“Shut up,” Jennifer hissed, low in her ear. “Don’t be stupid! She’ll kill you—don’t you get it?”

She jerked her head away. “I heard you went away to college,” Claire continued. Her stomach was rolling, she felt like she was going to puke and die, but all she had to do was stall for time. Shane would come. Eve would come. Maybe Michael. She could imagine Michael standing in the doorway, with those ice-cold eyes and that angel’s face, staring holes through Monica. Yeah, that would rock. Monica wouldn’t look so big then. “What’s the matter? Couldn’t you cut it? I’m not surprised—anybody who thinks World War Two was in China isn’t exactly going to impress—”

She saw the punch coming this time, and ducked as best she could. Monica’s fist smashed into her forehead, which hurt, but it must have hurt Monica a whole lot more, because she let out a shrill little scream and backed off, clutching her right hand in her left. That made the horrible throbbing in Claire’s head almost okay.

“Careful,” Claire gasped, nearly giggling. The scab on her lip had broken open, and she licked blood from her lips. “Don’t break a nail! I’m not worth it, remember?”

“Got that right!” Monica snarled. “Let that bitch go. What are you waiting for? Go on, do it! Do you think that wimp’s going to hurt me?”

The Monickettes looked at each other, clearly wondering if their queen bee had lost her mind, then let go of Claire’s arms and stepped back. Jennifer bumped into the towering column of boxes, spilling an avalanche of dust and old papers, but when Claire looked at her, Jennifer was staring at a spot between the boxes.

The spot where Claire had hidden the phone. Jen had to have seen it, and Claire gasped out loud, suddenly a whole lot more afraid than she’d thought she was.

“What the hell are you looking at?” Monica snarled at Jen, and Jen very deliberately turned her back on the incriminating phone, folded her arms, and stood there blocking it from view. Not looking at Claire at all. Wow. That’s… what? Not lucky, exactly. Jennifer had shown some cracks already. And maybe she wasn’t a complete convert to the First Church of Monica.

Maybe Monica had just pissed her off one too many times. Not that she would be stepping in on Claire’s side anytime soon.

Claire wiped the blood from her lip and looked at the other girls. The ones who were standing, uneasy and indecisive. Monica had been challenged and, so far, hadn’t exactly delivered the smackdown everybody—Claire included—had expected. Kind of weird, really. Unless Claire really struck some nerve besides the ones running through Monica’s knuckles.

Monica was rubbing her hand, looking at Claire as if she’d never seen her before. Assessing her. She said, “Nobody’s told you the facts of life, Claire. The fact is, if you suddenly just up and disappear…?” She jerked her pretty, pointed chin at the dusty towers of boxes. “Nobody but the janitor’s ever going to know or care. You think Mommy and Daddy are going to get all upset? Maybe they would, but by the time they spend their last dime putting your picture on milk cartons and chasing down rumors of how you ran off with somebody else’s boyfriend? They’re going to hate to even think about you. Morganville’s got it down to a science, making people disappear. They never disappear here. Always somewhere else.”

Monica wasn’t taunting her. That was the scary part. She was talking evenly, quietly, as if they were two equals having a friendly conversation.

“You want to know why I live in Howard?” she continued. “Because in this town, I can live anywhere I want. Any way I want. And you—you’re just a walking organ donor. So take my advice, Claire. Don’t get in my face, because if you do, you won’t have one for long. Are we clear?”

Claire nodded slowly. She didn’t dare look away. Monica reminded her of a feral dog, one that would jump for your throat the second you showed weakness. “We’re clear,” she said. “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.”

Claire went back to where Jennifer was standing, and reached behind her to drag the phone out from between the boxes. She held it up to Monica. “Speak clearly for the microphone. I want to make sure my friends get every word.”

For a second, nobody moved, and then Monica laughed. “Damn, freak. You’re going to be fun.” She glanced away from Claire, behind her. “Not until I say so.”

Claire looked over her shoulder. Gina was standing there, right there, and she had some kind of metal bar in her hand.

Oh my God. There was something awful and cold in Gina’s eyes.

“She’ll get hers,” Monica said. “And we’ll get to watch. But hey, why hurry? I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

Claire’s legs felt like they’d suddenly turned into overcooked spaghetti. She wanted to throw up, wanted to cry, and didn’t dare do anything but pretend to be brave. They’d kill her down here if they thought she was bluffing.

She walked past Gina, between two girls who wouldn’t meet her eyes at all, and put her hand on the doorknob. As she did, she glanced down at the phone’s display.

NO SIGNAL.

She opened the door, walked outside, and found her bags dumped on the grass where she’d been abducted. She pocketed the phone, picked up the bags, and walked across the parking lot to Eve’s car. Eve was still sitting in the driver’s seat, looking clown-pale and scared.

Claire tossed her bag in the back as Eve asked, “What happened? Did they see you?”

“No,” Claire said. “No problems. I’ve got class. I’ll see you later. Thanks, Eve. Um—here’s your phone.” She passed it over. Eve took it, still frowning. “I’ll be home before dark.”

“Better be,” Eve said. “Seriously, Claire. You look—weird.”

Claire laughed. “Me? Check the mirror.”

Eve flipped her off, but the same way she’d have flipped off Shane. Claire grabbed her backpack, closed the door, and watched Eve’s big black car cruise away. Heading back to work, she guessed.

She got halfway to her chem lab when her reaction hit her, and she sat down on a bench and cried silently into her hands.

Oh my God. Oh my God, I want to go home! She wasn’t sure if that meant back to Michael’s house, or all the way home, back in her room with her parents watching over her.

I can’t quit. She really couldn’t. She never in her life had been able to, even when it might have been the smart thing to do.

She wiped her swollen eyes and went to class.

Nobody killed her that afternoon.

After the first couple of hours, she quit expecting it to happen, and focused on class. Her back-to-back labs weren’t too much of a disaster, and she actually knew the answers in history. Bet Monica wouldn’t, she thought, and looked guiltily around the classroom to see if Monica was there, or one of her crew. It wasn’t a big class. She didn’t see anybody who’d been in the basement.

She made it to the grocery store after class without getting killed, too. Nobody jumped her while she was picking out lettuce and tomatoes, or while she was in line for checkout. She thought the guy at the meat counter had looked suspicious, though.

She walked back to the Glass House, watching for vampires in the fading afternoon and feeling pretty stupid for even thinking about it. She didn’t see anybody except other college students, strolling along with bulging backpacks. Most of them traveled in bunches. Once she got past the area that catered to students, the stores were closed, lights off, and what few people were walking were hurrying.