by Rachel Caine
“Don’t touch it,” Myrnin said, and there was a certain chill in his voice she hardly recognized. “Only I can alter the machine from this point on. I don’t want you down here. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“From now on, the machine is my responsibility,” Myrnin said. “Only mine.”
That did not make her feel any better. Claire swore to herself that she was going to figure out the password. She had to understand what was going on, and somehow, this machine was the key.
Everything seemed quiet the rest of the morning. Claire walked home, after promising Myrnin she’d deliver doughnuts the next day. She didn’t see any crazy people, or even confused people. Everyone seemed to have a purpose and understand where they were going.
Was it possible that she’d really just blown it all out of proportion because she was so scared by the fate of poor, doomed Kyle, and so tired from the brutal repair session on the machine? Things looked different today. Better, somehow. She felt a little foolish, really, after she’d stopped in a couple of stores and talked to perfectly normal (for Morganville) people, who didn’t seem to have noticed anything odd at all.
Outside of the used bookstore, she ran into another familiar—and unwelcome—face. He stepped out of the mouth of an alley in front of her, keeping to the shadows, and she pulled herself to a sudden halt as she realized that she was facing Frank Collins.
Shane’s dad looked just the same as before—pale, with that scar disfiguring his face. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking or feeling, but he looked menacing as hell. It was his default expression.
“Stay away from me,” Claire said, and started to walk around him. He stepped in her path. She went off the curb into the sunlight, and that stopped him. “Just leave us alone, okay?”
“I need to talk to my son,” Frank said. “I need to explain some things. He trusts you.”
“Yeah, and I don’t trust you. Why should I?”
“I saved your life,” Frank said. “That ought to buy me a few minutes of your time.”
“Well, it doesn’t,” Claire said, and kept on walking. “Don’t follow me anymore.”
He stood there watching her go, and when she finally looked back at the corner, he was gone. She shivered. There was something feral about Frank Collins now, something that made her hope she never ran into him in the dark.
She decided not to tell Shane about any of it.
She got a call from her mother just as she entered the swinging gate in the picket fence around the Glass House, and sat down on the steps in the warm sun to talk. Her dad was in the hands of some of the most expert heart doctors in the world, Mom assured her. He was resting comfortably, and she’d checked into a hotel nearby. Oliver had sent money to allow them to get an apartment until her father was well enough, and then he’d promised to refund the money they’d spent on the house in Morganville, although Mom was still hell-bent on coming back as soon as Dad was out of the woods.
It seemed very out of character for Oliver to do something that nice; Claire thought it had probably been an order, a pointed one, from Amelie, and she’d made Oliver do it because she wanted him to remember who was in charge. She and Oliver were often like that—Oliver wasn’t a comfortable choice for her second in command, but he was good at it. He just didn’t think he deserved to be only second, and Amelie had to watch her back with him, always.
It felt good to hear her mother’s voice sound so strong and confident for a change. Her parents hadn’t been right, here. The stress had hurt her dad, and her mom had . . . withered, somehow. She’d always been strong out there, but in here she’d seemed weak and lost.
This was better. Claire had to believe that it was better.
“Should I come this weekend?” she asked. “To see Dad?”
“Maybe give it another week, honey; he’s still going through a lot of tests with these new doctors. I’m sure he’d like to wait and see you once he’s not being pulled away for new adventures in science every few minutes.”
“Are you doing okay?”
“Of course I am, Claire. This isn’t the first time he’s been in the hospital, and I’m booked in a very nice hotel. They even have a spa. I might just go get a massage later.”
“You should,” Claire said. “You really should. You deserve it, Mom.”
Her mother laughed a little. “Oh, baby, you are the sweetest girl in the world.” The laughter faded. “I hate to see you stay there. You put yourself at so much risk. But I promise you we will come back for you. I’m not leaving you alone there.”
