Claire kept her silence for about half the ride home, and Sam didn't offer anything either. The pressure of questions finally was too much for her. "He was telling the truth, wasn't he?" she asked. "There's some kind of disease. Amelie tried to make me think that not making more vampires was her choice, but that's not really true, is it? You can't. She's the only one who isn't sick."

Sam's face went tight and still in the glow of the dashboard lights. Sitting in the car was like traveling through space; the dark-tinted windows refused even starlight, so it was just the two of them in their own pocket universe. He had the radio on, and it was playing classical music, something light and sweet.

"No," he said. "She's sick, too. We all are. Myrnin's been searching for the cause -- and the cure -- for seventy years now, but it's too late now. He's too far gone, and the chance that anyone else could help him through it is too small. I can't let her sacrifice you like this, Claire. I told you that he's had five assistants. I don't want you to become another statistic."

"What if he doesn't find the cure?" Claire asked. "How long --?"

"Claire, you need to forget you ever heard any of this. I mean it. There are a lot of secrets in Morganville, but this one could kill you. Say nothing, understand? Not to your friends, and not to Amelie. Do you understand?"

His intensity was even more terrifying than Myrnin's, because it was so controlled. She nodded.

It didn't stop the questions from swirling in her brain.

Sam let her out at the curb and watched her until she was inside the house -- it was full dark, and there were plenty of hunting vampires out on a clear, cool night like this. Nobody would hurt her --probably -- but Sam wasn't in the mood to take chances.

Claire shut the door and locked it, leaned against the wood for a long few seconds, and tried to get her head together. She knew her friends would bombard her with questions -- where had she been, was she crazy being out alone in the dark -- but she couldn't answer them, not without violating some order from either Amelie or Sam.

They're dying. It seemed impossible; the vampires seemed so strong, so frightening. But she'd seen it. She'd seen the way Myrnin was decaying, and how afraid Sam was. Even Amelie, perfect icy Amelie, was doomed.

Wasn't that a good thing? And if it was, why did she feel so sick?

Claire took a few more deep breaths, willed her mind to shut up for a while, and pushed off to walk down the hall.

She didn't get far. There was stuff piled everywhere. It took her a second, but she recognized it with a shock of horror. "Oh no," she whispered. "Shane's stuff." It was blocking the hallway. Claire shoved a path through the boxes and suitcases piled there. Oh, crap. There was the Playstation, unplugged and looking mournful, in a heap with its game controllers.

"Hey? Hey guys? What's going on?" Claire called, edged around the barricades. "Anybody here?"

"Claire?" Michael's shadow appeared at the end of the hall. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I -- got held up late at the lab," she said. Which wasn't a lie. "What's happening?"

"Shane says he's moving out," Michael said. He looked deeply angry, but it was covering up hurt, too. "Glad you're here. Maybe you can talk some sense into him. Eve's not having much luck."

Claire heard the indistinct buzz of voices upstairs. Eve's voice, high and strident. Shane's rumbling low. There was about a sixty second delay, and then Shane came down the stairs carrying a box. His face was pale but determined, and although he hesitated for a second when he saw Claire was back, he kept coming down.

"Seriously, dumbass, what the hell are you doing?" Eve demanded from the top of the stairs. She darted around and got into his path, forcing him to back up and try to get around her. "Yo, village idiot! Talking to you!"

"You want to live here with him, fine," Shane said tightly. "I'm going. I've had enough."

"You're moving at night? Do you have a head wound?"

He faked Eve to the right and moved past her to the left.

And ran into Claire, who didn't move. She didn't say anything, and after a few seconds of silence he said, "I'm sorry. Got to do it. I told you."

"Is this about your dad?" she asked. "About this prejudice you've got against Michael now?"

"Prejudice? Jesus, Claire, you act like he's still really Michael. Well, he's not. He's one of them. I'm done with this crap. If I need to I'll go break some laws and get my ass thrown in jail. Better that than living here, looking at him -- " Shane stopped dead and shut his eyes for a second. "You don't understand. You just don't understand, Claire. You didn't grow up here."

"But I did," Eve said, stepping up closer. "And I don't get your paranoid bullshit either. Michael hasn't hurt anybody! Especially you, you prick. So lay off."

"I am," Shane said. "I'm leaving."

Claire didn't move out of his way. "What about us?"

"You want to go with me?"

She slowly shook her head, and saw the pain in his face for a split-second before it turned hard again.

"Then we've got nothing to talk about. And sorry to break it to you but there's no 'us.' Get it straight, Claire, it's been fun, but you're not really my type -- "

Michael moved. He smacked the box out of Shane's hands, and it flew halfway across the room, skidded across the wood floor the rest of the way, and slammed into the baseboard, where it tipped over and spilled things all over the place.

