“Oh, you didn’t just call me sweetie. Eve, it’s me. Shane. You’ve called me a lot of things, but sweetie? Knock it off.” He swung around toward Michael again, who had his arms folded, head down. “Seriously, can you not just believe me? Because it’s true. I can hear her!”
“I don’t hear her. And it’s after sunset. If she’s been saved by the house, why isn’t she here?”
Shane took in a deep, calming breath. “She is,” he said. “Claire, help me out, here. Say something. Do something.”
“They can’t hear me,” she said. She’d been trying everything, but whatever power had zipped for her at sunset had been temporary; she couldn’t make them understand, and even with all her concentration she couldn’t touch physical objects anymore, much less tip something over. “I don’t have enough power, I guess. But you can hear me, and that’s what’s important. Keep believing, Shane. Please.”
Michael was talking over her. “Look, man, I want to believe you. I do. I’d be happy if there was anything left of her, even a ghost . . . but she’s not here. It’s my house. I’d know.”
“Bullshit!” Claire shouted, and Shane laughed.
“She just called bullshit,” he said, when Eve and Michael both gave him worried looks. “Honest. She did.”
“I’m—really spooked about you, honey,” Eve said slowly. “Seriously, you can’t hear her. You can’t.”
“Because she’s dead? Don’t call me honey, or baby, or sweetie, or chocolate-covered marshmallow doughnuts, or whatever the code-word-for-crazy phrase of the day is, because I am not making this up!” Shane shouted it this time. “She stopped me—” He paused, course-corrected, and said, “She knocked over that damn yellow cat thing in her room. I asked her to do it, and she did.”
“Maybe you should get some rest,” Michael said.
“Maybe you should stop treating me like I have brain damage! Look, for once, just trust me. You know how much it makes me want to vomit to say this, but Myrnin was right. The house saved her—it’s just that she’s not as strong as you were, or the connection’s not there, or something. I know she’s here.”
Michael stared at him, a frown forming on his forehead, and as Eve started to say something, he reached out and silenced her with a hand on her arm. “Wait,” he said. “What time was this?”
“I can hear her now, man.”
“When you saw her. When she knocked over the cat.”
Shane thought about it a moment, then said, “Sunset. Around then. It was already dark in her room.”
“Sunset,” Michael repeated. “You’re sure.”
Shane shrugged. “I wasn’t exactly watching the clock, but yeah, I think so.”
“What?” Eve asked. She sank down into one of the faded parlor chairs and stared up at him with a mixture of dread and hope. “What is it?”
“Sunset was when I manifested in physical form,” Michael said. “Maybe—if he’s right—that’s when Claire can make herself known. A little. Shane, you’re sure—”
“If you ask me if I’m imagining it again, I’m going to punch you out, Dead Man Walking.”
Michael raised his eyebrows and glanced at Eve. “He doesn’t sound crazy.”
“Er,” she clarified, “crazier. He sounds like he’s back to normal, which is baseline crazy.”
“Says the girl dressed up in formal Goth mourning,” Shane said. “Seriously, who buys a black lace veil? You keep that on hand for special occasions, like prom and kids’ birthdays?”
Claire felt a laugh bubbling up. This . . . this was what she’d wanted. Life. Normal life, even if she wasn’t connected the way she had been.
That’s next. I’ll make it back. I have to make it back.
Eve swept back the filmy net covering that had been over her face. “Excuse me, but my best friend just died, right here in our house! And you’re mocking me?”
“She’s not gone, Eve. And that is one cracked-out fashion statement, even for you.”
Michael wasn’t getting sidetracked, Claire realized. He was still watching Shane, and even if he believed, he was still wary. “You said she stopped you. From doing what?”
Shane’s body language changed. His shoulders squared, and hunched forward a little, as if he was protecting himself from an attack. “Nothing.”
Michael knew; Claire could see it. He’d known Shane a long time; he’d seen him hit bottom even before Claire had met the boy. He’d been there when Shane had been dragged out of his burning house, screaming for his sister.
If anybody could guess what Shane had been about to do, it was Michael, and from his expression, Shane knew that, too.
“You’re not going to do nothing again, are you?” Michael asked. “Because if you are, come talk to me. Please.”
Shane nodded, one short jerk.
“What?” Eve asked, mystified.
Shane changed the subject, fast. “Claire? Look, can you try again? See if you can make some noise. Anything.”
It was almost midnight, and Claire was heartily sick of trying, but she concentrated, again, and pushed at the dusty vase sitting on the even-dustier table nearby.
It shivered, just a little.
Just enough to make a soft scraping sound.
Eve cried out and jumped out of her chair, staring at the vase; she’d been the closest to it. “Did you hear it?” she asked. She picked up the vase and put it back down. “It moved. I heard it!”
“Eve, chill,” Michael said. “If she did move it, that wasn’t much. It means she’s really weak, if that’s the best she can do even at night.”
“And?” Shane asked. He took a step forward. “What?”
Michael shook his head. He picked up the vase, ran his fingers over the dusty surface, and put it back down. “Claire, if you can hear me, do it again. Try.”
She concentrated so hard it felt like she might collapse into a tiny white dot, like a dying star, and the vase shivered and rocked. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.
Michael steadied it, and smiled. A real, warm smile of relief. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and said, “Thank you.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Eve suddenly shrieked and jumped like a cheerleader, waving her hands in the air. The black mourning veil floated in the air behind her like a cloud. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Excuse me, you were right? I’ve been yelling at you guys for half an hour while you gave me the sad eyes and counseling!” Shane shouted back, but he was grinning now. He ran at Michael and hugged him fiercely, then Eve, catching her in midair as she squealed in delight. He spun her around. “She’s here. She’s really here!”
Claire wanted to collapse on the couch, but being insubstantial, collapsing was sort of theoretical. She settled for hovering close to it, and moved quickly as Shane threw himself in a relieved, boneless slouch on that end of the cushions. He covered his face with his hands for a moment. When he looked up again, his eyes were bright with tears. “She’s here,” he said again, more softly. “Thank you, God.”
“Claire? Do it again, with the vase,” Eve said. She knelt down and stared intently at it. “Go on, do it!”
She reached deep again, but there wasn’t anything left, really . . . and then she felt a dim, whispered trickle of power. Of course. The house had power, loads of it. She might not be a Glass, but she was something to it—it had saved her. And if she was careful, maybe she could siphon off just a little....
She could actually see the power running through the boards and beams now, a close-knit cage of light. There, right in the middle, was a particularly bright, pulsing thread, like . . . well, like a blood vessel.
She touched it and got a shock, a small one, not the kind that hurt, but a feeling of stability and warmth.