"No! No, so sorry, ma'am, it won't happen again, I'm sorry...." Monica's voice was fading. She was backing away, down the hall. Claire stayed where she was, trembling.
She almost screamed when Amelie's pale form rose up over the edge of the pew again and gazed down at her. She hadn't heard her move. Not at all.
"I suggest you go straight home, little Claire," Amelie said. "I would take you there, but that would imply more than I think I can afford just now. Run, run home. Hurry, now. And - if you have lied to me about the book, remember that many people might want such a valuable thing, and for many reasons. Be sure of why they want it before you give it over."
Claire slowly took her hands away from her head and slid onto the seat of the pew, facing the vampire.
She was still scared, but Amelie didn't seem...well...evil exactly. Just cold. Ice-cold.
And old.
"What is it?" Claire asked. "The book?"
Amelie's smile was as faded as old silk. "Life," she said. "And death. I can tell you no more. It wouldn't be prudent." The smile vanished, leaving behind only the chill. "I believe you really should go now."
Claire bolted up and hurried away, checking over her shoulder every other step. She saw other vampires coming out - she hadn't spotted them, not a one of them. One of them was John, from the library. He grinned at her, not in a friendly way. One of his eyes was milky white.
She ran.
Wherever Monica and her friends had gone, it wasn't the way Claire ran - and run she did, the whole way to Lot Street. Her lungs were burning by the time she turned the corner, and she was nearly in tears with gratitude at the sight of the big old house.
And Shane, sitting on the front steps.
He stood up, not saying a word, and she threw herself at him; he caught her and held her close for a few seconds, then pushed her back for a survey of damage.
"I know," she said. "You told me not to go. I'm sorry."
He nodded, looking grim. "Inside."
Once she was in, with the door safely locked, she babbled out the whole story. Monica, the van, the lighter, the church, the vampire. He didn't ask any questions. In fact, he didn't even blink. She ran out of words, and he just looked at her, expressionless.
"You," he finally said, "had better like the inside of your room, because I'm locking you in there, and I'm not letting you out until your parents come to load you in the car."
"Shane - "
"I mean it. No more bullshit, Claire. You're staying alive no matter what I have to do." He sounded flatly furious. "Now. You need to tell me about Michael."
"What?"
"I mean it, Claire. Tell me, right now. Because I can't find him anywhere, and you know what? I can never find him during the day - damn! Did you feel that?" She did. A cold spot, sweeping across her skin. Michael, trying to tell her something. Probably Hell no, don't tell him. "We can't get through this if we're not straight with each other." Shane's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "Is he - you know - one of them? 'Cause I need to know that."
"No," she said. "No, he's not."
Shane closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, hands to both sides of his head. "God, thank you. I was going nuts. I thought - I mean, it's one thing to be a night person, but Michael - I was - I thought - "
"Wait," Claire said, and took a deep breath. Cold settled over her again - Michael, trying to stop her.
She ignored it. "Quit it, Michael. He needs to know."
Shane took his hands away from his head and looked around, then frowned at her. "Michael's not here. I checked. I searched the damn place from top to bottom."
"Yes, he is. Cold spot." She held out her hand and waved it through the refrigerated air. "I figure he's standing...right here." She looked at her watch. "He'll be back in about two hours, when the sun goes down. You can see him then."
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"Michael. He's a ghost."
"Oh, come on! Bullshit! The dude sits here and eats dinner with us!"
She shrugged, threw up her hands, and walked away. "You wanted to know. Fine. Now you know. And by the way? I'm fine."
"What do you mean, he's a ghost?" Shane caught up with her, came around her, and blocked her path.
"Oh, come on. Ghost? He's as real as I am!"
"Sometimes," she agreed. "Ask him. Better yet, watch him at dawn. And then tell me what he is, because ghost is about all I know to call him. The thing is, he can't leave the house, Shane. He can't help us. He's stuck here, and during the day, he can't even talk to us. He just - drifts." She batted away the cold air again. "Stop it, Michael. I know you're pissed. But he needs to know."
"Claire!" Shane grabbed her and shook her out of sheer frustration. "You're talking to thin air!"
"Whatever. Let go, I've got things to do."
"What things?"
"Packing!" She pulled free and went upstairs, two steps at a time. Shane always slammed his door when he was mad; she tried it out. It helped.
The cold spot followed her. "Dammit, Michael, get out of my room, you pervert!" Could you even be a pervert if you were dead? She supposed you could, if you had a working body half the time. "I swear, I'm going to start taking my clothes off!"
The cold spot stayed resolutely put until she got the hem of her T-shirt all the way up to her bra line, and then faded away. "Chicken," she said, and paced the room, back and forth. Worried and more than a little scared.
Shane pounded on the door, but she stretched out on her bed, put a pillow over her face, and pretended not to hear him.
Dusk came, pulling a blue gauze over the sky; she watched the sun sink halfway down the horizon, then unlocked her door and stormed out. Shane was just coming out of Michael's bedroom. Still looking for someone he wasn't going to find. Not the way he thought, anyway.
"Michael!" Claire yelled from her end, and felt the cold settle around her like an icy blanket. Shane spun around, and she felt the mist gather, thick and heavy, and then she actually saw it, a faint gray shape in the air....
Eve's door flew open. "What in the hell is going on around here?" she yelled. "Could you guys keep it down to aircraft-carrier noise?"
...And then Michael just...appeared. Midway between all three of them, forming right out of a thick gray heavy mist, taking on color and weight.
Eve screamed.
Michael collapsed to his hands and knees, retching. He fell on his side, then rolled over to stare up at the ceiling. "Shit!" he gasped, and just stayed there, fighting for breath. His eyes looked wet and terrified, and Claire realized that it was like this for him every day. Every night. Frightening beyond anything she could even imagine.