Kiss of Death tmv-8 Read online

  “Yes,” he said, perfectly at ease, and perfectly weird. “And to drop this off for you, from Amelie.” He patted his vest pockets, and came up with a cream-colored envelope, which he handed over to her. It was heavy, expensive paper, and it was stamped on the back with the Founder’s Seal. It was unopened. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Claire. Don’t forget the donuts.”

  “I won’t,” she said, all her attention on the envelope in her hands. Myrnin said something else to her mother, and then the kitchen door opened and closed, and he was gone.

  “He has such beautiful manners,” her mother said, locking the back door. “I’m glad you work for someone so—civilized.”

  The scar on Claire’s neck throbbed a little. She thought of all the times she’d seen Myrnin go off the rails—the times he’d curled up weeping in a corner; the times he’d threatened her; the times he’d raved like a lunatic for hours on end; the times he’d begged her to put him out of his misery.

  The time he’d actually given her samples of his own brain—in a Tupperware container.

  “Civilized,” she repeated softly. “Yeah. He’s great.” He was; that was the awful thing. He was great until he was horrible.

  Kind of like the world in general.

  Claire slit open the envelope with a kitchen knife, slipped out the heavy folded paper inside, and read the beautiful, looped handwriting—Amelie’s, without a doubt.

  In accordance with recent requests, I hereby am providing you with passes to exit and return to Morganville. You must present these to the checkpoints at the edge of town. Please provide them to your party and give them the same instructions. There are no exceptions to this rule.

  Coordinate with Oliver to arrange your exit time.

  Claire’s breath left her in a rush. Morley’s passes! Perfect timing, too; she didn’t know how much longer any of them could keep Morley and his people from losing patience, and coming to take it out in blood. They wanted out of Morganville.

  She could give it to them.

  She realized immediately, however, as she took the passes out of the envelope, that there weren’t nearly enough. Morley’s people would need about thirty passes in total. Instead, there were only four in the envelope.

  The names read Michael Glass, Eve Rosser, Shane Collins, and Claire Danvers.

  What the hell was going on?

  Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit SPEED DIAL. It rang, and rang, but there was no answer. She hung up and tried another number.

  “Oliver,” said the voice on the other end.

  “Um, hi, it’s Claire? Is—is Amelie there with you?”

  “No.”

  “Wait, wait, don’t hang up! You’re on the town council—I just got a letter that has some passes in it, but it’s not enough for—”

  “We turned down Morley’s request for emigration out of Morganville,” Oliver said. He had a low, even tone to his voice, but Claire felt herself go cold anyway. “He has a philosophy that is too dangerous to those of us who wish to remain ... What’s the phrase? Under the radar.”

  “But—we made a deal. Me, Shane, Eve, and Michael. We said we’d get them passes.”

  “I’m aware of your deal. What is your question?”

  “It’s just—Morley said he’d kill us. If we didn’t get the passes for him. We told you that.”

  Oliver was silent for a long second, then said, “What part of I’m aware did you not comprehend, Claire? You and your friends have passes out of Morganville. As it happens, Michael requested leave to travel to Dallas for his recording and concert session. We’ve decided to allow that, under the condition that all of you travel together. With escort.”

  “Escort?” Claire asked. “You mean, like police?” She was thinking of Sheriff Hannah Moses, who would be good company in addition to a bad-ass bodyguard; she’d liked Hannah from the moment she’d met her, and she thought Hannah liked her, too, as much as a tough ex-soldier could like a skinny, geeky girl half her age.

  “No,” Oliver said, “I don’t mean police.” And he hung up. Claire stared at the screen for a moment, then folded the phone closed and slipped it back in her pocket. She looked down at the passes, the envelope, the letter.

  Amelie had decided to really piss off Morley, but at least she’d also decided to get Claire and her friends out of town.

  With an escort.

  Somehow, Claire knew it wouldn’t be as simple as just picking a responsible adult to go with them.

  “Go get your father,” her mom said, and began setting dishes on the table. “He’s upstairs on the computer. Tell him dinner’s ready.”

