Ghost Townby Rachel Caine
To a great many wonderful people in my life whove been so helpful and supportive this time around . . . Heidi, J.T., Wendy, A.J., Pat, Jackie, Bill, Jo, Jean, and Sondra especially.
I hope one day to deserve all your faith and kindness.
And you, Cat. Bless you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Steven Smith
Joe Bonamassa
Charles Armitage
Lucienne Diver
Barbara Tibbles
Anne Sowards (for above and beyond . . .)
My friends and family at NAL, Allison and Busby, and all of my other wonderful publishers worldwide!
INTRODUCTION
WELCOME TO MORGANVILLE. YOULL NEVER WANT TO LEAVE.
So, youre new to Morganville. Welcome, new resident! There are only a few important rules you need to know to feel comfortable in our quiet little town:
Obey the speed limits.
Dont litter.
Whatever you do, dont get on the bad side of the vampires.
Yeah, we said vampires. Deal with it.
As a human newcomer, youll need to find yourself a vampire Protectorsomeone willing to sign a contract to keep you and yours from harm (especially from the other vampires). In return, youll pay taxes . . . just like in any other town. Of course, in most other towns, those taxes dont get collected by the Bloodmobile.
Oh, and if you decide not to get a Protector, you can do that, too . . . but youd better learn how to run fast, stay out of the shadows, and build a network of friends who can help you. Try contacting the residents of the Glass HouseMichael, Eve, Shane, and Claire. They know their way around, even if they always end up in the middle of the trouble somehow.
Welcome to Morganville. Youll never want to leave.
And even if you do . . . well, you cant.
Sorry about that.
ONE
Oh, this doesnt sound like a good idea, Claire said, looking down at the paper that had been shoved into her hand by a passing student. She paused in the shade of the Science Building porch to read it. Only idiots stood around in full sun at Texas Prairie University in the middle of the afternoonwell, idiots and football playersso Claire angled herself into a corner where she wouldnt get buffeted by the streams of people pouring out after the end of class. There were a few hardy salmon trying to swim upstream, but she didnt think theyd make it.
People all around her were carrying the same goldenrod sheet of paper she hadstuffed into pockets, crammed into books, held in hands.
She was one of the last ones to get pamphleted, she guessed. She was just a little surprised anybody had bothered at all, given the fact that she, Claire Danvers, was small for her age, looked younger than her mid-seventeen-going-hard-on-eighteen years, and tended to blend into the crowd at the best of times. This even though her ultra-fashion-conscious housemate Evewith all the best possible intentionshad made her sit down in the bathroom and get her brown hair all highlighted so it glowed red in the sun. Still, she just wasnt . . . noticeable.
Shed learned it the hard way: early admission to college sucked.
Someone stopped next to her in the relative quiet of the shade. It was a tall, good-looking boy, and he dropped his backpack on the tiled floor with a thump as he looked over the same flyer she held. Huh, he said, and glanced over at her. You going?
Once she got over the dazzle of his good looks (truthfully, it didnt take that long; her boyfriend was just as cute), she checked his wrist. He was a Morganville native; he was wearing a bracelet around one wrist made out of copper and leather, with an ornate-looking symbol engraved on the central plate. It meant he was vampire propertyproperty of Ming Cho, who was one of those vampires that Claire had never directly run into. She liked it that way. Really, her circle of vampire acquaintances was way, way too large as it was.
Hey, he said again, and rattled the paper in front of her face. Anybody in there? You going?
Claire looked down at the paper again. It had a bunch of pictures and symbols on it, no words. A musical note, which meant a rave was on the menu. Some pictures of party favors, which meant that mostly illegal stuff was going to be floating around. The address was coded in the form of a riddle, which she solved easily enough; it was an address on South Rackham, among all those decaying warehouses that used to be thriving businesses. The time was pretty obvious: midnight. That was what the graphic of the witch was forthe witching hour. The date was several days away.
Not interested, she said, and handed him her copy. Not my thing.
Too bad. Its going to be out there.
Thats why.