"Don't," he said, and grabbed Shane by the shoulders and flattened him against the nearest convenient wall. "Don't you disrespect her. Be an asshole to me, fine. Be an asshole to Eve if you want to, she can give it right back. But don't you take it out on Claire. I've had enough of your crap, Shane." He stopped and took a breath, but the anger wasn't burning out of him, not yet. "You want to go, get the hell out, but you'd better take a good hard look at yourself, my man. Yeah, your sister died. Your mom died. Your dad's a violent, prejudiced asshole. Your life has sucked. But you don't get to be the victim anymore. We keep cutting you breaks, and you keep screwing up, and it's enough. I'm not letting you whine anymore about how your life sucks worse than ours."

Shane's face went dead white, then red.

And he socked Michael in the face. It was a solid, painful punch, and Claire winced and covered her mouth in sympathy, moving back.

Michael didn't move. Didn't even react. He just stared into Shane's eyes.

"You're just like your dad," he said. "You want to stake me now? Cut my head off? Bury me out back? That work for you, friend?"

"Yes!" Shane screamed, right in his face, and there was something so frightening in his eyes that Claire couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Michael let him go, walked over, and picked up a couple of things from the pile that had spilled out of the box Shane had been carrying out.

A pointed stake.

A wicked sharp hunting knife.

"You came prepared," he said, and tossed them to Shane, who caught them out of the air. "Go for it."

Eve screamed and threw herself in front of Michael, who gently but firmly moved her out of the way.

"Go on," he said. "We do this now, or we end up doing it later. You want to move out so you can kill me with a clear conscience. Why wait? Come on, man, do it. I won't fight."

Shane turned the knife in his hand, the edge slashing the light with every agitated move. Claire felt frozen, winter-cold, unable to think of anything to say or do. What had happened? How did things get this bad? What --

Shane took a step toward Michael, a sudden long lunge, and Michael didn't move. His eyes -- they weren't cold at all, and they weren't vampire-scary, either. They were human, and they were scared.

For a long breath, nobody moved, and then Michael said, "I know you feel like I betrayed you, but I didn't. This wasn't about you. It was for me, it was so I didn't have to be trapped here anymore. I was dying here. I was buried alive."

Shane's face twisted, as if that hunting knife had slid into his own guts. "Maybe you should have stayed dead." He raised the stake in his right hand.

"Shane, no!" Eve was screaming, trying to get to them, but Michael was holding her off. She turned on him in a fury. "Dammit, stop it! You don't really want to die!"

"No," Michael said. "I don't. He knows I don't."

Shane paused, trembling. Claire watched his face, his eyes, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking. What he was feeling. It was just a face, and she didn't know him at all.

"You were my friend," Shane said. He sounded lost. "You were my best friend. How screwed up is this?"

Michael didn't say anything. He took a step forward, took the knife and stake out of Shane's hands, and pulled him into a hug.

And this time, Shane didn't resist.

"Asshole," Michael sighed, and slapped his back.

"Yeah," Shane muttered, stepped back, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Whatever. You started it." He looked around and focused on Claire. "You. You were supposed to be home already."

Crap. She'd hoped they'd forget all about her late arrival, in the explosion of Shane's freakout. But of course, he'd try to find a way to shift attention away, and there she was, a sitting duck.

"Right," Eve said. "Guess you forgot the number to call and tell us you weren't dead in a ditch."

"I'm fine," Claire said.

"Amy wasn't. She was murdered and stuffed in our trash can, so excuse me if I got a little bit worried that you might be dead." Eve crossed her arms, her dark stare getting even more fierce. "I already checked out there for you, before Shane decided to pull this crap."

Oh, man. Somehow, in all of the stress of her afternoon with Myrnin, Claire had forgotten about Amy's death. Of course Eve was angry; not so much angry, really, as plain terrified.

Claire didn't dare meet Shane's gaze. She looked at Michael instead, helplessly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I got -- I was at the lab, and -- I should have called, I guess."

"And you walked home? In the dark?" Another question she had to avoid. She just shrugged. "You know what we call pedestrians in Morganville? Mobile blood banks." Michael sounded cold, too. Cold and angry. "You scared the shit out of us. That's not like you, Claire. What happened?"

Shane moved to her side, and she felt a moment of relief that at least he wasn't angry at her. But then he yanked her shirt away from her neck on the left, then on the right, an efficient rough search that surprised her too much to fight him. He skinned up her right sleeve all the way to the elbow and turned her arm to inspect it.