“I’m not alone; I have lots of friends. And I’d risk a lot more right now if I tried to leave; you know that. It’s better if I stick it out here for a while. I can learn a lot from Myrnin, anyway. He’s better than a whole roster of teachers at MIT.” When he’s sane, she thought but didn’t say.
“And MIT doesn’t have Shane,” her mother said dryly. “Yes, I know. Believe me, I know. When I met your father I would have done anything to stay with him. Everyone thought I was crazy, too. But, sweetie, you have to promise me that you’ll call me every day.”
“Mom! Every day? How many minutes do you think I have on this cell phone?”
“Well, then, at least every few days. And absolutely once a week, no matter what. If I don’t hear from you—”
“I know, you’ll send the National Guard.”
“That’s my girl,” her mom said, and made kissy noises. “I love you, honey. Stay safe.”
“You, too,” Claire said. “I love you both very much.”
She hung up and sat there in the sun for a little while longer, thinking. She felt alone in a way that she hadn’t before; although she’d worried about her parents, felt that they were a burden to her here, there had been something weirdly comforting about knowing they were only across town. That she wasn’t on her own, not really.
She wondered if this was what it felt like to really, truly grow up.
Being alone.
Eventually, that feeling faded, mostly because the day felt wonderful sitting outside—it was deliciously warm in the sun. She thought about dragging out a lounge chair and reading in the glow, but that seemed like a lot of work. Instead, she leaned back against a pillar on the porch, closed her eyes, and took a nap.
When she woke up, she smelled tacos. Really smelled them, as if she was sleeping in a taco store. She came awake, stomach rumbling, and opened her eyes to see a plate being held right under her nose.
When she reached for it, Shane snatched it back. “Nuh-uh. Mine.”
“Share!” she demanded.
“Man, you are one grabby girlfriend.”
She grinned. It always made her feel so fiercely warm inside to hear him say that—the girlfriend part, not the grabby part. “If you love me, you’ll give me a taco.”
“Seriously? That all you got? What about you’ll do sexy, illegal things to me for a taco?”
“Not for a taco,” she said. “I’m not cheap.”
“They’re brisket tacos.”
“Now you’re talking.”
He held the plate out, and she took one. He took another, sank down next to her on the steps, and they munched in silence, enjoying the day. He’d brought cold Cokes, too. She popped the top on hers and tried to sneak a second taco—he’d brought six, after all. She managed, but just barely. When she went for the third one, Shane put down the plate and tackled her to the grass, and she used their momentum to keep them rolling until she came out on top.
He didn’t fight, exactly. He looked surprised, but pleased. “Well,” he said. “That’s new. Now what, cowgirl?”
“Now I get the rest of your tacos,” she said, and leaned forward to brush her lips teasingly against his. “And maybe your Coke. And maybe something else.”
“What else? You’ve cleaned me out. I don’t have dessert,” he murmured. The words were coming from somewhere deep in his throat, a kind of growling purr that made her feel nuclear hot inside. “Unless yo
u were thinking—”
“I don’t know; what am I thinking?” She smiled slowly at the look in his eyes, and felt absolutely wicked. “Any guesses?”
“I think I just became psychic,” he said. “Holy crap.”
“Romantic.”
“You want romantic? Date—”
She put two fingers on his lips, hushed him, and then kissed him, long and warm, with tongue. When she was finished, she let him breathe. “You were saying?”
“Not a damn thing,” he said, and used both hands to hold her hair back from her face. “How’d you get to be so good at this?”
“I had a good teacher.”
“Better not have been Myrnin or I’ll have to kick his predatory ass.”
“I mean you, dummy.”
“Oh.” He kissed her back, and somehow they rolled over again, and this time she was on the bottom. It could have felt like suffocation, but he was good at this. It just felt . . . sexy. “How am I doing now?”
“I’m learning all the time.”
“Well, you’re a scholar.” He trailed a finger down her neck, into the open part of her shirt, to where the first button held it closed. It felt like every nerve in her body paid attention to that, to the pressure, the slow speed at which his finger moved, the tug of fabric where he stopped. “Oh, damn, sorry.” The button slipped out of the hole. “You’re undone.”