He laughed. You a training-wheels partyer?
Im not much of a partyer at all, Claire said, and couldnt help but smile; he had a really nice laugh, one that made you want to laugh with it. He wasnt laughing at her, at least. That was different. Hi, by the way. Im Claire.
Alex, he said. You coming from Chem?
No, Computational Physics.
Oh, he said, and blinked. And I have no idea what that is. Right, carry on, Einstein. Nice to meet you.
He picked up his backpack and moved off before she could even explain about many-body and nonlinear physical systems. Yeah, that would have really impressed him. Instead of walking away, hed have been running.
She felt a little hurt, but only a little. At least hed talked to her. That was ninety-nine percent better than her usual score with college guys, except the ones who wanted to do something terrible to her. Those guys were very chatty.
Claire squinted against the bright sunshine and looked out onto the courtyard. The big open brick space was clearing, although there were, as always, a knot of people around the central column where flyers were posted for rides, rooms, parties, and various services and causes. She had time before her next classabout an hourbut hiking all the way to the University Center coffee bar in the unseasonable late-autumn heat didnt sound attractive. Shed get there, have maybe half an hour, and then shed have to walk another long way to get to her next class.
TPU really needed to look into mass transit.
The Science Building was closer to the edge of campus than most of the other buildings, so it was actually a shorter walk to one of the four exit gates, across the street, and then to Common Grounds, the off-campus coffeehouse. Of course, it was owned by a vampire, and not a nice one, either, but in Morganville, you couldnt be too choosy about those kinds of things if you valued your caffeine. Or your blood.
Besides, Oliver could mostly be trusted. Mostly.
Decision made, Claire grabbed her heavily laden book bag and set off in the withering sunshine for Vampire Central.
It was always funny to her nowwalking through town she could tell which people were in the know about Morganville, and which werent. The ones who werent mostly looked bored and unhappy, stuck in a nothing-doing small town that rolled up the side-walks at dusk.
The ones who did know still looked unhappy, but in that hunted, haunted way. She didnt blame them, not at all; shed been through the entire adjustment cycle, from shock to disbelief to acceptance to misery. Now she was just . . . comfortable. Surprising, but true. It was a dangerous place, but she knew the rules.
Even if she didnt always obey the rules.
Her cell phone rang as she was crossing the streetthe Twilight Zone theme. That meant it was her boss. She looked down at the screen, frowned, and shut it off without answering. She was pissed at Myrnin, again, and she didnt want to hear him go on, again, about why she was wrong about the machine they were building.
He wanted to put a human brain in it. So not happening. Myrnin was crazy, but normally it was a good crazy, not a creepy crazy. Lately he seemed to be pushing the far end of the creep-o-meter, though. She seriously wondered if she ought to get some vampire psychologist to look at him or something. They probably had someone whod been around when Dr. Freud was just finishing medical school.
Common Grounds was blessedly dim and cool, but mercilessly busy. There wasnt a free table to be had, which was depressing; Claires feet hurt, and her shoulder was about to dislocate from the constant pull of her book bag. She found a corner and dumped the weight of knowledge (potential, anyway) with a sigh of relief and joined the line at the order window. There was a new guy working the counter, again, which didnt surprise Claire much; Oliver seemed to go through employees pretty quickly. She wasnt sure if that was just his strict nature or whether he was eating them. Either one was possible, but the latter wasnt likely, at least. Oliver was more careful than that, even if he didnt really want to be.
It took about five minutes to reach the front of the line, but Claire put in her order for a café mocha without much trouble, except that the new guy spelled her name wrong on the cup. She moved on down the counter, and when she looked up, Oliver was staring at her from behind the espresso machine as he pulled shots. He looked the same as alwaysaging hippie, graying hair pulled back in a classy-looking ponytail, one gold stud in his right ear, a coffee-splattered tie-dyed apron, and eyes like ice. With all the hippie-flavored details, you didnt tend to notice the pallor of his face or the coldness of his stare right away unless you already knew him.
