Eternal: More Love Stories With Bite (24 page)

"Oh, I met her," Claire said, as we were doing laundry in the basement of the Glass House. She was sitting on the dryer this time while I dumped dirties into the washer; as usual, she was reading, this time one of Charlaine Harris's vampire books. She probably considered it research. "Gloriana, I mean. She seems nice."

Nice
? I almost dropped the laundry detergent on my toes, which wouldn't have been as much of an owie as you might think, since my boots are steel-toed. "How'd you run into her?"

"She visited Myrnin."

That
was strange, because Amelie was really damn serious that nobody, but nobody, visited Myrnin; those of us who knew Claire's boss at all had sworn under pain of actual, bloody death not to talk about him, ever, to anybody not in the know. Gloriana just strolling in to the equivalent of a highly secure facility seemed . . . unlikely.

Except that I'd met her, too. Gloriana seemed like she could charm her way into Fort Knox, and the guards would stand in line
to
help her carry out the gold. "How'd they get along?" I asked.

"Oh, he was
all
suave,"
Claire
said, and all but giggled. "He actually
ran
off and got dressed up for her.
It
was cute. Well,
I
can understand why, she's pretty . . . pretty. They
know
each other, from olden times. Maybe
he
dated
her
once."

"Maybe," I said. Weirder things had happened. "So, you liked her?"

Claire turned her head and looked at me;
she'd
gotten her shoulder-length hair cut again, shorter, but it was messy from the wind outside. Still cute, though. Her big, brown eyes were way too smart for either of our good. "You didn't?"

I hadn't told her about Gloriana's visit to the house. I wasn't sure why; I usually come right out with my latest drama, but this
had
felt . . . more dire than usual. And really personal. Now, I just shook my head and focused on adding detergent in
the
right amounts for the colored clothes. Although
I
was tempted to bleach the hell out
of
Michael's stuff. "You ever have that
happen
where you meet someone and just—clash? We were like
a
gravel and cream sandwich."

"That is the weirdest thing you've ever said.
I
suppose you were the cream?"

"Of course
I
was the cream. Sha."

Trust Claire to not get distracted. "Something happened
with
her and Michael," she said. Wow. Zero to correct
in
one point nothing seconds. "Right?"

"Do you really think
I'm
that shallow that—okay, yes. She came over here. I found the two
of
them together."

Her eyes widened, and she slipped down off the dryer. "Seriously,
together?
Like—"

"No, not like. Tea in the parlor, or the vampy equivalent. You know. Sitting, talking." I frowned. "But
it
was way too
nice.
And besides, here, he's
mine.
You know?"

Claire nodded, not that it made the least bit
of
sense. She's a good friend. "Did you
talk
to him about it?"

"Oh, sure. Nothing happened, yadda yadda. The usual. But my maydar went off like crazy."

"Maydar?"

"As in, he
may
be thinking about super hot sex with her. Like radar, only not as sure."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Did you
ask?"

"Yes," I said.
"I
asked."

"And?"

"And he took me to bed."

"Oh."

"Yeah."
I
frowned unhappily down at clothes, slammed the lid, and turned
on
the washer.

"Oh. Exactly." "Exactly what?"

That was Michael, standing at
the
top
of
the basement steps. Claire and I
did the
guilty
dance. She
dropped her book, and hurriedly picked it
up.
"Nothing," I blurted. My cheeks felt warm, and
I
was glad I was in shadow until
I
remembered, duh, vampire eyes. "Girl talk."

He nodded, looking at me with a little sadness in his gaze, I thought. "Just wanted to remind you that we're out of milk again. And hot sauce."

"Why are those two always out at the same time? Because those do
not
go together."

"I suspect Shane. He'd put hot sauce in anything," Michael said.

"Ugh," Claire sighed. "So true." Michael didn't leave, and after a second, Claire cleared her throat, closed up her book, and said, "Yeah, I've got something to do. Upstairs. Away from here."

He stepped aside to let her out, then closed the door behind her and settled down on the steps. I had wet whites to put in the dryer, so I busied myself with that, making extra sure that everything was untangled, that the dryer sheet was in, that the timer was just so.

Michael waited patiently for me to get the fidgeting done before he said, "If you don't want to go to the party, just say so."

"Of course I want to go. It's a big swanky dress-up party. How often do I get to go to those, in Morganville? And I mean, some of these vampires own their own tuxes, even."

"Eve." His voice was gentle, and very kind. "I mean it. If you don't want to go, we won't go."

"I can't avoid her forever. It's too small a town."

He couldn't argue with that, and didn't try. "That doesn't mean you have to go to her welcome party. And if you want, I'll dress up and take you out somewhere nice."

"Nice being a relative term around here," I said, but secretly, the idea that he was willing to put on a suit and take me to the all-night diner made me smile. "Thanks, sweetie. But maybe I should just suck it up and go. What could happen?"

"Oh, plenty," he said cheerfully enough. And he was right. The two of us had rarely been to a party that
hadn't
ended
in
some kind of disaster, whether
it
was the senior prom where Chuck (aptly named) Joris had vomited in the punchbowl, or the EEK fraternity party, which had ended in a vampire attack. And let's not even
mention
Mr. Evil Vampire Bishop's big welcome party, which had been a truckload of trouble.

"I'll be fine," I said, and glared at the clothes tumbling on
high
heat. "I'll play
nice
as long as she does."

I
turned around. Michael had come down the stairs and crossed the distance between us, noiseless as the air, and I melted into his arms with a sense of real relief.

He kissed the top of my head. "That's my lady."

I really hoped he meant that.

* * * *

I woke up the next day expecting—oh,
I
don't know, doom, disaster, and Apocalypse; weirder things had happened in this town. But things seemed normal enough, even after
I
left the house and
headed off
to the day job. The one not-so-great
thing
that happened was that when I
got to Common Grounds, guess who was there?

Gloriana. Deep in conversation with about a half dozen admirers. She'd picked one of the tables in the darker section of the room, far away from the blazing sunlight, and at first I
thought all her new groupies were vamps, but no, some
of
them were definitely still rocking a pulse. A couple
of
them were college boys, complete with the ubiquitous backpacks.
I
was pretty sure one of them was Monica Morrell's future ex-boyfriend, what's-his-name, the football player. Oooh, the fur would fly if Monica dropped in and saw her current squeeze crushing on the New Girl.

I was kind of hoping for that, but no such luck. Gloriana hung out for hours, laughing and talking, ordering regular rounds of whatever.

When she finally left,
I
saw Oliver watching her with a troubled look on his face. "Boss?"
I
asked. "Something wrong?"

"No,"
he said.
"No,
I
don't
think
so. Not yet, at any rate."

No matter how much extra effort
I
put into customer service, he wouldn't elaborate, and that bothered me because (a) Oliver was pretty free with his criticisms for the most part, and (b) it wasn't like him to
look
worried. Ever.

No Apocalypse had been declared by the end
of
my shift, though.

I supposed that qualified as a win.

* * * *

Gloriana's party that night was fabulous, from the raised-ink imitations on paper so soft and thick it felt like skin (but wasn't, thankfully), to the uniformed vampire doormen on duty at the party building, to the china and crystal and candles on the round banquet tables inside. The vampires had turned out in force;
I
guess they didn't get much chance to
party like
it was
1499
either. I was wearing a slinky black velvet dress, with a train that
trailed
behind me
like
a fan. It was cut low in the back to show off the rose tattoo I had there, and although I didn't have any really good jewelry, I'd bummed some pretty good costume stuff off of people I
knew. I looked
fab.