She looked down. The top of her cream-colored bra was showing, but only the top. It wasn’t X-rated yet. It wasn’t even PG, except that they were outside, and anybody could walk by and see them. Somehow it didn’t feel like that, though. Here, with him, she felt like there was nothing else in the whole world except the two of them.
“Um, Claire?” Shane said. His finger had moved down to touch the skin right at the top of her bra. “Maybe we should finish our tacos inside.”
“What about—”
“Eve and Michael are at work. I go in at two.”
Oh. “That might be a good idea, then.”
He stood up and helped her rise, and they gathered up the plate and Cokes and went inside.
Best. Lunch. Ever.
Claire spent the rest of the afternoon humming around, ridiculously happy; when Eve came home and saw her, she put down her coffin-shaped purse and said, “You look mussed. If I wasn’t a total lady, I’d guess that you and Shane—”
“Excuse me? You’re a lady?”
“I bought a title on the Internet. I own one square inch of Scotland, you know. And you’re changing the subject.” Eve gave her a sharp grin and grabbed her hand. “Give, already. Deets.”
“I’m not telling you details.”
“Sure you are. We’re girls. It’s what we do!”
“If we were guys, that would be gross.”
“Wait, checking . . .” Eve held an invisible phone to her ear. “Nope. We’re still girls, and the referee says that makes it okay. So give it up, Danvers. You look starry-eyed. It must have been fantastic.”
Claire might have actually told her, at least up to the parts that made her blush, but just then, Michael came in the front door toting his guitar, tossed his keys into the tray on the hall table, and yelled, “Eve’s got dinner duty!”
“Hey!” Eve yelled back, and stomped her foot. “Your timing sucks, Michael!”
“Why, was there hot wild-girl action—”
“Shut up, you perv.”
“Can’t catch a break,” he said, and flopped down in the chair. “I was just speaking for Shane, since he’s off heroically chopping barbecue for money. Hey, you guys notice anything weird happening the last couple of days?”
Claire forgot all about the fun she’d just been having, and focused in on him with laser intensity. “Other than the vampire going nuts at the diner, you mean?”
“Yeah, I see your point, but I mean . . . more people acting weird. More than usual. Two of my guitar students didn’t show up. When I called one of them, he said he didn’t know what I was talking about, and he wasn’t learning the guitar. Which is definitely strange, because he’s already paid me for the whole month.”
Michael had noticed it. It wasn’t all in her head. Claire swallowed and glanced at Eve, who was frowning, too. “I guess,” Eve said slowly, and crossed her arms over her black and pink striped rugby shirt, with a skull where the logo should have been. “When I got to the coffee bar on campus, there was this girl wandering around, asking everybody if they’d seen her roommate. Trouble is, she doesn’t have a roommate. She hasn’t for, like, years. But she was describing her like she actually existed.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Michael nodded. “Weird shit. I met at least two other people today who thought it was a couple of years ago. What the hell, right?”
“Right,” Claire said softly. Her good feelings, intense though they’d been, were officially gone now. Whatever was happening in Morganville, it wasn’t in her head, and it was spreading.
She was going to have to go to Amelie if Myrnin didn’t want to believe it. They had to take the system offline, run a full diagnostic. There was just nothing else to do.
Amelie wouldn’t like it. Oliver really wouldn’t like it.
“It’s probably nothing big,” Eve said, and both Michael and Claire looked at her like they’d never seen her before. “I mean, it’s Morganville. Not like anybody here is ever far from the borders of Psychoville. I mean, I want to go nuts about twelve times a day.”
Michael stood up, facing Claire. “You know something about what’s going on, don’t you?” he asked, and she saw a flicker of vampire red in his blue eyes—just a spark, but enough to let her know he was serious. “Is it what you and Myrnin were working on? Is that it?”
“I don’t know,” Claire admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”
She just had no idea how to do that without Myrnin’s help.
