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"He - he just shook my hand. But he said he knew! He knew where I was living!"
Again, Shane didn't look surprised. "Yeah, well, that was just a matter of time. They pulled over to ask me your full name. They added it to inventory."
"Inventory?"
"That's what they call it. It's like a census. They always know how many are living in a place. Look, just walk, okay? And don't look so scared. They aren't going to jump us in broad daylight."
Shane had a lot more confidence in that than she did, but she got control of her shaking and nodded, and followed him up another block to a thrift shop that looked brighter, friendlier, and less likely to have vampires lurking inside. "This is Mrs. Lawson's place. She used to be a friend of my mom's. It's okay."
Shane held open the door for her, like a gentleman. She supposed his mom had taught him that. Inside, the place smelled nice - incense, Claire thought - and there were lots of lights burning. No dark corners here, and a bell rang with a pleasant little tinkling sound when Shane let the door shut behind them.
"Shane!" A large woman in a brightly colored tie-dyed shirt and big, swirly skirt hustled over from behind the counter at the back, gathered Shane up in a hug, and beamed at him when she stepped back. "Boy, what the hell are you doing back here? Up to no good?"
"Up to no good, ma'am. Just like always."
"Thought so. Good for you." The woman's dark eyes landed on Claire. "Who's your little friend?"
"This is Claire. Claire Danvers. She's - she's a student at the college."
"Nice to meet you, Claire. Now. I'll bet you didn't come in here just to say 'hey,' boy, so what can I do for you?"
"Clothes," Claire said. "I'm looking for some clothes."
"Those we got. You're about a size four, right? Come with me, honey. I've got some really nice things just your size. Shane, you look like you could use some new clothes, too. Those jeans are raggedy."
"Supposed to be."
"Lord. Fashion. I just don't understand it anymore."
Maybe she didn't, but Mrs. Lawson had all kinds of cute tops and jeans and things, and cheap, too.
Claire picked an armload and followed her to the counter, where she counted out a grand total of twenty-two dollars, including tax. As Mrs. Lawson was ringing it up, Claire looked behind her to the things on the wall. There was some kind of official-looking certificate hanging there, framed, with an embossed seal.... No, that wasn't a seal. That was a symbol. The same symbol as the one on the bracelet Mrs. Lawson wore.
"You take care," Mrs. Lawson said as she handed over the bag with the clothes. "Both of you. Tell Shane he needs to get himself right, and he needs to do it quick. They've been cutting him some slack, given what he went through, but that won't last. He needs to be thinking about his future."
Claire looked over her shoulder to where Shane was staring out the window, looking bored. Eyes half-closed.
"I'll tell him," she said doubtfully.
She couldn't imagine Shane was thinking about anything else.
Days slipped away, and Claire just let them go. She was worried about class, but she was tired and her bruises had turned Technicolor, and the last thing she wanted to do was be the center of attention. It was better - Shane had convinced her - to do some home study and get back to class when she was better, and Monica had had some time to let things blow over.
The week slipped away. She fell into a regular routine - up late with Michael and Shane and Eve, sleep until noon, argue over bathroom rights, cook, clean, study, do it all again. It felt...good. Real, somehow, in a way that dorm life didn't, exactly.
The following Monday, when she got up and made breakfast, she had to make it for two: Shane was awake, looking grumpy and groggy. He silently grabbed the bacon and fried some up while she did the eggs; there wasn't any banter, as there had been between him and Eve a couple of mornings back. She tried a little conversation, but he wasn't in the mood. He just grunted replies. She waited until he was done with his breakfast - which included a cup of coffee, brewed in the tiny little coffeemaker on the corner of the counter - before she asked, "What are you doing up so early?"
Shane leaned his chair back on two legs, balancing as he chewed. "Ask Michael."
Can't exactly do that... "You doing something for him?"
"Yeah." He thumped his chair back down and brushed his hand over his hair, which still looked like a mess. "Don't expect me to dress up or anything."
"What?"
"What you see is what you get." She just looked at him, frowning, trying to figure out what he was saying. "I'm taking you to class. You were going back today, right?"
"You're kidding," she said flatly. He shrugged. "You're kidding. I'm not some six-year-old who needs her big brother to walk her to school! No way, Shane!"
"Michael thinks you should have an escort. Brandon was pretty pissed. He could find a way to take it out on you, even if he can't do it himself. He's got plenty of people who'd kick your ass on his say-so."
Shane's eyes slid away from hers. "Like Monica."
Oh, crap. "Monica belongs to Brandon?"
"The whole Morrell family does, far as I know. He's their own personal badass. So." He rubbed his hands together. "What exciting classes do we have today?"
"You can't go to class with me!"
"Hey, you're welcome to knock me out and stop me, but until you do, I'm your date for the day. So.
What classes?"
"Calculus II, Physics of Sound, Chemistry III, chem lab, and Biochemistry."
"Holy crap. You really are smart. Right, I'll take some comics or something. Maybe my iPod."
She kept glaring at him. It didn't seem to do any good - if anything, it just made him more cheerful.
"I always wanted to be a big man on campus," Shane said. "Guess this is my chance."
"I'm dead," she moaned, and rested her forehead on her hands.
"Not yet. And that's kind of the point."
She was afraid Shane would make a big deal out of it, but he didn't. He even combed his hair, which turned out to make him look totally hot in ways that she was afraid to notice. Especially if she had to spend the whole day with him. He'd picked a plain white shirt and his best pair of blue jeans, which were still out at the knees and frayed at the hems. And plain running shoes. "In case we have to do any retreating," he said. "Plus, kicking somebody when you're wearing flip-flops hurts."
