Shane was still at the door. “Where are the spear carriers?”

“Pardon?” Amelie raised pale eyebrows.

“You know, your guys. The guards.”

“They’re outside. They shall stay there, unless they’re needed. I trust they won’t be, Mr. Collins.”

Shane locked the door and came back to stand beside Claire. He folded his arms and waited.

Amelie seated herself on the couch and crossed her legs, still staring at Claire and Shane. Suddenly, Claire felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office. What had she done wrong?

Amelie said, “Forgive the intrusion. I would have called, but I was in the area, and I had a moment to stop by.” Claire noticed she didn’t ask them if they had a moment . . . but then, she wouldn’t. “Please sit.”

“No, thanks,” Shane said. “We were on our way out.”

“Ah. Well, I will be brief.” She focused on him. “Your father has come to me and asked to be included in the register of vampires in Morganville. I have allowed it. I feel that I owe it to him, despite the crimes he has committed against us; after all, it was my own father who sentenced him to this life, and I know he did not want it.” She was focused entirely on Shane, who had gone stiff and very still.

His eyes went flat and blank for a second, and then he straightened and took a deep breath. “I don’t care what he does,” he said. “Include him all you want. But he’s not my father. My father died.”

Claire and Shane had watched it happen. Frank Collins, fearless vampire killer, had been dragged in and attacked by Amelie’s evil old vamp daddy, Bishop. He’d been drained. And he’d been brought back.

It had been beyond horrible having to see it, especially for Shane. But worse than that was knowing his dad was a vampire. And knowing that he was still walking around.

Which was why Claire hadn’t mentioned her sighting of him earlier.

“I thought you might feel so,” Amelie said. Her tone was cool, very neutral, and Claire shivered a little, as if she’d caught a chill. “I felt it worth the attempt to give you a chance to reconnect. Frank Collins has entered a training program we have established for new vampires to break them of bad habits and reinforce the rules of Morganville that they must live by; he will finish this program within the week. Once he does, he will have the same status as any other vampire who has signed the Morganville accords. He may not be harmed without my permission. Should anyone attempt it, I will take it personally.” She continued to stare at Shane. “Anyone. I trust you do understand what I’m saying to you.”

Shane just shook his head, face closed and hard. Claire wanted to take his hand, but his arms were still folded defensively across his chest. He wasn’t meeting Amelie’s eyes.

“Shane,” the Founder of Morganville said, using his name for the first time. “I am sorry. I know this will be . . . difficult for you, considering the history between you and your father, and what has happened to him. But according to the laws of Morganville, he will also be allowed to become a Protector, if he wishes to do so. He has said that he will gladly accept the responsibility of acting as your Protector, should you choose—”

“No way in hell. Get out,” Shane interrupted her. He didn’t say it loudly, but there was a frightening, out-of-control look in his eyes. “Just get out. I’m not talking about this.”

Amelie didn’t move. She stared at him. He’d met her eyes now, and after a long, tense moment, she spread her hands in a graceful gesture, unfolded her long legs, and stood. “I have taken enough of your time,” she said. “I am sorry to have upset you. Your father may well come to see you, so please remember what I’ve said: no matter how you feel, you cannot strike at him without consequences. Even a friend of Morganville has limits.” Her icy gray eyes shifted, and Claire froze in place. “Claire, I rely on you to remind him if he should forget this.”

Claire nodded, suddenly unable to speak at all. She glanced at Shane, who wasn’t moving, and hurried down the hall to the door to open it for Amelie. When she did, she found Amelie’s two big vampire guards, in their black suits and ties, standing on the porch, facing out toward the road.

Amelie walked past her and down the steps without another word. The guards fell in behind her, helped her into the big black limousine that idled at the curb, and as it glided off into the dark, Claire stood there watching it go.

What just happened? Things had changed so fast, and so violently, that she felt shaky.

It occurred to her that standing here with the door wide-open was a victim-type thing to do in Morganville, so she quickly closed and locked it, took a deep breath, and went back to Shane.

He was sitting down on the couch at one end, staring straight at the not-currently-on TV. He was playing with the remote control, but he didn’t press the power button.

“Shane . . .”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t care that Frank’s still alive, because he’s not my dad. He hasn’t been my dad for years, not since Alyssa—not since she died. He’s even less my dad now than he ever was, and he never was up for father of the year anyway. I don’t want to know him. I don’t want to have anything to do with him.”

“I know,” Claire said, and sat down next to him. “I’m sorry. But he did save my life once, and I have to think maybe he can . . . change.”

Shane snorted. “He already changed—into a bloodsucking freak. What bugs me is that he has one minute of regret, and he gets to wipe out years of being a drunken asshole, beating the crap out of me, nearly getting us all killed more than once. . . . No. I’m glad he saved you. But that doesn’t even start to make us even. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

There didn’t seem to be anything she could possibly say. He was really upset—she could see it; she could feel it. “Are you okay?” What a stupid question, she thought, as soon as she said it. Of course he wasn’t okay. He wouldn’t be slouched like a boneless sack on the couch, staring at a dead TV with even deader eyes, if he was okay.

“If he comes here . . .” Shane swallowed. “If he comes here, you have to promise me you’ll stop me from doing something stupid. Because I will, Claire.”

“No, you won’t,” Claire said, and finally took his hand. “Shane, you won’t. You’re not like that. I know it’s all complicated and crazy and it hurts, but you can’t let him do that to you. I’ll make sure Michael and Eve know that if he shows up, we just tell him to leave. He’ll never get in the door.”

She felt cold again—icy, in fact—and felt a hum all along her nerves. What was that? Not a draft. Definitely not a draft. It felt like . . . anger. Cold, hard anger, like the kind that was inside Shane right now—but she was feeling it from the outside.

The house.

She’d gotten used to its not doing this kind of thing anymore; the Glass House had always seemed to have a kind of presence to them, something that reflected their feelings, their fears . . . but it had died with the portal system. So she thought.

You fixed the portal system, remember? Apparently, that put the house itself back on the grid, too, which was why it was reacting to Shane’s mood. She was never sure what the house understood, but she was absolutely sure it was on their side. Maybe that even meant it would make sure Frank Collins never came here again.

She reached for a blanket and pulled it over her shoulders, still shivering. If the house was showing her any reflection of Shane’s anger, he was deeply upset, even though he was struggling not to show it.

Shane finally pressed the power button on the TV and dropped his left arm over her shoulders. She felt the chill ease a little. “Thanks,” he said. “If you hadn’t been here when she said all that, I probably would have done something pretty dumb. Or said something even dumber.”