"What?"
"Wanna fool around?"
She did.
She must have drifted off to sleep, because she woke up with her heart pounding, feeling like there was something really, really wrong. For a second, as she came awake, she thought she smelled smoke, and that propelled her upright in a surge of panic. The house had almost burned once already ...
... no, not fire, but something was definitely wrong. There was something in the whole atmosphere of the house. The smoke had been some kind of signal, from it to her. A get your butt out of bed signal.
Shane was still sleeping next to her on the couch, but he was already awake too, rolling off to his feet as if he'd felt it, too.
"What's happening?" Claire felt a jab go through her like electricity. "Shane?"
"Something's wrong."
They both froze as they heard the sudden loud blare of a siren. It sounded like it was right in front of the house.
Claire heard feet on the stairs and saw Eve hurrying down in a satin nightgown and fluffy black robe. Eve's face was bare of any Goth makeup, and she looked flushed and anxious and scared.
"What is it?" Eve called. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," Shane said. "Something bad. Can't you feel it?"
This was an event, they were all up and it was barely six a.m. --
Eve plunged down the steps and yanked up the cord to raise the blinds on the window that faced the front yard. They all looked out. A police car was in the middle of the street, siren still wailing, and its headlights cast a hot circle of light on a maroon sedan stopped on the street, its driver's side door open. Its lights were still on, and there was a body slumped on the road next to it.
The windows were dark-tinted.
It was a vampire's car.
Eve screamed, spun, and looked at them with wide, terrified eyes. "Where's Michael?" she asked, and Claire stupidly looked behind her, as if she was going to find him standing there.
They all looked back at the street, the car, the body.
"But he doesn't have a car," Claire whispered. Shane was already moving for the door at a flat run, but Eve just stood there staring, frozen. Claire put her arm around her and felt her shaking.
She saw Shane blow through the gate at the fence and run toward the body; the cop who'd just emerged from the patrol car grabbed him, slung him around and slammed him face-first onto the hood. Shane was yelling something.
"I need to go out there," Claire said. "Stay here."
Eve nodded numbly. Claire hated leaving her there, but Shane was going to get himself arrested if he kept it up, and who knew what could happen to him in jail?
She was only to the porch when another police car turned the corner, lights flashing, siren adding its howl to the chaos. It braked beside the first one, and another policeman got out and moved to where Shane was being restrained.
Claire didn't recognize the cop who had Michael face-down on the hood, but she knew the new arrival. It was Richard Morrell, Monica's big brother. He wasn't a bad guy, although he was definitely from the same icky gene pool. He took over for the other cop, who backed away.
"Shane! Dammit, Shane, calm the hell down. This is a crime scene, I can't let you run out there, do you understand? Calm down!"
Richard was occupied with keeping Shane under control, so the other policeman went to crouch next to the body on the street. The body. Claire took a step closer, and the policeman produced a flashlight and focused it on the face of the man lying in the street.
Not Michael.
Sam.
There was a stake in his chest, and he was still and white and not moving.
"Richard!" the cop yelled. "It's Sam Glass! Looks dead to me!"
"Sam," Claire whispered. "No."
Sam had been kind to her, and somebody had dragged him out of his car and put a stake through his chest.
"Shit!" Richard spat. "Shane, sit your ass down. Down, right now. Don't make me handcuff you." He yanked Shane by the collar of his t-shirt and sat him down on the curb, glared at him for a second, then came over to look at the body. "Holy mother of -- grab his feet."
"What?" The other cop -- his name tag said FENTON -- looked at him with a frown. "It's a crime scene, we can't -- "
"He's still alive, you idiot. Grab his damn feet, Fenton! If he burns, he's dead."
The first rays of sun crept over the horizon and fell on Sam's still form.
And Claire saw him start to smoke.
"What are you waiting for?" Richard shouted. "Pick him up!" The other cop, after a blank hesitation, grabbed Sam by the feet. Richard took him under the arms, and together they bodily threw him into the maroon sedan, the one with tinted windows, and slammed the door shut. Fenton started for the driver's side, but Richard got there first. "I'll drive," Richard said. "The wound's still fresh. He's got a chance if I can get him to Amelie."
Fenton backed off and nodded. Richard gunned the engine, and slammed the door even as he was peeling rubber toward the end of the street.
Officer Fenton glared at Shane. "You going to give me trouble, boy?" he demanded. Claire sure hoped not. This man was twice the size of Richard Morrell, twice as old, and he looked like a human pit bull.
Shane held up his hands. "No trouble from me, officer. Sir."
"You two see what happened here?"
"No," Claire said. "I was asleep. We all were."
"All in the same room?" the cop grunted, and looked her over, from her bed-head to the wrinkled clothes. "Didn't take you for the type."
She couldn't figure out what he meant for a few seconds, and then felt a wave of hot embarrassment sweep over her. "No, I mean -- Eve was in her own room. We were asleep on the couch."