As he reached for the left, she felt an electric bolt of alarm. The bracelet. Oh God.

She yanked free and shoved him back. "Hey!" she said. "I'm fine, okay? I'm fine! Fang-free!"

"Then show me," Shane said. His eyes were steady and scared, and that broke her heart. "C'mon, Claire. Prove it."

"Why do I have to prove anything to you?" She knew she was wrong, and it made her stupidly angry that he cared so much. "You don't own me, like some vampire! I just said I'm fine! Why can't you just trust me?"

She would have done anything to take it back, but it was too late, and it hit him like a punch in the face. He's been hurt so much. Why did I do that? Why ...

Michael was there, all of a sudden and stepped in between them. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Shane. "I'll do it." He was blocking Eve and Shane's view. Before Claire could do anything to stop him -- as if she could do anything -- he grabbed her left hand and pulled the sleeve up to her elbow.

He stared at the gold bracelet for a paralyzing second before turning her arm first one way, then the other. Then pulling her sleeve back down over the tell-tale jewelry evidence.

"She's fine," he said, and met her eyes. "She's telling the truth. I'd know if a vampire had bitten her. I'd feel it."

Shane's mouth opened, then closed. He took another step back, stared at her for a second, then walked away. Eve called, "Hey, how about taking some of your crap back upstairs, if you're planning on staying?"

"Later," Shane snapped, and went upstairs without looking back.

"I'd better go talk to him," Claire said. Michael kept hold of her arm.

"No," he said. "First, you'd better talk to me."

He hustled her toward the kitchen. Behind them, Eve said, "Just another great family dinner. Whatever! I'm taking the last hot dog!"

Even with the kitchen door shut, Michael wasn't taking any chances. He pulled Claire along with him to the pantry, opened the door, and turned on the light. "Inside," he ordered. She stepped in, and he shut the door after her. It was cramped with two people, and it smelled like old spices and vinegar, from where Shane had dropped the bottle a few weeks back. Michael's voice dropped to a fierce hiss. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What I had to," she said. She was shaking all over, but she wouldn't let Michael intimidate her. She was tired, and besides, everybody seemed to be trying to intimidate her these days. She was small, she wasn't weak. "It was the only way. Amelie -- "

"You should have talked to me. Talked to us."

"Like you came clean with us, when you were a ghost? And did you have a house meeting before you decided to go all the way to vampire?" Claire shot back. "Right. Well, you're not the only one who can make choices, Michael. This was mine, I made it, I'll live with it. And it'll keep all of you safe."

"Who says?" Michael asked bluntly. "Amelie? You're trusting vampires now?"

She didn't look away from his big blue eyes. "I trust you."

He suppressed a smile. "Dumbass."

"Dork." She shoved him, just a little, and he let her do it. He even pretended to stagger, although she didn't imagine vampires got knocked off balance very often, except by other vampires. "Michael, she didn't give me any choice. Shane's dad -- even though he left, he did damage. Shane wasn't going to be trusted here, and you know what happens if -- "

"If they don't trust him," Michael said somberly. "Yeah. I know. Look, don't worry about Shane. I'll protect him. I told you -- "

"You may not be able to. Look, no offense, but you're only been a vampire for a couple of weeks. I have library books that have been out longer. You can't promise -- "

Michael reached out and put one cool finger across her lips, stilling them instantly. His blue eyes were intense, narrow, and very focused.

"Shhhh," he whispered, and turned out the light.

Claire heard the kitchen door thump, and then the hard-heeled clonk of Eve's shoes crossing the wood floor. "Hello? Helllloooooooo? Great. Why do all my housemates sulk like little girls or vanish when the dishes are dirty? If you can hear me, Michael Glass, I'm talking to you!"

Claire snorted, almost laughed. Michael's hand closed over her mouth, stifling her. He tugged on her arm, and she followed him, moving carefully so as not to knock anything off the shelf. She heard the scrape of the door opening at the rear of the pantry, the tiny little bolt-hole, and bent down to go through it. The other side was pitch black, not even the tiny crack of light that the pantry had enjoyed, and Claire felt a flutter of panic. Michael's hand pushed her onward, and she stepped hesitantly into the close, thick dark. Behind her, she heard him close the door with a very soft click, and bright electric light flooded over the floor.

"Here," Michael said, and handed her the flashlight. "She might come looking for us here, but not for a while."

It was a secret hidey-hole, one that Claire had been shoved into on her very first morning in the Glass House; no exits, only the one entrance. She'd thought from the beginning it looked like someplace a vampire might stash a couple of handy coffins, but it was empty. And as far as she knew, Michael slept on a Serta.