  Claire gathered up everything and put it in her backpack before heading upstairs. Another wave of same-but-not-quite washed over her; her mother and father had reserved the same room for her here that she had over in the Glass House, though the two were nothing alike. Home—in name, anyway—had her frilly white bed and furniture, stuff she’d gotten when she was ten. Pink curtains. Her room at the Glass House was completely different—dark woods, dark fabrics. Adult.

  Dad’s computer room would have been Shane’s bedroom in the other house, which woke all kinds of thoughts and memories that really weren’t appropriate right now and caused her face to heat up as she poked her head in the room and quickly said, “Dad, dinner’s ready! Help me eat the stuffed bell peppers before I gag and die?”

  Her father looked up from the computer screen with a surprised, guilty jerk, and quickly shut down what he was doing. Claire blinked. Dad? Her dad was ... normal. Boringly normal. Not an activist, not a freak, not somebody who had to hide what he was doing on the computer from his own daughter. “Tell me you weren’t looking at porn,” she said.

  “Claire!”

  “Well, sorry, but you did the guilty dance. Most people I know, that means porn.”

  Her dad pulled in a deep breath, closed his eyes, and said, “I was playing a game.”

  That made her feel oh-so-much better. Until he said, “It’s one of those online multiplayer games.”

  “Yeah? Which one? One of the fantasy ones?”

  He looked mortally embarrassed now. “Not—not really.”

  “Then what?”

  In answer, he brought up the screen. On it was a night scene, a castle, a graveyard—typical horror fare, at least if you were from the 1950s.

  A character appeared on the screen—pale, tall, dressed in a Dracula cape and tuxedo.

  With fangs.

  Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at her father, her normal, boring father. “You’re playing a vampire game?”

  “It’s called Castlemoor. I’m not just playing it. I get paid to be there, to watch what people are doing online.”

  “You—get paid—to play a vampire? By who?” Her father sat back in his chair, and he slowly shook his head. “That’s my business, Claire.”

  “Is it Amelie? Oliver?”

  “Claire.” This time, his voice had the parental ring of authority. “Enough. It’s a job, and I get paid well enough to do it. We both know it’s the best thing I can find, with all my restrictions. The doctors don’t want me exerting myself too much.”

  Her dad wasn’t well, and hadn’t been for a while now. He was frail, fragile, and she worried about him more and more. About her mother, too. Mom looked frayed around the edges, with a kind of suppressed panic in her eyes.

  “You’ll be okay?” Claire said. Somehow she made it a question, although she didn’t mean to. “Did they find anything else?”

  “No, honey, everything’s fine. I just need time to get stronger.”

  He was lying to her, but she could tell that he didn’t want her to pursue it. She wanted to; she wanted to yell and scream and demand to know what was going on.

  But instead, she swallowed and said, “Playing a vampire online. That’s a pretty wild career move, Dad.”

  “Beats unemployment. So, stuffed bell peppers, huh? I know how much you love those.” Claire made a gagging sound. Her dad reached over and
ruffled her dark hair. “Why don’t you just tell her you don’t like them?”

  “I did. I do. It’s a mom thing. She just keeps telling me I used to like them.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s a mom thing.”

  * * *

  Dinner passed the way it normally did, with Claire picking out edible parts of the bell pepper and her mother holding forth about whatever she was doing for the week. Claire contributed when direct questions came her way; otherwise, she just stayed out of it. She always knew what Mom was going to say, anyway. And she knew Dad wouldn’t say much, if anything.

  What he did say was, “Why don’t you bring Shane over some night for dinner?”

  It was as if time stopped. Her mother froze, fork halfway to her mouth; Claire froze, too, but unfortunately she was in the process of gulping down a mouthful of Coke at the time, which meant coughing and sputtering, watering eyes, the whole embarrassing bit.

  “Honey, I’m sure Shane’s very busy,” her mother said, recovering. “Right, Claire?”

