His eyebrows rose. "What for?"
"For the best date I've ever had."
"This? Nah. Just average. I can do much better."
She cocked her head. "Really?"
"Absolutely."
"You willing to prove it?"
Somehow, his hand had taken hold of hers, and his warm fingers stroked shivers down her palm. "Someday, " he said. "Soon. Absolutely."
She found herself doing the not-breathing thing again, caught in all the possibilities. Shane smiled, slow and wicked, and she wanted to kiss him right then, for a very long time.
"Ready?" Michael was standing at the table, gazing down at them. Some of the brilliance he'd had onstage had faded, and he was just regular Michael again - a little tired, too. Claire gulped down hot cocoa and nodded.
Even the best nights had to come to an end.
Claire was getting ready for bed when she heard Eve scream - not the shriek of Stop tickling me, you jerk, but a full-out cry of alarm, one that went through the house like a buzz saw. She pulled on her pajama top, grabbed her robe, and pelted out into the hall. Shane was already there, heading downstairs, still dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose T-shirt.
When they got to the front hall, they found Michael sitting on the floor, holding a bloody girl in his arms. Eve was snapping the locks on the front door shut.
"Miranda," Michael said, and moved the bloody hair away from her face. "Miranda, can you hear me?"
Claire realized with a breathless shock that it was Eve's sometime friend Miranda - just a kid, really, at that gawky stage where girls both yearned to be and feared to be women. Mir had filled out a little since the last time Claire had seen her - not quite as scary thin - but she still looked like a waif.
A wounded one. There was a gash in her head, and blood dripping down her neck to patter on Michael's blue jeans and fingers.
"Ow," Miranda whispered, and began to cry. "Ow. I hit my head - "
"You're okay, you're safe now," Eve said. She dropped to her knees across from Michael and held out her arms; Michael quickly transferred the girl over. His pupils had gone to pinpoints, and he seemed - different. "Michael, maybe you'd better go - wash up."
He nodded stiffly and pushed past Shane and Eve, heading upstairs so quickly he was just a blur.
"Ambulance?" Shane asked.
"No! No, I can't!" Miranda sounded frantic. "Please, don't send me there. You don't know - you don't know what they'll do - the fire - "
Eve kept hold of the girl, somehow, though Miranda was flailing like mad. "Okay, chill, we won't. I promise. Relax. Shane - maybe the first aid kit? Towels and hot water?"
"I'll help," Claire said, and she and Shane took off for the kitchen. When she glanced back, she saw that Miranda had stopped fighting and was lying exhausted in Eve's arms. "What the hell happened to her?"
"Morganville," Shane said, and shrugged. He stiff-armed the kitchen door and went straight for the cabinets under the sink. The first aid kit was getting a lot of play, Claire thought as she turned on the hot water and gathered up some clean kitchen towels.
Miranda's first aid session wasn't as bad as Claire had feared - the head wound was bloody but superficial, and Eve fixed it with some butterfly bandages.
The holes in Miranda's neck looked fresh, though. When Eve asked about them, Miranda looked embarrassed and pulled up the collar of her shirt. "None of your business," she said.
"It's Charles, right? Son of a bitch." Eve had a problem with vampires who preyed on the underage - in fact, from what Claire had gathered, so did a lot of the other vampires. There were laws against it, after all. She wondered whether Amelie knew about Charles and Miranda. Or cared. "You can't let him gnaw on you like this, Mir! You know that!"
"He was so hungry," Miranda said, and hung her head. "I know. But it didn't hurt, not really."
That made Claire want to throw up. She exchanged a look with Shane.
"There's a guy who needs staking," he said.
Miranda looked up sharply. "That's not funny!"
"Do I have on my funny face? Miranda, the guy's a pedophile. The fact that he just sucks your blood instead of - " Shane paused, staring at her. "It is instead of, right?"
It was impossible to tell if Miranda even understood what he was getting at, but Claire thought she did, and it made the girl deeply uncomfortable. Miranda tried to get out of the chair they'd put her into. "I need to go home."
"Whoa, whoa, you can barely stand up," Eve said, and managed to get her settled again. "Claire, would you check on Michael? See if he's okay?"
In other words, there were questions Shane and Eve were about to ask, personal questions. Claire nodded and went upstairs. The bathroom door was closed. She knocked softly.
"Michael?"
No answer. She tried the handle. Locked.
Claire turned at what sounded like footsteps down the hall, but she saw no one. She didn't hear the door unlock, but when she looked back, the bathroom door was open, and Michael was standing about two inches away from her.
She stumbled backward. Instead of just washing up, he'd showered; his hair was damp and curling and darker than usual, and he was wearing a towel around his waist. There was a lot more of Michael on display than she was used to, and it was . . . impressive.
Claire backed away, all the way to the wall.
"Sorry," he said. Not as if he really was. He sounded annoyed, stressed, and jittery. "She's still here." It wasn't a question, but Claire nodded anyway. "She can't stay. We need to get her out of here."