"I meant to ask you. What is this?"

"Root cellar," he said. "This house was built before refrigerators, and ice deliveries were only so-so. This was where they kept most of their vegetables."

"So ... not a vampire hideout?"

Michael stretched his long legs out with a sigh and leaned against the wall. God, he was pretty. No wonder Eve was willing to overlook the lack of pulse. "Not so far as I've ever known, but the vampires in Morganville never really had to hide. Only the humans did."

Which wasn't what they were here to talk about, she supposed. She crossed her arms and felt the bracelet bite into the skin of her wrist under the shirt. "Whatever lecture you were going to give me, it's too late. I signed, it's done, I've got the souvenir bracelet." Which made her suddenly, strangely want to cry. "Michael -- "

"What's she asking you to do?" Which was so right-on that she felt the pressure of tears behind her eyes and in her nose get even higher.

"Um ... " She couldn't tell him, Amelie and Sam had both made it clear. "It's just extra schoolwork. She wants me to study some things."

"What things?" Michael's voice got sharp and worried. "Claire -- "

"It's nothing. Science stuff. I would have probably been doing it anyway, but it's just -- it's a lot more study, and I don't know how I'm going to -- " Keep it from Shane. Because she had to, right? Bad enough he hated Michael for being a vampire, what was he going to think about her, selling herself to Amelie? "I just don't know how I'm going to do all this."

And suddenly, she was crying. She didn't mean to, but there it was, boiling out of her. She expected Michael to do the Shane thing, come and comfort her, but he didn't. He sat right where he was and watched her. When her sobs died down, and she swiped her hands across her wet cheeks, he said, "Finished?"

She gulped and nodded.

"You made the choice, now you want to have it both ways -- the benefits, but not the consequences. You can't, Claire. It's coming home to roost, and you'd better handle it now rather than later." Michael's tone softened, just a little. "Look, I'm not an asshole, I know how scared you are. But you're a player in this town now. You're not the fragile little thing we took in for protection. You're trying to protect us. That means you may not be as well liked anymore, and you're going to have to sack up about that."

"What?" She felt dazed. Somehow, this wasn't how she'd expected all this to go. Especially Michael's cool, challenging look, and the lack of hugging.

"Signing the contract isn't the last choice you're going to have to make," he said. "It's the choices you make from now on that show whether you did the right thing or not." He stood up, pale and strong and as gorgeous as an angel in the glow of Claire's flashlight. "And stop lying to me. You ought to get off to a better start."

"I -- what?"

"You said what Amelie has you doing is just more studying," he said grimly. "And I can tell when you're lying. No, I'm not going to ask, because I can tell it scares you, but just remember, vampires can tell, all right?"

He swung the door open and ducked out. Claire stared after him, open-mouthed, but by the time she'd scrambled through and switched off the flashlight, Michael was already gone, out of the pantry. Crap. It's going to look like we were ...

What? Who could believe Michael would be snacking on an underage girl in the root cellar?

Still, Claire eased open the pantry door and checked to be sure the coast was clear before she dashed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Michael was sitting on the couch, Eve curled next to him with her head on his chest. They were watching something on TV, and Eve's gaze followed Claire as she hurried past them, mumbling an apology.

She stopped on the stairs and looked back at them. Two people she cared about, wrapped in a moment of warmth and happiness.

Michael was a vampire, and that meant that Michael was dying. Like Myrnin. He was going to suffer and lose his mind and hurt people.

He could even hurt Eve.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she felt suddenly short of breath. When it had been just an abstract problem, just Morganville minus vampires equals safety, then that had been one thing, but it wasn't abstract. It was people she knew, liked, even loved. She wouldn't shed any tears over Oliver, but how could she not care about Michael? Or Sam? Or even Amelie?

Claire picked up her book bag and went upstairs.

Shane's door was shut. She knocked. He didn't answer for a long moment, and then said, "If I ignore you, will you go away?"

"No," she said.

"Might as well come in, then."

He was flopped on the bed, staring at the ceiling, hands under his head, and he didn't look at her as she entered and closed the door behind her.

"So is this how it's going to go?" she asked. "I do something dumb like stay out late, you get mad and run away, I come and apologize and make everything better?"

Shane, surprised, looked at her, then said, "Well, that kinda works for me, yeah."

Claire thought about Michael, about the suddenly grown-up way he'd treated her. She sat down on the bed next to Shane, staring down at the floor for a few seconds to gather her courage, and then she pulled back her sleeve to expose the bracelet.

Shane didn't make a sound. He slowly sat up, staring at the shiny gold band with its Founder's symbol.