In the next second, he smiled, and his eyes changed completely, like another person had just stepped into his bodythe friendly coffee-shop guy he liked to pretend to be. Claire, he said, and finished dumping shots into her mocha cup. What a nice surprise. Sorry about the lack of seating.
I guess business is good.
Always. He knew how she liked the drink, and added whipped cream and sprinkles without asking before handing it over. I believe the frat boys by the window are about to leave. You can get a seat if you hurry.
He was right; she could see the preleaving preparations going on. Claire nodded her thanks and grabbed her bag, pushing between chairs and apologizing her way to the table so that she arrived just as the last frat boy grabbed his stuff and headed for the door. She was one of four who had aimed for the vacancy, and missed it by the length of one outstretched, well-manicured hand.
Excuse me, our table, Monica Morrell said, looking down at her with unconcealed delight. The junior skank section is over there, by the trash. Beat it.
The sister of Morganvilles mayor sank down on one of the four chairs, flipping her shiny dark hair over her shoulders; shed added some blond highlights to it again, but Claire didnt think they did her any favors. Shed accessorized with arm candy, though, in the form of a big linebacker-style guy with one of those faces that was beefy but still handsome. He was blond, which seemed to be Monicas new type, and (Claire knew from the one class shed shared with him) dumb, which was always Monicas type. He was carrying Monicas coffee, which he put down in front of her before taking a seat next to her, close enough to drape his big arm around her shoulders and stare down her cleavage.
It would have been the safe thing to just back off and let Monica claim her petty victory, but Claire was really not in the mood. She wasnt afraid of Monica anymorewell, not normallyand the last thing she wanted to do was let Monica spoil the one thing shed been looking forward to during the entire walk over: a decent seat in which to enjoy her drink.
So Claire put her café mocha down at the third place and sat down, just ahead of Jennifer, who was making for the space. Gina, Monicas other ever-present girlfriend/minion, had already taken the last seat.
Monica, oddly, didnt say anything. She stared at Claire as if she couldnt quite figure out what the hell that was doing sitting down at her table, and then, once she got over the shock, she smiled, as if it occurred to her that maybe this could be fun. In a nasty sort of way. Her new temporary boyfriend didnt seem to be noticing any of it as he smirked and did a virtual high five with some friends across the room.
Jennifer stood there glaring down at Claire, clearly not sure what to do, and Claire was acutely aware that she had her back to the girl. Never a good plan. She didnt trust any of them, but she trusted Jennifer least of all these days. Gina had kind of discovered humanity, in a vague sort of way, and Monica . . . well, Monica could usually be counted on to do what was good for Monica.
Jennifer was unpredictable, and six of the worst kinds of crazy. Gina was mean, and Monica could be vicious, but Jennifer didnt seem to have any sense of boundaries at all. Plus, Jennifer had been the first one of the three to push her. Claire hadnt forgotten that.
Claire sensed a movement at her back, and almost ducked, but she forced herself not to flinch. Nothing will happen, not here. Not in front of Oliver. It wasnt that Oliver was fond of her, exactlyonly that he didnt like conflict inside of his business that he himself hadnt started.
Monicas eyes went to Jenniferwide and a little odd, as if Jennifer spooked her, too. Jesus, Jen, get a grip, she said, which made Claire want to turn around and see whether the other girl was getting out a knife, but she managed to resist. Just get another chair. Its not rocket science.
Jennifers tone of voice made it clear she was still glaring at the back of Claires head. There arent any.
Well? Go scare somebody out of one. Its what you do.
That was cold, even for Monica, and Claire suddenly felt uneasy about this. Maybe she should just . . . move on. She didnt want to be in the middle, because if Monica and Jennifer really went at it, the one in the middle was going to get killed.
But before she could decide what to do, she heard Jennifer walking away, toward a team of people studying in the corner with books and calculators and notes spread over every available table inch. She zeroed in on the biggest guy, tapped him on the shoulder, and whispered in his ear. He stood up. She grabbed his chair and carried it back with her, and the guy stood there in complete bafflement.