When she got up, Claire checked the calendar and saw that there was another Elders’ Council meeting scheduled for noon. That was the best time, she thought; she could probably get in, and once she laid it all out, Richard would be on her side, and Hannah. Hannah probably had more info about the weirdness than anybody else. Amelie and Oliver would have to act.
Going to the Elders’ Council wasn’t something Claire took lightly. She took a shower, fixed her hair carefully, dressed in her best black shirt and pants, and added the delicate cross necklace that Shane had given her, back when they’d first started all this. She had his mother’s claddagh ring on, too. It made her feel stronger.
Downstairs, she turned on the TV while she ate her breakfast—eggs wrapped in a flour tortilla, with salsa. She tuned to the local Morganville station. Usually it was full of town propaganda about how great everything was, but not today; today, somebody had decided to put on some actual breaking news.
FAMILY OF FOUR KILLED IN MURDER/SUICIDE
Claire choked on her breakfast burrito. She didn’t know the names that flashed on the screen, but it was awful enough, anyway; the kids were fourteen and twelve. The dad had freaked out yesterday, gotten hospitalized in the crazy ward overnight, then been sent home.
That had been a mistake, and now there were dead people. Dead kids.
Claire called up the Morganville Police Department and asked to be put through to Chief Moses. Hannah wasn’t in the office, but the switchboard put the call through to her in her patrol car. She sounded stressed. “What is it, Claire? It’s a busy day.”
“I understand, but I need to get into the Elders’ Council today. Can I go with you?”
“Why would you want to do that?”
“Because I need to tell them about what I think is causing these problems around town.”
Hannah was quiet a moment, then said, “All right. I’ll come get you in half an hour. Stay there. Don’t go outside.”
Claire felt a stab of unease. “Why?”
“Things are getting worse. We lost a whole family last night, and there are plenty of other problems. Just stay where you are, all ri
ght? This is important.”
“I’ll be here.” Claire hung up and stared down at her blank cell phone screen as if it might contain the secrets of the universe. Then she went to the window and looked out.
At first, she couldn’t see anything odd at all, but then she saw flashing police lights three streets over. She could just make out struggling shapes.
One of them was on fire. Like a vampire who’d decided to stroll around in the daylight.
Claire stepped back from the window and ran into Michael, who was standing behind her. She whirled, slammed her hand into his chest, and pushed him back. “Hey!” she said sharply. “Creep much, Michael? Man, don’t do that!”
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “What?” she demanded. Her heart was still pounding from the shock. She was waiting for him to say boo or laugh or shove her back, like they normally would.
He said, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking out the window?”
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just . . .” He hesitated, and seemed to waver a little, as if he’d gone dizzy. “Can’t just—”
“Michael?”
“Can’t just come in here and—”
“Michael! ”
He put a hand to his head, as if he hurt, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he took a deep breath, looked at her, and said, “Oh, hey, you’re up. Is there any coffee?”
She just stared at him, trying to see any more signs that something was going wrong with him. She remembered the vampire at Marjo’s Diner—and how suddenly she’d flipped out on that poor waitress. Could it happen to Michael? Could she end up fighting him off any second? Not that she’d be able to fight him off. Michael was tall, strong, and very, very fast. She’d have a better chance of punching a speeding truck.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said. “Okay, I’ll make the coffee. What’s up with the window?”
She wordlessly pointed out to the flashing police car lights. They’d thrown a blanket over whoever was on fire. Michael looked, and then said, “What do you think? International spy ring? Meth lab? People who pissed off Oliver this week?”
He sounded so normal now. And he obviously didn’t even remember having that little . . . glitch. Claire cleared her throat and said, “I’ll make coffee.” It gave her an excuse to walk away from him, although he followed her into the kitchen. She got out the filters and the coffee and started loading the machine while Michael got down two mugs and put them on the table. “Hannah’s picking me up,” she said. “I’ll ask her about your international-spy-ring theory.”