Feast of Fools tmv-4 Page 11

  “Hey! Walking here!”

  “Look.” Claire pointed at the paper.

  It said ONE NIGHT ONLY! and there was a black-and -white photograph of a young man with blond hair cradling a guitar.

  Underneath it said Michael Glass returns to Common Grounds, and the date on it was . . . tonight.

  Shane ripped it off the door, grabbed Michael’s shoulder, and held it up. “Hey,” he said. “Ring any bells? When were you going to tell us?”

  Michael looked surprised, then embarrassed. “I— wasn’t going to. Look, it’s just a tryout, okay? I wanted to see if I could still—I don’t want you guys to come. It’s nothing.”

  Eve grabbed the flyer and stared at it. “Nothing? Michael! You’re playing! In public!”

  “That’s new?” Claire whispered to Shane.

  “He hasn’t played anywhere but our living room since—” Teeth-in-neck mime. “You know. Oliver.”

  “Oh.”

  Michael’s face was turning pink. “Just put it back, okay? It’s not a big deal!”

  Eve kissed him. “Yes, it is,” she said. “And I hate you for not telling me. Were you just going to sneak off or something?”

  “Absolutely,” Michael sighed. “Because if I suck, I don’t want any of you hearing it firsthand.”

  Claire taped the flyer carefully back to the door. “You’re not going to suck.”

  “Not at the guitar, anyway,” Shane said, deadpan. Claire punched him in the arm. “Ow.”

  Chapter 7

  Michael spent two hours tuning his guitar, which was annoying, and he left early. Eve went with him, despite his protests that it really wasn’t a big thing. That left Claire and Shane to decide on their own what to do.

  She made chili dogs and was putting the shredded cheese on top when Shane, fresh from video-game triumph, came into the kitchen. “Hey,” he said. “Nice. Thanks.” He shoved part of the chili dog in his mouth, standing at the kitchen counter.

  “You could at least sit down,” she sighed. “We do have tables. They even have chairs.”

  “You want to go?” he mumbled. “To the thing?”

  Did she? Claire ate a bite of her own hot dog, hardly even aware that she was breaking her own eating-while-standing rules, and thought about it. On the one hand, it meant going out at night, and going out to Common Grounds for recreational purposes, which was sort of not done around their house these days.

  But—Michael. Out in public. Playing.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I would, if you don’t mind. I know you don’t like the place, but—”

  “I like it better than Eve does, trust me. Besides, I don’t want her down there alone. She needs somebody watching her back while he’s neck-deep in groupies or whatever.”

  She laughed.

  “Oh, you think that’s funny? Should have seen him in high school. Guy could draw the hotties every time he picked up that guitar.”

  “He still can, I’ll bet.”

  “Exactly my point. Eat up. They usually start music sets around seven.”

  Claire wolfed down her meal and ran upstairs for a quick shower and change of clothes. After some debate, she went with the short skirt and tights she’d last worn to crash Monica Morrell’s disastrous house party, and a plain black top tight enough to match but loose enough that she wouldn’t die if her parents saw her.

  Shane blinked in surprise when she came downstairs. He’d thrown on different clothes, too, but they were still slacker-casual. The only sign that he was trying to make an impression was that she suspected he might have combed his hair. A little.

  “You look great,” he said, and smiled. She stopped on the last step from the bottom, which put them on about equal levels, and he kissed her. Long and slow. He tasted of toothpaste, at first, but then he just tasted like Shane, and that was so, so delicious that she found herself rising on her tiptoes to get even closer. “Hold up, girl. I thought we were going out. Kissing like that, you’re making me think about staying in.”

  Claire had to admit, it made her think of it, too. Especially since the house was empty, and they were all alone.

  She saw it cross Shane’s mind, too, and for a second his eyes widened, and so did his pupils.

  Oh, the possibilities.

  “Better go if we’re going,” Claire said regretfully. “Only—how are we getting there?”

