Want me to warm up the sauce?”
“Do we do that? I mean, it’s in a jar, right? Can’t you just dump it over the pasta?”
“Well, you can, but it tastes better if you warm it up.”
“Oh.” Eve sighed. “This is complicated. No wonder I never cook.
Just who are you planning to call? Ghostbusters?
Rachel CaineSwear to God, you come near us and–”
“Like this?” The biker sidestepped a slash from the hockey stick, grabbed it on the way, and yanked it out of Eve’s hands. He tossed it over his shoulder to land on the floor with a clatter. “This near enough? Whatcha gonna do, doll girl?”
Claire hid her eyes as the biker reached out for Eve with one tattooed hand.
“No,” Eve said breathlessly. “I’m going to let my boyfriend beat the crap out of you.”
There was a dull thunk of wood meeting flesh, and a howl. Then another, harder thunk, and a crash as a body hit the floor.
The biker was down. Claire stared at him in disbelief, then looked past him, to the figure standing there with the field hockey stick in both hands.
Michael Glass. Back from the dead, again, a gorgeous blond avenging angel, breathing hard.
I – talked to her. She understands. She won’t do anything stupid.” He didn’t look at Claire when he said that, and she wondered what kind of talking that might have been.
Her mother had always said, when in doubt, ask.
“Was it the kind of talk where you gave her something to live for? Like maybe, um, you?”
“Did I – what the hell are you talking about?”
“I just thought maybe you and her–”
“Claire, Jesus!” Michael said. She’d actually made him flinch. Wow. That was new. “You think banging me is going to make her forget about charging out to commit cold-blooded vampire slaying? I don’t know what kind of standards you have on sex, but those are pretty high. Besides, whatever’s between me and Eve – well, it’s between me and Eve.” Until she tells me about it later, Claire thought.
Bite me, Dracula.
Rachel CaineI have permission to live off campus.” She didn’t say from whom, because it was primarily herself.
Rachel CaineUm… Eve…can I ask…?”
“About what?” Eve was still frowning at the pasta like she suspected it to do something clever, like try to escape the pot.
“You and Michael.”
“Oh.” A surge of pink to Eve’s cheeks. Between that and the fact that she was wearing colors outside of the Goth red and black rainbow, she looked young and very cute. “Well. I don’t know if it’s – God, he’s just so–”
“Hot?” Claire asked.
“Hot,” Eve admitted. “Nuclear hot. Surface of the sun hot. And–”
She stopped, the flush in her cheeks getting darker.
Claire picked up a wooden spoon and poked the pasta, which was beginning to loosen up. “And?”
“And I was planning on putting the moves on him before all this happened. That’s why I had on the garters and stuff. Planning ahead.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yeah, embarrassing. Did he peek?”
“When you were changing?” Claire asked. “I don’t think so. But I think he wanted to.”
“That’s okay then.” Eve blinked down at the pasta, which had formed a thick white foam on top. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”
Claire hadn’t ever seen it happen at her parents’ house. But then again, they hadn’t made spaghetti much. “I don’t know.”
“Oh, crap!” The white foam kept growing, like in one of those cheesy science fiction movies. The foam that ate the Glass House…it mushroomed up over the top of the pot and down over the sides, and both girls yelped as it hit the burners and began to sizzle and pop. Claire grabbed the pot and moved it. Eve turned down the burner. “Right, pasta makes foam, good to know. Too hot. Way too hot.”
“Who? Michael?” Claire asked, and they dissolved in giggles.
I liked you better when you were this timid little kid. What happened?”
“I started living with you guys.”
“Oh, right.
What’s burning?”
“Your brain.
So you’ll just kill anyone who frightens you. Who could hurt you.”
“Well…yes.
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