"We need to talk," she said. She felt sick and terrified, but she knew it was the right choice. The only other thing to do was lie, and she couldn't keep on doing it. Michael was right about that.

Shane could have done anything -- he could have run away, he could have thrown her out of his room. He could even have hit her.

Instead, he took her hand in his, bent his head, and said, "Tell me."

Eve wasn't so understanding. "Are you out of your mind?" She picked up the handiest thing to throw -- it happened to be the Playstation controller -- and Shane quickly, carefully de-gamed her. Claire thought he probably wouldn't have moved that fast if Eve had grabbed, oh, say, a book.

"Let's be adults about this," Michael said. They were downstairs again, together, although Shane and Michael were still clearly standing at opposite poles. It was getting late -- eleven already --and Claire was feeling the strain of a very long, hard day. In fact, she yawned, which only made Eve shoot her a look of absolute exasperation.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are we keeping you awake? Michael, how the hell do we be adults about this when one of us isn't an adult?" Eve leveled a shaking finger at her. "You're a kid, Claire. As in, you're still a wet-behind-the-ears dumbass who hasn't even been in this town a couple of months. You have no idea what you're doing!"

"Maybe I don't," Claire agreed. Her voice was almost steady, which pleased and surprised her. She didn't like having Eve angry at her. She didn't like having anyone angry at her. "The thing is, it's done. I made the choice, that discussion was over before we had it. I wanted you to know, though. I didn't want to -- " Her eyes met Michael's briefly. " -- lie to you."

"Why the hell not? Everybody around here lies. Michael lied about being a ghost. Shane lies about shit all the time. Why not you, too?"

Shane groaned. "Yo, Drama Princess, want to tone it down a little? Somewhere, Sandra Bernhardt wants her tantrum back."

"Oh, like you don't throw a hissy every time somebody trips your angst switch!"

Claire looked helplessly at Michael, who was having a hard time not smiling. He shrugged and took a step forward. That meant, of course, that Shane backed up. "Eve," Michael said, ignoring Shane for the moment. "Give the girl some credit. At least she told you, instead of letting you figure it out on your own."

"Yeah, and she told me last!" Eve glared at the two boys, hands on her hips.

"Boyfriend," Shane said, holding up his hand.

"Landlord," Michael chimed in.

"Crap," Eve sighed. "I guess that does leave me in last place. Right, next time you sell your soul to the evil, I get first contact! Girl solidarity, right?"

"Um -- okay?"

"Dumbass," Eve sighed, defeated. "I can't believe you did that. I worked so hard to get away from that Protection crap, and here you are, all ... Protected. I just wanted you to be -- safe. And I'm not sure this is."

"Yeah," Claire said. "Me neither. But I swear, it was the best thing I could think of. And at least it's Amelie. She's okay, right?"

They all looked at each other. Shane said, "But you won't tell us what she's got you doing that keeps you out late."

"No. I -- I can't do that."

"Then she's not okay," Shane said. "And neither are you."

But none of them had any good suggestions on how to fix it, and Claire fell asleep on the couch with her head in Shane's lap as he and Michael and Eve kept talking, and talking, and talking. It was three a.m. when she woke up; Shane hadn't moved, but she was covered with a blanket, and he was sound asleep, sitting straight up.

Claire yawned, groaned at sore muscles, and rolled to her feet. "Shane. Up. You need to go to bed."

He woke up cute, softened by sleep. "Come with?" He was only half joking. She remembered being curled up with him in her bed, the night she'd been so scared; he'd been careful then, but she wasn't sure she could count on that kind of self-restraint at three a.m., when he was half-asleep.

"I can't," she said reluctantly. "Not that I don't want to ..."

He smiled and stretched out on his side on the couch, leaving a narrow space between his warm, solid body and the cushions. "Stay," he said. "I promise, no clothes will come off. Well, maybe shoes. Do shoes count as clothes?"

She kicked hers off and climbed over him to slip into that small pocket, and sighed in relief as his body pressed against hers. She didn't even need the blanket, but he put it over the two of them anyway, and then combed her hair back from her neck and kissed her on the soft, vulnerable skin.

"You were leaving," she whispered. He stopped moving. As far as she could tell, he stopped breathing. "You were leaving, and you didn't even know if I was okay."

"No. I was going to go look for you."

"After you packed."

"Claire, I didn't even know you hadn't come home until Eve came upstairs looking. I was going to look for you."

She looked back at him, over her shoulder, and saw the desperation hiding in his eyes.

"Please," he said. "Please believe me."

