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It was a lot of work, and Shane had been right: wearing regular jeans and shirts helped, because it would have been twice as bad in formal wear.
By the time the (human) blood bank attendants arrived with their punch bowls, coolers, and cups (crystal, because vampires didn't drink out of plastic if they could help it), the tables were decorated in black cloth and silver streamers, and Shane had, at great personal risk, hung the Eve-required disco ball from the majestic crystal chandelier looming over the room. The dj - one of Eve's friends, apparently, although Claire had never met her - arrived with her own table, her computer, and a massive sound system that she assembled near the open area designated as the dance floor.
Claire put the centerpieces on the tables and checked the time.
Just barely enough.
She grabbed Shane and dragged him off from playing with the remote that turned the disco ball's motor on and off. "Get dressed," she said, and pressed the hanger with his clothes on it into his hands. "We have to be ready to greet people!"
"Yeah, that'll be super fun!" he said, with utterly fake enthusiasm.
"Just go already!"
He kissed her, quickly, and disappeared into the men's bathroom. Claire took her own dress and shoes into the women's room, which was really nice but - again - more or less funeral-homey, with all the subdued velvet and gilt. Dressed, she examined herself critically in the mirror. It was a nice, flattering dress of white trimmed in red, and the shoes (Eve had found them) were awesome. Claire finger-fluffed her shoulder-length hair - more red now than brown, thanks again to Eve - and headed out for the ballroom. Shane, of course, was already there, slouching on a straight-backed chair. He stood up when she walked in.
"You're beautiful," he said, very spontaneously, which warmed her all over.
"You're pretty fantastic, too," she said, and meant it. He'd put on dark pants and a dark turtleneck that almost hid all the bruises, and a really nice jacket. He looked . . . adult.
The dj started up with a song, testing the volume levels, and it broke the moment completely. In fact, it almost shattered the chandelier, considering the loudness. The dj dialed it back, but not before Claire's ears were ringing as if she'd been in a club. "Wow," she said. "This is going to rock. Probably in all the wrong ways."
And that prediction was way, way too correct.
First to show were friends from high school - nobody Claire knew, but Shane greeted them with easy familiarity. There were about ten of them, and they arrived in a pack, probably for safety; the girls seemed too boring-normal to be friends of Eve's, so Claire assumed these were Michael's circle. Some had brought gifts, and Claire pointed them to the table set up to deposit those.
Miranda, the skinny teen psychic, arrived dramatically alone, wearing a peculiar, mismatched skirt and top that were too big for her. She was (technically) Eve's friend, although she was younger and still in high school; as always, she seemed to be walking in a dream state, not really noticing where she was or who was around her. Eve liked to be thought of as strange; Miranda was the real deal. Nothing like creepy future predictions to put a chill on fun.
But she was an odd little thing, and Claire felt bad for her. She seemed to be always on her own.
"Hey, Mir," she greeted her, and handed her a white carnation.
Miranda looked at it as if she couldn't quite figure out what it was for. "Is it food?" she asked.
Shane mouthed, over Miranda's head, Please say yes, but Claire scowled at him and said, "No, it's just pretty." Miranda nodded wisely and tucked it behind her ear, with the long stem sticking back at a dangerous angle for anyone behind her. "Uh - there's food over there, and punch. Don't cut the cake, though. That's for Eve and Michael."
"Okay," Miranda said. She got a couple of steps into the room, then turned and looked back at Claire. "It's too bad you wore white. But maybe it will wash out."
Oh crap. If only Miranda had a sense of humor, Claire would have been sure she was just messing with her, but knowing that the girl had never joked, she thought of several interpretations and none of them was good. The best Claire could think of was that she'd get punch spilled on her.
Unfortunately, the best-case scenario never seemed to arrive.
"Easy," Shane said. "Sometimes she's wrong." He knew what Claire was thinking, because (she assumed) he was thinking it, too.
"Not often." And never on important things, although Claire truthfully couldn't judge whether that had been, in Miranda's mind, important. Difficult to say. She had a chaos-theory view of life, so what was important to normal people wasn't necessarily the same thing to her. And sometimes the most minuscule things were the most urgent.
Claire didn't have time to brood about it, because just then the first vampires arrived, cold and icily polite. Claire handed carnations to the ladies, who accepted them with disdainful grace as they glided in, heading straight for the plasma refreshments. Next came a group of cautious-looking townies, dressed in ill-fitting fancy dresses and suits, all prominently wearing their bracelets of Protection. These weren't the rebel underground; these were the humans with a vested stake (no pun intended) in the status quo, and they had a certain beaten look to them that made Claire's heart ache. She'd tried to use her influence with Amelie - such as it was - to make things better for them, but she couldn't counteract lifetimes of oppression in a couple of years.
"Claire," Shane said quietly. When she looked around, there was a vampire standing right in front of her, wearing an elaborate black satin coat with enormous long tails that reached to his heels, a red brocade vest, a ruffled white shirt....
Myrnin.
He looked deeply worried and very uncomfortable. "My dear girl, I really feel I need to - "
"Go away," she said. Not loudly, but she meant it. "Don't talk to me. Not ever again."
"But - "
She pushed him back, hard. "Never!" She didn't shout it, although she felt like screaming it; the fury that boiled up inside her made her shake and see red. "Don't you ever come near me or Shane again!"
He couldn't have looked more heartbroken, but she didn't care. She didn't. Her eyes filled with tears, but she made herself believe that they were tears of anger, not sadness. Not disappointment.
Myrnin bowed from the waist, old-fashioned and very correct, and said, "As you wish, Claire." Then he turned toward Shane and gave another bow, not quite as deep. "I regret the necessity of my actions." He didn't wait for Shane to say anything, not that Shane would have, anyway; he was busy watching Claire as she hastily wiped the tears from her eyes.
Myrnin walked away. He looked . . . small, somehow. And defeated, although he tried to keep his head upright. And even though she was angry - she was - it still hurt to see him like that. And deep down, she felt lost thinking that she'd never see him again. Never roll her eyes at his insane leaps of conversation. Never see those stupid bunny slippers again.
He did it. Not me.
Then why was it so awful?
She couldn't dwell on it, because more people were arriving, a lot more, and she had all she could do forcing smiles and saying polite things and handing out carnations to the ladies. This influx was a mixture of townies and a few wary, tense people she was sure were in Morganville but not of it - the resistance, maybe, come to scope out the situation. Shane recognized a few, and she saw him exchange some quick words with a couple.
There was a brief lull in arrivals, and Claire caught her breath and checked her carnation supply - getting low. Then again, the ballroom was now teeming with people - more than a hundred, for sure. Quite a crowd, in this town.
More vampires this time, at least twenty of them. One of the women accepted a flower with a charming, graceful smile; another lifted her chin and glided right by, refusing to even acknowledge Claire's existence.
So much fun.
"I believe that's for me," said a low, cool voice, and Claire jerked her attention back front and center just as Amelie plucked the carnation from her hand. "Do forgive Mathilde. She's not been the same since the French Revolution."
"You came," Claire blurted.
Amelie raised a single eyebrow in a sharp curve. "Why would I not? I was invited. It's only polite to attend."
"I thought you weren't in favor of - this."
"It would be hypocritical of me to say that it pleases me. But it suits my purposes to be here." Amelie nodded her good-byes and started to move on.