  “I’d like to talk to him,” her father said, and right now there wasn’t any warm-and-fuzzy daddy vibe. It was more PARENT, in big, flashing red letters. “Soon.”

  “Uh—okay, I’ll see if—Okay.” Claire frantically cut up a piece of stuffed bell pepper and ate it, bell pepper and all. She nearly choked again, but she managed to get it down. “Hey, I might be taking a trip.”

  “What kind of a trip?”

  “To Dallas. With my friends.”

  “We’ll see,” Dad said, which meant no, of course. “I’d need to talk to Shane first.”

  Oh God, now they were bargaining. Or she was being blackmailed. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. Claire mumbled that she’d try, or something like that, choked down another bite of food that no longer tasted even a little good, and jumped up to clear her plate. “Claire!” her mother called after her as she dashed into the kitchen. “You’re not running off tonight, are you? I was hoping we could spend some time with you!”

  “You just did,” Claire muttered as she rinsed the plate and put it in the dishwasher. She raised her voice and yelled back, “Can’t, Mom! I’ve got to study! All my books are over at the Glass House!”

  “Well, you’re not walking over there in the dark,” Mom said. “Obviously.”

  “I told you, I’ve got a pin from Amelie! They’re not going to bother me!”

  Her dad opened the door of the kitchen. “And what about just garden-variety humans? You think that little pin protects you from everything that could hurt you?”

  “Dad—”

  “I worry about you, Claire. You take these risks, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why you think it’s okay.”

  She bit her lip. There was something in his voice, a kind of weary disappointment that cut her to the core and nearly brought tears to her eyes. She loved him, but he could be so clueless.

  “I didn’t say I’d walk, Dad,” she said. “I make mistakes, sure, but I’m not stupid. ”

  She took out her cell phone, dialed a number, and turned her back on her father. When Eve answered with a bright, chirping, “Hit me!” Claire said, “Can you come get me? At my house?”

  “Claire,” her father said.

  She turned to look at him. “Dad, I really have to study.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll drive you home.” He said it with a funny little smile, sad and resigned. And it wasn’t until she smiled that she realized what he’d really said.

  Home. The Glass House.

  “It’s hard for us to let go,” he said. “You know that, right?”

  She did. She hesitated for a second, then said into the phone, “Never mind, Eve. Sorry. Dad’s bringing me.”

  Then she hugged her father, and he hugged her back, hard, and kissed her gently on the forehead. “I love you, sweetie.”

  “I know. I love you, too.”

  “But not enough to eat more stuffed bell peppers and play Jenga with your folks.”

  “No more bell peppers, but I’d completely play Jenga,” she said. “One game?”

  He hugged her even harder. “I’ll get the game.”

  Three games of Jenga later, Claire was tired, happy, and a little bit sad. She’d seen her mom laugh, and her dad look happy, and that was good, but there’d been something odd about it, too. She felt like a visitor, as if she didn’t fit here anymore, the way she once had. They were her family, but seen from the outside. She had too many experiences now that didn’t include them.

  “Claire,” her dad said as he drove her home through the darkened streets of Morganville. It was quiet out, only a few cars moving about. Two of them were white police cruisers. At least three other cars they passed had heavy tinting, too heavy for humans to see through. “Your mom had a talk with me, and I’m not going to insist you keep on living at home with us. If you want to live with your friends, you can.”

  “Really?” She sat up straight, looking at him. “You mean it?”

  “I don’t see how it makes much difference. You’re seventeen, and a more independent seventeen than I ever was. You’ve got a job and responsibilities beyond anything I can really understand. It doesn’t make much sense for us to keep trying to treat you like a sheltered little girl.” He hesitated, then went on. “And I sound like the worst dad in the world, don’t I?”

  “No,” she said. “No, you don’t. You sound like—like you understand.”

  He sighed. “Your mother thinks if we just put more restrictions on you, things would get back to normal. You’d go back to being the same little girl she knew. But they won’t, and you won’t. I know that.”