Against her will, even against her better judgment, she did believe him. She felt safe, anchored against the troubled world by the heat of his body against hers.

His arm went around her waist, and she felt absolutely protected.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he said. It was a promise he probably couldn't keep, but in the night, in the dark, it meant everything to her. "Hey."

"What?"

"Wanna fool around?"

She did.

She must have drifted off to sleep, because she woke up with her heart pounding, feeling like there was something really, really wrong. For a second, as she came awake, she thought she smelled smoke, and that propelled her upright in a surge of panic. The house had almost burned once already ...

... no, not fire, but something was definitely wrong. There was something in the whole atmosphere of the house. The smoke had been some kind of signal, from it to her. A get your butt out of bed signal.

Shane was still sleeping next to her on the couch, but he was already awake too, rolling off to his feet as if he'd felt it, too.

"What's happening?" Claire felt a jab go through her like electricity. "Shane?"

"Something's wrong."

They both froze as they heard the sudden loud blare of a siren. It sounded like it was right in front of the house.

Claire heard feet on the stairs and saw Eve hurrying down in a satin nightgown and fluffy black robe. Eve's face was bare of any Goth makeup, and she looked flushed and anxious and scared.

"What is it?" Eve called. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Shane said. "Something bad. Can't you feel it?"

This was an event, they were all up and it was barely six a.m. --

Eve plunged down the steps and yanked up the cord to raise the blinds on the window that faced the front yard. They all looked out. A police car was in the middle of the street, siren still wailing, and its headlights cast a hot circle of light on a maroon sedan stopped on the street, its driver's side door open. Its lights were still on, and there was a body slumped on the road next to it.

The windows were dark-tinted.

It was a vampire's car.

Eve screamed, spun, and looked at them with wide, terrified eyes. "Where's Michael?" she asked, and Claire stupidly looked behind her, as if she was going to find him standing there.

They all looked back at the street, the car, the body.

"But he doesn't have a car," Claire whispered. Shane was already moving for the door at a flat run, but Eve just stood there staring, frozen. Claire put her arm around her and felt her shaking.

She saw Shane blow through the gate at the fence and run toward the body; the cop who'd just emerged from the patrol car grabbed him, slung him around and slammed him face-first onto the hood. Shane was yelling something.

"I need to go out there," Claire said. "Stay here."

Eve nodded numbly. Claire hated leaving her there, but Shane was going to get himself arrested if he kept it up, and who knew what could happen to him in jail?

She was only to the porch when another police car turned the corner, lights flashing, siren adding its howl to the chaos. It braked beside the first one, and another policeman got out and moved to where Shane was being restrained.

Claire didn't recognize the cop who had Michael face-down on the hood, but she knew the new arrival. It was Richard Morrell, Monica's big brother. He wasn't a bad guy, although he was definitely from the same icky gene pool. He took over for the other cop, who backed away.

"Shane! Dammit, Shane, calm the hell down. This is a crime scene, I can't let you run out there, do you understand? Calm down!"

Richard was occupied with keeping Shane under control, so the other policeman went to crouch next to the body on the street. The body. Claire took a step closer, and the policeman produced a flashlight and focused it on the face of the man lying in the street.

Not Michael.

Sam.

There was a stake in his chest, and he was still and white and not moving.

"Richard!" the cop yelled. "It's Sam Glass! Looks dead to me!"

"Sam," Claire whispered. "No."

Sam had been kind to her, and somebody had dragged him out of his car and put a stake through his chest.

"Shit!" Richard spat. "Shane, sit your ass down. Down, right now. Don't make me handcuff you." He yanked Shane by the collar of his t-shirt and sat him down on the curb, glared at him for a second, then came over to look at the body. "Holy mother of -- grab his feet."

"What?" The other cop -- his name tag said FENTON -- looked at him with a frown. "It's a crime scene, we can't -- "

"He's still alive, you idiot. Grab his damn feet, Fenton! If he burns, he's dead."

The first rays of sun crept over the horizon and fell on Sam's still form.

And Claire saw him start to smoke.

"What are you waiting for?" Richard shouted. "Pick him up!" The other cop, after a blank hesitation, grabbed Sam by the feet. Richard took him under the arms, and together they bodily threw him into the maroon sedan, the one with tinted windows, and slammed the door shut. Fenton started for the driver's side, but Richard got there first. "I'll drive," Richard said. "The wound's still fresh. He's got a chance if I can get him to Amelie."

Fenton backed off and nodded. Richard gunned the engine, and slammed the door even as he was peeling rubber toward the end of the street.

