That was ominous, and Claire’s sense of disquiet grew stron- ger. “Shane, don’t—”
He was already up from the table, with his plate and fork in his hand. It wasn’t like him not to finish a meal, but there was still a small twisty mountain of spaghetti left when he carried it into the kitchen.
Eve pushed her food around some more and said, “Claire, we’re in trouble. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” Claire said. “Eat your spaghetti.”
Eve obediently lifted a forkful to her mouth, chewed, and swal- lowed, then said, “You know I love you, but trust me, one thing your fancy Boston trip didn’t teach that boy? How to make decent spaghetti sauce.”
Eve’s critiquing the food was, for some odd reason, funny, and Claire’s breath hiccuped into a laugh that just kept going. And Eve started laughing, too. Shane slammed back through the kitchen doors and glared at them, which only made them keep helplessly, hopelessly giggling at the look on his face. “Sorry,” Claire gasped.
“It’s not funny.”
“I know! But— the food— was—”
“Pretty bad.” Shane’s body language relaxed, just a little.
“Yeah, I forgot the art of combining crappy ingredients into an awesome whole while I was off in Fancytown, didn’t I?”
“Fancytown? You saw where I lived!” Her giggles finally drib- bled away, but at least she was left with a happier afterglow than before. Eve managed another bite, for solidarity, probably.
“Good point.” He sat down and leaned his elbows on the empty spot where his plate had been. “You guys need to keep a leash on me, okay? I don’t think I can trust myself right now.”
“An actual leash? Because I have one,” Eve said. “It has spikes on the collar and everything.”
“Been there,” he said. “Remember?” And with a shock Claire did remember; it seemed like a long time ago now, but a wicked awful female vampire had once led him around on a leash at a party, and the memory of it still turned her stomach. And his. And Eve’s, apparently, because she dropped her fork onto the plate, shoved the whole thing away, and rested her forehead on her palms.
“Sorry,” she sighed. “Mine’s more for recreational purposes anyway. I don’t think it would do much to hold you back.”
“Recreational— okay, freak, I don’t even want to know that,”
Shane said. “Let’s pretend that never happened. What I meant was, I’m counting on the two of you to check me if I’m heading for the cliff.”
“Roger that,” Eve said. “I’ll T- bone your ass right off that course.”
“Try not to break anything while you’re at it.”
“Like a nail?” She inspected her black- painted nails, which were looking a little ragged— not a lot of manicure time recently.
“I see your point.” Then she folded her hands and looked at him, with all the banter put aside. “What are we doing, then? Going to see Hannah, or not?”
“Going,” Claire said. “But, Shane, you’re not doing the talking.
I am. Clear?”
“Clear,” he said and nodded. “One request.”
“What?”
“Can we stop for a burger? Because, seriously, I am starving.”
Everything in Morganville, even the burger places, either had been given a face- lift or was in the process of getting one, and as Eve piloted her big black vintage hearse around the town, they spent a lot of time slowing down, gawking, and shaking their heads. “Wish I’d invested in the hardware store now,” Shane said. “I’d be rolling in money just from paint sales.” He was right about that. Almost every building had a gleaming new coat already or had people on ladders applying one. The few buildings that didn’t had bright, fluttering orange stickers applied to them— either a sign that their paint jobs were on the way or that they were being fined for not having one.
“It’s worse than that,” Eve said, and pointed straight ahead.
“Check out Dog King.”
The Dog King was a relic from the 1950s, complete with vin- tage sign— a little drive- through hot dog and burger joint that had, at its best, looked sketchy, except for its totally awesome sign of a dachshund wearing a crown, a hot dog bun, and a cocky grin.