It was, Claire realized, a really good strategy. The guy didnt seem like the type to come and pick a fight over something that small, especially with a girl of Jennifers size (and reputation). So he finally shrugged and stood there awkwardly, resigned to his fate.
Jennifer jammed the chair in between Monica and Claire and sat down. Monica and Gina clapped, and Jennifer, finally, stopped glaring and grinned, proud to have earned their approval.
It was just . . . sad.
Claire shook her head. She still wanted to sit down and rest, but it really wasnt worth the small victory to be part of this. She stood up, grabbed her chair, and towed it across the crowded room to slide it next to the guy Jennifer had stolen the chair from, who was still standing. Here, she said. Im leaving anyway.
Now he really looked confused. So did Monica and her Monickettes, as if the concept of givebacks had never crossed their path before. Claire sighed, shifted the weight of her backpack, and prepared to leave, mocha in hand.
Hey! Monicas grip on her elbow dragged her to a stop. What the hell? I want you to stay!
Why? Claire asked, and jerked her arm free. So you can needle me for an hour? Are you really that bored?
Monica looked even more confused. Nobody ever turned down being part of the queen bees inner circle. After that second of vulnerability, though, her face hardened. Dont diss me, Danvers. Im warning you.
Im not dissing you. Claire sighed. Im ignoring you. Theres a difference. Dissing you implies I think youre actually important.
As she walked out, she heard someone behind her laugh and clap. They were quickly hushed, but it still warmed her just a little. She didnt often get up in Monicas grille that directly, but she was sick of the games. Monica just needed to move on and find somebody else to poke her pins into.
The mocha was still delicious. Maybe even just a little bit more delicious for being outside in the open air, come to think of it. Claire nodded to a few people she knew on the street, all of them permanent residents, and strolled down the block. She wasnt in the mood to shop for clothes, but the little faded bookstore farther down beckoned her.
Book Mad was a dusty hole-in-the-wall, crammed floor to ceiling with stacks of volumes inas far as Claire had ever been able to tellonly a vague sense of order. Generally, nonfiction was at the front and fiction at the back, but you really could never tell. The stacks never seemed to get any smaller, nor was the dust ever disturbed, but she was always finding new stuff she hadnt seen before.
That was weirdly entertaining.
Hi, Claire, said the proprietor, Dan, a tall guy about her fathers age. He was thin and a little nerdy, but that might just have been the glasses, which were either wickedly retro or seriously lame; Claire could never decide. He had on a funny T-shirt, as usual. Todays featured a cartoon figure running from a giant T. rex, and it read EXERCISE: SOME MOTIVATION REQUIRED. She tried not to smile, but lost the battle. It really was funny. Got some physics stuff that just came in. Its over there. He gestured vaguely off into the distance. Claire nodded.
Hey, she said. Where do you get the books? I mean, theyre old. Some of them are really kind of ancient.
He shrugged and looked down at the antique register on the counter, and brushed some dust off the keys. Oh, you know. Around.
From a storage room in the library? Maybe on the fourth floor? She had him. He looked up at her, eyes narrowing. Ive been in there. I was wondering what they were going to do with all that stuff once they were done with it. So, who gives you the books?
I dont know what youre talking about, Dan said, and all the warmth was gone suddenly. He looked uncomfortable and suspicious, and the funny T-shirt suddenly didnt fit his mood at all. Let me know if you find anything you want.
The fourth floor of the schools library had been a locked maze of boxes of old books, gathered from who-knew-where by the vampires. At the time Claire had visitedwell, broken invampires (no doubt reporting to Amelie, the towns Founder) had been combing through looking for one particular book. Shed wondered what theyd planned to do with all the rest once their quest was finished.
Naturally, it turned out Amelie was making money off of the extra books. Vampires were nothing if not practical.
As Claire was thumbing through the dusty stacks, squinting to read faded titles, occasionally sneezing from the smell of old paper, she found a slim, leather-bound volume that was still in pretty good condition. No title on the spine, so she pulled it out and looked at the front. Nothing on the front, either.
