“Waiting for the house to evict me? Keep waiting,” he said. “Amelie, you really should teach your pets manners. Next thing you know, they’ll be clawing the carpet and spraying the drapes.”

She didn’t look up. “Do try to be civil,” she replied. “You’re a guest in their house. My house.” She moved a piece on the chessboard. “Be seated, all of you. I dislike having people stand.”

It had the force of royal command, and before she could think about it, Claire was sliding into one of the dining-table chairs, and Shane was settling in next to her. Eve hesitated, then took a chair as far away from Oliver as possible.

That left one empty chair, and it was next to Oliver. Michael shook his head, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned against the wall.

Amelie gave him a glance, but didn’t force the issue. “So you have met Mr. Bishop,” she said. “And he has most assuredly met you. I wish this had not happened, but since it has, we must find ways to guard you against him and his associates.” Oliver took one of her bishops and set it aside. She had no visible reaction. “Otherwise, I fear this house will be in the market for new tenants soon.”

Oliver laughed. He stopped laughing when Amelie made her next move, and concentrated on the chessboard with a fierce, blank expression.

“Who is Bishop?” Michael asked.

“Exactly who he says he is. He has no reason to lie.”

“So he’s your father?” Claire asked. There was a long silence, one not even Oliver broke; Amelie raised her cool gray eyes and focused on Claire’s face until Claire felt the urge, not just to look away, but to run.

Amelie finally said, “In a sense, at least, as you might understand such things. Both my human and immortal bloodlines flow through him. Oliver, do hurry. I feel the need to go home before the sun rises.”

The sun wasn’t anywhere close to rising, which must have been Amelie’s bone-dry idea of a joke. Oliver moved a pawn. Amelie took it effortlessly.

Michael chimed in. “Maybe the better question is, where is Mr. Bishop?”

“Gone,” Oliver said. “I packed him off in a nice limousine with a driver. He’ll be staying at one of the Founder Houses.”

“Which one?” Claire felt a sudden surge of illness, one that got worse as neither of the vampires answered. “It isn’t my parents’ house, right? Right?”

“I’d rather you not be aware of his exact location,” Amelie said, which wasn’t an answer, certainly not the right answer. She moved her white queen in a long, deliberate scrape down the chessboard. “Checkmate.”

Oliver studied the board, then studied her with equal annoyance as he tipped over his doomed black king. “We need to discuss this,” he said. “Obviously.”

“Your tragic lack of strategic skills?” Amelie’s frost-colored brows slowly rose. “I am deliberating what to do about our guests. For now, go home, Oliver. And thank you for coming.”

She said it without a trace of irony—she could dismiss him like a servant, but at least she thanked him. Oliver’s eyes went even darker, but he got up without comment and walked out into the kitchen. Claire heard the door slam behind him.

Amelie took in a deliberate breath, then let it out. She rose to her feet and nodded to Michael. “I think you’ll be safe enough here tonight,” she said. “Let no one enter, not for any reason.” A quick, almost invisible flicker of a smile. “Except for me, of course. Me, you cannot stop.”

“What about Oliver?” Shane asked.

“His invitation to enter has been revoked. He won’t be able to bother you unless you do something foolish. ” Which, from the look Amelie gave him, she considered hardly unlikely. “Bishop is my affair, not yours. Go about your business, and stay out of this. All of you.”

“Wait, my parents—”

Amelie didn’t wait. With silent grace, she left the table and walked up the stairs, and as her luminous pale figure disappeared at the top, Shane said, “Where the hell is she going? There’s no door up there.”

Claire knew. She knew all too well. “However she does it, she’s gone.” They all looked at her, even Michael. “There must be some way out. What’s she going to do, bring her pajamas and crash on the couch?”

“Do you think she has any?” Eve asked. “Because I’m betting she sleeps in the nude.”

“Eve!”

“What? Come on. Can you really see her in flannel footies? Bunny slippers?”

Michael sank into the chair Amelie had vacated, and stared at the chessboard. He slowly reset it, but Claire could tell he wasn’t really thinking about the game. “Shane,” he said. “Go make sure we’re locked up, would you?”

Shane nodded and left, heading straight for the kitchen first. Claire sat across from Michael, in the chair Oliver had occupied. “You’re worried,” she said.

“No,” Michael said, and picked up the white knight, to turn it over and over in his pale fingers. “I’m scared. If this guy’s got Amelie and Oliver nervous, we’re way out of our league. Morganville is way out of its league.”

He looked up at Eve, who didn’t respond except to press her lips tighter together. Claire heard Shane’s footsteps as he went toward the front door, checked the lock and dead bolt, and then went on to test the windows.

“We should get some rest,” Michael said. “Could be a long day tomorrow.”

As he got up, Eve’s hand grazed his, just a very light caress, and the two of them locked stares for about a half second.

“Yeah,” Eve agreed. “I should rest, too.”

Claire threw a stray magazine at her. “Get a room.”

“Paying for one already,” Eve shot back. “And I’m going to get my money’s worth, too.”

She jogged up the stairs, pausing near the top to throw a glance back down toward Michael, who had the most luminous smile on his face. He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what was going through his mind, and cleared his throat when he saw Claire watching him.

“Discreet,” Claire said. “You guys ought to hang a towel on the doorknob or something.”

“Quiet.” But Michael was smiling, and when he smiled, her heart just soared. She loved seeing him happy. He was usually so . . . focused. “If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah, you think?”

He waved and followed Eve upstairs.

Shane came back from checking all the ground-floor entry points, and dropped into the chair Michael had vacated. “Where’d they go?”

She pointed straight up.

“Oh.” He knew, all too well. “So. Want to play a game?”

“I want to call my parents,” Claire said. “Do you seriously think Amelie let Mr. Bishop stay in their house?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Call if you think it’ll help.”

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed information; her parents had a new listing, since they’d just arrived in Morganville. While she waited for an answer, Shane reached across the table and took her free hand in his, and the warm touch of his skin made her feel a little less nervous.

Until her mom answered the phone, at least. “Claire! I didn’t expect you to call so soon. Are you ready to come home?”

She froze for a second, then said, as calmly as possible, “No, Mom. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Everything all right?”

“Of course everything’s all right. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut. “No reason,” she said. “I just wanted to check in and see how you were settling in. How’s the house?”

“Well, it’s a fixer-upper, you know. Needs some wiring, and an absolute mountain of decorating, but I’m looking forward to that.”

“That’s great. And—so, you don’t have any guests or anything?”

“Guests?” Her mother laughed. “Claire, honey, we barely have sheets on our mattress right now. I’m not ready for guests!”

That, at least, was a relief. “Great. Well—Mom, I have to go. Good night.”

“Good night, sweetheart. I’m looking forward to having you home.”

Claire hung up, and Shane slipped an arm around her waist. “Hey,” he said. “They’re okay?”