Officer Fenton glared at Shane. "You going to give me trouble, boy?" he demanded. Claire sure hoped not. This man was twice the size of Richard Morrell, twice as old, and he looked like a human pit bull.

Shane held up his hands. "No trouble from me, officer. Sir."

"You two see what happened here?"

"No," Claire said. "I was asleep. We all were."

"All in the same room?" the cop grunted, and looked her over, from her bed-head to the wrinkled clothes. "Didn't take you for the type."

She couldn't figure out what he meant for a few seconds, and then felt a wave of hot embarrassment sweep over her. "No, I mean -- Eve was in her own room. We were asleep on the couch."

Shane said, "Yeah, we were all asleep. Woke up when we heard the siren." Which wasn't quite true, was it? They'd woken up, and then heard the siren. But Claire wasn't sure why that would be important.

The cop tapped on a handheld device, still frowning. "Ought to be four of you in the house. Where's the other two?"

"Eve's still inside. And Michael -- " Where the hell was Michael? "I don't know where he is."

"I'll go see if he's in his room," Shane volunteered, but the cop froze him in place with another thunderous scowl.

"You'll sit your ass down on that curb and be quiet. You, what's your name?"

"Claire Danvers."

"Claire, get in there, find out if Michael Glass is inside. If he's not, find out if his car is missing."

Claire stared at him, wide-eyed. "You don't think ...?"

"I don't think anything until I have facts. I need to know who's here, who isn't, and work from there." The cop transferred his dark stare to Shane, who was starting to get up. "I already told you, sit your ass down, Collins."

"I didn't have anything to do with this!"

"If I had to put together a list of prime suspects out to stake some vampires, you'd be right at the top, so yeah, you do. Sit down."

Shane sat, looking furious. Claire silently begged him not to do anything stupid, and hurried back into the house. Eve was upstairs dressing -- black baby-doll tee with a bling-enhanced cartoon Elmer Fudd on the front, and black jeans with clunky Doc Martens.

"It wasn't -- "

"I know, I saw," Eve said. Her voice sounded stuffy, like she'd been crying, or about to. "It was Sam, right? Is he alive? Or -- whatever?"

"I don't know. Richard said something like he could still be okay." Claire gripped the doorknob tightly, and glanced down the hall. Michael's door was closed. It was always closed. "Did you look -- ?"

"No." Eve took a deep breath and stood up. "I'll go with you."

Michael's door was unlocked, and it was utterly dark inside. Claire flipped on the lights. Michael's bed was empty, neatly made, and the room looked absolutely normal. Eve checked the closets, under the bed, even the master bathroom.

"No sign of him," she said breathlessly. "Let's check the garage."

The garage was a shed in the back, not attached to the house; the two of them went out the back kitchen door and crossed the rutted driveway. The shed's doors were closed.

Eve opened one side, Claire the other.

Michael's car was gone.

"What about work? Could he be at work?"

"TJ's doesn't open until ten," Eve said. "Why would he be in there at six?"

"Inventory?"

"You think they're going to call a vampire in at six a.m. to do inventory?" Eve slammed the shed door and kicked it for good measure. "Where the hell is he? And why the hell don't I have a working cell phone? Why don't you?"

Hers had been lost, Eve's had been smashed, and both of them looked miserably at each other for a few seconds, then without a word, walked to the front yard where Shane was still sitting on the curb. If anybody could sit rebelliously, he was doing it.

"Give me your phone," Eve demanded and held out her hand. Shane looked at her with a frown. "Now, dumbass. Michael's not inside, and his car's gone."

"Michael's got a car? Since when?"

"Since the vampires issued him one. He didn't tell you?"

Shane just shook his head. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "He doesn't tell me shit, Eve. Not since -- "

"Not since you started treating him like the Evil Dead? Yeah. Imagine that."

He silently handed over his cell phone and looked away, staring at the street where Sam's body had been tossed. Claire wondered if he was thinking about his dad's crusade, about the only good vampire is a dead vampire.

Claire wondered if he really, deep down, still agreed.

Eve dialed and put the phone to her ear. For a tense few seconds nothing happened, and then Claire saw relief melt the tension out of Eve's face and body. "Michael! Where the hell are you?" Pause. "Where?" Pause. "Oh. Okay. I need to tell you -- " Pause. "You know." Pause. "Yeah, we'll -- talk later."

Eve folded the phone and handed it back. Shane slipped it in his pocket again, eyebrows up and signaling questions.

"He's okay," she said. Her eyes had gone dark and narrow.

"And?"

"And nothing. He's fine. End of story."

"Bullshit," Shane said, and tugged her down to sit next to him on the curb. "Spill it, Eve. Now."

