"I'm saying that your brother is a junkie and one sick dude even if he's feeling sentimental right now. That's probably not really his fault, but he's trouble, and now we sat down with him and he apologized and it's all done, okay? He's not coming back. He's not family. Not in this house."
"But--" When Claire had first met Michael Glass, he'd been cold and kind of harsh to her, and now that Michael came out again. At Eve. "Eve, we're not going to argue about it," Michael said flatly, and he looked like an angry, angry angel, the smiting kind. "House rules. You don't bring that kind of trouble in the door."
"Oh, please, Michael, don't even think about pulling that crap. If that's the rule, are you throwing Claire out now? Because I'm betting she is the most trouble that ever walked in here on two feet. You and Shane drag your own hassles in all the time. But I don't get to have my own brother over for dinner?" Eve's voice was shaking, she was so angry now, and she was trying not to cry, but Claire could see the tears welling up in her dark eyes. "Come on! You're not my dad!"
"No, I'm your landlord," he said. "Bringing Jason in here puts everybody at risk. He's going to go back to the dark side on us, if he ever left in the first place. I'm just trying to keep things sane around here."
"Then try talking to me instead of just ordering me around!" Eve shoved dishes off onto the floor, spilling the remains of tacos everywhere, and dashed for the stairs. Michael got there first, easily; he moved in a blur, vampire speed, and blocked her access. Eve came to a skidding halt, pale even underneath her rice-powder makeup. "So you're proving your point by going all vamp on me?" she said. "Even if Jason was still here, you'd be the most dangerous thing in the room and you know it!"
"I know," Michael said. "Eve. What do you want? I'm trying, okay? I sat down with Jason. I'm just saying once was enough. Why am I the bad guy?" Shane muttered, loud enough for only Claire to hear, "Good question, bro." She hissed at him to be quiet. This was private, and she was feeling bad for both Eve and Michael, having witnesses to all this. It was bad enough to be fighting and worse to have Shane making snarky comments from the sidelines. "I don't know, Michael. Why are you the bad guy?" Eve shot back. "Maybe because you're acting as if you own the world!"
"You're being a brat."
"A what?"
"You're going to dump crap all over the floor and walk away? What else do you call it?" Eve looked so shocked, it was as if he'd hit her. Claire winced in sympathy. "It's okay; we'll do it," Claire said, and started picking up plates and piling them up. "It's not a big deal." Shane was still staring at their friends as if they were some kind of sideshow exhibit; she kicked him in the shin and shoved plates at him. "Kitchen," she said. "Go." He raised his eyebrows, but he went. She began cleaning up the mess on the floor. In Shane's absence, it felt as if things changed, as if the balance shifted again. Claire kept herself small, quiet, and invisible as she worked at scraping up the spilled food into a pile with napkins. "Eve," Michael said. He wasn't angry anymore, Claire realized. His voice had gone soft and quiet. She glanced up and saw that Eve was silently crying now, tears dragging dirty trails of mascara down her cheeks, but she didn't look away from him. "Eve, what is it? This isn't about Jason. What?" She threw herself into him, wrapping her arms around him. Even with vampire reflexes, Michael was surprised enough to rock backward, but he recovered in just a second, holding her, stroking her back with one hand. Eve put her head down on his shoulder and cried like a lost little girl. "I don't want to lose you," she finally snuffled. "God, I really don't. Please. Please don't go."
"Go?" Michael sounded honestly baffled. "What? Where would I go?"
"Anywhere. With anyone. Don't--I love you, Michael. I really do." He sighed and held her even more tightly. "I'm not going anywhere with anyone else," he said. "I swear. And I love you, too. Okay?"
"You mean it?"
