruisers. At least three other cars they passed had heavy tinting, too heavy for humans to see through. "Your mom had a talk with me, and I'm not going to insist you keep on living at home with us. If you want to live with your friends, you can."

"Really?" She sat up straight, looking at him. "You mean it?"

"I don't see how it makes much difference. You're seventeen, and a more independent seventeen than I ever was. You've got a job and responsibilities beyond anything I can really understand. It doesn't make much sense for us to keep trying to treat you like a sheltered little girl." He hesitated, then went on. "And I sound like the worst dad in the world, don't I?"

"No," she said. "No, you don't. You sound like--like you understand." He sighed. "Your mother thinks if we just put more restrictions on you, things would get back to normal. You'd go back to being the same little girl she knew. But they won't, and you won't. I know that." He sounded a little sad about it, and she remembered how she'd felt at the house--a little out of place, as if she were a visitor in their lives. Her life was splitting off on its own. It was such a strange feeling. "But about Shane--," her father continued. "Dad!"

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I'm going to say it anyway. I'm not saying Shane is a bad guy--I'm sure he's not, at heart--but you really need to think about your future. What you want to do with your life. Don't get in too deep, too fast. You understand what I'm saying?"

"You married Mom when you were nineteen." He sighed. "I knew you'd bring that up."

"Well? It's okay for you to make decisions before twenty, but not me?"

"Short answer? Yes. And we both know that if I really wanted to, I could make Shane's life a living hell. Dads can do that."

"You wouldn't!"

"No, I won't, because I do think he really loves you, and he really wants to protect you. But what Shane may not get at that age is that he could be the worst thing in the world for you. He could completely derail you. Just--keep your head, okay? You're a smart girl. Don't let your hormones run your life." He pulled the car to a stop at the Glass House, behind Eve's big monster of a car. There were lights blazing in the windows--warmth and friendship and another life, her life; one her parents could only watch from the outside. She turned to her father and saw him watching her with that same sad, quiet expression. He moved a strand of hair back from her face. "My little girl," he said, and shook his head. "I expect you for dinner soon."

"Okay," she said, and kissed him quickly. "Bye, Daddy. I love you." He smiled, and she quickly got out of the car and ran up the cracked walk, jumped up the steps to the porch, and waved at him from the front door as she got out her keys. Even so, he waited, watching until she'd actually opened the door, stepped in, and closed it. Only then did she hear the engine rev as his car pulled out. Michael was playing in the living room. Loud. That wasn't normal at all for him, and as Claire came around the comer, she found Eve and Shane sitting on the floor, watching the show. Michael had set up an amplifier, and he was playing his electric guitar, which he rarely did at home, and damn. That was impressive stuff. She sank down next to Shane and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. The music was like a physical wall pushing over her, and after the first few seconds of fighting it, Claire finally let herself go; she was pulled away on the roaring tide of notes as Michael played. She had no idea what the song was, but it was fast, loud, and amazing. When it was over, her ears were left ringing, but she didn't care. Along with Shane and Eve, she clapped and whooped and whistled, and Michael gravely took a bow as he shut down the amp and unplugged. Shane got up and high-fived, then low-fived him. "Nothing but net, man. How do you do that?"

"No idea, really," Michael said. "Hey, Claire. How are the folks?"

"Okay," she said. "My dad says I can officially move back in." Not that she'd ever really moved out. "I knew we'd wear them down," Eve said. "After all, we really are amazingly cool." And now it was Eve's turn for the high five with Shane. "For a bunch of misfit geeks, slackers, and losers."

"Which one are you?" Shane asked. She flipped him off. "Oh, right. Loser. Thanks for reminding me." Claire dug in her backpack and came out with the passes Myrnin had delivered. "Uh--I got these today. Somebody want to fill me in?" Michael, at vampire speed, crossed the distance and snatched the paper out of her hand. He spread out the individual passes and stared at them with a blank, shocked expression. "But--I didn't think--"

"Apparently, somebody agreed," Claire said. "Eve?" Eve frowned. "What? What is it?"

"Passes," Michael said. "To leave town, to go to Dallas. To do the demo."

"For you?"

"For all of us." Michael looked up and slowly smiled. "You know what this means?" Shane threw back his head and let out a loud wolf howl. "Road trip!" he yelled! "Yes!" Michael put his arms around Eve, and she melted against him, her pale-painted face against his chest, hands around his waist. Claire saw her dark eyes flutter closed, and a kind of peaceful happiness came over Eve's face--and then her eyes snapped open. "Wait," she said. "I've never--I mean--outside? Of Morganville? To Dallas? You can't be serious. Michael?" He held up a pass with her name on it. "It's signed. Official."

"They're letting us leave town? Are they insane? Because once I hit the shops in Dallas, I don't think I'm ever coming home." Eve made a face. "And I can't believe I just thought of Morganville as home. How much of a saddie am I?"

"Eight out of ten," Shane said. "But we do have to come back, right?"

"Right," Michael said. "Well, I have to come back. I've got nowhere else to go. You guys ..."

