Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath (27 page)

“I know,” she said. She wanted more than anything to be solid again, to hold him and kiss him and give him the hope he so desperately needed. “Can you hear me?”

“I—think so. It’s like I’m imagining you. Not words, exactly, but I hear you.” He laughed shakily. “Michael had this down, but I guess he had practice, right? You’re learning on the job.”

“You can’t live for me,” she said, and meant it. “It’s important, Shane. You can’t live just for me, and you can’t die because you lost me. I need you to be stronger than that. Do you understand?”

He was silent for a moment, and she wasn’t sure she’d gotten it across at all. There was a strange expression in his eyes, and his smile had faded to a memory.

“I know,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. I got tired of being strong, Claire. I don’t want to be alone.”

“You’re not alone. Michael and Eve are here, too.”

He nodded and took a deep breath. “And you’re here,” he said. “Somehow. You’re here.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Then that’s enough. We’re going to get you back.” He was silent for a beat, then said, “You—won’t tell them what I tried to do, will you?”

“Not unless you try it again.”

“I won’t,” he said. He looked down, just as he would have if he could have actually seen her pressed close. “You’re right there, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

His arms slowly came up and around where her body would have been, holding her.

Holding air.

“Then I’m not letting go,” he said.

And despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, that felt … peaceful.

 

 

Convincing Michael and Eve of her continued existence was more difficult than Claire had expected.

“Oh, come
on
, dude, you were a ghost when I moved in here!” Shane said. They were standing downstairs in the dusty parlor, with Claire floating unseen in the corner (which, by the way, really needed vacuuming). “Totally missing during the day. And you
don’t believe
that I just saw her?”

“Shane—” Eve stepped forward, hands outstretched, looking distressed but determined. “Sweetie, you really have to understand that you’re under a lot of stress—”

“Oh, you didn’t just call me
sweetie
. Eve, it’s me. Shane. You’ve called me a lot of things, but
sweetie
? Knock it off.” He swung around toward Michael again, who had his arms folded, head down. “Seriously, can you not just believe me? Because it’s true. I can
hear
her!”

“I don’t hear her. And it’s after sunset. If she’s been saved by the house, why isn’t she here?”

Shane took in a deep, calming breath. “She
is
,” he said. “Claire, help me out, here. Say something.
Do
something.”

“They can’t hear me,” she said. She’d been trying everything, but whatever power had zipped for her at sunset had been temporary; she couldn’t make them understand, and even with all her concentration she couldn’t touch physical objects anymore, much less tip something over. “I don’t have enough power, I guess. But you can hear me, and that’s what’s important. Keep believing, Shane. Please.”

Michael was talking over her. “Look, man, I want to believe you. I do. I’d be happy if there was
anything
left of her, even a ghost … but she’s not here. It’s my house. I’d know.”

“Bullshit!” Claire shouted, and Shane laughed.

“She just called bullshit,” he said, when Eve and Michael both gave him worried looks. “Honest. She did.”

“I’m—really spooked about you, honey,” Eve said slowly. “Seriously, you can’t hear her. You can’t.”

“Because she’s dead? Don’t call me honey, or baby, or sweetie, or chocolate-covered marshmallow doughnuts, or whatever the code-word-for-crazy phrase of the day is, because I am
not making this up
!” Shane shouted it this time. “She stopped me—” He paused, course-corrected, and said, “She knocked over that damn yellow cat thing in her room. I asked her to do it, and she did.”

“Maybe you should get some rest,” Michael said.

“Maybe
you
should stop treating me like I have brain damage! Look, for once, just
trust me
. You know how much it makes me want to vomit to say this, but Myrnin was right. The house saved her—it’s just that she’s not as strong as you were, or the connection’s not there, or something. I
know
she’s here.”

Michael stared at him, a frown forming on his forehead, and as Eve started to say something, he reached out and silenced her with a hand on her arm. “Wait,” he said. “What time was this?”

“I can hear her
now
, man.”

“When you saw her. When she knocked over the cat.”

