There were two doors - one that said EXIT, one that had nothing on it at all. Justin passed the unmarked door, hesitated, and backed up.
"What?" I asked. Justin took hold of the handle and eased the door open.
"Just a hunch," he said. "Shhhh."
On the other side was another waiting area, and there were people standing in line. This part of the Donation Center was darker, with fewer overhead lights. Three people were standing in front of a long white counter, like at a pharmacy, and behind it stood a tall woman wearing a lab coat. She didn't smile, and she was about as warm as a flask of liquid nitrogen.
"Oh crap," Justin breathed, and about the same time I realized that the blond guy first in line at the counter was Michael. He wasn't home. . . . He was here.
He finished signing something and shoved the clipboard back, and the woman handed him over a plastic bottle, about the size of the bottled water I had been drinking.
This one didn't hold water. Tomato juice, I told myself, but it didn't look at all like juice. Too dark, too thick. Michael tilted it one way, then another, and his face - he looked fascinated.
No, he looked hungry.
I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. Michael unscrewed the cap on the bottle as he stepped out of line, put the blood to his lips, and began to drink. No, to guzzle. I was distantly aware that Justin's grip on my hand was so tight it was painful, but neither of us moved. Michael's eyes were shut, and he tilted the bottle back and drank until it was empty except for a thin red film on the plastic.
He licked his lips, sighed, and opened his eyes, and looked straight at the two of us.
His eyes were a bright, brilliant, glowing red. He blinked, and it went away, replaced by an eerie shine. Another blink, and it was all gone, and he was back to being Michael again.
He looked as horrified as I felt. Betrayed and ashamed.
Justin shut the door and dragged me toward the exit. We hadn't reached it before Michael came barreling in after us.
"Hey!" he said. His skin had taken on a flush, a faint pink tone, that I remembered seeing before. "What are you doing here?"
"What do you think we're doing? They hauled me here in cuffs, man," Justin snapped. "You think I'd be here if I had a choice?"
Michael stopped in his tracks, and his gaze flashed down to the stretchy bandages on our arms. Recognition flashed, and then he looked . . . sad, somehow. "I - I'm sorry."
"What for? Not like we didn't already know how much you crave the stuff." Still, I heard the betrayal in Justin's voice. The revulsion. "Just didn't expect to see you chugging it down like a drunk at happy hour, that's all."
"I didn't want you to see it," Michael said quietly. "I drink it here. I only keep some at home for emergencies. I never wanted you to watch - "
"Well, we did," Justin said. "So what? You're a bloodsucking vampire. That's not a news flash, Michael. Anyway, it's no big thing, right?"
"Yeah," Michael agreed. "No big thing." He focused on me, and I couldn't fit the two things together - Michael with those terrifying red eyes, gulping down fresh blood, and this Michael standing in front of me, with that sad hope in his expression. "You okay, Ana?"
I nodded. I didn't trust myself to talk, not even a word.
"I'm taking her home," Justin said. "Unless that was your appetizer, and now you're looking for the main course."
Michael looked sick. "Of course not. Justin - "
"It's all right." The fight dropped out of Justin's voice. He sounded resigned. "I'm okay with it."
"And that bugs the crap out of you, doesn't it?"
Justin looked up, startled. The two of them stared it out, and then Justin tugged on my arm again. "Let's go," he said. "See you at home."
Michael nodded. "See you."
He was still holding the empty bottle, I realized. There was a tiny trickle of blood left in the bottom.
As the door shut between us, I saw Michael realize what he had in his hand, and throw it violently in the trash can.
"Oh, Michael," I whispered. "God." In that one gesture, I realized something huge.
He really did hate this. He really did, on some level, hate what he'd become, because of what he saw in our eyes.
How much did that suck?
The rest of the night passed quietly. The next morning, we woke up to a ringing phone.
Eve's dad was gone.
"The funeral's tomorrow," Eve said. She wasn't crying. She didn't look much like herself this morning - no makeup, no effort at all put into what she'd thrown on. Her eyes were veined with red, and her nose almost glowed. She'd cried all night; I had heard her, but when I'd knocked on the door, Eve hadn't wanted company. Not even Michael's.
"Are you going?" Michael asked. I thought that was a funny question - who wouldn't go? But Eve just nodded.
"I need to," she said. "They're right about that closure thing, I guess. Will you . . . ?"
"Of course," he said. "I can't do graveside, but - "
Eve shuddered. "So not going there, anyway. The church is bad enough."
