"Guess I'm walking," she said to the empty lab. She climbed the stairs to the rickety, leaning shack that covered the entrance, and exited into the alley behind Gramma Day's Founder House. It was another mirror of the Glass House - slightly different trim, different curtains in the windows. Gramma Day had a front-porch swing, and she liked to sit outside with her lemonade and watch people, but she wasn't out today. The empty swing creaked in the faint, cooling wind.
The sun still felt fierce, although the temperatures were dropping steadily, day by day; Claire was sweating by the time she'd negotiated Morganville's tortuously twisted avenues and turned onto Lot Street.
The sweat turned icy as she saw the police car parked in front of the house. Claire broke into a run, slammed through the white picket fence, and pounded up the stairs. The door was shut and locked. She fumbled out her keys and let herself in, then followed the sound of voices down the hallway.
Shane was sitting on the couch, wearing what Eve liked to call his Asshole Face. He was staring at Richard Morrell, who was standing in front of him. The contrast was extreme - Shane looked like he'd forgotten he owned a hairbrush, his clothes were rumpled from sitting in a laundry basket for a week, and his whole body language screamed SLACKER.
A whole different person from the one who'd been so quietly concerned about Eve earlier.
Richard Morrell, on the other hand, was a Morganville success story. Neat and sharp in his dark blue police uniform, every crease perfect, every hair at regulation length. The gun on his hip looked just as well cared for.
He and Shane both transferred their stares to Claire. She felt sweaty, disheveled, and panicked. "What's happened?"
"Officer Dick dropped by to remind me I'd missed some appointments," Shane said. He had a flat, dark look in his eyes, the kind he got when he was committed to a fight. "I was just telling him I'd get around to it."
"You're months behind in donations," Richard said. "You're lucky it's me standing here, not somebody a lot less sympathetic. Look, I know you don't like this, and you don't have to. What you do have to do is get your ass up and down to the Donation Center."
Shane didn't move. "You going to make me, Dick?" "I don't understand," Claire said. "What are you talking about?"
"Shane's not paying his taxes."
"Taxes - " It came together suddenly. The blood she'd just tossed into the cells of ravenous, maddened vampires. Oh. "Blood donations."
Shane held up his wrist. His hospital tag, marked with a red cross, was still on. "Nobody gets to touch me for another two weeks. Sorry."
Richard didn't move. He didn't even blink. "No, I'm sorry, but that doesn't hold up. Your hospital exemption protects you from attack. It doesn't excuse you from civic duty."
"Civic duty," Shane mocked. "Right. Whatever, man. Tell you what, you delivered your message. Go bust some crime or something. Maybe arrest your sister - she probably deserves it today, if it's a day that ends in y."
"Shane," Claire said, with just a little pleading in her voice. "Where's Eve?"
"At the hospital," Shane said. "I left her there with Michael. It's pretty rough on her, but she's coping. I came back to make sure you were okay."
"I am," she said. Not that either of them was listening to her anymore. Richard and Shane had locked stares again, and it was a guy thing. A contest of wills.
"So you're refusing to accompany me to the Donation Center," Richard said. "Is that right?"
" 'Bout the size of it, Dick."
Richard reached behind his back, unhooked the shiny silver handcuffs from the snap on his belt, and held them at his side. Shane still didn't move.
"Up," Richard said. "Come on, man, you know how this is going to go. Either you end up in the jailhouse or you spend five minutes with a needle in your arm."
"I'm not letting any vamp eat me, not even by remote control."
"Not even Michael?" Richard asked. "Because when supplies run low, the younger the vampire, the lower he is in the priority list. Michael's the last one in Morganville to get blood. So you're doing nothing but hurting your own, man."
Shane's fists clenched, trembled, relaxed. He glanced at Claire, and she saw the mixture of rage and shame in his eyes. He hated this, she knew. Hated the vampires, and wanted to hate Michael but couldn't.
"Please," she whispered. "Shane, just do it. I'll go, too."
"You don't have to," Richard said. "College students are exempt."
"But I can volunteer, right?"
He shrugged. "No idea."
Claire turned to Shane. "Then we'll both go."
"The hell we will." Shane folded his arms. "Go on, handcuff me. I'll bet you're dying to use that shiny new Taser."
Claire dropped her backpack, crossed to him, and got in his face. "Stop," she hissed. "We don't have time for this, and I don't need you in jail right now, okay?"
He stared right into her eyes, for so long that she was afraid he was going to tell her to mind her own business - but then he sighed and nodded. She stepped away as he stood and held out his wrists to Richard Morrell.
"Guess you've got me, Officer," he said. "Be gentle."
"Shut up, Shane. Don't make this harder than it is."
Claire trailed along behind, uncertain what she ought to be doing; Richard didn't seem interested in her at all. He used the radio clipped to his shoulder to make some kind of police call on the way down the hall, in code. She wasn't sure she liked that. Morganville wasn't big enough to need codes, unless it was something really nasty.