"I could make them vampires when we're done, if you just can't face losing them. I'm terribly progressive that way. Then you would be the only breather in your little pack, Claire. How long do you imagine you'd last, especially if your boyfriend there declared his undying love?" Morley fluttered his eyelashes like a cartoon character and put both hands over his heart. "If I were you, I'd volunteer to join them. Being human is not precisely a clever plan."
"Yeah? How's this?" Claire, in one smooth, fast motion, pulled an arrow from the bag on her shoulder, slotted it home on the string, and pulled the compound bow back to full extension. She was aiming the arrow straight at Morley's crossed hands, over his heart. He laughed. "You aren't serious--" She fired. The arrow went through both of Morley's hands, pinning them to his chest with the fletching at the end. He stared down in shock at the wood piercing his chest, stumbled, and went down to his knees. Then just down, face forward. The arrow stuck up out of his back, like an exclamation point. "I will," Claire said softly, and let the bow rock forward as she reached one-handed for another arrow and notched it home. "I'm not a really good shot, but this is a really small room, so let me make this very clear: the first vampire who tries to lay a hand on either of my friends gets a new piercing, just like Morley. Now, if you need food, I will figure it out. But you don't get to use my friends like vending machines. Are we clear?" Around the room, vampires nodded, casting disbelieving looks at Morley. Even Oliver was staring at her as if he'd never really seen her before. She didn't know why; he'd known she could do it--hadn't he? Or was she different, somehow? "Shane?" Claire asked. He stepped up to her side. "Use Eve's phone. Call Mrs. Grant at the library. We need to organize something."
"What?"
"A blood drive," she said. "Hang on--"
"Shane." Claire tilted her head up to look at him, and didn't smile. "They'll do it. These are their friends and family. They'll do it to save them. I'd do it to save you." He touched her cheek gently. "I think you would," he said. "Crazy girl."
"Ask Morley how crazy I am," she said. "Oh, wait. You'll have to take the arrow out, first."
"Maybe later. Facedown is a good look for him." Shane gave her a quick, beautiful smile, and turned away to make the call. Michael was shaking his head. Claire, without loosening her draw on the bow, gave him a quick, nervous look. "What?" He laughed. "You," he said. "Jeez, Claire. If I didn't love you, you'd scare me."
"I don't love her," Oliver said acidly. "And if you ever point that arrow anywhere near me, Amelie's pet or no, I will take it away from you and introduce you to the sharp end, with great pleasure. Are we clear, girl?"
"Yeah," she said, and kept the arrow pointed away from him. "You got your butt kicked by Morley, and you're threatening me because I actually solved your problem for you. I think we're very clear. But don't worry. I won't hurt you, Oliver." For a brief, deadly second, there was utter silence. Then Oliver laughed. It wasn't the bitter, angry, terrible laugh she expected. Oliver actually sounded almost human. He sagged back against the wall, still laughing, and sank down to a crouch, hands loosely braced on his knees. It sounded as if he hadn't laughed that much, or that deeply, for a very long time. It was weirdly infectious; Eve giggled in little hiccups, trying not to; Michael started laughing at her struggle not to laugh. Before too long, even Claire was fighting to keep her aim steady on the arrow. "Ease up," Michael said, and touched her arm, which was trembling with effort. "You made your point. Nobody's coming after us. Not in here." She sighed, finally, and loosened the draw on the bow. Her shoulders were aching, and her arms felt like raw meat. She hadn't even felt the strain until it was gone. "Claire," Oliver said. She looked over at him, suddenly alarmed and wondering if she had the strength to try to draw the bow again, but he was smiling. It gave his sharp face a relaxed look she wasn't really used to seeing, and his eyes held what looked like genuine warmth. "It's too bad you're not a vampire."
"I guess that was a compliment, so thanks, but no thanks." He shrugged and left it at that. Still, Claire had a second's flash of temptation. All those years. All those things to learn, to feel, to know ... Myrnin lived for the excitement of knowledge; she knew that. The only difference between the two of them, really, was that he could go on forever learning. But despite all of that, despite all the shiny immortality and the fact that there were a few vamps she didn't actually hate--even Oliver now--Claire knew she was meant to be human. Just plain Claire. And that was really okay. As if to prove it, Shane slid his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "You rock, you know that?"
"I'm a rock star," she said, straight-faced. "I'm probably the saddest little rock star ever, though. What did Mrs. Grant say?"
"She says they'll set up a donation center there and bring it over in bottles. She's not risking her people to bring it over. Somebody has to go pick up and deliver."
"Does she believe us?"
"She wants to," Shane said. "Her husband's in here, somewhere. So's her son." And that, Claire thought, was why Morley had been right about this, even if he was a complete vampire about it. You had to save what you could. Amelie had understood that all along, Claire realized. That was why Morganville existed. Because you had to try. Oliver ended up doing the blood pickup himself, maybe as a kind of offhand apology for putting Eve and Shane at risk in the first place, though that of course went unsaid. As the stuff was being passed around--one small plastic cup per vampire, to start--Claire knelt beside Morley's still body, rolled him on his side, and snapped the arrow off just below the point. Then she pulled it out of his chest and hands with one sharp tug, dropping it to the concrete. Morley took in a huge gasp of air and let it out in a frustrated shout. He held up his hands and stared at the holes punched through them until the flesh and bone started to knit itself again. He rolled over on his back, staring up at nothing, and said, "I was going to say you aren't a killer. And I still stand by that statement, because evidently I'm not dead. Only very upset."