Shane turned that direction, and his fierce smile flashed like a blade. "Damn," he said. "You really are here. I didn't just make that up."
She drifted closer to him, close enough that if she'd been flesh and blood, they would have been embracing.
And he shivered. The smile didn't waver. "Oh God, Claire, I wish I could hold you. God. Look, I just - it was too much, with my dad and my mom and my sister. I felt - I just couldn't - "
"I know," she said. She wanted more than anything to be solid again, to hold him and kiss him and give him the hope he so desperately needed. "Can you hear me?"
"I - think so. It's like I'm imagining you. Not words, exactly, but I hear you." He laughed shakily. "Michael had this down, but I guess he had practice, right? You're learning on the job."
"You can't live for me," she said, and meant it. "It's important, Shane. You can't live just for me, and you can't die because you lost me. I need you to be stronger than that. Do you understand?"
He was silent for a moment, and she wasn't sure she'd gotten it across at all. There was a strange expression in his eyes, and his smile had faded to a memory.
"I know," he finally said. "I'm sorry. I got tired of being strong, Claire. I don't want to be alone."
"You're not alone. Michael and Eve are here, too."
He nodded and took a deep breath. "And you're here," he said. "Somehow. You're here."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Then that's enough. We're going to get you back." He was silent for a beat, then said, "You - won't tell them what I tried to do, will you?"
"Not unless you try it again."
"I won't," he said. He looked down, just as he would have if he could have actually seen her pressed close. "You're right there, aren't you?"
"Yes."
His arms slowly came up and around where her body would have been, holding her.
Holding air.
"Then I'm not letting go," he said.
And despite everything that had happened in the past twenty-four hours, that felt . . . peaceful.
Convincing Michael and Eve of her continued existence was more difficult than Claire had expected.
"Oh, come on, dude, you were a ghost when I moved in here!" Shane said. They were standing downstairs in the dusty parlor, with Claire floating unseen in the corner (which, by the way, really needed vacuuming). "Totally missing during the day. And you don't believe that I just saw her?"
"Shane - " Eve stepped forward, hands outstretched, looking distressed but determined. "Sweetie, you really have to understand that you're under a lot of stress - "
"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."