Morganville Vampires [01] Glass Houses by Rachel Caine Page A

was a ratty old blanket piled near the guitar case; she carefully moved the instrument over to the table (and imagined an invisible Michael following her anxiously the whole way), then wrapped herself in the blanket and let herself drift off into sleep, with the ticking of the grandfather clock and memories of Michael’s guitar as a soundtrack.
     
    That day, Claire went to class. Eve argued with her; Shane didn’t. Nothing much happened, although Claire spotted Monica twice on campus. Monica was surrounded by admirers, both male and female, and didn’t have time for grudges. Claire kept her head down and stayed out of any deserted areas. It was an early afternoon for her—no labs—and although she wanted to get home and wait around for Michael to show up (and boy, she wanted to see how that happened!) she knew she’d drive herself crazy, and make Shane suspicious.
    As she walked in that general direction, she spotted the small coffee shop, wedged in between the skateboard shop and a used-book store. Common Grounds. That was where Eve worked, and she’d said to stop by….
    The bell rang with a silvery tinkle as Claire pushed open the door, and it was like walking into the living room of the Glass House, only a little more Gothic. Black leather sofas and chairs, thick colorful rugs, accent walls in beige and blood red, lots of nooks and crannies. There were five or six students scattered at café tables and built-in desks. None looked up from their books or computers. The whole place smelled like coffee, a constant simmering warmth.
    Claire stood for a second, indecisive, and then walked over to an empty desk and dumped her backpack before going to the counter. There were two people behind the waist-high barrier. One was Eve, of course, looking perky and doll-like with her dye-dark hair in two pigtails, eyes rimmed with liner, and lipstick a dramatic Goth black. She was wearing a black mesh shirt over a red camisole, and she grinned when she spotted Claire.
    The other was an older man, tall, thin, with graying curly hair that fell nearly to his shoulders. He had a nice, square face, wide dark eyes, and a ruby earring in his left ear. Hippie to the core, Claire guessed. He smiled, too.
    “Hey, it’s Claire!” Eve said, and hurried around the counter to slip her arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Claire, this is Oliver. My boss.”
    Claire nodded hesitantly. He looked nice, but hey, a boss. Bosses made her nervous, like parents. “Hello, sir.”
    “Sir?” Oliver had a deep voice, and an even deeper laugh. “Claire, you’ve got to learn about me. I’m not a sir . Believe me.”
    “That’s true.” Eve nodded wisely. “He’s a dude . You’ll like him. Hey, want a coffee? My treat?”
    “I—uh—”
    “Don’t touch the stuff, right?” Eve rolled her eyes. “One noncoffee drink, coming up. How about hot cocoa? Chai? Tea?”
    “Tea, I guess.”
    Eve went back behind the counter and did some stuff, and within a couple of minutes, a big white cup and saucer appeared in front of Claire, with a tea bag steeping in the steaming water. “On the house. Well, actually, on me, because, yikes, boss is right here.”
    Oliver, who was working on some complicated machine that Claire guessed was something that made cappuccino, shook his head and grinned to himself. Claire watched him curiously. He looked a little bit like a distant cousin she’d met from France—the same kind of hook nose, anyway. She wondered if he’d been a professor at the university, or just a perpetual student. Either looked possible.
    “I heard you had some trouble,” Oliver said, still concentrating on unscrewing parts on the machine. “Girls in the dorm.”
    “Yeah,” she admitted, and felt her cheeks burn. “Everything’s okay, though.”
    “I’m sure it is. Listen, though: if you have trouble like that, you come here and tell me about it. I’ll make sure it stops.” He said it with absolute assurance. She blinked, and his dark