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He didn't. He crossed his arms. Shane hadn't willingly stayed long in the same room with Michael since ... the change. And he wouldn't look at him, except in angles and side glances. He'd also taken to wearing one of Eve's silver crosses, although just now it was hidden beneath the neck of the gray t-shirt he was wearing. Claire found her eyes fixing on the just-visible outline of it.
Eve ignored Shane; her big, dark eyes were fixed on Michael. "You know they'll all be gunning for you now, right? All the would-be Buffys?" Claire had seen Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but she had no idea how Eve had managed; it was contraband in Morganville, along with every other movie or book featuring vampires. Or vampire-killing, more to the point. Internet downloads were strictly controlled, too, though no doubt there was a hot black market in those kinds of things that Eve was tapped into.
"Like you?" Michael said. He still hadn't forgotten the arsenal of stakes and crosses that Eve kept hidden in her room. In the old days, that had seemed like good sense, living in Morganville. Now, it seemed like a recipe for domestic violence.
Eve looked stricken. "I'd never -- "
"I know." He took her hand gently in his. "I know."
She softened, but then she shook it off and went back to frowning at him. "Look, this is dangerous. They know you're an easier target than those other guys, and they're going to hate you even worse, because you're one of us. Our age."
"Maybe," Michael said. "Eve, come on, sit. Sit down."
She did, but it was more like a collapse, and she didn't stop jittering her heel up and down in agitation, or drumming her black-painted fingernails on the table. "This is bad," she said. "You know that, right? Nine point five on the ten point scale of make-me-yak."
"Compared to what?" Shane asked. "We're already living with the enemy. What does that score? Not to mention you probably get extra points for banging him -- "
Michael stood up so fast his chair tipped and hit the floor with a clatter. Shane straightened up, ready for trouble, fists clenched.
"Shut up, Shane," Michael said, deathly quiet. "I mean it."
Shane stared past him at Eve. "He's going to bite you. He can't help it, and once he starts, he won't stop, he'll kill you. But you know that, right? What is that, some freak-ass Goth idea of romantic suicide? You turning into a fang-banger?"
"Butt out, Shane. What you know about Goth culture, you got from old episodes of The Munsters and your Aryan Brotherhood dad." Great, now Eve was angry, too. That left Claire the only sane one in the room.
Michael made an effort to dial it back. "Come on, Shane. Leave her alone. You're the one hurting her, not me."
Shane's gaze snapped to Michael and focused. Hard. "I don't hurt girls. You say I do, and you'd better back it up, ass**le."
Shane pushed away from the wall, because Michael was taking steps in his direction. Claire watched, wide-eyed and frozen.
Eve got between them, hands outstretched to hold both of them back. "Come on, guys, you don't want to do this."
"Kinda do," Shane said coolly.
"Fine. Either hit each other or get a room," she snapped, and stepped out of the middle. "Just don't pretend it's all about protecting the itty widdle girl, because it isn't. It's about the two of you. So get it together, or leave, I don't care which."
Shane stared at her for a second, eyes gone wide and oddly hurt, then looked at Claire. She didn't move.
"I'm out," he said. He turned and walked out through the kitchen door. It swung shut behind him.
Eve let out a little gasp. "I didn't think he'd go," she said, so unsteadily that for a second Claire thought she was going to cry. "What a freaking idiot."
Claire reached over and took her hand. Eve squeezed, hard, and then leaned back into Michael's embrace. Vampire or not, the two of them seemed happy, and anyway, this was Michael. She just couldn't understand Shane's anger. It seemed to bubble up when she least expected it, for no reason at all.
"I'd better -- " she ventured. Michael nodded.
Claire slipped out of her chair and went to find Shane. Not like it was difficult; he was slumped on the couch, staring at the Playstation screen and working the controls on yet another zombie-killing adventure. "You taking his side?" Shane asked, and splattered the head of an attacking undead monster.
"No," Claire said, and settled in carefully next to him, with enough open space between so he didn't feel pressured. "Why are there sides, anyway?"
"What?"
"Michael's your friend, he's our housemate. Why do there have to be sides?"
He snapped his fingers. "Um, wait, I've got this one ... because he's a bloodsucking, night-crawling leech who used to be my friend?"
"Shane -- "
"You think you know, but you don't. He's going to change. They all change. Maybe it'll take time, I don't know. Right now, he thinks he's just human plus, but that's not what it is. He's human minus. And you'd better not forget it."
She stared at him, a little bit stunned and a whole lot saddened. "Eve's right. That sounds like your father talking."
Shane flinched, paused the game, and threw the controller down. "Low, Claire." He wasn't exactly his dad's biggest fan at the best of times -- he couldn't be, the number of cruel things his dad had done to him.
"No, it's just true. Look, it's Michael. Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? He hasn't hurt anybody, has he? And you have to admit, having a vampire on our side, really on our side, couldn't hurt. Not in Morganville."
He just glared at the screen, jaw set like stone. Claire was trying to think of another way to get through to him, but she was derailed by the ringing of the doorbell. Shane didn't move. "I'll get it," she sighed, and went down the hall to open the front door. It was safe enough -- mid-morning, sunny, and relatively mild. Summer was finally starting a slide toward fall, now that it had burned all the green out of the Texas landscape.
Claire squinted against the brilliance. For a second she thought that there was something deeply wrong with her eyes.
Because her arch-enemy and Queen Bitch Monica Morrell, flanked by her ever-present harpies Gina and Jennifer, were standing on the doorstep. It was like seeing Barbie and her friends, blown up life size and dressed like Old Navy mannequins. Tanned, toned and perfect, from lip gloss to toenail polish. Monica had forced on a determinedly pleasant expression. Gina and Jennifer were also trying, but looked more like they were smelling something rotten.