  He sounded a little sad about it, and she remembered how she’d felt at the house—a little out of place, as if she were a visitor in their lives. Her life was splitting off on its own.

  It was such a strange feeling.

  “But about Shane—,” her father continued.

  “Dad!”

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’m not saying Shane is a bad guy—I’m sure he’s not, at heart—but you really need to think about your future. What you want to do with your life. Don’t get in too deep, too fast. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “You married Mom when you were nineteen.”

  He sighed. “I knew you’d bring that up.”

  “Well? It’s okay for you to make decisions before twenty, but not me?”

  “Short answer? Yes. And we both know that if I really wanted to, I could make Shane’s life a living hell. Dads can do that.”

  “You wouldn’t!”

  “No, I won’t, because I do think he really loves you, and he really wants to protect you. But what Shane may not get at that age is that he could be the worst thing in the world for you. He could completely derail you. Just—keep your head, okay? You’re a smart girl. Don’t let your hormones run your life.”

  He pulled the car to a stop at the Glass House, behind Eve’s big monster of a car. There were lights blazing in the windows—warmth and friendship and another life, her life; one her parents could only watch from the outside.

  She turned to her father and saw him watching her with that same sad, quiet expression. He moved a strand of hair back from her face. “My little girl,” he said, and shook his head. “I expect you for dinner soon.”

  “Okay,” she said, and kissed him quickly. “Bye, Daddy. I love you.”

  He smiled, and she quickly got out of the car and ran up the cracked walk, jumped up the steps to the porch, and waved at him from the front door as she got out her keys. Even so, he waited, watching until she’d actually opened the door, stepped in, and closed it. Only then did she hear the engine rev as his car pulled out.

  Michael was playing in the living room. Loud. That wasn’t normal at all for him, and as Claire came around the comer, she found Eve and Shane sitting on the floor, watching the show. Michael had set up an amplifier, and he was playing his electric guitar, which he
rarely did at home, and damn. That was impressive stuff. She sank down next to Shane and leaned against him, and he put his arm around her. The music was like a physical wall pushing over her, and after the first few seconds of fighting it, Claire finally let herself go; she was pulled away on the roaring tide of notes as Michael played. She had no idea what the song was, but it was fast, loud, and amazing.

  When it was over, her ears were left ringing, but she didn’t care. Along with Shane and Eve, she clapped and whooped and whistled, and Michael gravely took a bow as he shut down the amp and unplugged. Shane got up and high-fived, then low-fived him. “Nothing but net, man. How do you do that?”

  “No idea, really,” Michael said. “Hey, Claire. How are the folks?”

  “Okay,” she said. “My dad says I can officially move back in.” Not that she’d ever really moved out.

  “I knew we’d wear them down,” Eve said. “After all, we really are amazingly cool.” And now it was Eve’s turn for the high five with Shane. “For a bunch of misfit geeks, slackers, and losers.”

  “Which one are you?” Shane asked. She flipped him off. “Oh, right. Loser. Thanks for reminding me.”

  Claire dug in her backpack and came out with the passes Myrnin had delivered. “Uh—I got these today. Somebody want to fill me in?”

  Michael, at vampire speed, crossed the distance and snatched the paper out of her hand. He spread out the individual passes and stared at them with a blank, shocked expression. “But—I didn’t think—”

  “Apparently, somebody agreed,” Claire said. “Eve?”

  Eve frowned. “What? What is it?”

  “Passes,” Michael said. “To leave town, to go to Dallas. To do the demo.”

  “For you?”

  “For all of us.” Michael looked up and slowly smiled. “You know what this means?”

  Shane threw back his head and let out a loud wolf howl. “Road trip!” he yelled! “Yes!”

  Michael put his arms around Eve, and she melted against him, her pale-painted face against his chest, hands around his waist. Claire saw her dark eyes flutter closed, and a kind of peaceful happiness came over Eve’s face—and then her eyes snapped open. “Wait,” she said. “I’ve never—I mean—outside? Of Morganville? To Dallas? You can’t be serious. Michael?”