Bite Club mv-10

by Rachel Caine

  This was a house of cards, and it was all crashing down around her. Claire decided she couldn’t care about that, not now. Better to try to get it all out in the open. “Bishop broke out,” she said. “And the next thing anybody knew, he grabbed Jason and had him take him to Stinky Doug. Then he killed him. Jason didn’t know why.”

  “But we do now,” Michael said. “Doug was trying to blackmail Immortal Battles. He lifted vampire blood and was probably planning to go to a reporter with it, along with his story and the Web site evidence. Proof.”

  “Proof nobody could afford, not even Bishop,” Claire said. “So no more Doug. But the thing is, Bishop had to already know about the fighting. He was in on it. Or behind it. Amelie’s got a full-scale search going for Bishop, and she’s going to find out about this, probably soon.”

  Michael leaned against a lab table and crossed his arms. “That means Shane will be just as guilty as everybody else, for aiding and abetting,” he said. “You know how she’s going to feel about that. And if we knew and didn’t tell her, we’ll be there right alongside him.”

  “I know how I’m going to feel,” Eve said. “I’m going to feel sorry, because I don’t look good in prison clothes. Or I’ll be dead, in which case I won’t feel much. Claire, sweetie, I hate to say this, but I don’t think we have a choice. We have to tell somebody. We have to.”

  “But Shane—”

  “Shane needs to understand that this little sideshow is over, like it or not,” Frank said. “And that he’s falling with it if he stays. He’d better decide to end up on Amelie’s side, not Bishop’s, because Claire is right: Bishop in the mix changes it from illegal fun to a serious threat.”

  “Shane doesn’t know about Bishop’s involvement. I’m sure. He’d never have anything to do with it if he had any clue,” Claire said. “We just have to tell him, that’s all. He’ll break it off.”

  “That’s all,” Michael said. “You were there, right? The last time we tried to talk to him?”

  Claire took a deep breath. “No offense, Michael, but I think—I think it was you who really caused the problem. Not what you said. What you are. Somehow he’s gotten conditioned to be angry whenever it involves vampires. You saw how he treated Eve, and he likes Eve. I think I have to talk to him alone.”

  “No!” Eve blurted that out, but she didn’t back down when Claire turned to her. “No, seriously, just…no, honey. You can’t, Claire. You saw how he was. If you go alone he might…he might hurt you. I know you don’t think he will, but I saw him. I know he could. I hate it, and I wish it wasn’t true, but…you can’t take that risk.”

  “You take that risk all the time with Michael,” Claire said, and stepped forward to touch Eve’s choker, beneath which lay bite marks. “You trust he’ll know how far to go. Right? I trust Shane. I have to trust him.”

  “Well…they’ll never let you in,” Eve said, but she sounded doubtful now rather than definite. “You’d never make it past the bouncer.”

  Claire locked eyes with her and held the stare, trying to put all her grief and passion into it. “I have to,” she said. “Please understand. Please.”

  Eve didn’t want to, but she finally, unwillingly nodded. When Michael tried to interject, she shook her head firmly. “She’s right, Mike. She’s not a little kid; we can’t always be there. And she’s also right about how Shane feels about vampires. If either one of us shows up, it kicks it up to a whole new level. If she’s alone, it’s more personal. And no matter how wack Shane may be right now, I can’t believe he would hurt her, not on purpose.”

  Michael clearly had his doubts, but he held up both hands to signal surrender. “First we wait to see if he comes home tomorrow,” he said. “If he doesn’t, then we’ll drive you to the gym and wait for you—and Frank monitors your signal. Any sign of trouble, he pushes the alarm button, and all bets are off. Oh, and we tell Amelie. Immediately, regardless of how that conversation goes with Shane.”

  Claire didn’t like it particularly, but she could see the wisdom of it, too. It hadn’t occurred to her, but since she knew Frank could use the camera, too, she could be wearing her cell phone around her neck with the camera activated, and he could see and hear everything. He’d wanted eyes and ears inside the gym; this was the best she could do.

  “I’ll go there tomorrow,” she said. “If he doesn’t come home tonight.”

  “Hang on,” Frank said. “What about this Web site?”