Shane thought about it a moment, then said, “Sunset. Around then. It was already dark in her room.”

“Sunset,” Michael repeated. “You’re sure.”

Shane shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly watching the clock, but yeah, I think so.”

“What?” Eve asked. She sank down into one of the faded parlor chairs and stared up at him with a mixture of dread and hope. “What is it?”

“Sunset was when I manifested in physical form,” Michael said. “Maybe—if he’s right—that’s when Claire can make herself known. A little. Shane, you’re sure—”

“If you ask me if I’m imagining it again, I’m going to punch you out, Dead Man Walking.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and glanced at Eve. “He doesn’t sound crazy.”

“Er,” she clarified, “crazier. He sounds like he’s back to normal, which is baseline crazy.”

“Says the girl dressed up in formal Goth mourning,” Shane said. “Seriously, who buys a black lace veil? You keep that on hand for special occasions, like prom and kids’ birthdays?”

Claire felt a laugh bubbling up. This … this was what she’d wanted. Life. Normal life, even if she wasn’t connected the way she had been.

Eve swept back the filmy net covering that had been over her face. “Excuse me, but my best friend just
died
, right here in our house! And you’re mocking me?”

“She’s not gone, Eve. And that is one cracked-out fashion statement, even for you.”

Michael wasn’t getting sidetracked, Claire realized. He was still watching Shane, and even if he believed, he was still wary. “You said she stopped you. From doing what?”

Shane’s body language changed. His shoulders squared, and hunched forward a little, as if he was protecting himself from an attack. “Nothing.”

Michael knew; Claire could see it. He’d known Shane a long time; he’d seen him hit bottom even before Claire had met the boy. He’d been there when Shane had been dragged out of his burning house, screaming for his sister.

If anybody could guess what Shane had been about to do, it was Michael, and from his expression, Shane knew that, too.

“You’re not going to do nothing again, are you?” Michael asked. “Because if you are, come talk to me. Please.”

Shane nodded, one short jerk.

“What?” Eve asked, mystified.

Shane changed the subject, fast. “Claire? Look, can you try again? See if you can make some noise. Anything.”

It was almost midnight, and Claire was heartily sick of trying, but she concentrated, again, and pushed at the dusty vase sitting on the even-dustier table nearby.

It shivered, just a little.

Just enough to make a soft scraping sound.

Eve cried out and jumped out of her chair, staring at the vase; she’d been the closest to it. “Did you hear it?” she asked. She picked up the vase and put it back down. “It moved. I heard it!”

“Eve, chill,” Michael said. “If she did move it, that wasn’t much. It means she’s really weak, if that’s the best she can do even at night.”

“And?” Shane asked. He took a step forward. “What?”

Michael shook his head. He picked up the vase, ran his fingers over the dusty surface, and put it back down. “Claire, if you can hear me, do it again. Try.”

She concentrated so hard it felt like she might collapse into a tiny white dot, like a dying star, and the vase shivered and rocked. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Michael steadied it, and smiled. A real, warm smile of relief. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and said, “Thank you.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Eve suddenly shrieked and jumped like a cheerleader, waving her hands in the air. The black mourning veil floated in the air behind her like a cloud. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

“Excuse me,
you
were right? I’ve been yelling at you guys for half an hour while you gave me the sad eyes and counseling!” Shane shouted back, but he was grinning now. He ran at Michael and hugged him fiercely, then Eve, catching her in midair as she squealed in delight. He spun her around. “She’s here.
She’s really here!
”

Claire wanted to collapse on the couch, but being insubstantial, collapsing was sort of theoretical. She settled for hovering close to it, and moved quickly as Shane threw himself in a relieved, boneless slouch on that end of the cushions. He covered his face with his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright with tears. “She’s here,” he said again, more softly. “Thank you, God.”

“Claire? Do it again, with the vase,” Eve said. She knelt down and stared intently at it. “Go on, do it!”

She reached deep again, but there wasn’t anything left, really … and then she felt a dim, whispered trickle of power.
Of course.
The house had power, loads of it. She might not be a Glass, but she was something to it—it had saved her. And if she was careful, maybe she could siphon off just a little….

