"He wouldn't--"
"He killed me once, or tried to. He'd do it again in a second, and he wouldn't blink, and you know that, Shane. You know it! He thinks I'm some kind of a traitor to the human race. He'll come after me in particular."
Shane didn't say anything this time. Michael retrieved the radio from the table and clipped it to the pocket of his jeans. He shone, all blazing gold and hard, white angles, and Shane couldn't meet his stare.
"You decide you want to help your dad kill some vampires, Shane, you know where to find me."
Michael went upstairs. It was as if the room had lost all its air, and Claire found herself breathing very hard, trying not to tremble.
Eve's dark eyes were very wide, and fixed on Shane as well. She slowly got up from the table.
"Eve--" he said, and reached out toward her. She stepped out of reach.
"I can't believe you," she said. "You see me running over to suck up to my mom? No. And she's not even a murderer."
"Morganville needs to change."
"Wake up, Shane, it has! It started months ago. It's been changing right in front of you! Vampires and humans working together. Trusting one another. They're trying. Sure, it's hard, but they've got reason to be afraid of us, good reason. And now you want to throw all that away and help your dad set up a guillotine in Founder's Square or something?" Eve's eyes turned bitter black. "Screw you."
"I didn't--"
She clomped away toward the stairs, leaving Shane and Claire together.
Shane swallowed, then tried to make it a joke. "That could have gone better." Claire slipped out of her chair. "Claire? Oh, come on, not you, too. Don't go. Please."
"You should have told him. I can't believe you didn't. He's your friend, or at least I thought he was."
"Where are you going?"
She pulled in a deep breath. "I'm packing. I've decided to move in with my parents."
She didn't pack, though. She went upstairs, closed the door to her room, and pulled out her pitifully few possessions. Most of it was dirty laundry. She sat there on the bed, staring at it, feeling lost and alone and a little sick, and wondered if she was making a point or just running like a little girl. She felt pretty stupid now that she had everything piled on the floor.
It looked utterly pathetic.
When the knock came on her door, she didn't immediately answer it. She knew it was Shane, even though he didn't speak. Go away, she thought at him, but he still wasn't much of a mind reader. He knocked again.
"It's not locked," she said.
"It's also not open," Shane said quietly, through the wood. "I'm not a complete ass."
"Yes, you are."
"Okay, sometimes I am." He hesitated, and she heard the floor creak as he shifted his weight. "Claire."
Come in."
He froze when he saw the stuff piled in front of her, waiting to be put in bags and her one suitcase. "You're serious."
"Yes."
"You're just going to pick up and leave."
"You know my parents want me to come home."
He didn't say anything for a long moment, then reached into his back pocket and took out a black case, about the size of his hand. "Here, then. I was going to give it to you later, but I guess I'd better do it now, before you take off on us."
His voice sounded offhand and normal, but his fingers felt cold when she touched them in taking the case, and there was an expression on his face she didn't know--fear, maybe; bracing himself for something painful.
It was a hard, leatherwrapped case, on spring hinges. She hesitated for a breath, then pried up one end. It snapped open.
Oh. The cross was beautiful--delicate silver, traceries of leaves wrapped around it. It was on a silver chain so thin it looked like a breath would melt it. When Claire picked up the necklace, it felt like air in her hand.
"I--" She had no idea what to say, what to feel. Her whole body seemed to have gone into shock. "It's beautiful."
"I know it doesn't work against the vamps," Shane said. "Okay, well, I didn't know that when I got it for you. But it's still silver, and silver works, so I hope that's okay."
This wasn't a small present. Shane didn't have a lot of money; he picked up odd jobs here and there, and spent very little. This wasn't some cheap costume jewelry; it was real silver, and really beautiful.
"I can't--it's too expensive." Claire's heart was pounding again, and she wished she could think. She wished she knew what she was supposed to feel, supposed to do. On impulse, she put the necklace back in the box and snapped it shut, and held it out to him. "Shane, I can't."
He gave her a broken sort of smile. "It's not a ring or anything. Keep it. Besides, it doesn't match my eyes."
He stuck his hands in his pockets, rounded his shoulders, and walked out of the room.
Claire clutched the leather box in one sweaty hand, eyes wide, and then opened it again. The cross gleamed on black velvet, clean and beautiful and shining, and it blurred as her eyes filled with tears.
Now she felt something, something big and overwhelming and far too much to fit inside her small, fragile body.
"Oh," she whispered. "Oh God." This hadn't been just any gift. He'd put a lot of time and effort into getting it. There was love in it, real love.
She took the cross, put it around her neck, and fastened the clasp with shaking fingers. It took her two tries. Then she went down the hall and, without knocking, opened Shane's door. He was standing at the window, staring outside. He looked different to her. Older. Sadder.
He turned toward her, and his gaze fixed on the silver cross in the hollow of her throat.
"You're an idiot," Claire said.
Shane considered that, and nodded. "I really am, mostly."
"And then you have to go and do these awesome things--"
"I know. I did say I was mostly an idiot."
"You kind of have your good moments."
He didn't quite smile. "So you like it?"
She put her hand up to stroke the cross's warm silver lines. "I'm wearing it, aren't I?"
"Not that it means we're--"
"You said you loved me," Claire said. "You did say that."
He shut his mouth and studied her, then nodded. There was a flush building high in his cheeks.
"Well, I love you, too, and you're still an idiot. Mostly."
"No argument." He folded his arms across his chest, and she tried not to notice the way his muscles tensed, or the vulnerable light in his eyes. "So, you moving out?"