Midnight Alley (22 page)

Claire stopped on the steps above them and did a tentative hip shimmy. ‘‘Okay?'' she asked. Shane's mouth shut with a snap, and Michael actually cleared his throat.

‘‘Fine,'' Michael said.

‘‘Fine?''
That was Eve, coming down the stairs behind Claire. She moved around the roadblock and punched Michael in the arm. ‘‘She looks amazing. I'm not half-gay, and I think she's hot.''

Shane wasn't saying
anything.
Claire felt warm and a little dizzy, the way he was looking at her. She resisted the urge to check to see if her skirt was straight—she'd done it a dozen times already—and forced herself to meet his gaze and smile.

‘‘You sure this is smart?'' Shane asked, which was not what she'd expected, not at all. ‘‘You look fantastic.''

‘‘Thanks—''

He interrupted her. ‘‘
Fantastic
in this town pops you to the top of the take-out menu.''

She held up her left hand and pointed to her wrist. The gold bracelet was clearly visible. ‘‘I'll be okay,'' she said. ‘‘The vamps won't bother me.''

‘‘Not even talking about the vamps. You're going to be drawing every guy there who's looking to get off.''

Eve rolled her eyes. ‘‘Oh,
God,
Shane, buzz kill? She looks great, and you don't have to get all jealous and overprotective about it! She'll be with us; we'll all look out for her. And you've got to admit, girlfriend looks good all cleaned up. I did her hair, too. Smokin', right?'' The hair, Claire felt, was just almost over the top. It was mostly gel and sprays and stuff, but it did have that carefully tousled look that models always seemed to wear.

Eve wasn't exactly wallflower quality tonight, either; she was wearing a dramatic, floor-sweeping black dress that left her pale arms bare, plunged a neckline halfway to China, and had a slit in the side that went all the way to her hip. Fishnet hose, even. It was outrageously sexy, and if Michael had noticed Claire's transformation, he was completely focused on Eve now.

Eve winked at him and spun around to show him the back. Of which there wasn't any. It was just her skin, and a crimson rose tattoo at the small of her back.

‘‘Man,'' Shane said. ‘‘That's just—yeah.''

It wasn't until she'd gotten past their reactions— which were pretty fun—that Claire realized that Eve must have done a number on the boys, too . . . because they looked amazingly fine. Michael was wearing black pants and a black leather coat, and a dark blue silk shirt. It made him just . . . blaze, like white gold against velvet.

Shane looked good enough to drag back to her room. Eve must have forced him to get the worst of his shag evened up, which brought out his strong cheekbones and chin. He was wearing black, too, with a dark maroon knit shirt. Claire had never seen him in a jacket. She decided he needed to never take it off.

Michael shook his head and offered Eve his arm. She took it, smiling with her red, red lips, and winked at Claire. Claire winked back, suddenly feeling
very
wicked, and slid her arm through Shane's.

‘‘I can't believe we're doing this,'' Shane said.

This was going to be fun.

 
Claire hadn't forgotten the address, even though she'd given away the invitation, and Michael knew Morganville like the back of—Eve's back, the way he kept looking at her exposed skin, especially the tattoo. And besides, if you were within a couple of blocks of the party, you couldn't possibly miss it. Between the glow of the lights and the low-pitched rumble of the music, there was no sleeping through it if you lived nearby.

Michael cruised around the block, looking for parking, and finally located a narrow few feet of curb. As he pulled in, he said, ‘‘Ground rules. We don't split up. Eve and Claire, you two especially. It's not just because of the vampires; it's because of Jason. Got it?''

They nodded.

‘‘Besides,'' Shane said, and playfully tugged at Claire's overgelled hair, ‘‘I want to see Monica's face when she catches sight of the two of you. Kodak moment.''

Eve fumbled in her tiny little coffin-shaped purse and held up a brand new cell phone, with camera. ‘‘I'm ready.''

‘‘Me too,'' Claire said, and pulled out the fancy phone that Amelie had given her. She felt a blast of shame as Shane glanced at it, but controlled it. She couldn't be ashamed all the time, and besides, it wasn't so bad, right? What she was doing? It wasn't any worse than having a day job. Just . . . different.

