Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(98)

“Thanks,” Claire said, because regardless of the insult, Monica really had just done her a solid. She was having trouble catching her breath both from the run and from real worry. “Right turn!”

“Not heading that way, sunshine. I’m going shopping.”

Claire grabbed the wheel and forced it, and Monica swore—honestly, she knew words Claire had never heard of, in interesting and colorful combinations—and smacked Claire’s hand away to manage the turn carefully. “I swear to God, if you make me dent this car, I will end you!”

“They got Eve,” Claire said. “Right turn! Make the block!”

“Why should I?”

“They beat her up. She’s hurt. They could go back!”

“And I care because…?”

“Monica, they could kill her! Just do it!”

Monica hesitated just long enough to make Claire consider diving out of the car while it was speeding, but then she hit the brakes and fishtailed into a hard right, then another one, then U-turned to squeal to a halt in the intersection where Eve’s hearse still idled.

Monica didn’t say anything at all. Claire took one look at Eve lying on the pavement in a pool of her own blood, time just seemed to freeze into a block of ice for a long breath. Then it shattered, and Claire scrambled out to kneel beside her. Eve’s eyes were closed. She was breathing, but her skin looked ashen, and she was bleeding freely from cuts on her head; Claire didn’t dare move her, but she could see the livid red marks on her arms where she’d been kicked and stomped. There could be internal injuries, broken bones….

Ambulance, she thought, but even as she reached for her phone, she heard Monica saying, “Yeah, 911? There’s somebody bleeding all over the sidewalk at Fifth and Stillwater. Just look for the hearse.”

Claire looked up at her as Monica shut off her cell phone and tossed it into her purse. Monica returned the glance, shrugged, and checked her lipstick in the mirror. “Hey,” she said. “Never let it be said I’m not civic-minded. That sidewalk might stain.”

Then she drove off with a roar of the convertible’s engine.

Claire was right about Roy leading the others back, but by the time they arrived, half of his friends had come to their senses, and the ones still with him weren’t enough to really work up a good frenzy. They were further held back by the sound of the ambulance siren piercing the air and moving closer. Claire sat back on her heels as she stared at Roy. He was a nondescript boy, nothing really—an okay kind of face, neutral hair, standard high school clothes. The only thing that really made him stand out at all was the blood on his hands, and even as she noticed, he must have, too, because he pulled out his shirttail and scrubbed the skin clean, then tucked the fabric back into his pants. Evidence gone, except for the bruises on his knuckles.

He pointed at Claire as the ambulance pulled to a stop, siren winding down, behind the hearse. “This ain’t over,” he said. “Captain Obvious says vamp lovers get what they deserve. You do, too, for sticking up for her.”

She had an almost-uncontrollable desire to scream at him, but she could see it wouldn’t do any good. They were all looking at her as if she were the monster and as if Eve were some kind of pervert that deserved to die. Shane might have known what to say, but Shane wasn’t here. Michael wasn’t here. It was just her, alone, holding the limp and bloody hand of her best friend.

She met his gaze squarely and said, “Bring it, Roy Toy.”

“Later,” he promised, and jerked his head at his posse. They headed out at a jog and split up.

It was only as the ambulance attendants asked her to move back and started evaluating Eve’s condition that she realized exactly what Roy had said.

Captain Obvious says…

Captain Obvious.

Oh God. Claire remembered the flyers, the brick, the gasoline thrown on their house, and the paper with the tombstones on it, and their names.

All their names.

Maybe Pennyfeather hadn’t used the gas at all; he’d just taken advantage of the distraction. Maybe humans had already tried to kill them all.

She tried Michael’s phone, but of course it was turned off; it would be, if he was playing. She dialed Shane, instead. He picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey,” he said, “kinda busy trying to get an actual job here….”

“Eve’s been hurt,” she said. “Get to Michael. Captain Obvious has us on some kind of hit list. And watch your back.”

“Jesus.” Shane was quiet for a second; then he said, “Is Eve okay?”

“I don’t know.” For the first time, the reality of it was hitting her as the adrenaline rush faded away, and she felt panic choke her up. “God, Shane, they were kicking her so hard—”

“Who?” She could read the fury in the single word.

“I don’t know. Roy Farmer, some guy named Aaron, a girl named Melanie—three others. Shane, please, get to Michael. He’s at Common Grounds….”

“On it,” he said. “You safe right now?”

“I’m going to the hospital with her,” Claire said. “Watch your back—I mean it.”

“I will.”

He hung up, and she had an insane wish to call him back, to hear his voice saying her name, telling her it would all somehow, impossibly, work out, that he loved her and she didn’t have to be afraid of the humans of Morganville, too, instead of just the vampires. But Shane would never say that last thing.