11

At home - meaning, at the Glass House; the last thing she wanted to do was put her parents in the middle of all this - Claire unloaded Kim's laptop, set up the webcam, and started trying to access the data stream. That wasn't especially hard, because she knew the IP address of the camera; Kim had helpfully put the info right on a label. The problem was that the other end was on a randomizer, a special program that shifted the signal and rerouted it across the Internet every few minutes. It was right in Morganville; it had to be, because of the packet times, but Claire had no real idea where to start looking. She wasn't especially computer savvy, although she knew her way around; Kim obviously had taken some precautions.

But Claire wasn't giving up that easily, either. She didn't like Kim, but there was a lot at stake here: the vampires' lives, including Michael's; Kim's life; maybe everything they'd built here, at whatever cost.

Michael was right: they couldn't just let Kim sacrifice it all for her own ambition. The truth might come out, but it shouldn't come out like this, as some kind of horrible exercise in voyeurism.

She finally reran the video of Kim they'd watched at her loft. I can't believe it; I finally got to put some in the last Founder House. Connections look good; stream is starting up.

Claire went in search of cameras in the Glass House.

She found the first one in an air vent in Shane's room, and had to sit down, hard, on his bed with her head in her hands. It was focused right on his bed.

Oh my God. Oh no. At first she was sick with the thought of Kim combing through hours of video of Shane, invading his privacy, watching him get undressed . . . and then she remembered.

We were in here. Together. And she saw it.

Claire lifted her head and looked right up at the camera. She had no idea what was on her face, but if it was any match for the rage burning inside her, the feeling of total betrayal and exposure, she couldn't imagine Kim was having any fun seeing it. "I hope there's sound on these," she said. "You bitch. I officially hope you rot in hell, and I swear, if you post any of this online, I will find you."

Then Claire dragged a chair over, stood on the seat, and yanked the vent screen out of the wall. Behind it, the little webcam blinked its light and stared at her with a glass eye every bit as emotionless as Bob the spider's.

Claire picked it up, carried it into her bedroom, and put it next to the first one they'd found in Kim's apartment. Then she started searching the other rooms. She found two more - one hidden on top of a bookshelf, barely visible, in the living room, providing a bird's-eye view of the whole space, and another in Michael's room, focused on his bed.

"Pervert," Claire muttered, grabbed it out of the fake plant on top of his dresser, and carried it back to set it with the others. The IP addresses were consistent. Claire tried entering them into the web browser, and the signal was there, but it just displayed as gibberish.

Encrypted, which went along with the randomizer program that Kim was using.

She was just starting to backtrace the signals when she felt that familiar tingle along the back of her neck, a feeling that the world had just shifted.

Portal.

Claire slid out of her chair and grabbed weapons, then waited. It had felt like the portal had opened upstairs, in the attic, and as she waited she heard faint creaks and pops from the old wood floor overhead. Not spiders, she thought. Spiders wouldn't be that heavy.

God, she hoped spiders wouldn't be that heavy. That was a terrifying thought. She was already entering B-movie horror territory . . . alone in the house! With a giant spider!

And a vampire, maybe.

Which could be worse.

Long minutes passed, and nothing came to eat her. Claire's hand had gotten sweaty, and her muscles hurt from the strength of her grip on the silver knife in her hand. Come on, she thought. Just get it over with already. It could have been somebody with a lot of power - Myrnin, or Oliver, or Amelie. In which case she'd put the knife down and apologize.

But she thought it was probably Ada, making another run at her.

The creaks overhead paused, and she heard them retreat.

Then she felt the portal activate again, and slam closed. All her protections snapped back into place, as if they'd never been broken. If she hadn't been here . . . she'd never have even known someone had been inside.

Claire edged out into the hall, staring at the hidden door up to the secret room. It was shut, and she heard nothing at all. She wouldn't, of course, it being sound-proofed, but still . . . She felt as if she ought to be able to feel something . . . and the house usually conveyed a feeling of danger. When it didn't, it was usually because Amelie . . .

Amelie.

Claire opened the hidden door and went up the stairs, and found the lights on at the top. The soft glow thrown through colored glass painted the walls, and on the couch, Amelie lay full length, one white hand pressed to her forehead.

She was wearing a flowing white dress, like a very fancy nightgown, and there were flecks of blood on it. Not as if she'd been hurt - more as if she'd been standing near someone else who had been. As Claire entered the room, Amelie's eyes opened and focused on her, but the Founder didn't move.

"We have a problem. Ada," Amelie said. "You know, don't you?"

"That she's crazy? Yeah. I figured that." Claire realized she was still holding the knife, and put it down. "Sorry."

"A reasonable precaution in uncertain times," Amelie said softly. Nothing else. Claire waited, but Amelie was as still as one of those marble angels on top of a tomb.

"What happened?" Claire finally asked.

"Nothing you would understand." Amelie closed her eyes. "I'm tired, Claire."