‘‘Be careful what you eat and drink,'' Michael continued. ‘‘Monica's party is probably roofie heaven. I can smell what they put in the drinks; you guys can't. And if you get into any trouble, step back; let me handle it. If you're going to have a freak vamp friend, you might as well get your money's worth out of it.''

Shane didn't answer, but Claire could see there was some smart-ass remark burning a hole in his tongue. She was glad he didn't let it loose. It was nice to feel like four friends again, instead of four people all about to spin apart in different directions.

‘‘Anything else, Dad?'' Eve asked. Michael kissed her, very lightly, sparing her lipstick.

‘‘Yeah,'' he said. ‘‘You look good enough to eat. Promise me you'll remember that.''

Claire was caught between a smile and a shiver, and saw that Eve was, too.

 
The Morrell home looked like Tara from
Gone with the Wind,
post-Sherman's march. Claire watched, blinking, as a mob of drunken frat boys stumbled down the walk, roaring something she couldn't make out, and carrying a
couch.

The couch they deposited in the giant European-style fountain in front of the house. Apparently they were relocating most of the living room out there. Some partyers were already sitting in chairs, soaking in the fountain's spray, and now three or four of them piled giggling onto the wet couch.

‘‘Now this,'' Shane said with respect, ‘‘is out of bounds. I like it.''

It was totally out of control. The four of them stood together by Michael's shiny vampire-tinted car, watching in admiration. The house was blazing with lights, there were lit tiki torches tilting drunkenly all over the lawn, and partyers were
everywhere.
Making out under the trees, in full glare of the security lights. Doing shots on the big, white-columned front steps. A girl ran by, dressed in half a bikini. The top half.

‘‘Damn,'' Michael said. ‘‘Monica does know how to throw it.''

No kidding. Claire watched as a big bobtail truck inched its way through a knot of people toward the back of the house. It had the logo of BOB'S FINE LIQUORS. Apparently, Monica had called in liquid reinforcements already, and the night was young.

‘‘Well?'' Eve said. ‘‘Are we standing out here all night? Because I'm ready to knock somebody dead.''

The four of them strolled up the walkway, keeping an eye out for frat boys and wandering furniture. They went as a group up the front steps, where about ten people were playing some complicated game that involved drinking shots, spray cans of fluorescent paint, and giggling hysterically. Even the drunkest turned to look at the four of them and whistle.

The frat boys, the drunks in the fountain, and the even drunker people on the porch were all wearing standard college casual dress, mostly shorts and T-SHIRTS. ‘‘Um,'' Claire said, ‘‘Maybe we should have come a little less formal.''

‘‘No way,'' Eve replied. ‘‘If you're going, go big.''

‘‘Remind me to play poker with you later,'' Michael said. ‘‘I love a girl who'll go all in.''

She hip-bumped him. ‘‘
That's
what you want to do with me later? Dude. Respect the dress, at least.''

Michael trailed his pale fingers down her back, following the line of her spine, all the way to the red rose. Eve shivered, and her eyes went half-closed. Whatever Michael whispered in her ear, Claire thought it was probably way too personal to hear.

Not that she could have, because right then the front door banged open and the noise flowed out in a syrup-thick wave of pounding techno and yelled conversations. Two people stumbled out of the door, arms around each other. Claire blinked and recognized two of the gamers whom she'd given Monica's invitation to that afternoon on campus.

‘‘Freakin' awesome party!'' one of them screamed, and fell flat on his face.

‘‘Apparently.'' Eve stepped over him and swept into the party, with Michael right behind her. Claire started to follow, but Shane's grip on her arm had tightened, and he was holding her back.

‘‘What?'' she asked, and turned to face him. God, he looked amazing. He needed to let Eve dress him all the time.

‘‘Before we go in,'' he said, and bent and kissed her. Claire distantly heard the whistles and catcalls of the shot drinkers—distantly, because the kiss was sweet and hot and wild, and there was something crazy in it that made her just quiver inside.

He pulled away way too soon. ‘‘Stay with me,'' he said, with his lips near her ear, and she nodded.
Like I'd let you out of my sight.

