Bite clube by non (books not by me ) (i can read with my eyes shut txt) 📖

you and your friends. Including that boy most strangely absent from your little group. I don't often see him separated from you."

She felt a prickling of fear and tried not to let it show. "He's busy," she said. "So am I." She nodded to Michael and Eve and headed for the stairs.

Myrnin got there ahead of her. She came to a fast stop, wondering what the hell was up with himthis time. She'd seen so much insanity from him that it was tough to work up real terror anymore. He'd wig out on her and grow fangs, or not. But she wasn't going to let him stop her.

"Wait," he said. Not angry after all, and not crazy. He looked worried and sad. "You know that you can trust me, don't you? You understand that I'm your friend. I am. I have always tried to be."

"I know," she said. It sounded hollow, because it wasn't true. She'd seen Myrnin be a whole lot of things, and she knew better than anyone how fragile he was. She couldn't depend on his current mood. She justcouldn't. There was too much at stake.

"You'd tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn't you? Something with which I might help?"

"It's--" She swallowed and studied her scuffed shoes. "Shane and I had a fight. That's all. It's--making me feel pretty awful. I'm sorry if I haven't been myself."

"Yes," Myrnin said a little helplessly. "Well. I see how that might--and I'm, of course, the last one to criticize anyone for not being themselves--but are you sure it's not...? Perhaps it's for the best that you and the boy--"

She felt tears burning in her eyes, real and instant, and looked up to glare at him through them. "Just leave it alone, okay? It's personal!"

He was so surprised that he stepped aside, and she charged up the steps, panting with emotion that she couldn't control and didn't have the vaguest idea of what had brought it up. Everything, she guessed. Stress, worry, Shane, Morganville, Myrnin. Constantly being the one who had to beokay.

She was so tired of beingokay.

Outside, in the alley, she realized that Eve was yelling her name, but she hit the pavement running. She had to run; she couldn't control it, even though it was dark and a dumb idea, and when she hit a trash can with a crash and went flying, she expected, with a kind of fatalistic satisfaction, to get hurt. Maybe badly.

Only she didn't, of course, because Michael had gotten ahead of her by doing that vampire jumping thing and was there to catch her, and she yanked free of his kindness, still furious. "Just leave me alone!" she shouted. It was shockingly loud. Lights went on after a few seconds in the Day House, next to the alley. She'd woken up old Gramma Day, another thing to feel bad about. "I don't need your help!"

Except she had, of course. She wasn't quite stupid enough to run the rest of the way; she walked, kicking bottles and trash out of her way with bitter anger, until she arrived back at Michael's car. She yanked at the handle, but it didn't open. Locked, of course. It beeped at her softly as Michael remotely unlocked it, but he didn't come closer as she pulled it open and got in and slumped in the backseat, feeling blackly miserably. She probably should apologize, she realized. But she didn't care.

Michael got in the driver's side, and Eve, after bending over to look at her over the seat, got into the shotgun position. Nobody said a word. The engine started and the car pulled away with a crunch of tires, and Michael said, "I think Gramma Day thinks I've just abducted you."

"Why?" Claire snapped.

"Because she's out on her porch, loading up a shotgun." He hit the gas. "Good thing she doesn't keep it ready and waiting, or we'd be in a little bit of trouble."

"Oh." Some of her anger managed to fade away as she considered what could have happened. What if Eve had gotten caught in the crossfire? Michael wouldn't have been hurt, but Eve..."I didn't mean for that to happen."

Eve cupped her ear at Claire. "I'm sorry--was that an apology? Because it didn't sound like one."

"Don't push it."

"I'm not, but you're acting like a drama princess."

"Drama queen."

"Hello, no. You need alot more practice at door slamming, flouncing, and pouting before you can even pretend to deserve my throne, bitch. But you're coming along." Eve paused and fixed her with a long, serious look. "That wasn't a compliment, by the way. In case you're wondering."

"I wasn't."

"Good." Eve faced forward. "I get it, though. It's all coming down around you, you don't know what to do, it's all too big and too scary to face, much less fight, so the first person who shows you compassion gets slapped. Been there so often, I pay rent."

"I--" Claire intended to defend herself, but after running it through her head, that was a pretty accurate assessment, all things considered. She finally shrugged. "I guess."

"Progress." Eve laughed. "I love you, CB, but let's face it: we can all be tools. It's in our DNA. Yeah, even yours, Michael." She punched his arm. He pretended to feel it. "So. Next step. We go home, get a good night's rest, hope Shane slinks back with his tail between his legs and realizes what a douche he's been. Right?"