"Stop," Eve said, and put a hand over his mouth to enforce the order. "Just stop there. Please." He looked down at her, and their eyes locked. He took her hand away from his mouth, and then lifted the backs of her fingers to his lips for a long, slow kiss. It was just about the sexiest thing Claire had ever seen, full of sweetness and love and longing. From the expression on Eve's face, it was just about the sexiest thing she'd ever seen, too. "We'll talk about it on the road," Michael said. "The passes are good for a week. I'll make some calls and see when they need me in the studio there." Eve nodded. Claire doubted she could put any words together, right at that moment. "Hey," Shane said, and tapped Claire on the nose. "Snap out of it."

"What? What!"

"Seriously. You've got this chick flick hit-by-the-romance-hammer look. Stop it."

"Ass." He shrugged. "I'm not one of those romantic guys," he said. "Hey, date Michael if you want that."

"No, don't," Eve said dreamily. "Mine."

"And there goes my blood sugar level," Shane said. "It's getting late, Claire has school tomorrow, I've got a long day of chopping fine barbecue--"

"I think we'll stay down here," Michael said. He and Eve still hadn't blinked or looked away from each other. "I am really not sticking around for that." Shane took Claire's hand in his. "Upstairs?" She nodded, hitched her bag on her other shoulder, and followed him up. Shane opened the door of his room, turned, and lifted her hand up to his lips. He didn't quite kiss it. His dark eyes were wicked with laughter. "Ass," she said again, more severely. "You couldn't be romantic if your life depended on it."

"You know what's lucky? Most bad guys don't ask you to be romantic on command, so that probably won't matter."

"Only girlfriends do that."

"Well, they can qualify as supervillains. But only if they have a secret underground base. Wait --you've got a mad scientist for a boss, and a lab--"

"Park it," she said, and smacked his arm. "Are you going to kiss me good night, or what?"

"Romantic on command. See?"

"Fine," Claire said, and this time she actually did feel a little annoyed. "Then don't. Good night." She pulled away from him and walked away the few steps to her own room, opened the door, slammed it, and flopped on her bed without bothering to turn on the lights. After a few seconds she remembered that in Morganville that was never a smart choice, and switched on the bedside Tiffany lamp. Rich colored light threw patterns on the wood, the walls, her skin. No monsters were hiding in the shadows. She was too tired to check under the bed or in the closet. "Ass," she said again, and put her pillow over her face to scream her frustration into it. "Shane Collins is an ass!" She stopped at the sound of a soft knock on the door. She put the pillow aside and waited, listening. The knock came again. "You're an ass," she yelled. "I know," came Shane's voice through the door. "Let me make it up to you?"

"As if you can."

"Try me." She sighed, slid off the bed, and went to open up. Shane was standing there, of course. He came inside, closed the door behind him, and said, "Sit down."

"What are you doing?"

"Just sit down." She did, perching on the edge of the bed and already frowning. There was something really different in the way he was acting now--the flip side of how he'd been just a few moments ago, teasing and teen-boy. This seemed much more ... adult. "When you were in the hospital, after Dan ... well, you know." He shrugged. "You were kind of drugged up. I'm not sure what you remember." She didn't remember all that much, really. A boy had abducted her and hurt her pretty badly. She'd lost a lot of blood, and they'd given her something for the night-mares. She remembered everybody coming to see her--Mom, Dad, Eve, Michael, Shane. Even Myrnin. Even Amelie and Oliver. Shane ... he'd stayed with her. He'd said... She couldn't really remember what he'd said. "Anyway," Shane said, "I told you this was for later. I guess it's kind of later, so, anyway." He took out a small velvet box from his pocket, and Claire's heart just ... stopped. She thought she might faint. The top of her head felt very hot, and the rest of her felt very cold, and all she could look at was the box in his hand. He wasn't. He couldn't. Was he? Shane was looking at the box, too. He turned it in his fingers restlessly. "It's not what you think," he said. "It's not--look, it's a ring, but I don't want you to think--" He opened the box and showed her what was inside. It was a beautiful little ring, silver, with a red stone in the shape of a heart, and hands holding it on either side. "It's a claddagh ring," he said. "It belonged to my sister, Alyssa. My mom gave it to her. It was in Alyssa's locker at school when she--when the house burned." When Alyssa died. When Shane's life completely collapsed around him. Tears burned in Claire's eyes. The ring glittered, silver and red, and she couldn't look at Shane's face. She thought that might destroy her. "It's beautiful," she whispered. "But you're not asking--"

"No, Claire." He suddenly sank to his knees, as if the strength had just gone out of him. "I suck, I know, but I can't do something like that, not yet. I'm ... Look, family doesn't mean to me what it means to you. Mine fell apart. My sister, my mom--and I can't even think about my dad. But I love you, Claire. That's what this means. That I love you. Okay?" She looked up at him then, and felt tears break free to run hot down her cheeks. "I love you, too," she said. "I can't take the ring. It means--it means too much to you. It's all you have left of them."

