Claire sighed. "For now, anyway."
"I hope to see you on Sunday, then, at the evening services. Amelie comes quite often."
Huh, Claire had never considered that Amelie might be a churchgoer. "And Oliver?"
Father Joe chuckled, then sipped on the strawberry milk shake Helen thumped down on the table before him. "Oliver has . . . theological differences with the Roman Catholic Church. He attends a more nondenominational service we hold on Saturdays. Although he usually argues with me about formats."
She could see Amelie in church, but Oliver? Really? That was . . . new.
Father Joe must have seen the confusion in her face, because he said, "Most of them attend some sort of service. After all, in the times they were born and lived, religion was a vital part of life and society. It's a little less so today, but for many of them, it's hugely important to still feel they have a path to God." He grinned. "But I'm off duty right now. Seen any good movies lately?"
"Do not ask Shane," Eve said. "He's got awful taste."
"Are you kidding? That last thing I took you to was totally sick!"
"If you mean, made me throw up, then yeah. Would it kill you to watch something where heads don't explode?"
"Probably not, unless it's one of those movies where everybody's wearing poofy skirts and corsets and nobody does anything. That might actually kill me."
Eve looked at Claire. "Really? Is he running for Worst Boyfriend Ever?"
"In the subcategory of Completely Awesome," Shane said, and stole some of her fries. Eve stabbed at him with a fork, but missed.
The bell over the door chimed, and it wasn't that Claire was really looking, exactly; she was too busy laughing. But something about the woman who came in caught her eye. Maybe it was because she was clearly a vampire, and from the way she dressed and the hair, she'd probably last cared about fashion in the 1940s. She looked eerily out of place here, where most of the vamps were wearing casual, modern clothes, even if their hairstyles seemed a little iffy.
She looked around the diner as if she were trying to locate someone. The waitress Helen steered in her direction, and must have asked her if she needed help, because the woman focused in on her immediately.
And then she attacked her. Just . . . cold, flat-out bit her. It was so fast Claire couldn't react at all, at first; it seemed so totally random, so wrong that her brain kept insisting she wasn't seeing it.
Other people reacted, though. Father Joe, for one; he jumped up and raced to help. So did a tableful of vampires seated near the door. It took all of them to wrestle the vamp off of Helen, who collapsed back against the counter, holding a shaking hand to her bleeding throat. Her knees buckled, and she fell. Other diners bent down to check her as the vamps continued to fight with the stranger. She was acting crazy now, yelling in a language Claire didn't recognize at all. Finally, they got her out the door and off into the night.
For some reason, Claire hadn't moved at all. Most of the people hadn't. Maybe they'd been afraid to draw attention. She felt, suddenly, like a small, defenseless animal in a room full of predators.
"Uh, Mike?" Shane asked. "What was that?"
"I don't know," Michael said. "But it was freaking weird."
Helen was okay, it appeared, although she wouldn't have been if the vamp had been able to do her worst. Father Joe offered to drive her to the hospital, and the cook came out of the back to keep order and make sure nobody ran out on their checks. He was a vampire, which for some reason struck Claire as immensely odd. A vampire fry cook just seemed . . . wrong. But then again, they were really great burgers. Being immortal gave you lots of time to perfect your grilling technique, Claire guessed.
As they paid their check and headed for the door, Claire overheard one of the vampires saying to another, "Did you understand what she said?"
And the other vampire said, "She was screaming that it was all wrong."
"What was all wrong?"
"I don't know," he said, and shrugged. "The world? She's off her head."
And once again, Claire felt that shiver.
Something wasn't right in Morganville.
She just knew it.
She woke up early the next morning, and felt as if she could've slept for a dozen more days. Nobody else was stirring, and Claire decided not to wake them up; she showered and dressed as quietly as possible, and sneaked out the front door while the mist was still on the ground outside, and the sun was just coming up.
Morganville was pretty at this time of day--still, quiet, cleaner somehow than it seemed in full light. She'd always liked early mornings here better than any other time.
Mostly, though, she liked the fact that sunrise signaled most vampires to head for their beds. Except Myrnin, who hardly ever seemed to rest at all.
She walked the streets as lights came on in houses, cars began to move again, and people started their usual days. A construction crew had gotten busy early, lots of guys in flannel shirts, jeans, and work boots hammering and sawing in the clean morning light. It felt . . . new. And good.
There was a car parked in the middle of the street up ahead. Claire frowned and slowed, watching it--it wasn't pulled to the curb; it was just sitting there, blocking whatever traffic might eventually come by. As she watched, a girl only a little older than she was--maybe nineteen or twenty--opened the driver's-side door and got out. She stood there next to the car, looking around.
It was eerily familiar. It was like Alex, sitting by the side of the road, seeming so lost.
But this girl had clearly been heading somewhere. She was dressed for an office. Claire could see a laptop and a purse in the passenger seat. And there was a sealed cup steaming the scent of coffee into the air from the cup holder in the door.