There was a simple kind of resignation to the way she said it that made Claire shiver. "Should I - is there somebody I should call, or - "

"I will rest here for now. Thank you." It was a dismissal, one Claire was a little relieved to get. Amelie just seemed - absent. Empty.

"Okay. But - I guess if you need something - "

Amelie's eyes snapped open, and Claire felt it at the same time: a surge of power - the portal reopening.

Amelie's will slammed it closed.

"Someone's looking for you," Claire said. "Who is it?"

"None of your affair."

"It is if they're coming here! Is someone after you?"

"It's my guards," Amelie said. "They'll find me, sooner or later, but for now, I want to be here. Here, where Sam - " She stopped again, and silvery tears pooled in her eyes and ran down into her unbound pale hair. "Where Sam told me he would never leave me. But he did leave me, Claire. I knew he would, and he did. Everyone leaves. Everyone."

This time, when the portal flared, Amelie didn't try to keep it shut. In seconds, the attic door flew open, and it wasn't the guards after all, in their black Secret Service suits.

It was Oliver, still wearing his bowling shirt, graying hair pulled tight into a ponytail. For a second, as his gaze fell on Amelie, he looked like a different person.

No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't really feel something for her. Could he?

"You," he said to Claire. "Leave us. Now."

"Stay," Amelie said. There was an unmistakable thread of command in her voice. "You don't order my servants in my house, Oliver. Not yet."

"You're hiding behind children?"

"I'm not hiding at all. Not even from you." She slowly sat up, and in the multicolored glow of the lamps she looked young, and very tired. "We've played our games, haven't we? The two of us, we've schemed and cheated and used each other all these centuries, for our own purposes. What did it bring us? Peace? There's never peace for us. There can't be."

"I can't talk of peace," he said, and went to one knee, looking up into her face. "And neither can you. Morley tried to kill you out there in the graveyard the other evening, and still you wander alone, looking for your own destruction. You must stop."

"Speaking as my second-in-command."

"Speaking as your friend," he said, and took her hand. "Amelie. We have our differences, you and I. We always will. But I would not see you suffer so. Morganville is too much for you right now - there are too many vampires here with too much ambition. Control must be maintained, and if you won't do it, you must put it in stronger hands. My hands."

"How kind of you, to keep the best interests of others so close to your heart," she said. She didn't try to remove her fingers from his, but her tone had taken on a remote kind of chill. "So what do you propose?"

"Until you can put aside your mourning, give me the town," he said. "You know I can keep order here. I'll act as your regent. When you are ready, I'll give it back to you."

"Liar." She said it without particular emphasis, or blame, and Claire saw Oliver's hand tighten on hers. Amelie smiled, just a little. "Liar, and bully. Do you really think such tactics could work, against the daughter of Bishop? You would have done well to pretend to a little more sympathy, or less. Half measures never work for you, Oliver."

"You're losing the town by inches now," he said. "Morley's only the first of the vampires to make a move against you - more will come. The humans, too; there are gangs of them attacking us in the night. I've already been approached to stop it."

"So now it's a plot. A plot to remove me from control. And you are my faithful servant, coming to warn me." Her teeth flashed as she laughed softly. "Oh, Oliver. The only reason you didn't betray me to my father when you had the chance was because the odds were even. Had he courted you for even a moment, you'd have yielded like a lovesick girl. You'd have planted the knife in my back yourself."

"No," he said, and pulled her off balance, down to her knees on the floor across from him. "I wouldn't. You're not a queen anymore, Amelie. Don't presume to sit on your throne and judge me!"

She wrenched a hand free and slapped him hard across the face, and Claire backed up as the two vampires locked red stares. "I'll judge as I see fit," Amelie said. "And I'll have none of your insolence. Scheme all you want, but it doesn't matter. Morganville is mine, and it will never be yours. Never. I'm on my guard now. You may be assured that whatever plots exist against me will be uncovered and destroyed. Even yours."

She shoved him back, and Oliver fell full length on the floor. In a flash, Amelie reached out for the silver knife that Claire had put on the table, and before Claire could blink, that knife was at Oliver's throat. "Well?" she demanded. "What say you, my servant?"

He spread his hands wide in mute surrender.

Amelie stared down at him, then looked at Claire. "Summon my car," she said. "I believe I will go for a drive in Morganville. It's time my people see me, and know I'm not to be underestimated."

She slammed the knife into the floor next to Oliver's head, close enough that the edge left a bloody streak down his cheek, then rose to her feet and swept out of the room and down the stairs. Claire dug her cell phone out and called the number to Amelie's security, and told them to meet her downstairs.

By the time she was done, Oliver was sitting on the sofa. He dabbed at the cut on his face, looking a lot less upset than Claire expected him to be.

"Wow, you planned that," she said. "Right?"

He shrugged. "She loved Sam. She needs someone to fill the void inside her - either a lover, or an enemy."

"And you're the enemy."

Oliver dusted himself off. "Through all the long, long years, it's what we've always had between us. Anger, and respect." He smiled a little. "And sometimes a glimmer of something else, not that we would ever admit it to each other. No, enemies are easier. She likes being my enemy. And I rather enjoy being hers."

