Morganville’s human population wasn’t any different. Didn’t really matter if something was right, as long as it was of material benefit and it happened to someone they hated.
“You think they’ll kill them?” Claire asked.
“Don’t you?” Eve took a larger gulp of her coffee. “Screw that.
I’m not going to be a bystander, wringing my hands. I’m doing some- thing. Right now. You guys can jump in, or stay out. Either way.”
“Hang on, didn’t I say we were coming?” Claire said. “You know Shane would never avoid a good fight, and I’m not going to turn my back on this, either. But let’s be smart about it, okay? That means thinking through it. Calmly.”
“I’m so done with calm,” Eve said. She dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink, put the cup down with a clatter, and hauled the backpack up to rest on her shoulder. “Diplomacy is your crack, Claire. It isn’t mine. I’m more of a straight- ahead kind of girl, and right now, I’m going right into their faces. With my fist.”
Claire sighed. She chugged the rest of her coffee, even though it was too hot and too bitter, and rinsed the cups. The spaghetti din- ner remains were still crusted up on plates, and she dumped those all in and ran hot water with a spray of soap. Just in case they didn’t die and might need something to eat off of later.
“Let me get my stuff,” she said. “Don’t go without me.”
“Five minutes,” Eve said. “Then I’m out.”
“Promise.”
Claire took the stairs two at a time, and ran into Shane sitting at the top; he’d clearly been listening. They exchanged a look, and he grabbed her hand. “I want to help,” he said. “I do, you know that. But if I go back there . . . Shit, Claire, I don’t know what would happen. No, actually, the problem is that I do know exactly what would happen, and it wouldn’t help either one of you.”
She bent and kissed him, very lightly. “Then stay here,” she said. “But I have to go with her and try to stop her from doing something crazy. You know I do.”
“Can’t we just knock her over the head and dump her in a closet until she cools off?” His jaw was tight, his dark eyes fierce, but he wasn’t angry with her. It was all directed inward, at his own problems. “I feel crap useless right now, you know? And sick of being somebody else’s butt- puppet.”
“Seriously? Butt- puppet?”
“Seems appropriate.”
“Then fix it,” she said. “Shane, I know you. You’re smart.
Think how you can use this, not let it use you.”
He laughed a little, and it sounded raw, but real. “You’re way too good for me, you know that?”
She put his hand against her cheek and smiled. “I know. Got to go gear up—” She realized, too late, that all her gear was gone.
Even her backpack was missing now, because it had been towed away by the cops with the vans. “Um . . . right. I assume you’ve got some good stuff tucked away?”
“Me?” Shane stood up in one smooth, fluid movement, and for a moment she felt that gravitational shift again, pulling her in.
“You know me. I’m a Boy Scout. Always prepared.”
“Show me your goodies, then,” Claire said, and caught herself in a laugh. “By which I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” he said, and leaned in very close to whisper in her ear. “Though if you’ve got a few minutes—”
She shivered, tempted in some utterly instinct- driven part of her, but she shook her head. “Later,” she said, just as softly. “Why are we whispering?”
“Because it turns you on?”
“Oh, and it doesn’t you? Because that’s a little obvious.”
He cleared his throat and stepped back, held his hands palm out in surrender, and said, in a normal tone of voice, “Okay, then, armory it is. Buzz killer.”
She smacked him on the arm, which of course did absolutely nothing except hurt her own palm, and followed him down the hallway to his room.
“Wow,” she said as he swung the door open. “I thought you moved out when you followed me.”