  Shane offered her his arm. “Nice night for a walk, I hear.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He tapped her gold bracelet, then his own white hospital-issue one. “This may be the only night we get to do it in this town,” he said. “Let’s live dangerously. ”

  It was nice, strolling arm in arm with Shane and not worrying (well, not worrying too much) about which danger was about to sweep in on them from the dark.

  Tonight, at least, the dangers kept their distance. It was a short walk to Common Grounds, but a lonely one; Claire felt a little unreal, moving slowly in the dark past shut houses with lit-up windows. People didn’t venture out much after sunset, and if they did, they went in groups, and in cars.

  Two people out in the night like this . . . seemed wrong, and when they were about halfway to the coffee shop, Claire saw someone pull a car into a driveway ahead of them and jump out. The look on the woman’s face was starkly panicked as she looked toward them, and Claire realized that she’d thought they were—

  Vampires. Which was both funny and sad.

  The woman grabbed her groceries and hurried into her house, shutting the door with a bang and locking it with a harsh rasp of metal.

  Claire didn’t say anything to Shane, and he didn’t venture a comment, but she had no doubt he felt the same unsettling guilt. But what could they have said? It’s okay, lady, we’re not here to eat you?

  Claire was glad when the hot golden spill of light from Common Grounds’ front window came into view. It was obviously doing good business—cars lined the streets on both sides, and more parked as she and Shane approached the entrance. “Going to be nuts,” Shane said, but he didn’t sound displeased. “Next time I’ll take you someplace nice and quiet.”

  Claire searched her memory. So much had happened since she’d met Shane, but she was almost sure that this constituted their first real, actual date on their own. Which was startling, and sweet, and precious to her in ways she suspected Shane would never imagine. She savored the warmth of his hand in hers, smiled at him, and entered Common Grounds while he held the door for her.

  The noise level was amazing. The coffee shop was normally quiet, although never boring, but as the sun went down, the excitement level rose, and tonight it was blowing through the roof. Every table was already crowded with people—humans, mostly, but toward the corners of the room Claire saw a few vampire faces she recognized, including Sam’s. Michael’s only family in town had come to support him. Sam sent her a smile and a wave, which Claire returned.

  Michael himself was standing in the clear area behind the coffee bar, looking tense and a little bit blank. He was dressed in a plain gray T-shirt and jeans, and he had his acoustic guitar slung around his body. Claire thought the puka shell necklace he was wearing looked new—a gift from Eve? A good-luck charm?

  Eve was standing next to him, and although she couldn’t see clearly, Claire thought they were holding hands.

  Claire and Shane pushed through the crowd to the bar. Shane nodded to Michael, who nodded back—all very manly—and then Shane went to place some drink orders, leaving Claire to fumble for words.

  “You’re going to do great,” she finally said. Michael’s blue eyes blinked and focused in the here and now.

  “Man, I don’t know,” he said. “It was supposed to be casual—I show up and play a couple of songs. Just to get used to it again. But this—”

  Somebody out in the corner of the room started clapping, and suddenly everybody was doing it, a wave of rhythmic noise.

  Michael couldn’t possibly get any more pale, but Claire saw the outright doubt in his eyes
. Eve did, too, and gave him a quick kiss.

  “You can do this, Michael,” she said. “Come on. Get out there. It’s what you do.”

  Claire nodded and smiled her support. Michael lifted the hinged section of the bar and stepped out, to a thunderous wave of applause. There was a small stage set up at the far end of the room, near the closed door that said OFFICE, and as Michael moved up on it, the stage lights caught and glittered in his golden hair, sparked an unearthly blue in his eyes.

  Wow, Claire thought. That wasn’t Michael anymore. That was . . . something else.

  Eve ducked under the bar and came to lean next to Claire, her arms folded. She had a wistful smile on her Evil Queen-red lips. “He’s beautiful,” she said. “Right? He is.”

  Claire could only agree with that.

  Michael adjusted the microphone, tested it, played a couple of fast finger exercises she knew he used to calm himself, and then smiled out at the crowd. It was a different smile than she’d ever seen from him before—more, somehow. More intense, more joyous, more personal. She felt a hot flutter somewhere deep inside as his gaze brushed over her, and immediately felt embarrassed about it.