Claire really, really didn't get it, but she didn't think that either one of them would care.

"Hey," she said. "You came through the portal. Did anything weird happen?"

"Weird?" He frowned. "I don't understand."

"I mean - never mind. I'm just kind of worried about the portals. I want to recalibrate the system."

"I was planning to walk in any case. It's just as important for the residents of Morganville to see me afoot as for them to see Amelie in her queen's black coach." Oliver straightened his shirt and stood up. "It gives us . . . balance."

"Oliver?"

He stopped at the head of the stairs.

"What would happen if someone got word out about the town?"

"Out?"

"Out in the world. You know."

"Oh, it's happened before. But no one believes. No one ever believes."

"What if - what if they had proof?"

"The only possible proof would be a genuine vampire, and that will never happen. Short of that, any proof can be denied easily enough."

"What about - video?"

"Claire. You go to the cinema, don't you? Do you imagine, in this age of digital trickery, that anyone would believe video of vampires?" He shook his head. "They would believe it now less than ever. The very popularity of vampires in your stories protects us." He sent her a sharp glance. "Why?"

"Just wondering," she said.

"Stop wondering. It's not healthy."

Then he was gone. Claire sat down on the couch and smoothed her palms over her jeans.

Oliver was right; people probably wouldn't believe it. Most people didn't believe all the ghost reality shows, either. The problem was that these days, reality didn't have to be real to be a hit - and Morganville couldn't stand up to real scrutiny.

They had to stop Kim, before it all fell apart.

Plus, as a bonus, they had to really kick her ass about the cameras, because that was just wrong.

Eve and Shane got home first, while Claire was devouring a peanut butter sandwich. She didn't tell them about the visit from Amelie and Oliver, and besides, they looked pretty grim. She was sure they wouldn't really care.

"What?" she asked. Shane snagged half her sandwich from her plate as he passed. "Hey!"

"Worked up an appetite, watching Miss Bad Attitude's back," he said around a mouthful of bread. "She goes to the most interesting places. I mean interesting in terms of scary as hell."

"Do not tell Claire about that club," Eve said, and took off her metallic sunglasses. Behind them, her mascara was smeared, and her eyes were red - not vampire red, but more like an overdose of tears. "Besides, it's not like I just randomly decided to go there. It's where Kim liked to hang out."

"What kind of club?" Claire whispered to Shane.

"Leather," he whispered back. "She's right; you really don't want to know."

"Kim hasn't been there in a couple of days," Eve said. "But we found a few vampires who did interviews with her recently, for her history project."

From the expression on Shane's face, there was more to the story. Claire said, doubtfully, "And they just told you? Just like that?"

"I had to make some deals to get the details." Eve avoided making eye contact on that. She shed her black leather jacket, the one with all the buckles, and snagged a corner of Claire's leftover half sandwich. "Hmm, this is good; did you put honey on it?"

"You did what?" Making any kind of deal with any kind of vampire in Morganville was crazy. Making deals with the kind of vampires hanging out in a leather bar was . . . suicidal. Claire rounded on Shane. "You let her do that?"

"Seriously, you can't even think about blaming me when she gets like this. I'm the bodyguard. Unless you wanted me to tie her up and gag her . . ."

"They'd probably have gotten into it there," Eve said. "Look, I can get out of the deals. Amelie's our get-out-of-deals-free card. But I needed to find Kim, and to do that, we needed information. Unless you waved your magic techno-wand and . . . ?"

Claire had to shake her head.

"Okay then, quit looking at me like I broke house training or something." Eve, Claire realized, was really uncomfortable about this. She'd probably had to force herself to talk to these vamps, and the last thing she needed was the postgame analysis on what she'd done wrong.

Claire cleared her throat. "What did you get?"

"I found four vamps that Kim either talked to on camera, or set up interviews with in the next week or so, which means she wasn't planning on leaving town just yet. And a couple of human guys who, ah, visited Kim at her place."

"Hookups," Shane confirmed. "Which is Kim's style. Although I can't say much for her taste. It's kind of gone downhill."

"So, wait - what does that tell us that we didn't already know? And what did you promise these vamps, anyway?"

"Things," Eve said, without adding any details. Shane looked away. "Not important right now. The point is, two of the vamps she interviewed she filmed at Common Grounds, but the other vamps said she took them to a kind of studio."

"A studio," Claire repeated. "That sounds promising."

"Thought so. It wasn't knee-deep in crap, so it couldn't have been her apartment, right?"

"Did they tell you where?"

"No," Shane said, leaning over Eve's shoulder. "They wanted more for that little gem. And I told them to stuff it sideways."

Claire blinked. Vampires. Leather bar. "And they just thought that was okay?"

"Honestly? Not so much. They mostly decided we'd make good chew toys."

"Shane!" Claire looked at him with pleading eyes. "You didn't - "

"Fight? Didn't have to," he said. Before he could explain, the front door opened and closed, and Claire heard the locks clicking shut again. Eve stiffened and looked down, burying her black-painted fingernails in her palms as she made fists.