"That's why it's better if you have it," he said, and held out the box, cupped in one hand. "Because you can make it a better memory. I can barely look at this thing without seeing the past. I don't want to see the past anymore. I want to see the future." He didn't blink, and she felt the breath leave her body. "You're the future, Claire." Her head felt light and empty, her whole body hot and cold, shaking and strong. She reached out and took the velvet box. She pulled the ring out and looked at it. "It's beautiful," she said. "Are you sure--"

"Yes. I'm sure." He took the ring from her and tried it on her right hand. It fit perfectly on the third finger. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it, and it was definitely better than Michael had done it, definitely sexier, and Claire dropped to her knees with him; then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and hungry, and they fell back together to the throw rug next to the bed, and stayed there, locked in each other's arms, until the chill finally drove them up to the bed. 3 Of all the mornings Claire didn't want to get up, the next one was the worst. She woke up warm and drowsy, cuddled like a spoon against Shane, their hands clasped even in sleep. She felt great. Better than any day, ever, in her whole life. In the still hush of early morning, she tried to freeze the moment, the sound of his soft, steady breathing, the feel of him relaxed and solid next to her. I want this, she thought. Every day. For life. Forever. And then her alarm clock went off, shrieking. Claire flailed and slapped at it, then succeeded in knocking it to the floor. She dived for it and finally got it switched off, feeling like a complete fool that she'd ever left it on in the first place. She twisted around and saw Shane had opened his eyes, but hadn't otherwise moved. He looked drowsy and sweet and lazy, hair mussed, and she leaned back down to kiss him, sweet and slow. His arms went around her, and it felt so natural, so perfect, that she felt that glow again, that feeling of absolute rightness. "Hey," he said. "You're cute when you're panicked."

"Just when I'm panicked?"

"Ouch. Yeah, that didn't come out as absolutely complimentary as I'd planned. And you hang around Eve way too much." His fingers drew lazy circles on her back, which felt like trails of sunlight. "What's the plan for today? Because I'm in favor of nothing but this." She so wanted that, too. But there was a reason her alarm had gone off. "I have class," she said with a sigh. "Skip it." He kissed her bare shoulder. "I--you've got work! Remember? Sharp pointy knives and beef to chop?"

"Fun as that is, this is better." Well, his arguments were persuasive. Really persuasive. For about another thirty minutes, and then Claire forced herself to get up, grab the shower before Shane could get to it, and try to get her mind off the fact that he was lying in her bed. And he still was when she came back in to grab her backpack. His hands were behind his head, and he looked ridiculously satisfied with the world--and with himself. She smacked his bare foot, which was sticking out from under the sheet. "Get up, Lord of the Barbecue."

"Ha. Don't have to yet. You're the one who had the bad idea to sign up for seven a.m. classes. Me, I go to work at a sensible hour."

"Well, you're not lying around in my bed all day, so get up. I don't trust you alone in here." His smile was wicked and really, really dangerous. "Probably a good idea," he said. "Not that you can exactly trust me in here when you're with me." Oh, she was not going to climb back in bed with him. She was not. She had things to do. After gulping in a few deep breaths, she leaned over, gave him a quick kiss, avoided his grabby hands, and dashed to the door. "Out of my bed," she said. "I mean it." He yawned. She grinned and shut the door on her way out. Downstairs, the coffeepot was already brewing, and Michael was sitting at the table, a laptop computer open in front of him. She was a little surprised; Michael wasn't really the computer type. He had one, and she supposed he had e-mail and stuff, but he wasn't always on it or anything. Not like most people their age. (Not like her, honestly.) He looked up at her, then down at the screen, and then back up, to stare at her as if he'd never seen her before. "What?" she asked. "Don't tell me some of Kim's skanky home video made YouTube." That was something she really didn't ever want to think about again. Kim and her little sneaky spying habits. Kim and her plans to make herself a star with all her hidden video cameras recording every aspect of life in Morganville. Yeah, that hadn't gone so well for Kim, in the end. He shook his head and went back to the computer. "I've been checking about the studio, the recording session, you know? They're serious, Claire. They want me in there on Thursday."

"Really?" She grabbed a cup of coffee and slid into a chair across from him, then doctored up her drink with milk and sugar. "So we have to leave Thursday morning?"

"No, I'm thinking we leave tonight. Just in case. And besides, it gives us some time to get used to Dallas, and I don't want to travel during the day." Right. Vampires. Road trip. Sunlight. Probably not the best idea. "We can't take your car, can we? I mean, the tinting's not legal outside of Morganville."

"Yeah. Which is another reason for night driving. I figure we can take Eve's car. It's roomy and it's got a big trunk, in case." In case they got caught in the sun, he meant. Claire tapped her fingers on the coffee cup, thinking. "What about supplies?" she said. "You know."

"I'll stop at the blood bank and pick up a cooler," he said. "To go."

"Seriously? They do that?"

"You'd be surprised. We can even put Cokes in there, too." That didn't seem too sanitary, somehow. Claire tried not to think about it. "How long are we going to be gone?"

"If we leave tonight and I do the demo on Thursday during the day, we could be back on Friday night. Or Saturday, depending on what kind of stuff you guys want to do. I'm easy." That made Claire remember something. "Uh--you know we're going to have an escort, right?"

"Escort?" Michael frowned. "What kind of escort?" Claire mimed fangs. Michael rolled his eyes. "Perfect. Who?"

"No idea. All I know is Amelie's letter said we had to clear our departure time with Oliver." Michael kept on frowning. He reached for his cell phone and dialed as he sipped more coffee. "It's Michael," he said. "I hear we have to clear leaving town with you. We're planning on going tonight, around dusk." His face went entirely blank as he listened to whatever Oliver said on the other end. Michael didn't say anything at all. Finally, he put the coffee cup down and said, "Do we have a choice?" Pause. "I didn't think so. We'll meet you there." He hung up, carefully laid the cell phone down on the table next to his coffee, and sank back in his chair, eyes closed. He looked--indescribable, Claire decided. It was as if there were so many things inside him fighting to come out that he couldn't decide which one to let off the leash first. "What?" she finally asked, half afraid to even try. Eyes still shut, Michael said, "We've got an escort, all right."