Inside, on the first page under a sheet of old onionskin, was a black-and-white photograph of Amelie. Claire blinked and took her time looking; yes, it really was her. The Founder of Morganville looked young and fragile, with her white-gold hair piled up in a complicated style on top of her head that showed off her very long, elegant neck. She wore a black dress, something from the 1800s, Claire guessed, with lots of sleeve and tons of skirts and petticoats. There was something about her eyesthe photograph had made them even lighter than the icy gray they usually were.
It was deeply spooky.
Claire flipped a page and read the title:
A HISTORY OF MORGANVILLE
Its Important Citizens and Events
A Chronicle of Our Times
She blinked. Surely they hadnt meant for this to end up in the used bookstore, where anybody could pick it up and find it. Shed never seen anything like it before.
And, of course, she had to have it. Shed been burning up with curiosity about Amelie ever since shed met her; the Founder seemed to have so many secrets that it was hard to know where they started and stopped. Even though Amelie had, from time to time, helped her out, and had given her Protection that had saved her life at one time, Claire really didnt know that much about her, except that she was old, regal, and scary.
The penciled price on the inside of the cover was only five dollars. She quickly found a few more obscure science titles, buried the history in the stack, and hauled the books up to the front.
Dan snorted. Youre never going to cram all that in your backpack.
Yeah, probably not, she agreed. Could I have a sack?
What do I look like, Piggly Wiggly? Hang on. He rooted around behind the counter, sending up choking clouds of dust that made even him cough, and finally handed over a battered old canvas bag. She started counting out money, and he quickly flipped open the books and added up the totals. He wasnt paying attention, which was good; he just added it up and said, Twenty-seven fifty.
That was an awful lot, pretty much all she had at the moment, but she kept smiling and handed it over. As soon as the cash had left her palm, she grabbed the bag and started stuffing things inside.
Whats your hurry? he asked, counting out the fives and ones. Its not close to sundown.
Class, she said. Thanks.
He nodded, opened the register, and put the cash inside. She felt him watching her all the way to the door. It occurred to her that she didnt know which vampire owned this business, or how he or she might feel about the sale of the book . . . but she couldnt worry about that now.
She really did have class.
TWO
It didnt take long at all to read the book. She stopped in a park on the way home and sat in a sun-faded rubber swing seat and rocked slowly back and forth as she flipped pages.
It was about people shed never heard of . . . and people she knew. Amelie, for one. Amelies disputes with various vampires. Amelies decisions to sentence this person for his crimes, spare that one. There were other vampires profiled, too. Some shed never heard of; she supposed that theyd died, or left, or maybe they were just reclusive. Oliver wasnt in the book, because he was a latecomer to town. Neither, curiously, was Myrnin. She supposed Myrnin had been a closely guarded town secret from the very beginning.
It was weirdly interesting, but overall, she didnt know what good it was going to do her to know that Amelie had once filed a complaint against a man who owned a dry-goods store (what was a dry-goods store?) for cheating the human customers. And that the complaint had gotten his store taken away from him, and hed opened the towns first movie theater.
Boring.
In the end, Claire dropped the book into her backpack and thought about mailing it anonymously to the library. Maybe that was where it really belonged, anyway. She thought about it on the way home, but she ended up worrying about whether vampires could somehow sense shed handled it. CSI: Vampire. Not a comforting thought.
Youre late, Michael remarked, as she walked into the Glass House through the kitchen door. He was standing at the sink washing dishes; there was nothing odder to her than seeing her housemate, who was all kinds of smoking-hot, not to mention all kinds of vampire, up to his elbows in suds at the sink. Did rock stars really do their own housework? Also, its not my day to do the kitchen. Its yours.
Is that your passive-aggressive way of trying to get me to pick up your laundry duty?
I dont know. Is it working?
Maybe. She put her bags down on the table and went to join him at the sink. He washed plates and handed them over, and she rinsed and dried. Very domestic. I was reading. I forgot what time it was.