  “Can you block access?”

  “Only for people inside of town.”

  “How about, you know, launching some kind of attack? Like a virus or a denial of service?”

  Frank blinked. “No idea what you’re talking about. Look, I was never the Internet guy. And it’s pretty freaking strange to be—this. I got no idea how to do that denial of whatever. And I don’t have any viruses.”

  “What if I give you one?”

  “Try it, and you won’t need to be afraid of what my son does.”

  “Okay, right. Never mind,” Claire said. “It was just an idea. Obviously not a very good one.”

  “Bad enough I’m stuck like this, without you getting any ideas about making me sick like the last occupant.” Meaning Ada, Myrnin’s old assistant. And girlfriend. Claire was suddenly glad she hadn’t suggested the whole virus thing while Myrnin was around, because he would surely have been very unhappy with her.

  And as if she’d conjured him up, thanks to even thinking his name, Frank suddenly turned to face the side of the lab where the portal door was located. “He’s coming back,” he said. “Nobody tells him nothing.” And just like that, Frank vanished, leaving behind nothing but a trailing hiss of static in Claire’s cell phone speaker, just as a pool of darkness formed inside an open doorway, then rippled into what looked like a dimly lit library.

  Myrnin stepped through, and the portal collapsed behind him into darkness. He shut the wooden door and padlocked it, rolled the bookcase back in front of it as additional cover, and, without turning around, said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, uninvited guests?” He didn’t sound happy. Or even, as was more typical for Myrnin, wacky. Bad sign.

  “I…needed to check on something,” Claire said. “Sorry. We were just leaving.”

  “Were you?” He turned, clasping his hands behind him. He looked very old-school Myrnin, formally dressed, even down to shiny boots. Well, the shirt and vest might have clashed, but apart from that, he’d obviously been somewhere that didn’t accept his usual wardrobe choices. Like, say, Amelie’s office. “There are a number of odd things happening in this town, Claire. Most notably, the behavior of you and your friends. Including that boy most strangely absent from your little group. I don’t often see him separated from you.”

  She felt a prickling of fear and tried not to let it show. “He’s busy,” she said. “So am I.” She nodded to Michael and Eve and headed for the stairs.

  Myrnin got there ahead of her. She came to a fast stop, wondering what the hell was up with him this time. She’d seen so much insanity from him that it was tough to work up real terror anymore. He’d wig out on her and grow fangs, or not. But she wasn’t going to let him stop her.

  “Wait,” he said. Not angry after all, and not crazy. He looked worried and sad. “You know that you can trust me, don’t you? You understand that I’m your friend. I am. I have always tried to be.”

  “I know,” she said. It sounded hollow, because it wasn’t true. She’d seen Myrnin be a whole lot of things, and she knew better than anyone how fragile he was. She couldn’t depend on his current mood. She just couldn’t. There was too much at stake.

  “You’d tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn’t you? Something with which I might help?”

  “It’s—” She swallowed and studied her scuffed shoes. “Shane and I had a fight. That’s all. It’s—making me feel pretty awful. I’m sorry if I haven’t been myself.”

  “Yes,” Myrnin said a little helplessly. “Well. I see how that mig
ht—and I’m, of course, the last one to criticize anyone for not being themselves—but are you sure it’s not…? Perhaps it’s for the best that you and the boy—”

  She felt tears burning in her eyes, real and instant, and looked up to glare at him through them. “Just leave it alone, okay? It’s personal!”

  He was so surprised that he stepped aside, and she charged up the steps, panting with emotion that she couldn’t control and didn’t have the vaguest idea of what had brought it up. Everything, she guessed. Stress, worry, Shane, Morganville, Myrnin. Constantly being the one who had to be okay.

  She was so tired of being okay.

  Outside, in the alley, she realized that Eve was yelling her name, but she hit the pavement running. She had to run; she couldn’t control it, even though it was dark and a dumb idea, and when she hit a trash can with a crash and went flying, she expected, with a kind of fatalistic satisfaction, to get hurt. Maybe badly.

