Oh my God. Oh my God, I want to go home! She wasn’t sure if that meant back to Michael’s house, or all the way home, back in her room with her parents watching over her.

I can’t quit. She really couldn’t. She never in her life had been able to, even when it might have been the smart thing to do.

She wiped her swollen eyes and went to class.

Nobody killed her that afternoon.

After the first couple of hours, she quit expecting it to happen, and focused on class. Her back-to-back labs weren’t too much of a disaster, and she actually knew the answers in history. Bet Monica wouldn’t, she thought, and looked guiltily around the classroom to see if Monica was there, or one of her crew. It wasn’t a big class. She didn’t see anybody who’d been in the basement.

She made it to the grocery store after class without getting killed, too. Nobody jumped her while she was picking out lettuce and tomatoes, or while she was in line for checkout. She thought the guy at the meat counter had looked suspicious, though.

She walked back to the Glass House, watching for vampires in the fading afternoon and feeling pretty stupid for even thinking about it. She didn’t see anybody except other college students, strolling along with bulging backpacks. Most of them traveled in bunches. Once she got past the area that catered to students, the stores were closed, lights off, and what few people were walking were hurrying.

At the corner of Gone with the Wind and The Munsters, the front gate was open. She closed it behind her, unlocked the door with the shiny new key that she’d found on her dresser that morning, and slammed the door behind her.

There was a shadow standing at the end of the hallway. A tall, broad shadow in a grungy yellow T-shirt and low-slung, faded jeans frayed at the bottom. A shadow in bare feet.

Shane.

He just looked at her for a few seconds, then said, “Eve put your crap up in your room.”

“Thanks.”

“What’s that?”

“Stuff for dinner.”

He cocked his head slightly, still staring at her. “For a smart girl, you do some stupid things. You know that?”

“I know.” She walked toward him. He didn’t move.

“Eve says you never saw Monica.”

“That’s what I said.”

“You know what? I’m not buying it.”

“You know what?” she shot back. “I don’t care. Excuse me.” She ducked past him, into the kitchen, and set her bags down. Her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists and started setting out things on the counter. Ground beef. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Onions. Refried beans. Hot sauce, the kind she liked, anyway. Cheese. Sour cream. Taco shells.

“Let me guess,” Shane said from the doorway. “You’re making Chinese.”