Michael looked - like he'd been through a rough night in a bad bar, Claire guessed. Mussed, clothes torn at the seams. Something dark on his shirt that could have been blood.

"Are you okay?" Claire came to her feet, staring at him. He wasn't bruised or anything, but he looked tired. There was a little flush of red in his eyes, and his hands were shaking.

"I'm fine," he said. "I just need - something to drink. Be right back."

He disappeared into the kitchen. The silence in the room was sharp and uncomfortable, and Claire looked at Eve, who folded her arms across her chest.

"I didn't ask him to come rescue us," she said, and looked down. "I didn't want him to come at all."

Michael came back carrying a black sports bottle. They all knew what he had in it, but nobody mentioned it as he sipped through the built-in straw.

"I had my reasons for going," Michael said. And didn't look at Eve. And Eve didn't look at him. "Thanks for getting her out of there when you did, Shane."

Shane nodded. "No problem. What happened?"

That was a question Michael wasn't going to answer, evidently, because he just shrugged. "Fight." One hell of one, from the state of his clothes and his hunger for blood. "It was worth it. One of them told me where Kim took him to interview, and it wasn't any of the places you already had."

Eve slowly raised her head, and her eyes narrowed. "You followed us. You thought we couldn't handle it."

"I knew where you were going. And I was right, wasn't I?"

"No, you were not right! Michael - "

He put the bottle down, stepped forward, and caught her hands in his. Eve started to try to pull free, but he held on, willing her to look at him. It seemed really personal, somehow.

"I'm a vampire," he said. "I'm never going to be anything else. You need to decide if you're okay with that, Eve. I am."

"What if I'm not?" Her voice sounded really small and wounded. "What if I just want you to be Michael, not - not Vampire Michael of the Clan, or whatever?"

"I can't," he said. "Because I'm not just Michael anymore. I haven't been since before you moved in. You just didn't know it."

He let go of her hands, uncapped the sports bottle, and drank the blood down in long, thirsty gulps, making sure she was watching. His eyes turned ruby red, and he licked the drops from his lips. He put the empty bottle down, watching her.

She crossed her arms and turned away from him, and Michael closed his eyes in pain. When he opened them again, they were just human, and sad.

Claire wondered if she'd actually just witnessed a breakup. She hoped not.

Shane cleared his throat. "So. You turned up at a place where Kim goes, right? Let's talk about that. Please."

Michael walked over to the chair, where his guitar lay across the seat. He picked it up and cradled it in his arms, still watching Eve. After a few seconds, he began to softly play a series of chords. It was an aching kind of sound, gentle and full of emotion, and Claire saw Eve's shoulders tense and shake as she suppressed tears.

"Kim used to work at KVVV," Michael said. "She was an intern there before it shut down. The vampire said she interviewed him in a booth there at the old studios at the edge of town, by the transmission tower."

Claire couldn't help feeling a little spike of excitement. "That's it. That's got to be it, right? You said it was shut down?"

"Yeah, Amelie shut it down a few years back after - there was an incident," Michael said. "The town council decided we didn't need another radio station. It's been locked up since then."

"We need to go look!" Claire bounced to her feet, but Shane caught her shoulder and guided her back into the chair.

"Cool it. Not at night, we don't. The last thing we need to do is go poking around an abandoned building in the middle of the night in a town full of vampires."

"But what if she decides to close up shop? Cut her losses, take her goodies, and try to leave?" Eve said. "She could get killed. We have to warn her."

"Warn her?" Claire felt short of breath, ready to burst out into wild laughter. "Eve, don't you get it? She rigged our house. She was watching us. Watching everything, every private thing - "

"No," Eve said. "No, she wouldn't do that. You're wrong."

"I found cameras in the bedrooms!"

Eve's mouth opened and closed, and Claire didn't think she'd ever seen her look quite so devastated. She slumped down on the couch and covered her rice-powder-pale face with both hands.

Shane was staring at Claire with a frozen expression. "Which bedrooms?"

"Yours," she said softly. "And Michael's."

For a second Shane didn't move, and then he reached out, picked up the nearest thing - a DVD case - and hurled it across the room so hard that it dented the wall. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. "That little - "

Michael's face had gone completely still, and he wasn't playing anymore. He held the guitar as if he'd forgotten he had it. "She was recording us. Her own little Big Brother reality show, with vampires."

Eve said nothing. Claire couldn't even imagine what she was thinking, but she looked utterly miserable.

"We have to go," Eve finally said. "We need to find where she keeps the recordings, and wipe them out. Every little bit. This can't happen. She can't do this."

"I just hope she hasn't already done it," Claire said. "She's been putting this together for almost a month. She's got to be almost done by now. If we're right about her having some kind of sponsor outside of town . . ."

"Then we really have to go. Now. Tonight."

"No," Michael said. "Not at night."

"She's going to get away with it!"

