Claire looked down at herself. She was honestly surprised to realize that she was still wearing the tight, garish bodysuit of her Harlequin costume. "Oh, yes." She sighed. "Got anything without, you know, skulls?"
"What's wrong with skulls? And that would be a no, by the way." Eve dumped the armload of clothing on the floor and rooted through it, pulling out a plain black shirt and a pair of blue jeans. "The jeans are yours. Sorry, but I sort of raided every body's stash. Hope you like the underwear you have on; I didn't go through your drawers."
"Afraid it might get you all turned on?" Shane asked from over her shoulder. "Please say yes." He grabbed a pair of his own jeans from the pile. "And please stay out of my closet."
Eve gave him the finger. "If you're worried about me finding your p**n stash, old news, man. Also, you have really boring taste." She grabbed a blanket from the couch and nodded toward the corner. "No privacy anywhere in this house tonight. Go on, we'll fix up a changing room."
The three of them edged past the people and vampires who packed the Glass House. It had become the unofficial campaign center for their side of the war, which meant there were plenty of people tramping around, getting in their stuff, who none of them would have let cross the threshold under normal circumstances.
Take Monica Morrell. The mayor's daughter had shed her elaborate Marie Antoinette costume and was back to the blond, slinky, pretty, slimy girl Claire knew and hated.
"Oh my God." Claire gritted her teeth. "Is she wearing my blouse?" It was her only good one. Silk. She'd just bought it last week. Now she'd never be able to put it on again. "Remind me to burn that later." Monica saw her staring, fingered the collar of the shirt, and gave her an evil smile. She mouthed, Thanks. "Remind me to burn it twice. And stomp on the ashes."
Eve grabbed Claire by the arm and hustled her into the empty corner of the room, where she shook out the blanket and held it at arm's length to provide a temporary shelter.
Claire peeled off her sweatsoaked Harlequin costume with a whimper of relief, and shivered as the cool air hit her flushed skin. She felt awkward and anxious, stripped to her underwear with just a blanket held up between her and a dozen strangers, some of whom probably wanted to eat her.
Shane leaned over the top. "You done?"
She squealed and threw the waddedup costume at him. He caught it and waggled his eyebrows at her as she stepped into the jeans and quickly buttoned up the shirt.
"Done!" she called.
Eve dropped the blanket and smiled poisonsweet at Shane.
"Your turn, leather boy," she said. "Don't worry. I won't accidentally embarrass you."
No, she'd embarrass him completely on purpose, and Shane knew it, from the glare he threw her. He ducked behind the blanket. Claire wasn't tall enough to check him out over the top--not that she wasn't tempted--but when Eve lowered the blanket, bit by bit, Claire grabbed one corner and pulled it back up.
"You're no fun," Eve said.
"Don't mess with him. Not now. He's going out there alone."
Eve's face went still and tight, and for the first time, Claire realized that the shine in her eyes wasn't really humor. It was a tightly controlled kind of panic. "Yeah," she said. "I know. It's just--we're all splitting up, Claire. I wish we didn't have to do that."
On impulse, Claire hugged her. Eve smelled of powder and some kind of darkly floral perfume, with a light undertone of sweat.
"Hey!" Shane's wounded yell was enough to make them both giggle. The blanket had drooped enough to show him zipping up his pants. Fast. "Seriously, girls, not cool. A guy could do serious damage."
He looked more like Shane now. The leather pants had made him unsettlingly hotmodel gorgeous. In jeans and his old, faded Marilyn Manson Tshirt, he was somebody downtoearth, somebody Claire could imagine kissing.
And she did imagine, just like that. It was, as usual, heartracingly delicious.
"Michael's going out, too," Eve said, and now the tension she'd been hiding made her voice tremble. "I have to tell him--"
"Go on," Claire said. "We're right behind you."
Eve dropped the blanket and pushed through the crowd, heading for her boyfriend, and the unofficial head of their strange and screwedup fraternity.
It was easy to spot Michael in any group--he was tall and blond, with a face like an angel. As he caught sight of Eve heading toward him, he smiled, and Claire thought that was maybe the most complicated smile she'd ever seen, full of relief, welcome, love, and worry.
Eve crashed straight into him, hard enough to rock him back on his heels, and their arms went around each other.
Shane held Claire back with a touch on her shoulder. "Give them a minute," he said. "They've got things to say." She turned to look at him. "And so do we."
She swallowed hard and nodded. Shane's hands were on her shoulders, and his eyes had gone still and intense.
"Don't go out there," Shane said.