"Hey, Hannah, it's Claire. You know, Claire Danvers?"
Hannah laughed. She was one of the few people Claire had ever met in Morganville who wasn't afraid to really laugh like she meant it. "I know who you are, Claire. How are you?"
"Fine." That was stretching the truth, Claire supposed, but not according to the standards of Morganville, maybe. "How does it feel to be in charge?"
"I'd like to say good, but you know." Claire could almost hear the shrug in the older woman's voice. "Sometimes being a know-nothing spear carrier's comforting. Don't have to know about how the war's going, just the battle in front of you." Hannah was, in real-world terms, a soldier - she'd just come back from Afghanistan a few months ago, and she was as badass a fighter as Claire could even imagine, outside of ninja TV stars. She might not do the fancy high kicks and midair spins, but she could get the job done in a real fight.
Even against vampires.
Hannah finally said, "I'm guessing you didn't call just because you missed me."
"Oh. No . . . I just . . . Did you know Richard Morrell is missing?"
"All over it," Hannah said, without a change at all in her tone. "Nothing to be concerned about. Let me guess, Monica put you onto it. I already told her it's handled."
"I don't think she believes you."
On the other end of the phone, Hannah was probably grinning. "No shit? Well, she's bad; she's not stupid. But her brother's safe enough. Don't worry. Richard can take care of himself, always has."
"Is something going on? Something I should know about?" Hannah said nothing, and Claire felt a hot prickle of shame. "Right. I forgot. I'm wearing the wrong team jersey, right?"
"Not your fault," Hannah said. "You were drafted; you didn't join up. But I can't talk strategy with you, Claire. You know that."
"I know." Claire sighed. "I wish . . . you know."
"I really do. You go home, and stay there. Understand?"
"On my way," Claire promised, and hung up.
On the other side of the street, college-adjacent businesses were starting to close up shop, even though it was still early. Nobody liked to be caught outside as night approached; it was unsafe during the day, but it was a hell of a lot worse at twilight, and after.
Claire slowed as she passed Common Grounds. The security shutters were still down, the door was closed, but there was something . . . something . . .
She crossed the street, not really sure why she did, and stood there for a few seconds, staring like an idiot at the locked door.
Then she heard the distinct, metallic sound of a dead bolt snapping back, and in slow motion, the door sagged open just a bare inch. Nothing showed but darkness.
I am not going to say, "Hello, is anyone there," like some stupid, too-dumb-to-live chick in a movie, Claire thought. Also, I am not going in there.
I'm really not.
The door opened another inch. More darkness. "You've got to be kidding," Claire said. "How stupid do you really think I am?"
This time, the gap opened to about a foot. Standing well back from any hint of sunlight was someone she knew: Theo Goldman, vampire and doctor.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I couldn't come to you. Will you do me the honor . . . ?"
There were a lot of vampires in Morganville who scared Claire, but Theo wasn't one of them. In fact, she liked him. She didn't blame him for trying to save his family, which included both humans and vampires. He'd done what he had to do, and she knew it hadn't been for any bad motives.
Claire stepped inside. Theo shut the door and locked it securely after her. "This way," he said. "We keep all the lights off in the front, of course. Here, allow me, my dear. I know you won't be able to see your way."
His strong, cool hand closed around her upper arm in a firm, but not harsh grip, and he guided her through blind darkness, zigzagging around (she assumed) tables and chairs. When he let go, she heard a door close behind them, and Theo said, "Shield your eyes. Lights coming on."
She closed her eyes, and a flare of brightness reddened the inside of her lids. When she looked, Theo was stepping away from the light switch and moving toward the group of people sitting at the far end of the room. His dark-haired wife rose from her chair, smiling; except for her generally pale skin, she didn't look much like a vampire, really. Theo's kids and grandkids - some physically older than Claire, some younger - sat in a group playing cards. In the dark, because all the ones playing were vampires. The humans weren't here at all.
"Claire," Patience Goldman said, and extended her hand. "Thank you for coming inside."
"Um . . . no problem," she said. "Is everything okay?" It hadn't been for a while. Bishop had been thinking of killing all the Goldmans, or making them leave Morganville. Something about their being Jews. Claire didn't really understand all the dynamics of it, but she knew it was an old anger, and a very old feud.