Daylighters (The Morganville Vampires #15)(103)

“You mean Michael and Eve’s wedding?”

“Yes. And no.”

She turned in his arms and looked up into his eyes. Felt as if she was falling, and falling, and falling, but it wasn’t frightening, not at all. It transformed into a feeling of flying. Of freedom. Of possibilities.

She took a deep breath and said, “Yes.”

? ? ?

None of it happened instantly. Couldn’t, because even though Fallon had been taken into custody and the vampires released from the prison, there were . . . issues. Of course. Morganville was never without them.

“I frigging hate politicians,” Eve sighed as she dumped her coffin purse on the kitchen table and dropped into a chair next to Claire, who was surfing the Web on her laptop.

“How was the mayor?”

Eve gave her a look. Then an eye roll. “Mayor Ramos is resigning. She says she can’t serve in a council with vampires. Guess we should have seen that coming, right? I waited for two hours for her to show up, and then she told me she couldn’t help straighten out the mess with our marriage license. I mean, how hard can it be to get married, involuntarily divorced, and remarried? Don’t they want me to be happy? Don’t answer that.”

Claire didn’t. The old, bitter lines of Morganville would never completely go away; with the vampires back, if not back in charge exactly, some people blamed Eve (and the rest of them) for screwing things up just when they were going right. If by right they meant horribly wrong, then Claire supposed they were correct. She found that she didn’t mind being thought of as a villain quite so much, after the fact, because the people who were blaming her for the generally crap state of their lives had a lot to answer for in general.

“So, no date yet?”

For answer, Eve slapped a piece of paper down in front of her, onto the keyboard. Claire looked up, then down at the document. It looked official, all right. “I didn’t say that,” Eve said, and smiled in slow delight. “I got an Amelie-class override. Plus, Ramos is cleaning out her desk, and the incoming mayor said he’d stamp it the second he took over the office.”

“Charlie Kentworth? Really?” There had been a very hasty two-day campaign and election for the suddenly open mayoral chair, and Officer Kentworth had been the fairly obvious choice. Especially since his sole opponent, recycling her campaign materials from her last failed attempt, had been Monica Morrell. She’d gathered about five percent of the vote, mainly from the irony demographic, but she was still determined to find something to be in charge of. She’d talked about buying the old Daylight Foundation building—locked up tight now—and making it into a dog boarding facility. Shane had found that weirdly, hilariously appropriate.

“He’s a pretty decent guy when he’s not finding dead bodies in your house,” Eve said. “Speaking of that, I’m not going into the basement anymore.”

“The laundry room’s in the basement.”

“Then you are on laundry duty.”

“Hey!” Claire poked at her, and Eve poked back. “So . . . the date?”

“We were thinking next Saturday. You busy?”

“I might be,” Claire said. She kept her poker face well enough that Eve looked momentarily crushed, and then she reached into her backpack to pull out another piece of paper, which she slid across to Eve.

Who unfolded it, read it, squealed in ranges that only dolphins could hear, and practically knocked Claire’s laptop off the table in her haste to hug her.

“Wait, am I late to the orgy?” Shane asked as he came through the kitchen doorway carrying two Cokes. “I didn’t get the Evite. Man, I hate slow Internet.”

“Shut up,” Eve said. She wiped her eyes, carefully because of her extremely expert makeup, and hugged him, too, before he even had the chance to set down the glasses. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Uh . . . did I mention slow Internet? Wait, what?”

Eve brandished the marriage license in his face, and he gave Claire a quick glance before he said, “Because you were all knee-deep in the paperwork swamp. It took us about an hour. I didn’t want to rub it in, because you get all blotchy when you angry-cry.”

“Idiot,” Eve said, and kissed his cheek. Then she kissed Claire’s. “Now I’m all blotchy.”

“Can’t even tell,” he said, and finally set down the Cokes. “What with all the layers of spackle on your face.”

“It’s nice to know that being on the verge of losing your freedom hasn’t made you any less juvenile.”

“Excuse me, you’re dressing like a Living Dead Doll, and who exactly is—”

“Hey,” Claire said, and held out both hands to stop the comebacks. “I love you both.”

“Let the orgy begin,” Shane said. “Who brought tacos?”

“Michael.”

“And he left them unattended? What a fool.” Shane grabbed two from the bag, along with a paper plate, and dumped them on it. “More for me.”

As he was taking his first bite, Michael came down the steps, guitar case in hand, and set his instrument down on his armchair before he said, without even looking, “Those better not be my tacos, bro.”

“They’re not yours anymore,” Shane mumbled around a mouthful. “Chill. You have a bagful.”