"They've got no proof now. And that's what I'm going to tel the cops," Eve said. "It's not a Glass House problem anymore. It's a Morganville problem, and it needs to be officially handled. Hel , Jason is the one who made allthis happen, not us."
It still felt wrong; Claire was afraid the official Morganville solution would involve two more bodies in a car crash, the end of the After Death story. But she had to admit, she couldn't see any way out of it without tel ing the cops, or Oliver, or Amelie. Things had gone a little too far. And, she had to admit, she was carrying around a staggering load of guilt over Angel's death. She had the nagging feeling that she could have done something to stop it...even though, in practical terms, she knew she couldn't have.
It was a tangled mess, and it would take time to sort it out, but one thing was certain: they couldn't afford to let Jason get away with it. He was already dangerous. If he thought he had a free hand, who knew what he'd do? well , Claire knew; she knew that eventually, he'd come after Eve.
And there was no way she could let that happen.
Eve did look beautiful, in a very Eve-ish way; she'd toned down the skul -themed clothes but kept the Goth color scheme of black, black, and some accent color. Her jewelry remained edgy, and her makeup was something normally seen only on fashion ads and outer-space movies.
She kept the clunky work boots, though, and Claire had to admit that it suited her.
The Car of the Dead looked shiny and new again, and Eve had added a bobblehead Grim Reaper to the front dashboard, complete with scythe and glowing red eyes that flashed when his head bobbed. She'd also swapped stuff for a kickin' stereo that she cranked up to twelve and a half on a ten-point scale, the better to advertise for Florence + The Machine in a town that, Claire thought, had probably never heard of the band at all.
The music was too loud to talk, and that was okay; Claire was in a brooding mood anyway. She hadn't slept well , and she was increasingly anxious about Myrnin. The day, by contrast, was a typical hot Texas day, low on humidity and high on sunburn potential. She kept the window rolled down for the arid breeze, such as it was.
Heads turned as they cruised past. Some, mostly older people, of course, were annoyed by the noise; some seemed neutral until they spotted the hearse. It was easily recognizable as Eve's car; nobody else in Morganville, except the Ransom Funeral Home, owned anything even vaguely like it, certainly not with Death as a dash ornament. Claire, suddenly nervous, reached over and turned down the music.
"What?" Eve asked. She was in a surprisingly sunny mood, considering the events of the night before and her brother's suddenly murderous turn, but then, Claire imagined she was relieved to be taking some kind of positive action against him for a change. "C'mon, it's not that emo."
"No, it's cool. I just-" Claire couldn't explain what her unease was, really, except that she definitely had a weird feeling. Maybe it was just allthe flyers that they'd seen, and the fact that their front window was still shattered and braced up with plywood.
But it definitely felt personal, the glares they had coming these days.
The car cruised past Common Grounds, and in a glimpse through the front window, she saw that Michael was setting up his guitars. He didn't get to play as much as he liked, so this was a special event for him. Becoming a vampire might have modified his rock-star ambitions a little, but there was no denying that he was really, really, really good. He'd even had an offer of a recording deal, but he'd turned it down, since touring seemed like a bad idea (and, of course, Amelie had forbidden it). After all, he had a substance problem that even major record labels wouldn't be able to keep quiet about.
He didn't say much about that, Claire realized; about how his whole life had been centered on music, and then it had changed without warning, and without his permission. He never complained about how unfair it was-at least not out loud. And not to her.
"He should have more people there," Eve said.
"What?"
"A crowd. Michael always draws a crowd, but-look back there. Do you see a line of people?" Eve sounded shocked at first, then angry. "Those idiots. They're not mad at him, are they? Why?"
Because he's a vampire married to a human, Claire thought, but didn't say. Eve knew that. She just couldn't accept that people could hate Michael on principle, without counting who he really was.
"It'l break his heart if they don't come to hear him play. It's allhe ever wanted, to play and make people happy. If they take that away from him..."
Eve bit her lip, and tears shimmered in her dark eyes. Claire reached over and grabbed her hand, and squeezed, and her best friend sucked in a deep breath and tried for a smile. "Yeah. He'l be okay. We'l be okay. Right?"
"Right," Claire said, and felt the hol ow ring of saying something she didn't quite feel. She covered it with a big smile.
Eve paused at one of the town's few stoplights, waiting for a few beat-up pickup trucks to crawl through the intersection, and said, "You in a big hurry to get to TPU?"
Claire checked her watch. "My class is in twenty minutes."
"Oh. I was thinking maybe a coffee at Common Grounds..."
And making Michael feel better by their support, Claire guessed. She hated to do it, but she said, "Aren't the police waiting for you, though?"
"Yes. Like there's anything else I can tel them they don't already have in the five-inch-thick file on my brother."
"I guess they want to know who his friends are now, things like that."
"Like I'd know."
True. Jason and Eve had gone very separate ways from an early age. Claire wondered sometimes what it would be like, having brothers and sisters, but considering how bad Eve's experience with it was, maybe she ought to be grateful to be an only child....
"Hey!" Eve said sharply. "What are you doing?"
Claire jumped, thinking she'd directed it at her, but no, Eve had rolled down the window and was yel ing out. As Claire started to turn her head, she heard a high-pitched screeching sound, metal on metal, and Eve yelped, threw open her car door, and jumped out. Claire fumbled at her seat belt and finally got it loose, then exited after her. "What happened?" she asked, but it was immediately obvious, because a group of teens stood there on the sidewalk next to the intersection, and one of them had keys out and was scraping out letters into the paint of Eve's car. He had a B and an I already incised. Claire guessed the T-C-H were coming.
"God, it's like high school allover again!" Eve said, and shoved the boy away from the hearse. "Get your hands off my car, Aaron!"
"How about you get your hands off me, fang-banger?" he sneered, and shoved her back to slam hard against the scratched paint. "What goes around comes around."
"You know, you weren't the brightest crayon in the box even before you flunked out of school, but those were your glory days, weren't they? You really want to get into it with me, dumbass? Biggest mistake of your life!" Eve, color managing to burn bright in her cheeks even through the Goth makeup, was furious, her body tight and shaking, her fists clenched.
"You think you've got some kind of magic shield, what with your hot vampire boyfriend?" one of the girls said from the curb. "You don't."
"Not boyfriend. Husband," another one said, and made a retching sound. "God, don't you have any self-respect? Marrying him? That's just gross. It's like a cow marrying a butcher. They ought to throw you both in jail for being sickening."
Aaron laughed. "Oh, sure, you'd say that, Melanie. You dated the guy in junior high."
"Sure, before he turned into one of them!"
"My dad says you're a traitor," said another boy, and he had a very different tone-quiet, sure, dangerous. "My uncle Jake disappeared the other night. Just another casualty in a town ful of them, right? And you helped. You helped put the vamps right back on top where they've always been. Just like allthe Founder House families. You're nothing but whores giving it up to the vamps for money."
Eve lunged at him. Claire darted around the end of the limo with a sinking conviction that she'd never be fast enough to stop her, and she was right: Eve landed a solid slap right across his face. "Don't you ever, Roy Farmer!" Eve shouted at him. "Don't you-"
He hit her back, clocking her, hard, right on the point of her jaw, and before Claire could even draw a breath. It was as if some invisible signal had gone out to allthe other kids-her age or just a couple of years older-to attack.