Ghost Town (19 page)

Ada was gone now, but the whole idea of her
still
scared Claire.

Her instant impression, when Myrnin turned on the overhead lights in the cave, was that Ada was back. The tangle of pipes, wires, hoses, screens, and keyboards that sprawled over half the cave was working again, hissing steam, clanking as its gears turned.

The screens on the sides of it were all dark. The one in the middle showed Claire’s custom graphic interface, the one that had been hooked up to the parts on the lab table.

As she studied it, she realized that the parts she and Myrnin had developed and tested were actually welded into the machine, just below the big, clumsy typewriter-style keyboard. Liquid bubbled. Steam escaped in wisps of mist. She could see the clockworks turning.

“It’s working just fine,” Myrnin said, and walked to the screen. It was a bizarrely out-of-place touch of high tech among all the retro brass and tubes. “Here, I’ll show you.” He deftly brought up the system logs and dials, and just as he said, there was nothing odd about how it was performing. Well, for a machine that killed car engines on command, and changed the memories of those who drove past the borders of town.

Changed the memories.
Alex had forgotten where he was. Michael had called her his mom. Laura had thought her own mother was still alive.

Claire knew she was looking at the core of the problem, whatever “the problem” really meant. But until she had proof, solid proof, there was no way Myrnin would believe her. He was feeling too fragile.

“Can you show me what improvements you made to it?” she asked. He gave her a frowning look, and she forced a smile. “I just want to learn. You know, understand what it was I left out.”

That soothed him a little. He started to touch the mechanism under the keyboard, then pulled his hand back with a snap. “Ah,” he said. “Must deactivate the security. . . . Turn around, please.”

“What?”

“Turn around, Claire. It’s a secure password! ”

“You have
got
to be kidding.”

“Why ever would I joke about that? Please turn.”

It was stupid, because she could
always
figure out Myrnin’s passwords; she didn’t think he ever used more than three, and they were all ridiculously simple. He didn’t remember his own birth date, so he didn’t use that, but he either used his name, Amelie’s name, or Ada’s.

She tried to count key clicks, but vampires typed really fast.

“Done,” he said. She turned; nothing looked any different. He pointed at a tiny LED diode on the corner of the keyboard. “Green means it’s off. Red means it’s armed. Don’t get them confused.”

She sighed and shook her head, then got on her hands and knees and crawled under the keyboard with him. It was murky underneath, but she could just make out what he was touching. “It occurred to me that we could control the reaction in our departing guests more finely,” he said. “I installed a variable switch. Should you wish to take more of their memories, you simply turn it up. It can be targeted to an individual, you see, or set as the general field around the town. But only outside of the borders.”

“What’s it set on right now?”

“Three years. According to my research, most who leave Morganville do it within three years. We can, of course, exempt certain people from the effects if we choose.”

Claire’s mouth went dry. “What about my mom and dad? Did you—”

“Oliver brought me the waivers last night, and I programmed in their exceptions,” he said, and met her eyes in the dim, flickering light. “Your parents will remember everything. That’s a risk, a great risk. It would be safer, and kinder, if I had been allowed to take their burdens away.”

“They won’t remember that I’m here if you do that. They’ll think I—” She could hardly bear to say it out loud. “They’ll think I ran away. Or that I’m dead.”

He kept staring into her eyes. She couldn’t read his expression at all. “And you don’t think that would be kinder, in the end?”

“No,” she snapped. “Why would you?”

He didn’t answer, just slithered out from under the console. Before she could get out, he’d tapped his password in again. The LED on the keyboard glowed red.

“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 you 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.