"That's a chance we're going to have to take," Michael said. "Shane's right. No charging off into the dark. It has to wait until morning." He started playing again. His head was down, as if he were concentrating on his music, but Claire didn't think he was. There was something a little wrong with the way he said it, the way he wouldn't look at them. "How about more of those sandwiches?"

Eve raised her head and stared at him, tears smearing her mascara into clown makeup. "Unbelievable," she said. "You know what's on those recordings. You know, Michael. You'd let her take that and sell it?"

"We need to be smart about this. If we go running off without a plan - "

"Screw your plans!" she shouted, and jumped off the couch, then pounded up the stairs, chains jingling. "Screw you, too!"

Michael looked at Claire, then Shane.

"She's not wrong," Shane said. "Sorry, man."

Michael had lied to them, and Claire caught him at it.

She was on her way to the bathroom with her tank top and pajama bottoms over one arm, thinking about curling up warm in Shane's arms, when she heard Michael talking in his room. The door was open a crack. Shane and Eve were still downstairs, cleaning up the kitchen.

He was on his cell phone. "No," he was saying. "No, I'm sure. I just need to go check it out, tonight. Make sure nobody is using the facility without - "

Claire pushed the door open, and Michael twisted around to look at her. So busted. He froze for a second, then said, "I'll call you back," and hung up.

"Let me guess," she said. "Oliver. You're telling him everything, aren't you?"

"Claire - "

"We asked you. We asked you if you were with us, and you said you were. You promised."

"Claire, please."

"No." She stepped back when he stretched out a hand. "Eve was right. You're not Michael anymore. You're Vampire Michael. It's really us and them, and you're with them."

"Claire."

"What?"

"That wasn't Oliver."

"Then who was it?"

"Detective Hess. He was going to meet me at the station and check it out, tonight. Eve was right. We really can't wait, not even for morning." Michael's expression took on a dangerous edge. "Kim crossed the line. She tricked her way in here, and she screwed us over. I can forgive a lot of things, Claire, but I can't forgive her for this."

"So you were going to leave us behind."

His eyes flared hot. "Because I care about you. Yes. Do you know how close Eve came to getting herself killed tonight? And Shane? No more. I'm not risking you guys, not for this. Not for her."

"Hey! You're not our father! You can't just decide we need protecting - we're all in this together!"

"No," he said. "We're not. Some of us get hurt a lot easier than others, and I love you guys. I'm not going to lose you. Not like this."

He stripped off his ripped shirt and pulled on another one, grabbed his keys from the table, and very gently picked Claire up and moved her when she tried to block his path. "Don't," he said. "Claire, I mean it. Don't tell them where I went. Let me handle this."

She didn't say anything.

She didn't want to lie to him.

Michael stared at her for a few long seconds, long enough that she was almost sure he could read her mind, and then he shoved his keys in his pocket and moved off down the stairs.

She sat down on his bed, staring up at the vent where she'd found the camera. Claire didn't actually know what she was going to do until she heard Michael's new replacement car starting up outside, and then she stood, walked down to the kitchen, and interrupted an intense conversation between Shane and Eve at the sink to say, "Michael's gone to get Kim, and we need to go, right now."

They both stopped and looked over their shoulders at her. Eve had her arms elbow-deep in soapy water. Shane held a dish towel and a plate.

"Right now," Claire repeated. "Please."

Eve yanked the plug on the sink, grabbed the towel from Shane's hands, and wiped her hands and arms. She three-pointed the towel onto the counter. "I'll drive," she said, and ran to grab her keys. Shane stayed where he was, still holding the plate in one hand, watching Claire. He opened his mouth.

"Don't you dare tell me I can't go," she said. "Don't even, Shane. I'm on those videos, too. You know I am."

He put the plate down. "Michael went alone?"

"Mr. Vampire Superhero doesn't need backup." Well, that wasn't quite fair. "He's meeting Detective Hess there. But still."

The kitchen door swung open, and Eve blazed back in, vivid in black and white, a mime on a mission. She tossed her keys in a nervous jingle of metal and said, "Weapons."

Nobody argued that it would only be Kim they were going up against. Shane grabbed a black nylon bag from under the counter - in other towns, people might keep emergency supplies of food and water, maybe a medical kit, but in Morganville, their emergency readiness kit consisted of stakes and silver-coated knives. "Got it," he said, and tossed it over one shoulder. "Claire - "

"Don't even!"

He grinned and tossed her a second bag. "Silver nitrate and water in a Super Soaker," he told her. "My own invention. Ought to be good at twenty feet, kind of like wasp spray."

Oh. "You get me the nicest things."

"Anybody can get jewelry. Posers."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Let's go, comedian."

As she tossed the keys again, Shane grabbed them in midair. "I may be a comedian, but you look like a mime, anybody ever tell you that?"

He dashed for the door. Eve followed. Claire shouldered the nylon bag and prepared to shut the door of the house; as she did, she felt a wave of emotion sweep through her. The house, Michael's house, was worried. It was almost alive, some of the time. Like now.

