“It’s old. And it has a kind of—” He shrugged. “A kind of power. I don’t know what it is, exactly. When my parents traded up to this house, they only lived here for a couple of months, then moved away to New York. Didn’t like the vibes. I liked it fine. I think it liked me, too. But anyway, I can’t leave it. I’ve tried.”

“Even during the day? When you’re not, you know, here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Can’t go out any door, window, or crack. I’m trapped here.”

He looked oddly relieved to be telling her. If he hadn’t told Shane or Eve, he probably hadn’t told anybody. That felt odd, being the keeper of that secret, because it was a big one. Attacked by a vampire, left for dead, turned into a ghost, trapped in the house? How many secrets was that, anyway?

Something occurred to her. “You said—the vampire, did he…drink your blood?”

Michael nodded. He didn’t meet her eyes.

“And—you died?”

Another silent nod.

“What happened to your—you know—body?”

“I’m still kind of using it.” He gestured at himself. Claire, unable to stop herself, reached out and touched him. He felt real and warm and alive. “I don’t know how it works, Claire, I really don’t. Except I do think it’s the house, not me.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you drink blood?”

He looked up this time, surprised, lips parted. “No. Of course I don’t. I told you, he couldn’t—make me what he was.”

“You’re sure.”

“I eat Shane’s garlic chili. Does that sound like a vampire to you?”

She shrugged thoughtfully. “Until today, I thought I knew what a vampire was, all capes and fake Romanian accents and stuff. What about crosses? Do crosses work?”

“Sometimes. Don’t rely on them, though. The older ones aren’t stopped by things like that.”

“How about Brandon?” Since he was her main concern right now.