such beautiful manners," her mother said, locking the back door. "I'm glad you work for someone so--civilized." The scar on Claire's neck throbbed a little. She thought of all the times she'd seen Myrnin go off the rails--the times he'd curled up weeping in a corner; the times he'd threatened her; the times he'd raved like a lunatic for hours on end; the times he'd begged her to put him out of his misery. The time he'd actually given her samples of his own brain--in a Tupperware container. "Civilized," she repeated softly. "Yeah. He's great." He was; that was the awful thing. He was great until he was horrible. Kind of like the world in general. Claire slit open the envelope with a kitchen knife, slipped out the heavy folded paper inside, and read the beautiful, looped handwriting--Amelie's, without a doubt. In accordance with recent requests, I hereby am providing you with passes to exit and return to Morganville. You must present these to the checkpoints at the edge of town. Please provide them to your party and give them the same instructions. There are no exceptions to this rule. Coordinate with Oliver to arrange your exit time. Claire's breath left her in a rush. Morley's passes! Perfect timing, too; she didn't know how much longer any of them could keep Morley and his people from losing patience, and coming to take it out in blood. They wanted out of Morganville. She could give it to them. She realized immediately, however, as she took the passes out of the envelope, that there weren't nearly enough. Morley's people would need about thirty passes in total. Instead, there were only four in the envelope. The names read Michael Glass, Eve Rosser, Shane Collins, and Claire Danvers. What the hell was going on? Claire pulled out her cell phone and hit SPEED DIAL. It rang, and rang, but there was no answer. She hung up and tried another number. "Oliver," said the voice on the other end. "Um, hi, it's Claire? Is--is Amelie there with you?"
"No."
"Wait, wait, don't hang up! You're on the town council--I just got a letter that has some passes in it, but it's not enough for--"
"We turned down Morley's request for emigration out of Morganville," Oliver said. He had a low, even tone to his voice, but Claire felt herself go cold anyway. "He has a philosophy that is too dangerous to those of us who wish to remain ... What's the phrase? Under the radar."
"But--we made a deal. Me, Shane, Eve, and Michael. We said we'd get them passes."
"I'm aware of your deal. What is your question?"
"It's just--Morley said he'd kill us. If we didn't get the passes for him. We told you that." Oliver was silent for a long second, then said, "What part of I'm aware did you not comprehend, Claire? You and your friends have passes out of Morganville. As it happens, Michael requested leave to travel to Dallas for his recording and concert session. We've decided to allow that, under the condition that all of you travel together. With escort."
"Escort?" Claire asked. "You mean, like police?" She was thinking of Sheriff Hannah Moses, who would be good company in addition to a bad-ass bodyguard; she'd liked Hannah from the moment she'd met her, and she thought Hannah liked her, too, as much as a tough ex- soldier could like a skinny, geeky girl half her age. "No," Oliver said, "I don't mean police." And he hung up. Claire stared at the screen for a moment, then folded the phone closed and slipped it back in her pocket. She looked down at the passes, the envelope, the letter. Amelie had decided to really piss off Morley, but at least she'd also decided to get Claire and her friends out of town. With an escort. Somehow, Claire knew it wouldn't be as simple as just picking a responsible adult to go with them. "Go get your father," her mom said, and began setting dishes on the table. "He's upstairs on the computer. Tell him dinner's ready." Claire gathered up everything and put it in her backpack before heading upstairs. Another wave of same-but-not-quite washed over her; her mother and father had reserved the same room for her here that she had over in the Glass House, though the two were nothing alike. Home--in name, anyway--had her frilly white bed and furniture, stuff she'd gotten when she was ten. Pink curtains. Her room at the Glass House