You’re kind of a psycho. I get that.”
“I might be,” Monica agreed, and gave her a slow, strange smile. “You’re one smart little freak. Now run away, smart little freak, before I change my mind and stick you in one of these old suitcases for some architect to find a hundred years from now.”
Claire blinked. “Archaeologist.”
Monica’s eyes turned winter cold. “Oh, you’d better start running away now.
Not everything is about beating your head against the wall until it breaks.”
“Just most things.
Tell me he’s not talking to Brandon,” Claire said.
“Um… Ok. He’s not talking to Brandon.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yeah. He’s talking to Brandon. Look, let Shane do his thing, okay? He’s not as stupid as he looks, mostly.
Unless you want to hang a This Vein for Rent sign around your neck, move already!
Rachel CaineBracelets with white symbols?” Michael made the question casual; in fact, he bent his head and concentrated on tuning his guitar, not that it needed it. Every note sounded perfect as it whispered out of the strings. “Do you remember?”
“No.” She felt a pure burst of something that wasn’t quite panic, wasn’t quite excitement. “Does that mean they have Protection?”
He hesitated for about a second, just long enough for her to know he was surprised. “You mean condoms?” he asked. “Doesn’t everybody?
You’re not seriously going out again, are you?”
“Seriously, yeah. Bowling. Her name’s Laura. If you want more details, you’re gonna have to download the video like everybody else.
Shane padded back to the couch and flopped, sucking on his own can of soda. Eve shot him an exasperated look. “Yeah, man, thanks for bringing me one, too.” The raccoon eye make-up exaggerated her eye roll. “Dork.”
“Didn’t know if you wanted zombie dirt sprinkled on it or anything. If you’re eating this week.
Not bad,” she finally said. “At least you left out the oh-my-God sauce this time.”
“Made myself a batch with it,” Shane said. “It’s got the biohazard sticker on it in the fridge, so don’t bitch if you get flamed. Where’d you pick up the stray?”
“Outside. She came to see the room.”
“You beat her up first, just to make sure she’s tough enough?”
“Bite me, chilli boy.
Oh, hey, Claire,” she said, and blinked. “Where are you going?”
“Funeral,” Shane said. On-screen, a zombie shrieked and died gruesomely.
“Yeah? Cool! Whose?”
“Hers.” Shane said.
You’re still here. No beer. I’m not corrupting a minor.”
“But you’re a minor,” she pointed out. “At least for beer.”
“Yeah, and by the way, how much does it suck that I’m an adult if I kill somebody, but not if I want a beer?” Shane jumped in. “They’re all dicks.”
“Man, seriously, you are one cheap drunk. Three beers? My junior high girlfriend could hold her liquor better.”
“Your junior high girlfriend–” Shane brought himself up short without finishing that sentence, and flushed bright red. Must have been good, whatever it was. “Claire, get the hell out of here. You’re making me nervous.
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