"Church?" I asked, as I poured mugs of coffee for the three of us. Justin, as usual, had slept through the phone. "Really?"
"You've never met Father Joe, have you?" Eve managed a weak smile. "You'll like him. He's - something."
"Eve had the hots for him when she was twelve," Michael said, and got a dirty look. "What? You did, and you know it."
"It was the cassock, okay? I'm over it."
I raised my eyebrows. "Is Father Joe a . . . ?" I did the teeth-in-neck mime. They both smiled.
"No," Michael said. "He's just nonjudgmental."
Eve got through the day without too much trouble; she did the normal things - helping with the laundry, taking half the cleaning jobs for the day. It was her day off from work. I had a few classes, but I skipped three that I knew I'd already built up enough momentum in, and attended only the one that seemed critical. Michael didn't go in to teach private guitar lessons, either.
It was nice. It was like . . . family.
The funeral was held at noon the next day, and I found myself trying to pick out what to wear. Party clothes seemed too . . . festive. Jeans were too informal. I borrowed a pair of Eve's black tights and wore them with an also-borrowed black skirt. Paired with a white shirt, it looked moderately respectful.
I wasn't sure how Eve planned to dress, because at eleven a.m., Eve was still sitting in front of her vanity mirror, staring at her reflection. Still in her black dressing gown.
"Hey," I said. "Can I help?"
"Sure," Eve said. "Should I do my hair up?"
"It'd look nice that way," I said, and picked up the hairbrush. I brushed Eve's thick blonde hair until it shone, then twisted it into a knot and pinned it up at the back of her head. "There."
Eve reached for her rice-powder makeup, then stopped. She met my eyes in the mirror.
"Maybe not the right time," she said.
I didn't say anything at all. Eve applied some lipstick - dark, but not her usual shade - and began searching through her closet.
In the end, she went with a black high-necked dress, one long enough to hang to the tops of her shoes. And a black veil. It was subdued, for Eve.
The four of us were at the church with fifteen minutes to spare, and as Michael pulled into the parking garage, I saw that several vampire-tinted cars were already present. "Is this the only funeral?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, and turned off the engine. "I guess Mr. Rosser had more friends than we thought."
Not that many, as it turned out; when we entered the vestibule of the church, it was nearly empty, and there weren't many names noted in the register. Eve's mother stood by the book, waiting to pounce on anyone who came in the door.
True to Michael's earlier description, Mrs. Rosser couldn't seem to stop crying; she was wearing all black, like Eve, only it was much more theatrical - dramatic sweeps of black satin, a big formal hat, gloves.
And, I reflected, when you were more theatrical than Eve, you definitely had issues.
Mrs. Rosser had gone in heavy for mascara, and it was in messy streams all down her cheeks. Her hair was dyed blond, and straggling around her face. If she was going for the role of Ophelia in the town production of Hamlet, I thought she probably had it in the bag.
Eve's mother threw herself on me like a wet blanket, sobbing on my shoulder and smearing mascara my white shirt. "Thank you for coming!" she wailed, and I awkwardly patted her on the back. "I wish you'd known my husband. He was such a good man, such a hard life - "
Eve stood there looking remote and a little sick. "Mom. Get off her. She doesn't even know you."
Mrs. Rosser drew back, gulping back another sob. "Don't be cruel, Eve, just because you didn't love your father - "
Which was just about the coldest thing I had ever heard. I exchanged a stricken look with Justin.
Michael got between mother and daughter, which was damn brave of him. Maybe it was the vampire gene. "Mrs. Rosser. I'm sorry about your husband."
"Thank you, Michael, you've always been such a good boy. And thank you for taking care of Eve when she went out on her own."
Mrs. Rosser blew her nose, which was how she missed Eve saying caustically, "You mean, when you threw my ass out on the street?"
"Sign us in," Michael said to me, and took Eve's arm and led her into the church. I hastily scribbled our names in the book, nodded to Mrs. Rosser - who was staring after her daughter with an expression that turned my stomach - and grabbed Justin's arm to follow.
I'd been in the church before. It was nice - not overly fancy, but peaceful in its simplicity. No crosses anywhere in sight, but just now, the focus was the big, black casket at the end of the room. I was struck by the smooth curve of the wood, and how much it reminded me of the Bloodmobile.
That made me shiver and grip Justin's arm even more tightly as we slid into the pew beside Michael and Eve.