Bookworm. He flicked suds at her. Michael was in a really good mood, no question about that; he had been for the last couple of months. Getting out of Morganville and recording his music with a real, genuine recording company had been good for him. Coming back had been hard, but hed finally settled into the routine. They all had. It had been a crazy, weird vacation, almost like something theyd dreamed, Claire decided.
But damn, it had felt good to be out there with her friends, on the road, without the shadow of Morganville hanging over them.
Michael abruptly stopped laughing, and just looked at her with those big blue eyes. That made her go momentarily dizzy, and she felt a blush coming on. Not that he was flirting with hernot more than normalbut he was looking at her a lot more deeply than usual, and he didnt blink.
Finally he did, turning his attention back to the sink, and washed another plate before he said, Youre nervous about something. Your heartbeats faster than normal.
You can hearOh. Of course you can. He hadnt been staring at her so much as the blood moving through her veins, she thought. And that was kind of creepy, except it was Michael. He made creepy adorable, most of the time. I ran part of the way home; thats probably it.
Hey, if you dont want to tell me, dont. But I can tell when you lie.
Okay, that was supercreepy. You can?
He smiled grimly down at the dirty dishwater. Nope. But see? You fell for it anyway. Careful, or Ill read your mind with my incredible vampire superpowers.
She sighed and wiped her hands as he pulled the plug on the dishwater and let it swirl away into the dark. The kitchen looked like someone actually cared. She really did owe him laundry, probably.
Claire tossed him the dish towel. That was a mean trick.
Yeah, still a vampire. Spill it.
As he wiped his hands and arms free of suds, she opened up the bag on the table, rooted around to find the slim volume, and handed it over. He sank into a chair. As he looked it over, his eyebrows went up and up. Whered you get this?
The used bookstore, she said. I dont think Danyou know, the guy who runs itknew it was there. Or if he did, maybe itsI dont knowfull of lies? But thats a picture of Amelie, right?
I didnt know there were any, but thats definitely one. Michael closed the book and handed it back. Maybe its Morganville propaganda. Seems like Amelies done that from time to time, in which case, no big deal. But if its not
If its the real history of Morganville, then I should take it to Amelie before I get in trouble. Yeah, thanks, Dad. Already figured that one out.
He leaned forward on his elbows and grinned. You are a difficult kid. But a smart one.
Not a kid, she said, and shot him the finger, just like Eve or Shane would have done. Hey, whos on dinner patro
Before she could finish the last word, the front door banged open, and Eves cheery voice echoed down the hall. Hellooooo, creatures of the night! Put your pants back on! Foods here, and I dont mean me!
Michael pointed mutely in that direction.
Tell me shes not bringing leftover sandwiches from the University Center, Claire moaned as Eve burst into the kitchen door with a white paper bag in hand.
I heard that, Eve said, and opened the refrigerator to dump the bag inside. I got you the bacteria special; I know how much you like that. The UC kitchen staff sends their love. Whassup, dead guy?
Not dead yet, Michael said, and rose to kiss her. Except for the cool bluish tone to his skin, he looked like any other boy of nineteen; the sharp, pointy teeth were folded up, like a snakes, and when he was like this Claire actually kind of forgot he was a vamp at all. Although he was wearing a faded T-shirt that had a happy face on it, with vampire fangs. Eve had probably bought it for him.
Eve herself had to stand just a bit on tiptoe for the kiss, which went on about five seconds too long for it to be just hi-honey-welcome-home, and when they parted, Eves cheeks were flushed even under the white Goth makeup. After a hard day of pulling shots at the TPU coffee shopshe alternated now between there and Common Groundsshe still looked cheerful and alert. Maybe it was all that caffeine. It just soaked right into her body without her even having to drink it. She was wearing black tights with orange pumpkins on themleft over from Halloween, Claire assumed, but Halloween was a year-round holiday for Evea tight black skirt, and three layers of thin shirts, each a different color. The one on top was sheer black, with a sad-eyed pirate skull printed on it.
I like the new earrings, Claire said. They were silver skulls, and the little eye sockets lit up red whenever Eve turned her head. Theyre you.