She could actually
see
the power running through the boards and beams now, a close-knit cage of light. There, right in the middle, was a particularly bright, pulsing thread, like … well, like a blood vessel.

She touched it and got a shock, a small one, not the kind that hurt, but a feeling of stability and warmth.

Then her fingers sank into the flow of power, and the vase
flew
off the table and bashed into the wall and shattered into pieces, and Eve gasped and fell back, staring. She shot to her feet and did a victory dance. “Yes! Yes, that’s my girl!”

Claire felt a ripple of power, and when she looked back, Hiram Glass was standing behind her. “Stop,” he said. “Take your hands
off that
.
Now.
”

She did, and the sudden removal of that surge of energy left her feeling even weaker and less real than before. Claire felt all the joy in her melt away, even while her Glass House family was celebrating.

Hiram was
angry
.

“You stupid, stupid creature,” he hissed. “Don’t
ever
touch my lifeblood again. Do you understand? You are
not
a Glass. You don’t
belong
here, no matter what the house thinks. It’s a dumb beast. A pet. It has no intelligence.
I
say who lives and dies, not the house, and I don’t choose to help
you
.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. She hoped Shane couldn’t hear her now—or hear the dread in her voice. There was something awful about Hiram now, something cold and black and violent. “I didn’t mean—”

Hiram gave her a vicious, dry smile. “You won’t last,” he said. “You’re already beginning to feel it. You’re like the afterimage of the sun—a ghost, burned in for a moment, but after a few blinks it’s gone. The house might have saved you temporarily, but you’re just a memory without my help. And memories fade, Claire. They fade.”

No, that couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. She looked at Shane, laughing, knuckle-bumping Michael. Eve was twirling in delight, catching Michael in her arms and kissing him.

This couldn’t be temporary. It just couldn’t.

Hiram gave her another bitter little smile when she said it, shrugged, and rippled into nothing.

He didn’t even bother to convince her.

That, more than anything else, made her sickly sure he wasn’t lying.

 

 

Nobody slept. Claire couldn’t move objects anymore, no matter how hard she tried, and the effort exhausted her—but ghosts, apparently, didn’t need unconsciousness like humans did. She stayed awake, drifting, watching as her friends broke out the cherished stash of Shiner and each had a beer in celebration.

“This is weird,” Shane said, swigging one as Michael popped the cap on his own. “I mean, seriously. She died today. We should be—”

“She’s not dead,” Michael said. “And we’ll get her back. You convinced me, man.” He held up his hand, and Shane high-fived it. “But we need Myrnin. He’s the one who said he could do it.”

“I have his cell number,” Eve volunteered. “Claire gave it to me. We could call?”

“Phones are out,” Michael reminded her. She looked crushed. “I’ll have to go get him.”

“What about the portal thingie? Can you go through—Wait.” Eve turned to Shane, frowning. “
You
went through, didn’t you? How’d you do that?”

Shane shrugged. “Don’t know exactly. I’m not sure I could do it again.”

“Okay, Michael?”

He shook his head. “I don’t have the right stuff, I guess. I’ve tried. Even if I get it to open, it’s just black. Congrats, butthead; you can do something I can’t.”

“I’ll add it to the list,” Shane said loftily. “So, you want me to give it a shot?”

“It won’t do any good,” Claire said. She had to concentrate harder than before, and she wasn’t sure Shane heard her, so she repeated it. He jerked and looked off into empty air, not remotely close to where she was floating. “Myrnin’s not there. Amelie has him at Founder’s Square.”

“Say that again,” Shane said. “Something about Myrnin?”

She composed herself and tried again. It
was
getting harder. Maybe that was just because Hiram had spooked her so hard, but she didn’t think so. “Myrnin’s at Founder’s Square,” she said again, very distinctly. She looked at the hot, burning lattice of power that ran through the walls of the Glass House with real longing, but she didn’t dare try to touch it again. Hiram would know.