The weight of the day crashed in on her as she unlocked the front door, and all she wanted to do was crawl onto the sofa in the living room and go to sleep, but she smelled like dirt, old bones, and other things she didn't really want to think about. Shower. Mom and Dad were in bed, she guessed; their door was shut at the top of the stairs. She tiptoed past it to the far end of the hall, dumped her backpack on the bed, and pulled an old thin cotton nightgown from a drawer before heading to the bathroom.
Dejà vu struck her as she locked the door and turned on the water. Mom and Dad's Founder House was the same layout as the Glass House - which still felt more like home, even though she'd been in both houses for about the same amount of time. Even the countertops and flooring were the same. Only the Mom-approved shower curtain and bath towels were different. I want to go back. Claire sat down on the toilet seat and let the sadness well up inside. I want to go back to my friends. I want to see Shane. I want all this to stop.
Not that any genie was going to pop in and grant her wishes, unfortunately. And crying didn't make anything easier, in the end.
After the long, hot shower, she felt a little better - cleaner, anyway, and pleasantly tired. Claire used the dryer on her hair until it was a tousled mop - it was getting longer now, and brushed her shoulders when she combed it out. Her eyes looked a little haunted. She needed sleep, and about a month with nobody trying to kill her. After that, she could deal with all the chaos again. Probably.
She touched the delicate cross Shane had given her, and thought about him trapped in a cage halfway across town. Amelie had made her a promise, but it had been significantly light on specifics and timing; she also hadn't really promised to set Shane free, only to keep him from being executed.
Claire was still thinking about that when she turned on the lights in her bedroom and found Michael sitting on the bed.
"Hey!" she blurted, and grabbed a fluffy pink robe from the back of her door to cover herself up, suddenly aware of just how thin her nightgown really was. "What are you doing?" After the first surge of embarrassment, though, she felt an equally strong wave of delight. She hadn't seen Michael - not on his own, away from Bishop - since that horrible day when everything had gone so wrong for all of them.
As she struggled into her robe, he stood up, holding out both hands in a very Michael-ish sort of attempt at calming her down. "Wait! I'm not who you think I am. I'm not here to hurt you, Claire. Please believe me - "
Oh. He thought she still believed he was Bishop's little pet. "Yeah, you're working for Amelie, not evil anymore, I get it. That doesn't mean you can show up without warning when I'm in my nightgown!"
Michael gave her a smile of utter relief and lowered his hands. He looked a million miles tall to her just then, and when he opened his arms, she just about flew into his embrace. She came nearly up to his chin. He was a vampire, so there was no sense of warmth from his body, but there was comfort, real and strong. Michael was his own person. Always.
There was genuine love in him. She could feel it.
"Hey, kid," he said, and hugged her with care, well aware of his strength. "You doing okay?"
"I'm okay, and man, I wish everybody would stop asking me," she said, and pulled back to look at him. "What are you doing here?"
Michael's face took on hard lines, and he sat down on the bed again. Claire climbed up next to him, feeling her happiness bleed away. She picked up a pillow and hugged it absently. She needed something to hold.
"Bishop sent me out to run one of his errands," he said. "He still thinks I'm one of his good little soldiers. At least, I hope he does. This is probably his idea of a test."
"Sent you out to do what?"
"You don't want to know." Clearly, something that Michael hated. His blue eyes were shadowed, and he didn't seem to want to look at her directly."Things are getting too dangerous for you to be in the middle of this. Promise me you won't come back to Bishop. Not even if he uses that tattoo to call for you. Just stay away from him. Handcuff yourself to a railing if you have to, but don't go back."
"But - "
"Claire." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Trust me. Please. You have to stay here. Stay safe."
She nodded mutely, suddenly more afraid than she'd been all night. "You know something. You heard something."
"It's not that simple," Michael said. "It's more of a feeling. Bishop's getting bored, and when he gets bored with something . . . he breaks it."
"You mean me?"
"I mean Morganville," he said. "I mean everything. Everybody. You're just an easy, obvious target."
Claire swallowed hard. "But you . . . you're okay, right?"
"Yeah." He sighed and ran a hand through his curling blond hair. "I'd better be. Not much of a choice anymore. Don't worry about me - if I need to get out, I will. I'm just trying to stay with it as long as I can."
Claire hated the sadness in him, and the anger, and she wished she could say something to make him feel better. Anything.
Wait - there was something. "I saw Eve."
That got an immediate response from him - his head jerked up, and his blue eyes widened. "How is she?" There was so much emotion behind the question it made Claire shiver.
"She's good," Claire said, which wasn't exactly true. "She's, uh, kind of pissed, actually. I had to tell her. About you being not really evil."
Michael sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "I'm not sure that was a good idea."