"Yeah," Shane muttered, stepped back, and scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Whatever. You started it." He looked around and focused on Claire. "You. You were supposed to be home already."

Crap. She'd hoped they'd forget all about her late arrival, in the explosion of Shane's freakout. But of course, he'd try to find a way to shift attention away, and there she was, a sitting duck.

"Right," Eve said. "Guess you forgot the number to call and tell us you weren't dead in a ditch."

"I'm fine," Claire said.

"Amy wasn't. She was murdered and stuffed in our trash can, so excuse me if I got a little bit worried that you might be dead." Eve crossed her arms, her dark stare getting even more fierce. "I already checked out there for you, before Shane decided to pull this crap."

Oh, man. Somehow, in all of the stress of her afternoon with Myrnin, Claire had forgotten about Amy's death. Of course Eve was angry; not so much angry, really, as plain terrified.

Claire didn't dare meet Shane's gaze. She looked at Michael instead, helplessly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I got — I was at the lab, and — I should have called, I guess."

"And you walked home? In the dark?" Another question she had to avoid. She just shrugged. "You know what we call pedestrians in Morganville? Mobile blood banks." Michael sounded cold, too. Cold and angry. "You scared the shit out of us. That's not like you, Claire. What happened?"

Shane moved to her side, and she felt a moment of relief that at least he wasn't angry at her. But then he yanked her shirt away from her neck on the left, then on the right, an efficient rough search that surprised her too much to fight him. He skinned up her right sleeve all the way to the elbow and turned her arm to inspect it.

As he reached for the left, she felt an electric bolt of alarm. The bracelet. Oh God.

She yanked free and shoved him back. "Hey!" she said. "I'm fine, okay? I'm fine! Fang-free!"

"Then show me," Shane said. His eyes were steady and scared, and that broke her heart. "C'mon, Claire. Prove it."

"Why do I have to prove anything to you?" She knew she was wrong, and it made her stupidly angry that he cared so much. "You don't own me, like some vampire! I just said I'm fine! Why can't you just trust me?"

She would have done anything to take it back, but it was too late, and it hit him like a punch in the face. He's been hurt so much. Why did I do that? Why ...

Michael was there, all of a sudden and stepped in between them. He threw a glance over his shoulder at Shane. "I'll do it." He was blocking Eve and Shane's view. Before Claire could do anything to stop him — as if she could do anything — he grabbed her left hand and pulled the sleeve up to her elbow.

He stared at the gold bracelet for a paralyzing second before turning her arm first one way, then the other. Then pulling her sleeve back down over the tell-tale jewelry evidence.

"She's fine," he said, and met her eyes. "She's telling the truth. I'd know if a vampire had bitten her. I'd feel it."

Shane's mouth opened, then closed. He took another step back, stared at her for a second, then walked away. Eve called, "Hey, how about taking some of your crap back upstairs, if you're planning on staying?"

"Later," Shane snapped, and went upstairs without looking back.

"I'd better go talk to him," Claire said. Michael kept hold of her arm.

"No," he said. "First, you'd better talk to me."

He hustled her toward the kitchen. Behind them, Eve said, "Just another great family dinner. Whatever! I'm taking the last hot dog!"

Even with the kitchen door shut, Michael wasn't taking any chances. He pulled Claire along with him to the pantry, opened the door, and turned on the light. "Inside," he ordered. She stepped in, and he shut the door after her. It was cramped with two people, and it smelled like old spices and vinegar, from where Shane had dropped the bottle a few weeks back. Michael's voice dropped to a fierce hiss. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"What I had to," she said. She was shaking all over, but she wouldn't let Michael intimidate her. She was tired, and besides, everybody seemed to be trying to intimidate her these days. She was small, she wasn't weak. "It was the only way. Amelie — "

"You should have talked to me. Talked to us."

"Like you came clean with us, when you were a ghost? And did you have a house meeting before you decided to go all the way to vampire?" Claire shot back. "Right. Well, you're not the only one who can make choices, Michael. This was mine, I made it, I'll live with it. And it'll keep all of you safe."

"Who says?" Michael asked bluntly. "Amelie? You're trusting vampires now?"

She didn't look away from his big blue eyes. "I trust you."

He suppressed a smile. "Dumbass."

"Dork." She shoved him, just a little, and he let her do it. He even pretended to stagger, although she didn't imagine vampires got knocked off balance very often, except by other vampires. "Michael, she didn't give me any choice. Shane's dad — even though he left, he did damage. Shane wasn't going to be trusted here, and you know what happens if — "

"If they don't trust him," Michael said somberly. "Yeah. I know. Look, don't worry about Shane. I'll protect him. I told you — "

"You may not be able to. Look, no offense, but you're only been a vampire for a couple of weeks. I have library books that have been out longer. You can't promise — "

Michael reached out and put one cool finger across her lips, stilling them instantly. His blue eyes were intense, narrow, and very focused.

"Shhhh," he whispered, and turned out the light.

Claire heard the kitchen door thump, and then the hard-heeled clonk of Eve's shoes crossing the wood floor. "Hello? Helllloooooooo? Great. Why do all my housemates sulk like little girls or vanish when the dishes are dirty? If you can hear me, Michael Glass, I'm talking to you!"

Claire snorted, almost laughed. Michael's hand closed over her mouth, stifling her. He tugged on her arm, and she followed him, moving carefully so as not to knock anything off the shelf. She heard the scrape of the door opening at the rear of the pantry, the tiny little bolt-hole, and bent down to go through it. The other side was pitch black, not even the tiny crack of light that the pantry had enjoyed, and Claire felt a flutter of panic. Michael's hand pushed her onward, and she stepped hesitantly into the close, thick dark. Behind her, she heard him close the door with a very soft click, and bright electric light flooded over the floor.

"Here," Michael said, and handed her the flashlight. "She might come looking for us here, but not for a while."

It was a secret hidey-hole, one that Claire had been shoved into on her very first morning in the Glass House; no exits, only the one entrance. She'd thought from the beginning it looked like someplace a vampire might stash a couple of handy coffins, but it was empty. And as far as she knew, Michael slept on a Serta.

"I meant to ask you. What is this?"

"Root cellar," he said. "This house was built before refrigerators, and ice deliveries were only so-so. This was where they kept most of their vegetables."

"So ... not a vampire hideout?"

Michael stretched his long legs out with a sigh and leaned against the wall. God, he was pretty. No wonder Eve was willing to overlook the lack of pulse. "Not so far as I've ever known, but the vampires in Morganville never really had to hide. Only the humans did."