Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(69)

“If you have to ask, the answer is usually no,” Eve said, and dumped the bowl into the trash. “Ugh. I don’t even know what that was, but it isn’t anymore. How about spaghetti?”

It was always spaghetti with Eve, unless someone else stepped in. Today, though, Shane’s heart wasn’t in it. “Sure,” he said, which made her turn and narrow her heavily made-up eyes at him. Mistake.

“Wow. Mr. I Have a Better Idea, stumped? That’s crazy talk. Are you running a fever?”

“Spaghetti sounds good.” He shrugged and let it go, because he was starting to wonder how he was going to gracefully ease out of here and follow Michael, if Michael left again.

“Not to me,” Claire sighed. “You know what? I was right the first time. I’m more tired than I am hungry.” She grabbed a can of Coke from the fridge and covered another yawn. She really did look exhausted—dark circles under her eyes, her skin gone paler than it should have been.

“You’re working too hard,” Shane said. “Promise me you’re going to get some rest, okay?”

“Okay,” Claire said, and gave him an absolutely beautiful smile. “Promise me you’ll wake me up tomorrow?”

He had a flash of what that would be like: sitting on the edge of her bed as the rising sun streamed in, bending over to kiss her awake, seeing her eyes open and that same lazy, delicious smile on her lips. Just for him.

All of a sudden, his pants felt two sizes too small, and he had to clear his throat. “I promise,” he said, and meant it. That was something to live for, if everything else failed on him. “Go on. Get to bed.”

She kissed him, ran her fingers through his hair, and left, practically staggering. He stood there watching her, not really thinking about anything until Eve smacked him on the back of the head. “You’re a good boyfriend,” she said.

“Then why did you hit me?”

“No reason,” she said, and grinned. “Spaghetti it is. You’re in charge of sauce.”

“Sauce is most of the work.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

Shane actually liked being around Eve, mostly, although she could get on his nerves; tonight, when he was anxious and trying not to show it, or think about it, she was perfect company. Her way-too-much-caffeine-powered chatter kept him concentrating just to keep up with her. He made the spaghetti sauce, which mostly involved opening a jar and dumping in more garlic, because it bugged the hell out of Michael, and the time seemed to go incredibly fast.

Michael arrived before the sauce was boiling. “Hey,” he said, around kissing Eve’s upturned lips. That took a while, and Shane grunted back a greeting that somehow managed to convey both I’m at the point of gagging and Welcome home. “Shane, the garlic thing? Getting old, man.”

“I like garlic,” Shane said. “Blame Eve—she told me to make the sauce.”

Michael just shrugged. Eve went to the fridge and got out an opaque sports bottle, which she held up. “I already ate,” Michael said. Which meant that he’d stopped by the blood bank, which was why his skin was flushed almost to a healthy normal color. The hungrier he got, the paler he got. When you could mistake him for a marble statue, it was time to run for the stakes. “I can’t stay,” he continued. “I promised I’d do a late lesson thing.”

Michael earned his living at the music store—mainly because he refused, so far, to live the way the rest of the vamps did: by taking on a human, or preferably humans, to Protect. What a joke. The only Protecting the vamps did was protecting their own interests. The humans had a choice—pay twenty percent of their earnings into the vampire’s account, or make regular donations at the blood bank. Most people chose blood, weirdly enough. Money was tougher to come by in Morganville.

Technically, Shane supposed that his Protector—and Claire’s, and Eve’s—was the Founder. So far, Amelie hadn’t asked him or Eve for anything—no money, no blood, no nothing. Maybe Claire’s hard work at the lab for Crazy Mad Bloodsucking Scientist Dude was paying all their bills. That did not make Shane feel more manly.

“Who are you teaching?” Shane asked, trying to make it sound offhand and casual. From the glance Michael shot him, he wasn’t sure he’d gotten it right.

“Raoul Garza,” Michael said. “Why?”

“Just curious. Seems like you’ve got a lot of late-night clients. You starting up some kind of undead band or something?” Not that it was a bad idea, now that Shane said it. “You got a bass player, drums, that kind of thing?”

“Not yet. I’m not sure there’s a lot of interest in that among the vamps.”

“Doesn’t have to be all vamps, though. I’m just sayin’.”

This was almost a normal conversation, Shane thought. Michael didn’t seem paranoid about it, which was good. “Yeah, that’s true,” Michael said. “I’ll think about it. Might be fun.”

“Just make sure I get my fifteen percent. It’s fifteen for agents, right?”

“Bite me.”

“Think you’ve got that backwards, man.”

Michael hugged Eve from behind as she stirred the spaghetti, and kissed the side of her neck. He might have lingered there just a little too long for Shane’s comfort, but so far, there weren’t any scars on Eve’s throat. So far. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Michael said. “You guys have fun.”