"Who?"

"Oliver." Claire set down her own coffee cup with a thump that slopped brown liquid over the rim. "What?"

"I know."

"We have to be trapped in a car with Oliver?"

"I know."

"So much for the fun. Fun all gone." He sighed and finally opened his eyes. She knew that look; she remembered it from when she'd first met him. Bitter and guarded. Hurt. Trapped. Then, he'd been a ghost, unable to leave this house, caught between human and vampire. Now he was just as trapped, only instead of the house, his boundaries were the town limits. He'd felt, for the last few hours, as if he could break free, be someone else. Oliver had just taken that away from him. "I'm sorry," Claire said. He shut the computer, unplugged it, and stood up. He didn't meet her eyes again. "Be ready at six," he said. "Tell Shane. I'll tell Eve." She nodded. He kept his head down as he walked toward the kitchen door. When he got there, he stopped for a few seconds without turning back to look at her. "Thanks," he said. "Sucks, you know?"

"I know." Michael laughed bitterly. "Shane would have said, And so do you. "

"I'm not Shane."

"Yeah." He still didn't turn around. "I'm glad you're happy with him. He's a good guy, you know."

"Michael--" He was already gone by the time she said his name, just the swinging door left behind. There was no sense chasing him. He wanted to brood in private. She called Shane to tell him what time they were leaving, but not about Oliver. Frankly, she didn't want to have that grief just yet. She went on to class. After her early ones, she had a two-hour break, which meant she had things to do, so she could leave town with a clear conscience. And besides, she'd been looking forward to this since she'd first thought of it. First step--she walked the few blocks from campus to Common Grounds, Oliver's coffee shop, and ordered up a mocha. He was behind the bar--a tall older man, with hippie hair and a tie-dyed T-shirt under his coffee-stained apron. When he was serving customers, you'd never know he was a vampire, much less one of the meanest she'd ever met. Mocha in hand, Claire texted Monica's cell. Meet me at Common Grounds ASAP. She got back an immediate Btr B good. Oh, it would be. Claire sipped and waited, and Monica eventually rolled up in her hot red convertible; no Gina and Jennifer this time. Monica seemed to be getting out more and more without her backup singers, which was interesting. Claire supposed even they were getting tired of providing constant on-demand validation. Monica blew in the front door of the shop in a dress that was too short for her, but showed off her long tanned legs; the swirl of wind almost made it illegal. She shoved her expensive sunglasses up on top of her glossy black hair and scanned the room. The sneer that twisted her full lips was probably mostly reflex. After putting in her coffee order, Monica slipped into a chair across from Claire. "Well?" she said, and dropped her tiny purse on the table. "Like I said, this had better be good." When Oliver brought over Monica's coffee, Claire said, "Would you mind staying for a minute?"

"What?"

"As a moderator." Oliver was a broker of deals in Morganville. Common Grounds was a key place where humans and vampires could meet, mingle in safety, and reach all kinds of agreements that Oliver would witness and enforce. Pretty rarely between humans, though. Oliver shrugged and sat down between the two girls. "All right. Make it quick." Monica already looked thunderously angry, so Claire spoke first. "Monica made a deal with me for test answers. I want you to witness me handing them over." Oliver's eyebrows twitched up, and the look on his face was bitterly amused. "You're asking me to witness a schoolyard transaction for cheating. How ... quaint." Claire didn't wait. She pushed over a thumb drive toward Monica. "There's an electronic file on there," she said. "It's password protected. If you can figure out the password, you can have the answers." Monica's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"You said I had to give them to you. I did. That's what I wanted Oliver to see. Now you have them, so we're done. No comebacks. Right?"

"You put them under a password?"

"One you can guess," Claire said. "If you did the homework. Or can read fast."

"You little bitch." Monica's hand flashed out--not for the thumb drive, but for Claire's arm. She crushed it to the table, her nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. "I told you, I'll fry your ass."

"With you, I know that's not an empty threat," Claire said. "Alyssa Collins is proof of that." Monica went very still, and something flickered across her eyes--shock? Maybe even regret and guilt. "I'm not taking this thing. You give me the answers without the password." Oliver cleared his throat. "Did you specify how she had to give you the answers?"

"No," Claire said. "She just said I had to. I did. Hey, this is the nicest way I could have done it. I could have given it to her in Latin or something."

"Let go of her," Oliver said mildly. When Monica didn't, his tone turned icy. "Let. Go." She pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest, glaring at Claire, her jaw set hard. "This isn't over."

"It is," Oliver said. "Not her fault you made a poor definition of what it was you wanted from her. She satisfied all requirements. She's even given you a reasonable chance of discovering the password. Take it and walk away, Monica."