  Only she didn’t, of course, because Michael had gotten ahead of her by doing that vampire jumping thing and was there to catch her, and she yanked free of his kindness, still furious. “Just leave me alone!” she shouted. It was shockingly loud. Lights went on after a few seconds in the Day House, next to the alley. She’d woken up old Gramma Day, another thing to feel bad about. “I don’t need your help!”

  Except she had, of course. She wasn’t quite stupid enough to run the rest of the way; she walked, kicking bottles and trash out of her way with bitter anger, until she arrived back at Michael’s car. She yanked at the handle, but it didn’t open. Locked, of course. It beeped at her softly as Michael remotely unlocked it, but he didn’t come closer as she pulled it open and got in and slumped in the backseat, feeling blackly miserably. She probably should apologize, she realized. But she didn’t care.

  Michael got in the driver’s side, and Eve, after bending over to look at her over the seat, got into the shotgun position. Nobody said a word. The engine started and the car pulled away with a crunch of tires, and Michael said, “I think Gramma Day thinks I’ve just abducted you.”

  “Why?” Claire snapped.

  “Because she’s out on her porch, loading up a shotgun.” He hit the gas. “Good thing she doesn’t keep it ready and waiting, or we’d be in a little bit of trouble.”

  “Oh.” Some of her anger managed to fade away as she considered what could have happened. What if Eve had gotten caught in the crossfire? Michael wouldn’t have been hurt, but Eve…“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  Eve cupped her ear at Claire. “I’m sorry—was that an apology? Because it didn’t sound like one.”

  “Don’t push it.”

  “I’m not, but you’re acting like a drama princess.”

  “Drama queen.”

  “Hello, no. You need a lot more practice at door slamming, flouncing, and pouting before you can even pretend to deserve my throne, bitch. But you’re coming along.” Eve paused and fixed her with a long, serious look. “That wasn’t a compliment, by the way. In case you’re wondering.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Good.” Eve faced forward. “I get it, though. It’s all coming down around you, you don’t know what to do, it’s all too big and too scary to face, much less fight, so the first person who shows you compassion gets slapped. Been there so often, I pay rent.”

  “I—” Claire intended to defend herself, but after running it through her head, that was a pretty accurate assessment, all things considered. She finally shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Progress.” Eve laughed. “I love you, CB, but let’s face it: we can all be tools. It’s in our DNA. Yeah, even yours, Michael.” She punched his arm. He pretended to feel it. “So. Next step. We go home, get a good night’s rest, hope Shane slinks back with his tail between his legs and realizes what a douche he’s been. Right?”

  “That’s the plan,” Michael said. He didn’t sound optimistic. “Give him some time. But one way or another, tomorrow we go to Amelie and tell her everything we know. Including about Shane.”

  Claire raised her chin and stared at the back of his curly blond head, because that hadn’t sounded quite right, either. Not the words; the tone. Something just a shade off. “Michael? You’re not going to run off and do anything dumb tonight, are you?”

  “Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one running full speed in the dark in Vampireville.”

  That checked her for long enough until they pulled up at the curb at their house on Lot Street, and by the time Eve and Michael were out of the car, Claire had forgotten the original question.

  It was only later, when she woke up in the middle of the night, wondering if she’d heard Shane’s door open and close, that she realized that Michael hadn’t actually answered her at all.

  TWELVE

  Claire got up early, mostly because she just couldn’t sleep, and checked Shane’s room. Empty, and just as messy as it had been the last time she’d seen it. The pillow was even in the exact same position, half off the bed, with the sheets twisted over the side next to it. She noticed things like where his head had been the last time he’d slept there. She walked over, like a sleepwalker, and in the gray predawn light put her hand in the hollow where his hair had been pressed not so long ago. It was cold, of course.

  She picked up the pillow and hugged it, burying her face in it, and the smell of him flooded into her, overwhelmed her, and she sank down on the narrow bed and just…collapsed. Her eyelids felt raw from lack of sleep and crying, and she felt empty. Exhausted. When her eyes were closed, all she could see was that cold, set expression on Shane’s face as he’d punched that vampire over and over. It wasn’t the same Shane who’d been here with her, who’d been right here in this bed, holding her, who’d critiqued new songs with her until she’d lost her breath laughing, and tickled her and kissed her and whispered how much he loved her. That Shane wasn’t here, and she didn’t know if he was anywhere or if he was coming back.