Claire sat too, on Eve's other side. The curb felt cold and hard, but the good thing was that the patrol car blocked Fenton's view of them. He was talking to the occupants of another car, vampire-tinted, who had pulled up behind the cruiser.

"He was downtown," she said. "At the Elder's Council. They pulled him in there early this morning."

"Who did?"

"The Big Three." Oliver, Amelie and the mayor, Richard and Monica's dad. "Amelie just got word about Sam. But Michael's not hurt or anything." An unspoken for now was at the end of that. Eve was worried. She bent her head closer to Shane's, lowered her voice even further, and said, "You didn't have anything to do with what happened to Sam, right?"

"Jesus, Eve!"

"I'm only asking because -- "

"I know why you're asking," he whispered back fiercely. "Hell no. If was going to go after some vampire, it wouldn't have been Sam. I'd be staking somebody like Oliver, make it worth my time. Speaking of Oliver, he'd be my number one suspect."

"Vampires don't kill their own."

"He arranged for Brandon to die," Claire offered. "I think Oliver's capable of anything. And he'd love to see Amelie even more isolated." She swallowed hard. "She told me once that Sam was safer if she didn't keep him close. I guess she was right."

"Doesn't matter. Oliver keeps his hands clean, no matter what. Some broke-ass human is going to burn for this, and you know it," Shane said. "And it happened in front of our house, and nobody's forgotten what happened with my dad. You don't think we're being set up?"

Crap. Shane was right. The fact that Michael was safe was good, but it was also a double-edged sword; it meant that Michael had been gone when Sam had been attacked.

And Michael was the only one of them whose word might be worth anything to the vampires.

Sure enough, Fenton came back around the cruiser and stared at the three of them for a few seconds, then said, "You're being taken in for questioning. All three of you. Get in the back seat."

Shane didn't move. "I'm not going anywhere."

The policeman sighed and leaned against the quarter panel. "Son, you've got a lot of attitude, and I respect that. But you'd better catch a clue right now, because either you get in my car, or you get in their car." He pointed toward the silent dark sedan, the one with vampires inside. "And I promise you, that won't end so well. You get me?"

Shane nodded, stood, and gave Eve a hand up.

Claire stayed seated. She pulled up the sleeve on her left arm. The bracelet glittered and glimmered in the morning light, and she held it up for Fenton's clear view.

His eyes widened. "Is that ...?"

"I want to see my Patron," Claire said. "Please."

He went off to talk on his radio, then came back and jerked his head at Shane and Eve. "In the back seat," he said. "You're going to the station. You, kid ..." He nodded toward the other sedan. "They'll take you to Amelie."

Claire swallowed hard and exchanged a look with Shane, then Eve. That hadn't been her plan. She wanted them all to stay together. How could she keep them safe if they got separated?

"Don't," Shane said. "Come with us."

Truthfully, that was starting to sound like a better idea. The vampires weren't going to be happy, and her shiny gold bracelet didn't exempt her from suspicion. Amelie could still order her hurt, or killed.

"Okay," Claire said. Shane looked massively relieved as he ducked his head and entered the back seat of the cruiser. Eve followed him in.

The cop slammed the door after Eve, before Claire could get in the patrol car.

"Hey!" Shane yelled, and hit the car window. He and Eve were both trying to get out, but the doors weren't opening.

Fenton grabbed her by the arm and hustled her over to the other sedan, opened the door, and put her in the back seat before she could protest. Claire heard the faint click of locks engaging, and sat very still, trying to see through the gloom.

One of the vampires flicked on the overhead light. Oh crap. It was two of her not-favorite people. The woman was pale as snow, with white-blonde hair and eyes of palest silver. Gretchen. Her partner, Hans, was a hard man made of angles, with graying short hair, and a stony expression.

"I wish we'd gotten the boy instead," Gretchen said, clearly disappointed. Her voice was low-pitched, throaty, with a heavy foreign accent. Not quite German, but not quite anything else, either. An old accent, Claire thought. "He was so rude to us when last we spoke. And surely his father deserves a lesson, even if the boy does not."

"Amelie says just bring this one," Hans said, and put the car in gear. He looked at Claire in the rear view mirror. "Seatbelt, please."

She had trouble wrapping her head around that -- why did he care? -- but she clicked the safety restraint shut and sat back. Like the ride in Sam's car the day before, she couldn't see a thing outside the windows except a faint gray dot where the sun was rising.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked. Gretchen laughed. Claire caught the flash of fangs, but Gretchen didn't really need them to be scary. Not at all.

"To the Elder's Council," she said. "You remember it, Claire. You had such a good time there when last we visited."