There were about fifteen people scattered through the sanctuary, and more arrived as the minutes ticked by. A couple of men in suits - from the funeral home, I supposed - set up more floral displays on either side of the casket.
It somehow didn't seem real. And the sounds of Mrs. Rosser's continued sobs and wails, responding to every mourner who entered, made it even weirder.
Eve slid out of the pew and walked up to the coffin. She stared down into it for a few long seconds, then bent and put something in it and came back to take her seat. She had her veil down, but even with the softening blur, her expression looked frozen and hard.
"He was a son of a bitch," she said when she saw me watching her. "But he was still my dad."
She leaned against Michael's shoulder, and he put his arm around her.
Mrs. Rosser finally entered the sanctuary and took a seat in the front row, ahead of where the four of us were. One of the funeral home attendants handed her an entire box of tissues. She pulled out a handful and continued to sob.
And a tall, good-looking man in a black cassock and white surplice, with a purple stole around his neck, came out from behind the floral displays and knelt down next to her, patting her hand. The fabled Father Joe, I supposed. He seemed nice - a little earnest, and younger than I'd expected. Brown hair and golden eyes that were very direct behind a pair of square gold-rimmed spectacles. He listened to Mrs. Rosser's ode to her husband with a sympathetic, if distant, expression, nodding when she paused. His glance flicked away once or twice, to the clock, and he finally bent forward and whispered something to her. She nodded.
More people had come in at the last minute, enough to fill about half the church. I, turning, spotted familiar faces: Detectives Joe Hess and Travis Lowe, who nodded in my direction as they took their seats at the back of the room. I recognized a few more people, including a total of four vampires in dark suits and sunglasses.
One of them was Oliver, looking bored. Of course - Eve's family had been under Brandon's Protection, and when Brandon had died, they'd come under his superior's authority. Oliver's appearance here had less to do with genuine feeling than public relations.
Father Joe stepped to the pulpit and began eulogizing a man I had never met, and one I doubted Eve recognized; except for the facts and figures of his life, his character seemed way better than anything his daughter had ever mentioned. From the way Mrs. Rosser nodded and cried, I was buying into the fiction wholesale.
"What a load of crap," Justin whispered to me. "Her dad hit her, you know. Eve."
I sent him a startled look.
"Just keep that in mind," he finished. "And don't shed any tears. Not for this."
Justin could, I thought, be one of the hardest people I'd ever met. Not that he was wrong. Just - hard.
But it helped. The emotion swirling through, amped higher by Eve's mother, washed over me and away without doing more than making my eyes sting. When Father Joe finished his eulogy, the organ started, and Mrs. Rosser was the first to the casket.
"Oh, God," Eve sighed under her breath as her mother draped herself dramatically over the wood and screamed. Bloodcurdling, theatrical screams. "I guess I'd better - "
Michael went with her, and whether it was his male presence or his angelic face or his vampire blood, he was able to pry Mrs. Rosser away and lead her back to the pew, where she sat in a complete collapse, blubbering.
Eve stood there at the casket for a few seconds, back straight, head inclined, and then walked away.
Tears dripped from under her veil and pattered on her black dress, but she didn't make a sound.
I filed by, but gave Eve's dad only a quick glance; he looked - unnatural. Not disgusting, but clearly not alive. I shivered and took Justin's arm, and followed Eve as she passed her mother without a word and headed for the exit.
Eve almost ran into her brother.
Jason had slipped in the back. As far as I could tell, the kid hadn't changed his clothes at all - ever - and the unwashed smell of him was evident from three feet away.
He looked high, too. "Nice disguise, Sis," he smirked.
Eve stopped, staring at him, and scraped the veil back from her face. "What are you doing here?"
"Mourning." He laughed under his breath. "Whatev."
Eve deliberately looked to the side, where Detectives Hess and Lowe were sitting. "I think you'd better go." They hadn't noticed him yet, but they would. All it would take would be a raised voice, or Eve snapping her fingers.
"He's my dad, too."
"Then show him some respect," she said. "Leave."
She went around him. The rest of us followed, though Justin slowed down, and I had to tug at his arm to keep him moving.
Jason made a bring it motion. Justin shook his head. "Really not worth the trouble," he said.
And then we were out in the vestibule, away from the choking smell of flowers and the subtle smell of death, and all I could think was, How is that closure?
But Eve looked better, and that was what mattered. "Let's go have a burger," she said.
As ideas went, that one was popular, and my spirits lifted as we walked out of the church and into the shaded parking structure, heading for Michael's car.