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It was such a startling thing for him to say that Claire almost laughed. "I'm supposed to pray? For who, you?"
Oliver didn't blink. "If you would," he said, "that would be comforting. I don't think anyone's done it in quite some time."
He stood up and walked away. Claire sat for a while staring off into the afternoon sunlight, sipping a mocha long gone cold and tasting nothing at all. When a knot of big upper-class jocks asked her, none too politely, if she was done with the table, she left without any protest. She went for a walk, following the curve of streets without any real awareness of where she was, or where she might be going.
All these people. She was away from the college crowd now, and Morganville natives took advantage of the sunshine any way they could - sunbathing, working in their gardens, painting their houses.
And tomorrow, if Oliver was right, it could be all over. If Bishop succeeded in taking over from Amelie . . .
Claire realized with a start that the sun was slipping toward the horizon, and turned at the nearest cross street to head for home. She made it with the day still officially in the late-afternoon phase, although twilight was creeping in, but as she opened the gate and came through the walk, she realized that someone was sitting on the front steps waiting for her.
Shane.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she returned, and sat down next to him. He was looking out at the street, the occasional passing car. A breeze ruffled his dark hair, and the sunlight made his skin look like it had a faint brushing of gold.
God, he was so . . . perfect. And he was breaking her heart with the look in his eyes.
"So," Shane said. "I was thinking we should go out tonight."
"Out?" she repeated blankly. "Out where?"
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. Movies. Dinner. I'd take you to the local bar for a blowout, but your dad might kill me." Shane looked at her for a few seconds, then went back to his careful study of nothing. "I just want to spend tonight doing something with you. Whatever it is."
Because tomorrow, it could all change. It was the same eerie feeling Claire had felt walking around town: the feeling that the world was ending, and only a few people had a clue it was coming.
"Any place you've always wanted to go?" Claire asked.
"Sure. I play a great game of Anywhere but Here. You mean in Morganville?" He was quiet for a second, as if the question had caught him by surprise. "Maybe. You up for a drive?"
"In whose car?"
"Eve's." He held up the car keys and jangled them. "I made her a deal. I get the car two nights a week; I do her share of the chores two more days. I'm exercising my rental coupon."
"The sun's going down," Claire felt compelled to point out.
"So it is." He jangled the car keys again. "Well?"
Really, he already knew what the answer would be.
They drove to a restaurant near the vampire downtown area - far enough that it had mostly human patronage, but still stayed open late. There was a lounge area with a dance floor, and a jukebox that played oldies. Shane had a beer he was too young to order. Claire had a Coke, and they spent a roll of quarters on choosing songs, one right after another.
"This is the biggest damn iPod I've ever seen," Claire said, which made him choke on his beer. "Kidding. I have seen a jukebox before."
"The way you're feeding it, I'm not so sure. You think you picked enough songs?"
"I don't know," she said. "How many will it take to play all night?"
He put his beer down on the table, put his arms around her, and they swayed together as the songs changed, and changed, and changed.
And around them, Morganville slowly went quiet.
Chapter Ten
Saturday dawned cooler and windier, with a breath of chill cutting like metal.
Shane and Claire drove in just before dawn, exhausted but peaceful. They'd danced until the restaurant closed down, then drove, then parked. It had been sweet and urgent and Claire had almost, almost wanted it to go further . . . at least into the backseat.
But Shane had held to his word, no matter how frustrating that was for both of them, and she supposed that was still a good thing.
Mostly, she just wanted to get his clothes off and dive into the bed with him and never, ever come out. But he kissed her at her bedroom door, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he wasn't trusting himself that far with her.
Not tonight. Not even with the whole world changing.
Claire fell asleep just before dawn and slept right through sunrise. Through lunch. She only woke up at all because the next-door neighbor started up his monster gas-powered lawn mower for the last trim of the season. It was like a gardening jet engine, and no matter how many pillows Claire piled on her head, it didn't help.
The house was eerily quiet. Claire put on her robe and shuffled down the hall to the bathroom. She tapped on Eve's door on the way, but there was no answer. None at Shane's or Michael's, either. She took the fastest shower on record and went downstairs, only to find . . . nothing. No Michael, no Shane, no Eve. And no note. There was coffee in the pot, but it had long cooked down to sludge.
Claire sat down at the kitchen table and paged through numbers on her phone. No answer from Eve's cell, and Michael's rang to voice mail. So did Shane's.
"Hey," Claire said when his recorded voice told her to leave her message. "I'm - I just was hoping I'd see you. You know, this morning. But - look, can you give me a call, please? I want to talk to you. Please."
She felt so alone that tears prickled her eyes. The feast. It's today.
Everything was changing.
A rap at the back door made her jump, and she peered through the window for a long time before she eased open the door a crack. She left the security chain on. "What do you want, Richard?"
Richard Morrell's police cruiser was parked in the drive. He hadn't flashed any lights or howled any sirens, so she supposed it wasn't an emergency, exactly. But she knew him well enough to know he didn't pay social visits, at least not to the Glass House.
And not in uniform.
"Good question," Richard said. "I guess I want a nice girl who can cook, likes action movies, and looks good in short skirts. But I'll settle for you taking the chain off the door and letting me in."
"How do I know you're you?"
"What?"
"Ysandre. She - well, let's say I need to be sure it's really you."
"I had to uncuff you in a girl's bathroom at the university this week. How's that?"
She slid the chain loose and stepped back as he walked in. He looked tired - not as tired as she felt, but then she guessed that wasn't humanly possible, really. "What do you want?"