"This isn't over," Monica repeated, ignoring him. When she reached for the thumb drive, Oliver's pale, strong hand slapped down over it, and over her fingers, holding her in place. Monica yelped. It must have hurt. "Look at me," he said. Monica blinked and focused on his face, and Claire saw her pupils widen. Her lips parted a little. "Monica Morrell, you are my responsibility. You owe me respect, and you owe me obedience. And you will leave Claire Danvers alone. If you have cause to attack her, you will tell me first. I will decide whether or not you can take action. And you do not have my permission. Not for this." He let go. Monica yanked her hand back and cradled it against her chest. "Now, take your business and your coffee elsewhere. Both of you." Monica reached out and snatched up the small memory stick. As she did, Claire said, "The thumb drive cost me ten bucks." Monica's glare reached nuclear levels, but since Oliver was still sitting there, she dug in her tiny purse, found a crumpled ten-dollar bill, and flung it over the table to Claire. She smoothed it out, smiled, and put it in her pocket. "If you're quite finished," Oliver said. "Leave. Monica, go first. I won't have you doing anything messy. I'm not your maid." Monica sent him a look that was definitely not a glare; it was much more scared than angry. She picked up her purse, the coffee, and stalked to the door. She didn't look back as she piled into her convertible and burned rubber pulling out. "One of these days," Oliver said, still looking toward the street, "you're going to be too clever for your own good, Claire. You do realize that." She did, actually. But sometimes, it was just impossible to do anything else. "I guess you're coming with us tonight?" Oliver turned his head to look at her this time, and there was something so cold and distant in his eyes that she shivered. "Did you hear me when I told you to leave? I don't like being used to settle your problems." She swallowed, picked up her stuff, and left. The afternoon was spent with Myrnin at his freaky mad-scientist lab, which was actually much nicer after the renovations he'd done: new equipment; computers; nice bookcases; decent lighting instead of crazy turn-of-last-century things that emitted sparks when you tried to turn them off or on. Still, no matter how nice the decor, Myrnin was never less than half crazy. He was under pressure from Amelie, Claire knew; with the death--could computers die?--of Ada, the town's master computer; he was struggling to figure out a way to make a replacement, but without putting a human brain into it, which Claire strongly discouraged, seeing how well that had worked out with Ada, and the fact that Claire herself was almost certainly the next candidate. "Computers," Myrnin said, then shoved the laptop she'd put out for him aside and glared at it as if it had personally insulted him. "The technology is entirely idiotic. Who built this? Baboons?"

"It works fine," Claire said, and took command of the computer to bring up the interface she'd designed. "All you have to do is explain to me how Ada was connected into the portal and security systems, and I can build some kind of connector. You can run it right from this screen. See?" She'd even gotten an art student at the school to design the interface in a steampunky kind of way, which she thought would make him feel more at home. Myrnin continued to frown at it, but in a less aggressive way. "Try it. Just touch the screen." He reached out with one fingertip and pressed the screen over the icon of the shield. The security screen came up, all rusted iron and ornamental gears. He made a humming sound in the back of his throat and pressed again. "And this would control the programming."

"Yeah, it's GUI--a graphic user interface."

"And this program would be able to detect vampires and humans, and treat them differently?"

"Yeah. We just use heat-sensing technology. Vampires have a lower body temperature. It's easy to tell the difference."

"Can it be cheated?" Claire shrugged. "Anything can be cheated. But it's pretty good."

"And the memory alteration?" That was a problem--a big problem. "I don't think you can actually do that with a computer. I mean, isn't that some kind of vampire mind thing?" Because Ada had, in fact, been a vampire. And the machine that Myrnin had built to keep her brain alive had somehow allowed her to broadcast that vampire power on a wide field. Claire didn't really understand it, but she knew it worked--had worked. "That's a rather large failure. What's this?" Myrnin tapped an icon that had a radar screen icon. Nothing happened. "That's an early-warning system, to monitor approaches to town. In case."

"In case what?"

"In case someone like Mr. Bishop decides to visit again." Myrnin smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. "There is no one like Mr. Bishop," he said. "Thank the most holy. And this is excellent work, Claire, but it doesn't solve our fundamental problem. The difference engine needs programming to allow for removal of dangerous memories. I know of no other way to achieve what we need than to interface it with a biological database."

"A brain."

"Well, if you want to be technical." Claire sighed. "I am not getting you a brain, because I am not that kind of lab assistant, Dr. Frankenstein. Can we go through the map again?" The map was a giant flowchart that stretched the length of the lab, on giant notepads. She had painstakingly mapped out every single if, then, and and/or that Myrnin had been able to describe. It was huge. Really huge. And she wasn't at all sure it could be done, period--except that he had done it, once, to Ada. She just wanted to take the icky brain part out of the equation. "It's so much easier," Myrnin insisted as they walked the row of pages. "The brain is capable of processing a staggering number of calculations per second, and is capable of incorporating variables and factors that a mere computer cannot. It's the finest example of a calculating machine ever developed. We're fools not to use it."

"Well, you're not putting my brain into a machine. Ever."

"I wouldn't." Myrnin picked a piece of lint from his shiny vest. "Unless it was the only answer, of course. Or, of course, unless you weren't using it anymore."

"Never. Promise." He shrugged. "I promise." But not in any way that mattered, Claire thought. Myrnin's promises were kind of--flexible. "You're leaving town the rest of the week?"