  No. He’s coming back. I’m going to get him back.

  Somehow.

  She wasn’t thinking of anything specific, nothing on the order of a plan, but all of a sudden she had a vision of the Web site. Immortal Battles. Someone knew something, and it wasn’t just Vassily and Bishop and Gloriana. Vampires weren’t generally computer savvy. A few, maybe, but it was much more likely that a human was doing their Web work for them.

  Maybe even someone inside Morganville, since they’d specially coded it to be invisible to Morganville’s monitoring sensors.

  She sat straight up in Shane’s cold bed, pillow still held in her arms, and stared at the mirror on the wall. She looked awful—dark circles around her eyes, hair a mess, skin sallow. But she felt better.

  Because she had a good idea of what to do next.

  Was it safe? No, definitely not. But waiting to see if Shane might change his mind was worse than torture. It was like being eaten an atom at a time.

  Claire raced back to her room, grabbed clothes, showered in record time, tied her shoulder-length hair back in a sloppy knot, and was down the stairs and out the back door without even stopping for coffee, although she did take her book bag, mainly because it contained her wallet and some potentially useful vampire-repelling equipment.

  Because she was going to see the wizard. Not Myrnin…the real wizard.

  “Excuse me?” Amelie said. “You barge in on me without an appointment, in my office, and you expect me to grant your request without an adequate explanation? Not like you, Claire. Not like you at all.”

  Amelie, regardless of the hour, looked cool and fresh and unnaturally beautiful. She was wearing pale blue today, in a straight, subdued style, although she’d condescended to put on pants. She even had on pearls. At six in the morning.

  Claire stood, because she hadn’t been invited to take one of the thick leather armchairs next to the desk, and, besides, she wasn’t in a sitting kind of mood. Amelie’s office in Founder’s Square had been a little tricky to access; she didn’t want to use portals, and pop
ping in uninvited on the Big Vampire Boss (much less popping in with a bag full of antivampire equipment) probably wasn’t a fabulous survival tactic, anyway. But getting through the levels of guards and social secretaries also hadn’t been easy. Amelie had hired someone to sit at a desk in front of her office, and that vampire—the nameplate on her desk said her name was Bizzie O’Meara, and she’d looked deadly serious about her job—hadn’t been at all understanding about the concept of emergencies.

  Amelie herself had opened the door, looking cross at all the noise, and waved Claire inside. That didn’t mean, however, that Claire was welcome. Just stuck.

  “Well?” Amelie said. That tone was about as close as the Founder of Morganville ever came to showing temper, at least with humans. There was an icy, cutting edge to it that left the unmistakable impression of a threat, even if the details weren’t exactly specified. “Explain yourself.”

  “I can’t,” Claire said, and readjusted the book bag on her shoulder. “Not yet, anyway. I’m investigating. When I’m sure about what I know, I’ll tell you. But in order to get proof, I need access to someone who’s being held for crimes against Morganville.”

  Amelie raised her eyebrows about a millimeter. “Really. Of course, the answer to that would be no.”

  “But I need—”

  “Prisoners who are held on that particular charge don’t get visitors, Claire. Nor do they get furloughs. They are mine, for life, to do with as I wish. And this…individual…may not even be alive, for all you know.”

  That was scarily true. Claire hesitated, then said, “Kim.”

  “Kim,” Amelie repeated, as if she had no idea who Claire was talking about. “Oh. Her. Well, yes, she is alive—I’d hardly execute someone so young, even if she is unpleasant and unmanageable. She remains in custody, as she will at my pleasure until she proves to me that she deserves to see daylight once again.”

  “She’s good at doing things online that even you and Myrnin couldn’t find, and that’s pretty rare. I need her expertise.” Claire was in danger of giving things away and she knew it; she had no idea if Frank would lie to the Founder, or even if he could. Part of what drove him was machinery and programming; his human brain might want to lie for his son, but what about the rest of him? She couldn’t be sure about anything. “I need her help to find someone.”