“Now you’re the one who seems quiet,” said Matthew.
Claire shrugged. Yeah, if you only knew how hard I was working to stay quiet. “A little, I guess. Hey, um, are you busy tomorrow night?”
“Yeah—I have soccer practice until late. I’m not free again until Saturday.”
Claire swallowed her disappointment. Saturday seemed like a year away. “Okay,” she said finally. “Saturday sounds great.”
Matthew lit up like a struck match. “Great! I have soccer practice until five, but after that, I’m all yours. Was there something special you wanted to do?” He squeezed her hand.
“I don’t know. Let’s just see how it goes.” Claire squeezed back.
That’s the understatement of the year.
The feel of his palm, warm against hers, sent a little ribbon of excitement sliding between her shoulder blades.
When he kissed her good night, guilt and desire and the sinking feeling that she was in too deep with Matthew spun together inside her. It would all be so much easier if she didn’t actually care about him, if he hadn’t just admitted that he thought his father was wrong.
Chapter Eighteen
CLAIRE SLIPPED INTO the house and found Lisbeth on the couch, curled up around an enormous bowl of ice cream. “I’m home and I’m not late, and I’m going to go take a shower now, okay?”
Lisbeth squinted at her. “You haven’t been smoking, have you?”
“Huh?”
“Well, you’re rushing to take a shower … ,” Lisbeth said pointedly.
For one second, Claire felt like every other sixteen-year-old on earth. “Lisbeeeth, that’s crazy. It’s hot outside. I got sweaty. I want to take a shower. I don’t smoke! God.” . … dess, she added silently.
“Well, good. You’d better not. I mean, the toxins they put into those death-sticks …” She wrinkled her nose.
Claire rolled her eyes and stalked upstairs to her bathroom. She pulled off her shirt, examining the bruise on her ribs where Zahlia had crashed into her. Why would Zahlia have threatened to attack Matthew? It could have been her idea of revenge—Dr. Engle’s son in exchange for Marie. “An eye for an eye” sort of thing. But then, why would she have charged at Claire like that? And her creepy apartment … Claire couldn’t make sense of it all, but whatever was going on with Zahlia, she needed to be stopped before she got captured too. Or before she kills a human.
Her phone rang and Claire flipped open the phone without even looking at the screen.
“Hello?”
“Claaaaaaaire!!! Guess what? I’m coming HOME!”
It was Emily. A very excited Emily.
“I—really? Already?”
“I know I said I’d call, but when I talked to my mom, she said she’d come right out to get me, and then my battery died—anyway, long story short, I’m coming back! And in time for Drama Club tryouts, too! I’m absolutely dying to see you, Claire. I’ll be home Friday. When can we get together? What about Saturday?”
Claire felt a half smile twitch across her mouth. She could imagine it—Emily lounging on Claire’s bed, painting her toenails, digging through Claire’s closet to try on anything new she found there.
Except that I can’t let her in my closet—not with the stuff I’ve got hidden there. The bloodstains from her hunts had refused to come out of two shirts and one pair of pants. They were wadded up in the back corner of her closet, but Emily would find them.
And I can’t exactly try to find Mom and give myself a pedicure at the same time. Dammit.
There was no way she could hang out with Emily. In a flash, Claire understood why her mother had never had any real friends. Their lives were too different, and it hurt too much to have it constantly thrown in your face like that.
“I wish I could, but I have plans with Matthew.” At least it wasn’t a lie.
“Hey, that’s fantastic! You guys are getting pretty serious, huh?”
“Yeah, we are, actually.”
“Fine, then I’ll let you off the hook for Saturday on one condition: I. Want. Details. And I mean, like, boxers-or-briefs details.” There was a wicked edge to Emily’s voice. “When can I see you?”
“Um, actually, my phone’s about to die and I’m totally exhausted, but I’ll call you, okay?”
“Oh, uh, sure.” Emily sounded let down and Claire felt responsible.