"Yeah, we're leaving tonight. You'll be okay?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He clasped his hands behind him and paced back and forth, staring at the charts. He was wearing shorts today, and flip-flops, of course--like some homeless surfer from the waist down, some Edwardian lord from the waist up. It was strange, and ridiculously Myrnin. "I'm not an infant, Claire. I don't need you to take care of me. Believe me." She didn't, really. Yes, he was old. Yes, he was a vampire. Yes, he was crazy/smart--but the crazy part was always as strong as, or stronger than, the smart part. Even now. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?" she asked him. He turned and looked at her, and looked utterly innocent. "Why in the world would I do that?" he asked. "Have a good time, Claire. The work will still be here when you return." She shut down the laptop and closed the lid, packing it up to put it away. As she did, he finally nodded at the machine. "That's not bad," he said. "As a start."

"Thanks." She was a little surprised. Myrnin didn't often give out random compliments. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Certainly. Why wouldn't I be?" There was just something off about his mood. From visiting her parents to the way he was restlessly prowling the lab--he just wasn't his usual, unsettlingly manic self. He was a different manic self. "I wish I were going with you," he finally said. "There. I've said it. You may mock me at your will."

"Really? But--we're just going for Michael, really." That wasn't true. It was a chance to get out of Morganville, experience life out in the real world. And she knew it would be amazing to feel free again, even for a little while. "Couldn't you go if you wanted?" He sat down in his leather wing chair, put on his spectacles, and opened a book from a pile next to it. "Could I?" he asked. "If Amelie didn't wish me to leave? Not very likely." She'd never considered that Myrnin, of all people, could be just as trapped in Morganville as everybody else. He seemed so ... in control, somehow, at the same time he was wildly out of control. But she could see that of everyone in town, Amelie would trust Myrnin the least in terms of actually exiting the town limits. He had too much knowledge, too much insanity brewing around in that head of his. As careful as Amelie was, she'd never take the risk. No, Myrnin, of everybody in Morganville, would be the next to last to leave, right before Amelie herself. He was her--pet? No, that wasn't right. Her asset. It had never really occurred to Claire that he might not altogether like that. "Sorry," she said softly. He waved at her, a shooing motion that left her feeling a little lost. She genuinely liked Myrnin, even though she was always intensely aware, these days, of the limits of that friendship--and of the dangers. "Call me if you--"

"Why? So you'll come running back to Morganville?" He shook his head. "Not likely. And not necessary. Just go, Claire. I'll be here." There was a grim sound to that she didn't like, but it was getting late. Michael had said to be ready at six, and she needed to pack for the trip. When she looked back, Myrnin had given up the pretense of reading and was just staring off into the distance. There was something horribly sad about his expression, and she almost turned back.... But she didn't. 4 The Glass House was chaos when Claire opened the door. Mostly that was Eve and Shane, fighting stereo wars and yelling at each other upstairs. Eve was favoring Korn; Shane was fighting back by blasting "Macarena" at the limit of the boom box knob. There was no sign of Michael, but his guitars were cased and sitting in the living room, along with a duffel bag and a rolling cooler that looked like it could hold any normal drinks. Claire just wasn't sure what it did hold, and she didn't open it to find out. She dropped her backpack, which she figured she'd take anyway, and jogged upstairs. Eve was standing in a pile of clothes, an open suitcase on the bed, holding two identical-looking shirts and frowning at them. Terminal fashion indecision. Claire dashed in, tapped her right hand, and Eve gave her a grateful grin and tossed the shirt into the suitcase. The music was so loud, conversation was impossible. As she passed Shane's door, she saw him sprawled on his bed. He had a duffel bag, like Michael's but brown instead of blue. He looked bored, but he brightened up when he saw her. "Seriously?" she yelled. "`The Macarena'?"

"It's war," he yelled back. "I had to bring out the heavy artillery. Next up, Barry Manilow!" Claire hit the POWER button on the stereo, leaving Korn thundering victoriously through the house. After a second or two, Eve turned it down. "See how easy that was?" Claire said. "What, giving up? Giving up is always easy. It's the peace that follows that sucks." Shane slithered off the bed and followed her as she headed for her room. "How was it?"

"What?"

"Everything."

"You know." She shrugged. "Normal." Yeah. She'd manipulated the second most powerful vampire in town into taking her side against a psycho bitch-queen sorority girl. She'd talked rationally about putting people's brains into computers. This was a normal day. No wonder she was screwed up. "How was yours?"

"Brisket. Chopping block. Cleaver. It's all good. You packed yet?"

"Did you just see me walk in?"

"Oh. Yeah. Guess not, then." He parked himself on her bed, flopped out again as she opened up her one battered suitcase and began filling it. That wasn't tough; unlike Eve, she wasn't a clothes fanatic. She had a couple of decent shirts, a bunch of not-so-great ones, and some jeans. She put in her one skirt, along with the shoes that matched it, and the fishnet tights. Shane watched, hands laced behind his head. "You're not going to try to tell me what to take?" she asked. "Because I figured that was why you followed me."

"Do I look crazy? I followed you because your bed is more comfortable." His smile widened. "Wanna see?"

"Not right now."

"Last chance before we hit the road."

"Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Looking so ..." She couldn't think of a word. He looked just as ridiculously hot to her now as he had this morning, when it had been so tough to leave. And that was a good thing. "I've got to get stuff out of the bathroom."

