“That was the police,” Eve said. “Told you. They run the town. These guys work for the vamps—they’re not vamps themselves, but they’re scary enough without the fangs. Look, can you call your parents? Get them to pull you out of school and take you home or something?”

Sure. That would be the easiest thing in the world, only it would mean failure, and they’d never believe a word of this stuff, ever, and if she tried to explain it, she’d end up drugged and in therapy for the rest of her life. And any chance—any chance—of making it to Yale or MIT or Caltech would be blown completely. She supposed it was kind of dumb to be thinking of it that way, but those things were real to her.

Vampires? Not so much.

“But—I haven’t done anything!” she said, and looked from Shane to Eve, and back again. “How can they be after me if I didn’t do anything?”

“Life ain’t fair,” Shane said, with all the certainty of two more years of experience at it. “You must have pissed off the wrong people, is all I know. What’s the girl’s name? The one who smacked you around?”

“M-Monica.”

They both stared at her.

“Oh, crap,” Eve said, horrified. “Monica Morrell?”

Shane’s face went…blank. Completely blank, except for his eyes, and there was something pretty scary going on behind them. “Monica,” he repeated. “How come nobody told me?”

Eve was watching him, biting her lip. “Sorry, Shane. We would have—I swear, I thought she left town. Went off to college somewhere else.”

Shane shook it off, whatever it was, and shrugged, trying to look like he didn’t care. It was obvious to Claire that he did, though. “She probably couldn’t stand not being the queen bee, and had to come begging back to Daddy to buy her some grades.”

“Shane—”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“She probably doesn’t even remember you,” Eve blurted, and then looked as if she wished she hadn’t said it. “I—that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry.”

He laughed, and it sounded wrong and a little bit shaky. There was a short, odd silence, and then Eve changed the subject by resolutely picking up her plate of cooling bacon and eggs.

And then went still and round-eyed. “Oh, shit,” she said, and then covered her mouth.

“What?”

She pointed at the plates on the counter. Shane’s, hers…and Claire’s. “Three plates. He knew something was up. We told him Michael wasn’t around. No wonder he kept poking.”

Shane said nothing, but Claire could see he was—if possible—even more upset. He didn’t show it much, but he picked up his plate and walked away, out into the living room, then up the steps two at a time.

His upstairs door slammed.