Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(23)
When Michael had been killed within its walls, drained by Oliver, the house had preserved him—saved him, literally, like a file, only as a ghost. The Glass home was more powerful at night than during the day, so at night it could create a real flesh-and-blood form he could use to have half a life…but when dawn came, it melted away. It wasn’t real, exactly, though Michael had said he could feel, eat, drink, do everything as if it were real, between dusk and dawn.
But to make that half-life truly permanent, he’d had to make a deal with Amelie and become fully vampire.
Miranda seemed to have inherited the same pluses and minuses. And she had no wish to become a vampire. In life, Miranda had been a lost little girl, cursed with a psychic gift that was as much creepy as it was informative; she’d been shunned all her life by most of the town, and even Eve—her best friend, maybe—hadn’t been able to handle her some of the time.
Ghost-Miranda was blooming into a happy young lady, now that she no longer had the psychic powers and was able to have real friends. So Miranda got tacos, too.
“What are we going to tell Shane about what happened? Or Eve?” Claire asked as the familiar crunch of the car’s wheels on gravel signaled they’d arrived home.
Michael parked, killed the engine, and spent a moment in thought before he said, “We’re going to tell them everything. Anything else wouldn’t be fair. And it could put them in a lot of danger if they think Amelie’s still somehow got our backs.”
It would upset Eve, and it would anger Shane, but he was right; keeping them in the dark was a sure path to disaster. You could protect people from harm, but not from knowing.
“Well,” Claire said, “at least we have tacos. Everything goes better with tacos.”
And the tacos did help. Even Shane, who met them at the door and glared at the cooler in Michael’s hand, brightened up at the sight of the grease-stained paper bags Claire held. “You really know the way to a man’s heart,” he said, and grabbed them out of her hands.
“Between the ribs and angle up?” she said, and gave him a sweet, fast kiss when he looked shocked. “Hey, it’s your joke. Don’t blame me if I remember it.”
“And you look like such a nice girl.”
“Fine, if you’re not into it, I’ll just take those tacos back….”
It devolved into keep-away with taco bags, which Shane of course would have won by virtue of sheer size and agility, except that Miranda sneaked up behind him and stole a couple by surprise, which sent him yelling in pursuit as she dashed off through the kitchen and into the living room. And then Eve was into it, and Claire had to fight to hang on to the two bags she had left.
In the end, it all somehow made it to the dining table. Eve broke out thick paper plates and forks and spoons, and Michael and Shane organized the drinks while Claire and Miranda put little taco boats at each of their place settings. It was all really warm and sweet and home, and Claire made sure as they were eating that Miranda got a couple of extra tacos that normally Shane would have grabbed as they passed. He pouted, but in a cute way.
It was when they were finishing up that Shane said, faux-casually, “So I guess everything went okay today?”
Miranda licked the last of the hot sauce out of the bottom of the paper boat and raised her eyebrows. “What happened today? I never get to know anything.” She was still physically a frail little thing, and Claire supposed that the girl’s delicate, breakable look would never change now; ghosts didn’t age, and no matter how many tacos she ate or Coca-Colas she guzzled, she’d never grow an inch or gain a pound. That was something a lot of girls dreamed of, Claire thought. Of course, those girls probably never thought about having to live their eternity trapped inside one house, living half a life, not even being able to shop or see a movie that wasn’t brought in, or go out to eat…or date.
Miranda was never, ever going to date. That was probably the saddest thing of all. She probably hadn’t ever even been kissed. Not once. And what was worse, she was living in a house with two couples.
Yeah. Living hell, Claire decided, and she elbowed Shane and gave Miranda the last taco. It seemed the least she could do.
Then she realized that Michael hadn’t even started answering the question. Somehow, Claire had expected him to take the lead on it, but since he hadn’t, suddenly everyone was staring at her, waiting.
Claire cleared her throat, took a drink of water, and said, “I guess I’ll just get it over with. Hannah can’t help about getting rid of the ID cards, or the hunting licenses. She’s being thrown out of office. Oliver’s a jerk. Amelie’s turned into a Vampire with a capital V, and she nearly killed Michael to prove how badass she is now. Does that cover it, Michael?”
“Pretty much,” he said.
That…didn’t go over as well as she’d hoped. For a second, nobody said a word, and then everyone was trying to talk at once. Michael tried to put some kind of polish on what she’d said, but there was no changing the truth of it. Eve was sharply demanding to know what was meant by nearly killed. Shane was cursing and saying that he’d known it would be like this.
Even Miranda was timidly asking something that was lost in the general chaos.
“One at a time,” Claire finally yelled, and that surprised them enough that they all fell silent. Surprisingly, it was Miranda who plunged ahead first.