"It'll be okay," she told it, and patted the countertop. "He'll be okay. We'll be okay."

The lights dimmed a little as she shut the door.

Eve's car wouldn't start.

"Um . . . this isn't good," Eve said as Shane cranked the engine again. There was a click, and nothing. "You've got to be kidding me. This is not the time, stupid evil hunk of junk!" She slapped the dashboard, which had zero effect. "Come on, work!"

It was very dark outside - no streetlights on, and the moon and stars were veiled by thick, fast-moving clouds. In the glow of the dashboard, Shane and Eve looked worried. Shane pulled the old-fashioned lever under the dash, and the hood of the car popped up with a thick clunk of metal. "Stay inside," he said. "I'm going to take a look."

"Because you've got guy parts, you're automatically a better mechanic than me? I don't think so," Eve said, and bailed out of the passenger side. Shane banged the back of his head against the seat.

"Seriously," he said. "Why is it always so hard with her?"

"She's worried," Claire said.

"We're all worried. You stay in the car."

"I don't know anything about cars. I will."

"Finally, a girl with some sense." He leaned over the seat to kiss her, then got out to join Eve as she hauled the giant, heavy hood of the car upward. From that point on, Claire had a limited view of what was going on - the hood, the dark night outside, some lights glowing in nearby houses. . . .

A car turned the corner, and its headlights swept color over darkness, lighting up the Glass House in all its decaying Victorian glory, then the sun-faded picket fence, the spring crop of weeds along the curb. . . .

And then came a group of vampires out of the darkness, heading for Shane and Eve. One of them was Morley, the skanky homeless dude from the cemetery. She supposed the others were his friends; they didn't look as polished and well-groomed as most of the other vamps seemed to be. These looked hungry, mean, and dirty.

Claire lunged across the big bench seat from the back and slammed her hand down on the horn. It was as loud as a foghorn, and she heard a sharp bang as either Eve or Shane hit their head on the hood of the car as they straightened up.

"Guys!" she yelled. "Trouble!"

Shane, one hand held to the top of his head, opened the back door and pulled her out. "Door," he said. "Get back inside. The car thing isn't happening."

Claire didn't argue. She dug her front door key out of her jeans pocket as she ran, banged open the front gate, and skidded to a halt in front of the door. The porch light flickered on.

"Thanks," she told the house absently, jammed the key into the lock, and opened the door.

Shane was at the foot of the steps, but he'd stopped, looking back.

Eve was trapped between the car and the house, and she was surrounded by vampires. Claire gasped, and saw that neither Shane nor Eve had had time to grab the weapons bag out of the car.

She still had hers.

Morley lunged forward, slamming Eve against the rounded fender of her car, and Eve's scream of panic split the night. Shane rushed toward her, pulling a stake from his jacket, but it wasn't going to help. There were six of them, all with vampire strength.

He'd get himself killed.

Claire zipped open the bag and pulled out the big plastic Super Soaker. It was a totally absurd color of neon, and it was heavy with a full load of water.

God, please work. Please work.

Claire moved forward at a run, and pressed the trigger. A shockingly thick spray shot out, hit the sidewalk, and splashed; she quickly angled it up, over the fence, and sprayed it in an arc across Shane's back, the vampires turning to meet him, Morley, Eve.

Where it hit exposed vampire skin, the solution of silver powder and water lit them up like Christmas trees. The bony woman with long dark hair heading for Shane broke off with a yelp, slapped at her burning face, and then gaped at the burns on her hands as the solution began to eat away at her flesh.

Claire pumped the toy gun again, building up pressure, and put it to her shoulder as she came to a flat-footed stop. "Back off!" she yelled. "Everybody just stop! You, let her go!" That last was directed at Morley, who had Eve by the shoulder and was holding her in front of him. He was wearing a filthy old raincoat, and it had protected him from the spray; she could see a livid burn spreading across his cheek, but nothing that would really hurt him.

Shane backed up next to Claire, breathing hard. She aimed the Super Soaker directly at Morley and Eve. "Let her go," she repeated. "We didn't do anything to you."

"Nothing personal," Morley said. "We're starving, love. And you're so juicy."

"Ewww," Eve said faintly. "Has anybody ever told you that you smell like tombstones?"

He glanced at her and smiled. "You're the first," he assured her. "Which is a bit charming. I'm Morley. And you are . . . ? Ah yes. Amelie's friend. I remember you from the cemetery. Sam Glass's grave."

"Nice to meet you. Don't eat me, 'kay?"

He laughed and combed her hair back from her pale face. "You're cute. I might have to turn you and keep you as a pet."

"Hey!" Claire said sharply, and took a step forward. "Didn't you hear me? Let her go! She's under Amelie's protection!"

"I see no bracelet." Morley grabbed Eve's arm and lifted it to the dim light, turning it this way and that. "No, definitely nothing there." He kissed the back of her hand, then extended his fangs and prepared to munch out on the pale veins at her wrist.

Eve twisted and punched him in the mouth.

