"Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of my friends," Claire said. That brought both of Monica's eyebrows up.

"Ooooo...kay. Your funeral," she said, and glanced at Shane. "So where was your boyfriend last night after midnight?"

"Who? Shane?" What time had she left his room, anyway? Late. But ... not after midnight.

"None of your damn business where I was," Shane said to Monica. "Eve told you to get out. The next step is I throw your skanky ass and see if you bounce when you hit the porch. I don't care whose pet you are, you don't come here and — "

"Shane," Monica interrupted with elaborate calm, "shut the hell up. I saw you, idiot."

Claire waited for Shane to give her a biting comeback, but he just sat there. Watching her. His eyes had gone very dark.

"They don't know, do they?" Monica continued, and tapped her rolled-up copy of Teen People against her hip. "Wow. Shocker. Bad boy keeps secrets. That never happens."

"Shut up, Monica."

"Or you'll what? Kill me?" She smiled. "There wouldn't even be DNA left when they got done with you, Shane. And the rest of you, too. And your families."

"What's she talking about?" Eve asked. "Shane?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing," Monica mocked. "Deny everything. That's a brilliant plan. Then again, it's what I'd expect from someone like you."

Michael was frowning at Shane now, and Claire couldn't resist, either. Shane's dark eyes darted to each of them in turn, Claire last.

"The cops aren't going to find any bodies out there in the alley. And they're not going to find one anywhere else in your house," Monica said, "because Shane moved a body last night, out the back door."

Shane still wasn't saying anything. Claire covered her mouth with her hand. "No," she said. "You're lying."

Monica folded her arms. "Why exactly would I do that? All it takes is for him to deny it. Ask him. Go on." She was staring right at Shane.

Shane's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. For a frozen second or two, nobody moved, and then Michael said, "Christ, Shane, what the hell?"

"Shut up!" Shane snapped. "I had to! I thought I heard something down in the basement last night, when I was getting some water in the kitchen. So I went to check it out. And — " He stopped, and Claire saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed, hard. "She was dead down there. At the bottom of the stairs, like somebody had just ... thrown her. For a second I thought it was — " He glanced at Eve, then away. "I just thought it was you. I thought you'd tripped and fallen down the stairs or something. But when I got down there, it wasn't you. And she was dead, not just knocked out."

Eve sank down on the arm of the sofa, looking as stunned as Claire felt. "Who? Who was it?"

"I didn't recognize her. Some college girl, I guess, she didn't look local and she wasn't wearing a bracelet." Shane took in an audible deep breath. "Look, we've been in enough trouble as it is. I had to get rid of her. So I wrapped her up in one of the blankets out of the boxes down there and carried her out. I put her in the trunk of your car — "

"You what?" Michael snapped.

" — and I drove her to the church. I left her there, inside. I didn't want to just — dump her. I thought — " Shane shook his head. "I thought it was the right thing to do."

Monica sighed. She was checking out her fingernails with exaggerated boredom. "Yeah, yeah, touching. The point is, when I saw you, you were hauling a dead chick into the trunk of his car. And I just can't wait to tell my brother. You know my brother, right? The cop?"

Unbelievable. "What do you want?" Claire practically yelled it at her.

"I told you. Breakfast." Monica gave her a sunny movie-star smile. "Please. If you say yes, I just could forget all about what I saw. Especially since I was, you know, out after curfew and doing things I really don't want my daddy to know about anyway. Think of it as mutually assured destruction."

It sounded like a deal, but it wasn't, not really. Monica had all the cards, and they had none. None at all.

"There's no body in the alley," Claire said. "The police aren't going to find anything. You're sure?"

"Don't think so, but wouldn't that suck for you if they did?" Monica shrugged, puckered her lips, and blew Shane a mocking kiss. "You've got guts, Shane. No brains, but a whole lot of guts. You thought it out, right? Now that Michael's one of the chosen undead, humans can't get in this house without an invitation. So you have to either blame it on a vampire, or face up that one of you killed her. Either way, it's not going to be pretty, and somebody's going down." She held up her hand. "I vote for Shane. Anybody else?"

"Leave him alone!" Claire said sharply. "You want to go out, fine. We'll go. — No, don't you even start!" Eve hadn't even had a chance to do more than open her mouth, and now she shut it, fast. "You guys work it out between the three of you. I won't be long. Believe me, I probably won't be able to keep anything down, whatever I manage to eat."

Monica nodded, as if she'd known it would happen all along, and did a runway model's walk down the hall toward the front door. From the back, her shorts were barely legal.

And however much they hated her, Shane and Michael were watching her go.

"Guys," Claire muttered, and grabbed her backpack.

###

Claire hadn't been inside of Common Grounds in a while, but it hadn't changed. It was bohemian, warm, packed to the gills with college types grabbing their morning venti-whatever, and if Claire hadn't known better — known very well — she'd never have believed that the nice, smiling hippie type behind the counter was a vampire.

Oliver locked gazes with her and nodded slightly. His face stayed pleasant. "Nice to see you back," he said. "What'll it be?"

Much as she hated to admit it, he made the best drinks in town. Better than Eve, actually. "White mocha," she said. "With whip." She managed to hold back from adding anything more, because she didn't like being nice to him. God, he'd been licking blood off her wrist two hours ago! The least she could do was not say please and thank you.

"No charge," he said, and waved away the five dollar bill she dug out of her jeans pocket. "A welcome-back present, Claire. Ah, Monica. Your usual?"

"Half-caff no foam double pump latte, with pink sugar," she said. "In a real cup, not that foam stuff."

"A simple yes would suffice," he said. As Monica started to turn away, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He did it in such a way that nobody but Claire would notice, but it was unmistakably threatening. "She doesn't pay. You do, Monica. You may think of yourself as a princess, but trust me. I've met them, and you don't qualify." He grinned just a little, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Well, perhaps met isn't quite the right word."

"Eaten?" Claire supplied acidly. His smiled turned darker.

"Oh, the charm and elegance of the younger generation. It does warm my heart." Oliver let go of Monica's arm and stepped away to make the drinks. Monica backed away, looking flushed. She threw a dirty look at Claire — yeah, like it's my fault, Claire thought —and stalked to the table in the corner. The one the deceased vampire Brandon had once staked out — pun intended — as his own. There were two young college girls sitting there, with books and papers piled up. Monica folded her arms and took up a belligerent pose.