"Compared to what?" Shane asked. "We're already living with the enemy. What does that score? Not to mention you probably get extra points for banging him — "

Michael stood up so fast his chair tipped and hit the floor with a clatter. Shane straightened up, ready for trouble, fists clenched.

"Shut up, Shane," Michael said, deathly quiet. "I mean it."

Shane stared past him at Eve. "He's going to bite you. He can't help it, and once he starts, he won't stop, he'll kill you. But you know that, right? What is that, some freak-ass Goth idea of romantic suicide? You turning into a fang-banger?"

"Butt out, Shane. What you know about Goth culture, you got from old episodes of The Munsters and your Aryan Brotherhood dad." Great, now Eve was angry, too. That left Claire the only sane one in the room.

Michael made an effort to dial it back. "Come on, Shane. Leave her alone. You're the one hurting her, not me."

Shane's gaze snapped to Michael and focused. Hard. "I don't hurt girls. You say I do, and you'd better back it up, asshole."

Shane pushed away from the wall, because Michael was taking steps in his direction. Claire watched, wide-eyed and frozen.

Eve got between them, hands outstretched to hold both of them back. "Come on, guys, you don't want to do this."

"Kinda do," Shane said coolly.

"Fine. Either hit each other or get a room," she snapped, and stepped out of the middle. "Just don't pretend it's all about protecting the itty widdle girl, because it isn't. It's about the two of you. So get it together, or leave, I don't care which."

Shane stared at her for a second, eyes gone wide and oddly hurt, then looked at Claire. She didn't move.

"I'm out," he said. He turned and walked out through the kitchen door. It swung shut behind him.

Eve let out a little gasp. "I didn't think he'd go," she said, so unsteadily that for a second Claire thought she was going to cry. "What a freaking idiot."

Claire reached over and took her hand. Eve squeezed, hard, and then leaned back into Michael's embrace. Vampire or not, the two of them seemed happy, and anyway, this was Michael. She just couldn't understand Shane's anger. It seemed to bubble up when she least expected it, for no reason at all.

"I'd better — " she ventured. Michael nodded.

Claire slipped out of her chair and went to find Shane. Not like it was difficult; he was slumped on the couch, staring at the Playstation screen and working the controls on yet another zombie-killing adventure. "You taking his side?" Shane asked, and splattered the head of an attacking undead monster.

"No," Claire said, and settled in carefully next to him, with enough open space between so he didn't feel pressured. "Why are there sides, anyway?"

"What?"

"Michael's your friend, he's our housemate. Why do there have to be sides?"

He snapped his fingers. "Um, wait, I've got this one ... because he's a bloodsucking, night-crawling leech who used to be my friend?"

"Shane — "

"You think you know, but you don't. He's going to change. They all change. Maybe it'll take time, I don't know. Right now, he thinks he's just human plus, but that's not what it is. He's human minus. And you'd better not forget it."

She stared at him, a little bit stunned and a whole lot saddened. "Eve's right. That sounds like your father talking."

Shane flinched, paused the game, and threw the controller down. "Low, Claire." He wasn't exactly his dad's biggest fan at the best of times — he couldn't be, the number of cruel things his dad had done to him.

"No, it's just true. Look, it's Michael. Can't you give him the benefit of the doubt? He hasn't hurt anybody, has he? And you have to admit, having a vampire on our side, really on our side, couldn't hurt. Not in Morganville."

He just glared at the screen, jaw set like stone. Claire was trying to think of another way to get through to him, but she was derailed by the ringing of the doorbell. Shane didn't move. "I'll get it," she sighed, and went down the hall to open the front door. It was safe enough — mid-morning, sunny, and relatively mild. Summer was finally starting a slide toward fall, now that it had burned all the green out of the Texas landscape.

Claire squinted against the brilliance. For a second she thought that there was something deeply wrong with her eyes.

Because her arch-enemy and Queen Bitch Monica Morrell, flanked by her ever-present harpies Gina and Jennifer, were standing on the doorstep. It was like seeing Barbie and her friends, blown up life size and dressed like Old Navy mannequins. Tanned, toned and perfect, from lip gloss to toenail polish. Monica had forced on a determinedly pleasant expression. Gina and Jennifer were also trying, but looked more like they were smelling something rotten.

"Hi!" Monica said brightly. "Got plans today, Claire? I was thinking we could hang."

That's it, Claire thought. I'm dreaming. Only this is a nightmare, right? Monica pretending to be my friend? Definitely a nightmare.

"I — what do you want?" Because Claire's relationship with Monica, Gina and Jennifer had started with being pushed down stairs at the dorm, and hadn't improved since. She was a crawling bug, to the Cool Girls. At best. Or ... a tool. Was this about Michael? Because his status had changed from "hermit musician" to "hottie vampire" in one night, and Monica was definitely a fang-banger, right? "You want to talk to Michael?"

Monica gave her an odd look. "Why would I want to do that? Can he go shopping in broad daylight?"

"Oh." She had no idea what else to say to that.

"I thought a little retail therapy, and then we can all go study," Monica said. "We're going to check out that new place, not Common Grounds. Common Grounds is so last century. Like I want to be under Oliver's thumb all the time. Now that he's taken over as Protector for our family, he's been all hands-on, wanting to see my grades. Sucks, right?"

"I — "

"C'mon, save my life. I really need help with Economics, and these two are boneheads." Monica dismissed her two closest friends with an offhand wave. "Seriously. Come with us. Please? I could really use your brainpower. And I think we should get to know each other a little better, don't you? Seeing as how things have changed?"

Claire opened her mouth, then closed it without saying anything. The last two times she'd gone anywhere with Monica, she'd been flat on her back on the floor of a van, getting beaten and terrorized.

She managed to stammer, "I know this is going to sound rude, but —what the hell are you doing?"

Monica sighed and looked — how weird was this? — contrite. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, I was a bitch to you, and I hurt you. And I'm sorry." Gina and Jennifer, her constant Greek chorus, nodded and repeated sorry in whispers. "Water under the bridge, all right? All is forgiven?"

Claire was, if anything, even more mystified. "Why are you doing this?"

Monica pursed her glossy lips, leaned forward, and dropped her voice to a low, confidential tone. "Well ... all right, yeah, it's not like I had a head injury or something and woke up thinking you were cool. But you're different now. I can help. I can introduce you around to all the people you really need to know."

"You're kidding. I'm different how?"

Monica leaned even closer. "You signed."