Morley stumbled backward against the car, and Claire triggered the sprayer, coating him in silver spray. This time, he screamed and flapped his arms and lunged away from Eve, toward the darkness. Claire sprayed the rest of his crew again as they followed, waking howls of pain and anger.

Shane dashed forward, vaulted the gate, and helped Eve stand up from where Morley had shoved her. "That went well," he said. His voice was shaking. "No fang marks, right?"

"Lucky me," Eve said, and laughed wildly. "Get the weapons bag. I can't believe you left it in the car; what was that? What town did you grow up in?"

"I was trying to help you fix the car!"

"Bozo." She hugged him, hard, and smacked him on the back of the head; then she took a deep breath as Shane left her to retrieve the black nylon bag out of the car. "And you."

Claire lowered the Super Soaker. "What? What did I do?"

"Saved my life? Redefined awesome in our time?"

"Oh. Okay." She felt a smile bloom from deep inside, and for a moment, it was all good.

Really good.

"Ladies," Shane said, and slammed the car door. "Let's have the champagne inside, okay? And talk about who pulled the wires in the engine, and how we're planning to back Michael up with no wheels?"

He had a point. Claire covered their retreat with the Super Soaker, feeling kind of like a neon-gunned Rambo, and Eve slammed and locked the door, then put her back to the wood and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The second Claire put the water gun down, Shane wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, really tender and sweet and a little bit desperate. Hot.

"Hey," Eve said. "Michael, remember? What are we doing for transpo, cabbing it?"

There was exactly one taxicab in Morganville, and he didn't work at night, so that wasn't much of an option. They didn't even bother to discuss it. "Well," Claire said, very reluctantly, "there's another way. But you won't like it."

"I'll like it less than getting molested by a vampire in a flasher raincoat who smells like graveyards? Try me."

"I could open a portal," Claire said. "But I've never been to the radio station, so I can't risk doing it blind. I have to go someplace close that I know. What's around it?"

"Hang on a second," Shane said, and dropped the weapons bag to the wood floor with a thump. "What about Ada? You said she was out for blood, right?"

"I said you wouldn't like the idea."

"So just to recap - Ada wants to kill you, and you're going to walk through a portal she controls?"

"Well - "

"No, Claire. Next."

"But - "

"Not happening."

She sighed. "What if I get Myrnin to open it for us? He's better at it. I don't think she dares mess with him directly."

"And tell Myrnin what's happening? Bad idea. The dude is half crazy all the time."

"So what's your bright idea?" Claire asked. Shane spread his hands out. "That's what I thought."

She pulled her cell phone out and checked the screen. Her battery was getting low; she hadn't had a chance to charge it up recently, although that was Morganville Survival 101. She picked up the old-fashioned landline phone on the hall table and dialed Myrnin's lab.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and finally, Myrnin picked up. "What?" he snapped. "I was in the middle of dinner."

Claire was afraid to ask who that was. "I need help," she said.

"Claire, you are my assistant. Not the other way around. Perhaps it would be helpful if I prepared an organizational chart you could keep on your person. Possibly tattooed on your arm."

He was in a mood. Claire bit her lip. "Please," she said. "It's a little favor."

"Oh, all right. What?"

"You know the old radio station outside of town? KV - " Her mind blanked. She looked at Eve, who mouthed the answer. "KVVV. Could you open me a portal?"

"Hmmm," he said. She heard the sound of liquid being poured in the background, and him swallowing it, and him smacking his lips. "Well, I suppose I could get you close, if not inside the building. Would that do?"

"Sure. Anything."

"And why can you not do this yourself?"

"Ada . . . ?"

Myrnin was silent for a long few seconds. "She's better," he said. "I don't know what got into the old girl. But I've had a talk with her, and really, she's much better now. Much better."

"That's good." It would be, if it were true, but Claire didn't trust Myrnin's judgment when it came to Ada. "Um, about that portal - "

"Yes, fine, coming right up. I will be there in a moment."

"No, Myrnin - "

He hung up before she could explain that she didn't actually need him to come along. Not that he was going to listen to her, anyway. Claire replaced the phone on its cradle.

"Crazy boss is coming," Shane interpreted, just from the expression on her face. "Lovely. This ought to be fun."

About five seconds later, Claire felt a psychic wave sweep through the house, so strong she was surprised neither Shane nor Eve seemed to feel it, and then a dark opening formed in the far wall of the living room, and Myrnin stepped over the threshold.

"I so want his wardrobe," Eve sighed. "Is that shallow, or just strange?"

"Don't sell yourself short. It's both," Shane said, and cocked his head to take in Myrnin's latest effort at blending in. It was . . . interesting. Claire couldn't decide if it was some deliberate, unholy mix of Victorian lord and hippie, or just what had been on the floor of his closet.

He had on his bunny slippers.

These had fangs.

They all stared at them in silence for about a heartbeat, and then Shane said, "That is impressively wicked. Crazy, but wicked."

Myrnin frowned at him, then looked down at his shoes. He seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh. Those. I thought - well, they're appropriate, I suppose."