"Good luck. I think Eve took everything already except the aftershave." Actually, Eve hadn't; it was just that Claire didn't have a whole lot. Shampoo and conditioner, all in one bottle. A little makeup bag. A razor. She didn't really need a blow-dryer, but if she did, Eve would have packed one--or two. From the size of the suitcase, Eve was planning to take everything she'd ever owned. Back in the bedroom, Claire almost shut her suitcase, then stopped and frowned. "What did you take?" she asked. "For, you know, protection?" Shane lifted himself up on his elbows. "What, like, uh, protection?"

"No!" She felt her face flush, which was pretty ridiculous, considering what they'd done this morning. "I mean, against any vampire things that might happen. You know."

"Stakes in the bottom of the duffel bag," he said. "Brought some extra silver nitrate in bottles, too. We should be okay. It's not as if there's a big vampire problem where we're going." Maybe not, but living in Morganville had made it a reflex. Claire couldn't honestly imagine not planning for it, and she hadn't been raised here, in the hothouse. She was surprised Shane seemed so ... calm. But then, Shane had been outside of Morganville, for two years. And they hadn't been a good two years, either, but at least he knew something about what it was going to be like; more than Michael and Eve, anyway. Claire dug in her underwear drawer, came up with four silver-coated stakes, and dumped them in on top of her clothes. Just in case. Shane gave her a thumbs-up in approval. She slammed the bag shut and locked it, then wrestled it off the bed. It was heavier than she'd expected, and it wasn't one with wheels and a handle. Shane, unasked, slid off the bed and took it from her. He lifted it as if it were the weight of a bag of feathers, went into his room, grabbed his duffel, and headed toward the stairs. As he passed Eve's room he looked in, shook his head, and yelled, "You are totally on your own for that one!" Claire saw why, as she looked in. Eve had closed the suitcase and somehow gotten it to the floor, but it was the size of a trunk. At least it had wheels. Michael was downstairs when Shane and Claire came down; Shane thumped their bags down and said, "You'd better wrangle your girlfriend's bag, man. I would, but I don't want to spend the entire trip in traction." Michael grinned and zoomed upstairs. He came down carrying the suitcase as if it were nothing. Claire noticed it was new and shiny, and had hand-applied death's-head stickers and biohazard marks. Yeah, that was definitely Eve's. Oh, and it was black. Of course. "Snacks!" Eve yelped, and dashed into the kitchen. She came back with a bag full of things. "Road food. Trust me. Totally necessary. Oh, and drinks--we need drinks." She caught sight of the cooler. "Okay, not you, Michael. The rest of us." They were loading the second cooler with non-blood-related drink items when the doorbell rang. Claire opened it to find Oliver standing on the doorstep. The sun was still up, but he was wearing a hat and a long black coat, which didn't in any way make him less sinister. His hair was tied back and must have been tucked up under his hat. She wondered if it was flammable, like the rest of him. Age had made him flame-retardant, but he'd still suffer out in the sun, and eventually burst into flames, if he couldn't get out of it. He came in without waiting for an invitation. "Yeah, welcome." Claire sighed and shut the door. "We're getting stuff together. Uh, is that all you brought?" It was one bag, smaller even than Michael's or Shane's. Oliver didn't bother to answer her. He walked past, into the living room, and straight for Michael. Eve and Shane, who were bickering over the placement of the Cokes versus the bottled iced coffees, fell silent, and Claire joined them. "You're surely not taking all this," Oliver said, looking at the pile of stuff on the floor. It was, Claire had to admit, a lot--mainly because Eve's suitcase was the size of Rhode Island, but they'd all contributed. "Is there room?"

"I have a major trunk," Eve said. "It'll fit." Oliver shook his head. "I hate traveling with amateurs," he said. "Very well. Get the car loaded. Michael and I will wait inside until the sun is down." He acted as if he were the boss, which was annoying, but the truth was, he was the boss. Amelie had assigned him as escort, and that meant he could boss them around all he wanted. Heaven, for Oliver. Hell, for everybody else. Claire shrugged silently, then picked up her suitcase and backpack and led the way. Packing the car was hilariously awful, because trying to get Eve's suitcase wedged in was a drama nobody needed. It finally worked, and everything else fit in, including the guitars and the coolers. It left the three of them sweaty, annoyed, and exhausted, but by the time they'd worked it all out, the sun was safely down. Nobody tried to call shotgun. Oliver took the front seat, Michael got in the driver's seat, and Eve, Claire, and Shane took the back. It wasn't even all that crowded. "Passes," Oliver said, and held out his hand. Michael handed them over, and Oliver examined them as if he didn't know they'd already been cleared to leave town. "Very well. Proceed."

"Tunes!" Eve said. "We need--"

"No music," Oliver said. "I will not be subjected to what you consider tunes."

"FYI, I know it's a disguise, but you even suck at being a hippie," Eve muttered. "At least like the Beatles or something."

"No."

"It's going to be a really long trip," Shane said, and put his arm around both Claire and Eve, since he was in the middle. "But at least I've got all the babes. Backseat, for the win."

"Shut up," Michael said. "Come back here and make me, Dad." Michael and Shane exchanged rude gestures, and then Michael started up the car and pulled away from the curb. Eve squirmed in her seat and clapped her hands. Oliver turned and glared at her. He took off his black hat and set it on the dashboard, next to Eve's nodding skeletal figurine. "Enough of that," he said. "It's bad enough I have to be trapped in a car with you children. You'll do your best not to act like children."