"Yeah, I mean it." He seemed almost surprised and let out a slow breath as he hugged her tighter. "I mean it, Eve. I always have, even when you didn't believe it." Eve dabbed at her running mascara, hiccuping little breaths, and then looked past Michael to Claire, who was getting all the mess put onto one plate for disposal. Eve looked stricken. "Oh God," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean--Here, let me. I'll get it." And she pulled free of Michael and got down on her hands and knees to clean up the rest. And Michael got down there with her. Claire backed through the kitchen door with a load of stuff, and as it swung closed, she saw Michael lean over and kiss Eve. It looked sweet and hot and absolutely real. "Well?" Shane asked. "World War Fifteen over out there, or what?"
"I think so," she said, and hip-bumped him out of the way at the sink to dump her armload of plates. "You're washing, right?"
"I'll play you for it."
"What?"
"Best high score wins?" That was the same basic thing as doing it herself now and saving herself the humiliation, Claire thought. "No bet," she said. "Wash, dish boy." He flicked suds at her. She shrieked and laughed and flipped more at him. They splashed water. It felt ... breathlessly good, when Shane finally captured her in his soapy hands, pulled her close to his wet T-shirt, and kissed her. "And that's World War Sixteen," he said. "Officially over."
"I'm still not playing Dead Rising with you."
"You're no fun." She kissed him, long and sweet and slow, and whispered, "You sure?"
"Well, I'm certainly changing my mind," Shane said, straight-faced, at least until he licked his lips. His pupils were large and dark and completely fixed on hers, and she felt as if gravity had reversed, as if she could fall up into his eyes and just keep on going. "Dishes," he reminded her. "Me dish boy. And I can't believe I just said that, because that was lame." She kissed him again, lightly this time. "That's for later," she said. "By the way? You look really hot with suds all over you." The kitchen door opened, and Eve walked in, dumped a plateful of trash in the can, and practically danced her way over to the sink. She still had smeared mascara, and her tears weren't even dry, but she was smiling, and there was a dreamy, distant look in her eyes. "Hey," Shane said. "How about you? Want to play Dead Rising?"
"Sure," Eve said. "Fine. Absolutely." She wandered out. Shane blinked. "That was not what I expected."
"She's floating," Claire said. "What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing. But she didn't even insult me. That's just wrong. It disturbs me."
"I'm taking advantage of all this calm," Claire said. "Study time."
"Bring it downstairs," Shane said. "I need a cheering section, because she is going to suck at zombie killing tonight. Just way too happy." Claire laughed, but she dashed upstairs and grabbed her book bag, which promptly ripped right down the seam, spilling about twenty pounds' worth of texts, supplies, and junk all over the wooden floor. "Great," she said with a sigh. "Just great." She gathered up what she needed in an untidy armload and headed back downstairs. She was halfway down the stairs when someone knocked at the front door. They all stopped what they were doing--Michael, in the act of picking up his guitar; Shane and Eve, taking seats on the couch with game controllers. "Expecting anybody else?" Shane asked Eve. "Is your distant cousin Jack the Ripper dropping in for coffee?"
"Screw you, Collins."
"Finally, the world is back to normal. Still not up to the usual Rosser Olympic-level insult standards, there, sunshine. Never mind. I'll get it." Michael didn't say anything, but he put down the guitar and followed Shane to the end of the hall, watching. Claire descended the rest of the steps quickly, trying to keep her pile of stuff from tottering over, and dumped it on the dining table before hurrying over to Michael's side. Shane checked the peephole, stepped back, and said, "Uh oh."
"What?"
"Trouble?" Michael crossed the distance in a flash, looked out, and bared his teeth--all his teeth, including the vampiry ones, which didn't exactly bode well. Claire sucked in a deep breath. Damn stupid book bag, picking a bad time to break; usually, she'd have brought all the stuff down, but she'd left her antivamp supplies upstairs in the ruined bag's pocket. "It's Morley," Michael said. "I'd better go out and talk to him. Shane, stay here with them."
"Word of advice--stop telling me to stay with the girls," Shane said, "or I will seriously bust you in the mouth one of these days. Seriously. I could break one of those shiny fangs."