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but let's face it: we can all be tools. It's in our DNA. Yeah, even yours, Michael." She punched his arm. He pretended to feel it. "So. Next step. We go home, get a good night's rest, hope Shane slinks back with his tail between his legs and realizes what a douche he's been. Right?"

"That's the plan," Michael said. He didn't sound optimistic. "Give him some time. But one way or another, tomorrow we go to Amelie and tell her everything we know. Including about Shane."

Claire raised her chin and stared at the back of his curly blond head, because that hadn't sounded quite right, either. Not the words; the tone. Something just a shade off. "Michael? You're not going to run off and do anything dumbtonight , are you?"

"Last time I checked, I wasn't the one running full speed in the dark in Vampireville."

That checked her for long enough until they pulled up at the curb at their house on Lot Street, and by the time Eve and Michael were out of the car, Claire had forgotten the original question.

It was only later, when she woke up in the middle of the night, wondering if she'd heard Shane's door open and close, that she realized that Michael hadn't actually answered her at all.

Chapter Twelve

TWELVE

Claire got up early, mostly because she just couldn't sleep, and checked Shane's room. Empty, and just as messy as it had been the last time she'd seen it. The pillow was even in the exact same position, half off the bed, with the sheets twisted over the side next to it. She noticed things like where his head had been the last time he'd slept there. She walked over, like a sleepwalker, and in the gray predawn

light put her hand in the hollow where his hair had been pressed not so long ago. It was cold, of course.

She picked up the pillow and hugged it, burying her face in it, and the smell of him flooded into her, overwhelmed her, and she sank down on the narrow bed and just...collapsed. Her eyelids felt raw from lack of sleep and crying, and she felt empty. Exhausted. When her eyes were closed, all she could see was that cold, set expression on Shane's face as he'd punched that vampire over and over. It wasn't the same Shane who'd been here with her, who'd been right here in this bed, holding her, who'd critiqued new songs with her until she'd lost her breath laughing, and tickled her and kissed her and whispered how much he loved her. That Shane wasn't here, and she didn't know if he was anywhere or if he was coming back.

No. He's coming back. I'm going to get him back.

Somehow.

She wasn't thinking of anything specific, nothing on the order of a plan, but all of a sudden she had a vision of the Web site. Immortal Battles.Someone knew something, and it wasn't just Vassily and Bishop and Gloriana. Vampires weren't generally computer savvy. A few, maybe, but it was much more likely that a human was doing their Web work for them.

Maybe even someone inside Morganville, since they'd specially coded it to be invisible to Morganville's monitoring sensors.

She sat straight up in Shane's cold bed, pillow still held in her arms, and stared at the mirror on the wall. She looked awful--dark circles around her eyes, hair a mess, skin sallow. But shefelt better.

Because she had a good idea of what to do next.

Was it safe? No, definitely not. But waiting to see if Shane might change his mind was worse than torture. It was like being eaten an atom at a time.

Claire raced back to her room, grabbed clothes, showered in record time, tied her shoulder-length hair back in a sloppy knot, and was down the stairs and out the back door without even stopping for coffee, although she did take her book bag, mainly because it contained her wallet and some potentially useful vampire-repelling equipment.

Because she was going to see the wizard. Not Myrnin...thereal wizard.

"Excuse me?" Amelie said. "You barge in on me without an appointment,in my office , and you expect me to grant your request without an adequate explanation? Not like you, Claire. Not like you at all."

Amelie, regardless of the hour, looked cool and fresh and unnaturally beautiful. She was wearing pale blue today, in a straight, subdued style, although she'd condescended to put on pants. She even had on pearls. At six in the morning.

Claire stood, because