"Oliver," Michael said, "back off. It's our first time out of town. Let us enjoy it a little."

"The first time for some of you," Oliver said, and looked out the window as the houses of Lot Street began to roll by, one after another. "For some of us, this is not quite as life-changing an event." That was kind of true, but still, Claire felt Eve's excitement was contagious. Michael was smiling. Shane was enjoying being the dude in the backseat. And she was ... leaving Morganville behind, at least for a little while. At the town limits, Claire watched the WELCOME TO MORGANVILLE sign approach. This side said PLEASE DON'T LEAVE US SO SOON! They rocketed past it doing at least seventy, maybe eighty miles an hour. Beyond the sign sat a police cruiser--one of Hannah Moses's crew. Claire felt her breath rush out, but the cop behind the wheel just waved them on, and Michael didn't even slow down. Morganville, in the rearview mirror. Just like that. It shouldn't have been so easy, Claire thought. After all that, all the fighting and the terror and the threats. They just ... drove away. Michael switched on the radio and found a scratchy rock `n' roll station, and although Oliver kept glaring, he turned it up, and before long they were all singing "Born to Be Wild," out of tune and at the top of their lungs. Oliver didn't, but he didn't pitch an ?bervamp fit, either. Claire was almost certain that once or twice, she saw his lips moving with the lyrics. The sunset was glorious, spilling colors all over the sky in shades of orange and red and gold, fading into indigo blue. Claire rolled down the window and smelled the cool, crisp air, flavored with dust and sage. Outside of Morganville there was scrub desert, and a lot of it. Nothing to see for miles except flat, empty land, and the two-lane blacktop road stretching into the distance, straight as an arrow. "We have to do some jogging around on farm roads," Michael said, once the song was over and the music shifted to something not as karaoke worthy. "Should be on the interstate in about two hours or so."

"You're sure you know where you're going?" Shane asked. "Because I don't want to wake up in the Gulf of Mexico or something." Michael ignored that, and Claire slowly settled into her seat, feeling relaxed and light. They'd left. They'd actually left Morganville. She could feel the same suppressed thrill and relief in Shane, and, on his other side, from Eve, whose dark eyes just glowed with excitement. She'd been dreaming of this her whole life, Claire realized. Maybe not being trapped in a car with Oliver, or that Michael would be a vampire, but leaving town with Michael had always been one of Eve's top-ten fantasies. And here they were, more or less, anyway, which just went to show you that your top-ten fantasies might turn out to be completely different experiences than you'd ever thought. "We're out," Eve said, almost to herself. "We're out, we're out, we're out."

"You'll go back," Oliver said, and turned his head to stare out the side window. "You all go back, eventually."

"Even for a vampire, you're a ray of sunshine," Shane said. "So, we should probably talk about what we're going to do in Dallas."

"Everything!" Eve said, instantly. "Everything, everything, everything. And then everything else."

"Whoa, hit the brakes, girl. We've got, what, a hundred bucks between the two of us? I'm pretty sure the all-inclusive everything party package costs more."

"Oh." Eve looked surprised, as if she hadn't even thought about money at all. Knowing Eve, she likely hadn't. "Well, we have to at least go to some of the good clubs, right? And shopping? Oh, and they have some really good movie theaters."

"Movies?" Michael repeated, looking in the rearview mirror. "Seriously? Eve."

"What? Stadium seating, Michael. DigitaL With three-D and everything."

"You're going to waste your first trip outside of Morganville inside a movie theater?"

"No, well, I--stadium seating! Okay, okay, fine. Museums. Concerts. Culture. Better?" Shane just shook his head. "Not really. Where's the fun, Eve?"

"That is fun!" Oliver sighed and let his head fall against the window glass with a soft thump. "One of you is going to be left to walk to Dallas if you don't shut up."

"Wow. Who got up on the wrong side of the coffin this evening?" Eve shot back. "Well? You're the expert. Where would you go?" Oliver straightened up and looked back at her. "Excuse me?"

"I'm asking your opinion. You probably know where the best places are to go."

"I--" Oliver seemed at a loss for words, which was pretty funny; Claire couldn't imagine the last time that had happened to him. Probably not in the last couple of centuries, she guessed. "You're asking for my recommendations. Of things to do in Dallas."

"Yep." He stared at Eve for a long, silent, chilly moment, then turned back, face forward. "I doubt our tastes have anything in common. You're too young for the bars, and too old for the playgrounds. I know nothing of what you'd like." Then, after a second's pause, he continued. "Perhaps the malls."

"Malls!" Eve almost shrieked it, then clapped both hands over her mouth. "Oh my God, I forgot about the malls. With actual stores. Can we go to the mall?"

"Which one?"

"There's more than one! Okay, uh--one with a Hot Topic store." Oliver was--from Claire's point of view--almost smiling. "I believe that could be arranged."

"Great." Shane sighed, and let his head drop back against the seat. "The mall. Just what I always wanted." Claire reached up and threaded her fingers through his. "We can do other stuff." When he glanced over at her, and she realized that everybody else was looking at her, too, she colored and added, "Cultural stuff. You know. Bookstores. Museums. There's a cool science museum I'd like to see."

"Is there not a video game store in this entire town?" "Let's just get there first," Michael said. That was good advice, Claire thought as the last colors faded from the sky and night took over. That was really good advice.