"That's the plan," Michael said. He didn't sound optimistic. "Give him some time. But one way or another, tomorrow we go to Amelie and tell her everything we know. Including about Shane."

Claire raised her chin and stared at the back of his curly blond head, because that hadn't sounded quite right, either. Not the words; the tone. Something just a shade off. "Michael? You're not going to run off and do anything dumbtonight , are you?"

"Last time I checked, I wasn't the one running full speed in the dark in Vampireville."

That checked her for long enough until they pulled up at the curb at their house on Lot Street, and by the time Eve and Michael were out of the car, Claire had forgotten the original question.

It was only later, when she woke up in the middle of the night, wondering if she'd heard Shane's door open and close, that she realized that Michael hadn't actually answered her at all.
chapter 12

Claire got up early, mostly because she just couldn't sleep, and checked Shane's room. Empty, and just as messy as it had been the last time she'd seen it. The pillow was even in the exact same position, half off the bed, with the sheets twisted over the side next to it. She noticed things like where his head had been the last time he'd slept there. She walked over, like a sleepwalker, and in the gray predawn

light put her hand in the hollow where his hair had been pressed not so long ago. It was cold, of course.

She picked up the pillow and hugged it, burying her face in it, and the smell of him flooded into her, overwhelmed her, and she sank down on the narrow bed and just...collapsed. Her eyelids felt raw from lack of sleep and crying, and she felt empty. Exhausted. When her eyes were closed, all she could see was that cold, set expression on Shane's face as he'd punched that vampire over and over. It wasn't the same Shane who'd been here with her, who'd been right here in this bed, holding her, who'd critiqued new songs with her until she'd lost her breath laughing, and tickled her and kissed her and whispered how much he loved her. That Shane wasn't here, and she didn't know if he was anywhere or if he was coming back.

No. He's coming back. I'm going to get him back.

Somehow.

She wasn't thinking of anything specific, nothing on the order of a plan, but all of a sudden she had a vision of the Web site. Immortal Battles.Someone knew something, and it wasn't just Vassily and Bishop and Gloriana. Vampires weren't generally computer savvy. A few, maybe, but it was much more likely that a human was doing their Web work for them.

Maybe even someone inside Morganville, since they'd specially coded it to be invisible to Morganville's monitoring sensors.

She sat straight up in Shane's cold bed, pillow still held in her arms, and stared at the mirror on the wall. She looked awful--dark circles around her eyes, hair a mess, skin sallow. But shefelt better.

Because she had a good idea of what to do next.

Was it safe? No, definitely not. But waiting to see if Shane might change his mind was worse than torture. It was like being eaten an atom at a time.

Claire raced back to her room, grabbed clothes, showered in record time, tied her shoulder-length hair back in a sloppy knot, and was down the stairs and out the back door without even stopping for coffee, although she did take her book bag, mainly because it contained her wallet and some potentially useful vampire-repelling equipment.

Because she was going to see the wizard. Not Myrnin...thereal wizard.

"Excuse me?" Amelie said. "You barge in on me without an appointment,in my office , and you expect me to grant your request without an adequate explanation? Not like you, Claire. Not like you at all."

Amelie, regardless of the hour, looked cool and fresh and unnaturally beautiful. She was wearing pale blue today, in a straight, subdued style, although she'd condescended to put on pants. She even had on pearls. At six in the morning.

Claire stood, because she hadn't been invited to take one of the thick leather armchairs next to the desk, and, besides, she wasn't in a sitting kind of mood. Amelie's office in Founder's Square had been a little tricky to access; she didn't want to use portals, and popping in uninvited on the Big Vampire Boss (much less popping in with a bag full of antivampire equipment) probably wasn't a fabulous survival tactic,

anyway. But getting through the levels of guards and social secretaries also hadn't been easy. Amelie had hired someone to sit at a desk in front of her office, and that vampire--the nameplate on her desk said her name was Bizzie O'Meara, and she'd looked deadly serious about her job--hadn't been at all understanding about the concept of emergencies.

Amelie herself had opened the door, looking cross at all the noise, and waved Claire inside. That didn't mean, however, that Claire was welcome. Just stuck.

"Well?" Amelie said. That tone was about as close as the Founder of Morganville ever came to showing temper, at least with humans. There was an icy, cutting edge