The Dead Girls' Dance Read Online Free Page A

door.’”
    She nodded, stepped away, and followed instructions. Michael handed her the hockey stick, grabbed the biker by the shoulders, and towed him quickly out into the hallway. He closed the door again, locked it, and said, “Right, here’s the story—Eve, you knocked him out with the hockey stick and—’”
    He didn’t finish, because Eve grabbed him and pushed him back against the door, wrapping herself around him like a Goth-girl coat. She was crying again, but silently; Claire could see her shoulders shaking. Michael sighed, put his arms around her, and bent his blond head to rest against her dark one.
    â€œIt’s okay,’” he murmured. “You’re okay, Eve. We’re all okay.’”
    â€œYou were dead !’” she wailed, muffled by the fact that her face was still pressed against his chest. “Damn you, Michael, you were dead, I saw them kill you, and—they—’”
    â€œYeah, it wasn’t too pleasant.’” Something passed fast and hot across Michael’s eyes, the reflection of a horror that Claire thought he didn’t want to remember or share. “But I’m not a vampire, and they can’t kill me like a vampire. Not while the house owns my soul. They can do pretty much anything to my body, but it just—gets fixed.’”
    The prospects of that made Claire sick, like standing on the edge of a huge and unexpected drop. She stared at Michael, wide-eyed, and saw he understood the same things she did: that if Shane’s father and his merry band of thugs found out, they might decide to test that out. Just for fun.
    â€œThat’s why I’m not here,’” Michael said. “You can’t tell them. Or Shane.’”
    â€œNot tell Shane?’” Eve pulled back. “Why not?’”
    â€œI’ve been watching,’” he said. “Listening. I can do that when I’m, you know—’”
    â€œA ghost?’” Claire supplied.
    â€œExactly. I saw—’” Michael didn’t go on, but Claire thought she knew what he’d been about to say.
    â€œYou saw Shane’s dad hit him,’” she said. “Right?’”
    â€œI don’t want to make him keep secrets from his dad. Not now.’”
    Footsteps pounding up the stairs, then slowing when they hit the hallway. Michael touched his finger to his lips and eased out from Eve’s frantic grip. He pressed his lips silently to hers.
    â€œHide!’” Claire whispered. He nodded and opened the closet, rolled his eyes at the mess inside, and forced his way in. Burying himself in piles of clothes, Claire hoped. Miranda had been trapped in that closet after trying to knife Eve, before the house had caught fire; she’d really done a job of messing things up. Eve was going to be furious.
    Both girls jumped at a hard blow on the door. Eve hastily unlocked the door and stepped back as it flew open, and Shane charged through.
    â€œHow—?’” He was breathing hard, and he had a crowbar in his hand. He’d have broken through the locks, Claire realized, if he’d had to. She came toward him slowly, trying to figure out what he was feeling, and he dropped the crowbar and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up off the ground. His face was buried in the crook of her neck, and the warm, fast pump of his breath on her skin made her shiver in raw delight. “Oh Christ, Claire. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’”
    â€œNot your fault,’” Eve said. She held out the field hockey stick. “Look! I hit him. Um, twice.’”
    â€œGood.’” Shane kissed Claire’s cheek and let her slide back down to the floor, but he kept hold of her arms. His eyes, bright under the bruises and swelling, surveyed her carefully. “He didn’t hurt you? Either of you?’”
    â€œI hit him!’” Eve