"Wouldn't want to be inappropriate," Claire said. "You really didn't have to come. I'm sorry."

"I did, in fact. I tried to open the portal to the radio station, and I couldn't do so." Myrnin's dark eyes were wide and gleaming, clearly fascinated. "Claire, do you know what this means?" He paced, the bunny slippers flopping their ears in a very distracting way. "Someone locked down the area. And it wasn't me."

"Who else could?"

"No one."

"But - "

"Exactly!" He smacked his hands together in glee. "A mystery! Thank you for calling and imposing on me for a favor; this is very exciting stuff, you know. Chaos, mayhem, someone stealing a march against me - ah, I've missed it these past few months, haven't you?"

"No," they all said, exactly together. Claire took Shane's hand and said, "Myrnin, who else could lock down areas of town and freeze out portals?"

"Amelie," he said, "but it's not her. There's a certain signature to her work, and by the way, she's been here recently, did you know? She reeks of pain these days. It's most disturbing."

"Dude, focus," Eve said. "Who else?" She threw Claire a why-am-I-even-asking look, but Myrnin got hold of himself and nodded as he thought about it.

"There have been a total of six others in the history of Morganville," he said. "But they're all dead. All but you, Claire."

They all looked at her. She blinked. "Well, I didn't do it!"

"Oh. Pity. Then I have no idea."

She cleared her throat. "What about Ada?"

"Ada is not the boogeyman behind every shadow, my dear," Myrnin said, and flopped himself down in Michael's chair, taking hold of the acoustic guitar and picking out a surprisingly competent series of chords. "Ada does as she's told. Unlike you, I might add, which is not an attractive quality in a lab assistant."

"Could she do it?"

He stilled the strings with one hand, and looked up. His dark hair fell back from his pale face, and for a moment, he looked entirely serious. "Ada can do anything," he said. "I don't think even she understands that. But I find it highly unlikely - "

"You're a vampire wearing bunny slippers with fangs. Highly unlikely kind of goes with the territory," Eve said. "How close can you get us? To the radio station?"

"Why do you want to go there? It's hardly safe for untagged blood donors to roam around out there after dark. Even Claire would be at risk, and she's wearing the strongest protection available. I don't advise it." He put the guitar aside and steepled his fingers together. "But you're not quite foolish enough to be doing it for the thrill, I think, so you do have a reason. Tell me."

Claire exchanged a quick look with her friends, and then said, "Michael went alone out there. We need to help him."

"Michael is a vampire. Vampires go out at night." Myrnin shrugged and dusted a bit of fluff from his black velvet jacket, which was pretty elegant, if you were heading off to a costume party. "Why concern yourself, unless you think there will be trouble? Stop lying by omission, Claire. Tell me everything. Now."

Eve shook her head, a tiny spasm that was probably involuntary. Even Shane looked like he thought it was a terminally bad idea. Claire said, "We can trust him. We have to trust him."

"Oh, this sounds interesting," Myrnin said, and leaned forward in Michael's chair. "Please continue."

She did. She even brought down one of the wireless cameras, showed it to him, and explained how it worked, which was a complete delight to his obsessively scientific side. "But this is amazing," he said, turning the little device over in his nimble fingers. "This girl, she's quite the enterprising little thing. How many of these, you say?"

"We think seventy-two."

He lost his smile, focused on the object in his hand. "She can't be doing it alone, then. There must be a larger purpose. A larger plan. Still, this Kim, she may be using it for her own purposes; have you thought about that?"

"We know she's getting her own thing out of it," Claire said. "But you're saying . . . she didn't come up with it in the first place?"

"Exactly."

So, maybe Kim had been recruited to put cameras out, and then hijacked it for her own reality-show dream project . . . but that meant someone else was in charge.

Someone smart enough to not get caught. Or even suspected.

"You really should tell Oliver," Myrnin said. "I know he's not the most pleasant of allies, but he is effective in the right circumstances. Rather like one of those nuclear bombs."

"If we tell Oliver, Kim's dead," Eve said. "She may be an epic bitch, but I don't want her executed, either."

"Valid," Myrnin agreed. "However, if this goes wrong, she's dead in any case. I will come along. You need an adult chaperone."

"Once again, bunny slippers," Shane said. "I'm just pointing that out."

"I suppose they would get dirty. I'll be right back." Myrnin jumped out of the chair and dashed for the portal. It snapped shut behind him with a flare of energy.

"Do you think - "

Before Shane could finish the question, the portal opened again, and Myrnin hopped out on one foot, pulling on serious pirate boots, the knee-high kind with the cuff of leather. He finished tugging the left one on and did a runway pose for Claire. "Better?"

"Um . . . yeah. I guess." He now looked like a demented version of that pirate captain from the rum bottles.

"Then let's go."

As he turned to concentrate on the portal, Eve tugged on Claire's shirt.

"What?"

"Ask him where he got the boots."

"You ask." Personally, Claire wanted the vampire bunny slippers.