"This isn't getting us anywhere," Michael interrupted, and shut them both down, hard. "Besides, it's not just the four of us anymore. It's Miranda."
The conversation came to a sudden and vivid halt, and they allwaited to see what would happen. It was night; that meant Miranda had physical form.
But it didn't necessarily mean she could hear everything.
Claire lowered her voice to an instinctive, fierce whisper. "Hey! Don't be that way!"
"Look, I'm not saying I don't have sympathy for her; I do, a lot. I used to be her," Michael whispered back. "I know what it feels like being trapped in here. It drives you half crazy, and the only way you can survive it, the only way, is to be around people who think of you as...normal. But she doesn't have that. We know what she is. We know she's around allthe time, and that means she tiptoes around us, and we tiptoe around her, and- it's just not good, okay? It's not."
"So, what do you want me to do?" Miranda asked. They allflinched and turned. She hadn't been there before, but now she'd appeared in the doorway to the hal , just like the spooky ghost she sometimes was. Claire was almost sure it was deliberate. "Leave?"
"You can't," Michael said. He did it gently, but there wasn't any doubt in it, either. "Mir, you knew when you came here that last time"-when she'd been kil ed here, he meant-"that there'd never be a way to leave again. The house saved you, and protects you, but you have to stay inside."
"Just because you did?" Miranda said. There was something different about her now, Claire realized; she was wearing a definitely not-Miranda outfit. No dowdy oversized dresses this time, or cheap fraying sweaters; she was wearing a skintight black sheer shirt with a black skul printed on it, and beneath that, a red scoop-neck that somehow managed to give her cle**age-just the suggestion, but still . For Miranda, that was...quite a change. "I'm not you, Michael."
"Maybe not, but do you have to become Eve?" Shane asked. "Because I'm pretty sure you raided her closet."
"I bought those for her!" Eve protested. "And anyway, she looks cute in them."
She did. Miranda had also gathered her hair up in two thick ponytails on either side of her head, and used a little of Eve's eyeliner. It was a little Goth, but not ful -on, either. It suited her.
"It's me, isn't it?" Miranda said, ignoring both Eve and Shane this time. She was totally fixed on Michael, her eyes steady and wide. "It's about me, being here allthe time. You feel like you can't hide from me. well , that's true. You can't. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is, and you know it better than anyone. You can't just...turn off, like some kind of light. You're here, and you're bored."
"I know," Michael said. "Mir-"
"That's why you don't want to stay here. Because I'm here. It's not about them at all."
"No, honey, it's not really-" Eve bit her lip and glanced from Michael to Miranda and then back again. "It's not that, I swear...."
"Don't swear," Miranda said, "because I know I'm right."
"She is," Michael said. When Eve turned toward him, he held up a hand to stop the outburst. "I'm sorry, but like I said, I've been there. I know how it feels. I can't just...ignore her. And I can't enjoy life in here knowing how miserable she is, or at least is going to be."
"You were miserable?" Eve said in a smal voice. "Really? With us?"
"No-I didn't mean-" He made a frustrated sound and plumped down in one of the chairs, elbows on his knees. "It's hard to explain. Being around you, the three of you, was allthat made things bearable, most days. The world just keeps getting smal er and smal er until it smothers you like a plastic bag over your face. With her here, I-I remember how that feels. I dream about it."
"So what am I supposed to do?" Miranda demanded. "I saved Claire's life, you know! I died for her!"
"I know that!" Michael snapped back. "I just wish you'd done it somewhere else!"
Even Shane sucked in a breath at that one and said, softly, "Bro-"
"No," Miranda said. Her chin was trembling, and she blinked back tears, but she didn't fal apart. Claire felt an aching urge to hug her, but Miranda looked as if she might break if anyone touched her. "It's not his fault. He's right. I made this happen, and it isn't fair. Not to him, not to me, not to anybody. It's a mess, and I did it. I thought-I just thought that it was perfect. That I'd finally have a real home, real family, people who-" Her voice broke and faded, and she shook her head. "I should have known. I don't get those things."
"I didn't mean that-," Michael said, but she turned and walked off.
None of them reacted at first. Claire thought nobody quite knew what to think, or to do, and then she saw Michael flinch and rise to his feet. She didn't know why until she heard the front door opening.
"No!" he shouted, and flashed at vampire-speed out of the room.
"The hel ?" Shane blurted, and rushed after him, followed by Eve and Claire. "What-"
Claire pushed past him as he stopped, and she sucked in a deep, startled breath.
Because Miranda was outside. On the porch. And Michael was standing there, holding on to her arm as she fought to pul free. He was holding on to the doorframe, stretched fully out, and Miranda must have had a tiger's strength in that smal body, because he was clearly having trouble keeping his grip. "Stop!" he yel ed at her. "Miranda, I'm not letting you do this!"
"You can't stop me!" she screamed back, and there were tears streaking her face now in uneven trains of running eyeliner. She looked horrified and tragic and very, very upset. "Let go!"
"Come back inside. We can talk about it!"
"There's nothing to talk about. You don't want me here, so I just need to go!"
"You can't go-you'l die!" Claire blurted. She pushed past Michael and out onto the porch and grabbed Miranda in a bear hug. She could feel the girl's not-quite-real heart pounding against her forearm, out of terror, anger, or sheer adrenaline. "Miranda, think. Come back inside and we'll talk it over, all right? None of us wants you to die out here!"
"I'm dying in there, if you allleave! This way you can stay; you can be happy again-"
"It's not you; I never meant that!" Michael was afraid, Claire thought, really and starkly afraid that this was allhis fault. "You can't do this. We'l work it out."
Miranda went very still for a second, though her heart continued to race uncontrol ably fast, and she let out a deep, surrendering sigh. "Al right," she said. "You can let go."
Michael said, "If you come inside, sure."
"I will."
Claire loosened her grip, just a little.
And it was just enough for Miranda to twist like a wild thing, ponytails whipping in Claire's face, and when Michaellyel ed and tried to pul her in, Miranda grabbed hold of his arm and bit him, hard enough to make him let go.
And then she stumbled backward, free, down the steps, and sprawled on the ground in the yard.
They allfroze-Miranda, Claire, Michael, Eve, and Shane who had lunged out as well . The only thing moving was a single fluttering moth circling the yel ow glow of the porch light.
Miranda slowly got up.
"Um...," Shane said, when no one spoke. "Shouldn't she be, I don't know, dissolving?"
Michael took a step down toward her, and Miranda skipped backward. He held out his hand, palm out, as if she were a lost child who might bolt out into traffic. "Mir, wait. Wait. Look at yourself. Shane's right. You're not-going away."
"I'm still on the property."
"It doesn't work that way," he said. "I couldn't leave the doorway, let alone get down into the yard. Claire?" He looked at her as she stepped down next to him, because she'd had a brief period trapped in a ghostly state, too. She nodded.
"I couldn't leave, either," she said. "Miranda, how are you doing this?"
"I'm not!" She took another step backward down the sidewalk, toward the fence. "I'm just trying to-to get out of your hair, okay? If you'll just let me go!"
It seemed so quiet out tonight. The houses of Lot Street were sketched out in broad strokes of grays; the sky overhead had turned the color of lapis, and the stars were bright and cold. There were no clouds. The temperature had already fal en at least ten degrees, as was typical for the desert; it'd dip down almost to freezing before dawn.