  But man, he was hot. She understood now what Shane was talking about, and she wasn’t immune.

  Shane touched her shoulder and handed her a drink just as Michael said, “I guess you all know who I am, right?”

  And about eighty percent of the room cheered like thunder. The others—college students, who’d either wandered in or come because they were bored— looked lost.

  Michael gave the mike stand one last, precise adjustment. His hands were sure now, moving with confidence. “My name is Michael Glass, and I’m from Morganville. ”

  More cheers. Before they died away, Michael started to play, a fast and complicated song that Claire had heard him fooling around with at the house—but this wasn’t fooling around; this was serious talent. He glittered like white gold, and music flowed out of his hands like streams of light. It wrapped around Claire like a shining net, and she didn’t dare breathe, didn’t move, as Michael played like she’d never heard anyone play before, ever.

  She managed to glance aside at Shane, whose eyes were wide and fixed on Michael, as well. She nudged him. He gave her a dumbfounded shake of his head.

  Eve was smiling, as if she’d known it all along.

  Michael brought the song to a liquid, blazing finish, and as the guitar strings rang in the silence, the crowd was utterly still. Michael waited, just as motionless, and then the room spontaneously erupted in applause and cheers.

  Claire thought that the smile that spread across Michael’s face was worth everything about Morganville, right at that moment.

  His next song was slower, sweeter, and Claire realized with a shock that it was a slowed-down version of the song he’d been writing the other night, when he’d been too busy to go to the store. It had lyrics, too, and Michael’s voice transformed them into sad, aching beauty.

  It was a song for Eve.

  Claire realized her chest was hurting, both from the pressure of unshed tears and the fact that she wasn’t breathing. She’d never known music could have that much power. As she glanced around the coffee shop, she saw the same thing in the others’ faces—common rapture. Even Oliver, standing behind the bar, was transfixed. And in the shadows, Claire glimpsed someone else—Amelie, nodding thoughtfully, as if she’d known all along, like Eve.

  Sam’s eyes were full of tears, but he was smiling.

  Michael’s voice drifted to a whisper, and he finished the song. This time, the applause didn’t stop, and the cheers were a full-throated roar.

  Michael adjusted the mike stand again. “Save it, guys,” he said over the noise, and smiled. “We’re just getting started.”

  It was the best night Claire had ever had in Morganville. She’d never felt so much a part of something— never seen so much unity in a room full of people so diverse. Clueless students were backslapping Morganville natives with bracelets, vampires were smiling impartially at humans, and even Oliver seemed affected by the general euphoria.

  When Michael came offstage, it was only after three encores and thunderous standing ovations. He made a beeline straight for Eve, folded her in a hug, and then kissed her so deeply Claire had to look away. When they came up for air, Michael was still grinning.

  “So?” he asked. “Didn’t suck, right?”

  Shane offered his hand. “Didn’t suck. Congratulations, dude.”

  Michael ignored the hand and hugged him, then turned to Claire. She didn’t hesitate to embrace him. He was warmer than usual, and sweaty; she hadn’t known vampires could sweat. Maybe they just usually didn’t exert themselves that much. “You were amazing,” Claire whispered. “I just—amazing. Wow. Did I say amazing?”

  He gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then turned away to the press of well-wishers coming to shake his hand. There were a lot of them, and many of them were pretty girls. Claire retreated back to Shane’s side.

  “See what I mean?” Shane said. “Good thing Eve’s here. This can go to a guy’s head.”

  “Even a vampire’s?”

  “Heh. Especially a vampire’s.”

  It took about fifteen minutes for the rush of instant fans to die down, and by then the tables had cleared out, leaving just a few hard-core caffeine addicts to close out the evening. Claire and Shane grabbed chairs and fresh drinks while Eve helped Michael get his things together.

  “Hey,” Claire said, and got Shane’s full attention. “Thank you.”

  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.”