And then they followed Michael and Eve into the party of the century.

It was the second big party of Claire's life—not counting birthday parties and ones where there were as many chaperones as kids. The first one, the Dead Girls' Dance thrown by the EEK fraternity, hadn't exactly come out well, what with Shane's dad going on a rampage through the place looking for vampires to stake. This one looked, if possible, even crazier.

She was grateful to be with her friends. She couldn't imagine how scary it would be if she'd stepped into this by herself. The main hall was wide and tall, but it was jam-packed with people talking, dancing, kissing, groping—it was like the hottest dance club with all the lights up full. Claire brushed up against a couple who were—what
were
they doing? She looked away before she could be sure, but the guy's hand was in places that she couldn't imagine a porn actress allowing in public.

Michael and Eve pushed through the crowd into the next room, and Claire and Shane followed, staying close. There were a few people in the big living area who were dressed fancy, but most had on standard-issue college wear, and somehow, Claire had the distinct impression the casual-dress crowd had
not
come invited.

Monica was standing at the top of the stairs, arms folded, looking right at them.

‘‘Oooh, that
is
a Kodak moment,'' Eve said, and held up her cell phone to snap a photo of Monica's scowl. ‘‘Yep. We're good.''

She high-fived Shane, who seemed to be expecting it. Monica cleared the annoyance out of her expression with an effort and started down the steps. She was dressed in a pink, clinging sheath dress with huge lime-outlined flowers climbing the fabric, and her shoes were prissy-perfect in matching pink. Very fancy.

‘‘Claire, you brought strays,'' Monica said. ‘‘How nice.'' And then she looked strangely sorry. ‘‘Michael, I didn't mean you. You're always welcome.''

He raised his pale eyebrows. ‘‘I am?''

‘‘Of course.''

Claire elbowed him. ‘‘Because you're a VIP. Vampire Important Person.''

Two more of the gamers Claire had gifted with the invitation stumbled by; one grabbed Claire's arm and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on her cheek. ‘‘We passed out copies,'' he said, and giggled. ‘‘Hope that was okay. Great party!''

Shane sighed and moved him off with one hand on his shoulder. ‘‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Naked Vulcan chick in the next room. Better hurry.''

The gamers sobered up fast, and moved on. Monica's glossy, perfect lips were open, her eyes wide.

‘‘You?'' she said. ‘‘
You
did this? These idiots made flyers! They put them all over campus!
This was supposed to be the best people!
''

‘‘Don't worry,'' Eve said sweetly. ‘‘We're here.'' She smiled, which in that lipstick was Wicked-Witch-of-the-West evil. ‘‘Air kiss!'' She
mwahed
the air somewhere near Monica's cheek. ‘‘Lovely party. Shame about the furniture. Ta!'' She sashayed on, Michael on her arm, as if she were the Queen of Everything, never mind Morganville. Claire got out her camera and captured a picture of the murderous fury on Monica's face as she watched her go.

‘‘You treacherous little
bitch
!'' Monica snarled.

Claire lowered the phone and met her eyes for a long second. She wasn't scared, not anymore. ‘‘You got your friends to roofie me and told them I wanted it rough. All I did was recycle your invitation. Let's call it even.''

‘‘Let's call it
not
!''

Shane leaned forward, dropped his voice so that Monica had to work to hear it, and said, ‘‘Calm down. You get blotchy when you're angry. And if you call my girlfriend a bitch one more time, I won't be so nice about it.''

Monica's eyes were fierce and fiery, but she didn't move, and after a second she turned and ran up the steps to the second floor, where her formally dressed friends were huddled together like the cast of
Survivor: Abercrombie & Fitch Island.

‘‘Score one for the little guys,'' Shane said. He stared at a bunch of guys wearing football shirts who rumbled past, carrying a bed. Claire blinked. Yes, that was a bed. ‘‘Okay, I don't really think I want to know. So. Drinks?''

In the kitchen, a group was making punch in a trash can. Claire hoped it was a new trash can, but as blitzed as the guys were who were pouring stuff in, she really couldn't be sure of that.