Morganville - 10 - Bite Club (12 page)

For Claire's sake, I'd hidden a lot of what I felt about her boss, but lately it had come leaking out a little.

And Myrnin didn't like me much, either -- I'd seen it in his eyes, especially when he'd found us together in his lab. Myrnin was territorial; so was I. Claire wouldn't like that, but it was a cold fact.

And if Myrnin had taken her somewhere, from my territory...if he did anything to her...Well. I was going to spill some crazy vamp blood. Maybe a lot of it.

I sat in the dark and stared at that ladder for a long, long time before I went back to my room, stuck the headphones back on, turned on the TV to some brainless flickering channel, and zoned out, because

there was nothing else to do right now.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a dream girl sitting on my bed.

I knew it was a dream because I felt no sense of alarm at seeing her; it was like she was supposed to be there, so there was no reason to get scared or think it was weird.

She was beautiful, too, in a whole different way from Claire: long blond hair that rippled in thick waves around her heart-shaped face, all the way down her back.

Small, but with a lot of personality; her smile was like morning sunrise, and she had eyes the color of summer skies. And, yeah, okay, I checked her out. She was worth checking -- curves, nice ones, in all the right places. Not fashion-model skinny, but real-girl sexy.

It occurred to me after a few seconds of admiring all that lushness that I shouldn't be feeling quite this attracted to a vampire. Because she was a vamp, of course. One hundred percent. You'd think that if I'd wanted to put a couple of vamps through the wall earlier, including my own best friend, I'd have felt the same way about her, but...I didn't. I liked her.

Just like that.

And I kind of recognized her in a distant way. Like I'd seen her before or known her before. But I didn't feel compelled to reason it out, either.

"You were impressive today," she said. Even her voice sounded like a dream, like one of those voices you hear in whispers that leaves you feeling warm and sweaty when you wake up. "Vassily was surprised, you know. He's never had a human touch him in a fight, let alone put him on the mat. I think he was impressed as well as annoyed."

"Thanks," I said. I was smiling at her, and it felt good. "It felt good, taking him down a peg."

"It was enjoyable to watch. You're so very...solid." She looked at me through lowered eyelashes, and my heart almost stopped. She just had that kind of presence and power. Like a dream. She was a dream, of course. She had to be. Every few minutes, one of those sex-line commercials was coming on TV. She was probably put together in my brain out of that, and the vampire obsession I seemed to be developing. Even the voice sounded like something you'd pay money to hear murmur your name.

"Vassily said it earlier, but he wanted me to extend a personal invitation to you to join his exclusive sparring group. But you can't tell anyone, whether you decide to join or not. It's more fun that way. Our secret, you see."

"Fun," I echoed. "Are you in it?"

"Only as a spectator," she said, and smiled again, a slow, wicked stretch of those wet, full lips. "I'm a lover, not a fighter, Shane. Although I'm quite sure you're both."

I felt hot all over, and, yeah, again, I'm a guy -- don't judge. I love Claire, I do, but this was a dream.

And besides, Claire had just ditched me to run off on her own when I needed her.

I tried to think about Claire, but the perfume in the air was so strong, so sweet, and I could almost feel how good it would be to sink into this dream, let it take me away.......

"I think it's time for me to go," Dream Girl said, and I felt a cool brush of lips on my cheek. It made me shiver all over. She laughed, low in her throat. "Do think about my proposition, sweet boy. I'll talk to you soon."

"When?"

"When you come to the new group," she whispered, and put her fingertips against my lips. "Quiet now. Someone's here."

Best dream ever.

Right up until the door flew open.

Inside the room, Shane said, "When?" and Claire just couldn't stand it, not at all.

She threw open the door so forcefully it banged into the wall and almost hit her on the backswing.

There was a blur of motion, too fast for her eyes to track, and a flutter of curtains at the window, and when she blinked, Shane was sitting alone on his bed, headphones on, looking dazed. He picked up the remote, flipping channels on the TV, moving like a sleepwalker.

"Shane?"

He looked up at her, face bathed in that pale blue light, and for a second, he didn't look anything like the Shane she knew.

Then he looked straight at the screen again as he shoved his headphones back.

"Hey. I thought you were sleeping," he said. "Then I checked again, and you were gone."

All her righteous indignation fell into confusion. She'd been going to accuse him, not the other way around...but now, she wasn't sure anymore what she'd actually seen. A blur. It could have been the flickering TV light combined with the wind blowing the curtains on the window. And the voices...the voices could have been the TV, too.

But she, on the other hand, had undeniably sneaked away, in the middle of the night, without telling him.

"There was a ladder under your window," he continued. "And unless you were planning to do late-night house painting, I don't know why you'd be out there climbing on a ladder. Front door's perfectly good if you want to leave, far as I know."

"I had to...It was -- " This was ridiculous. She hadn't come in here to be confronted.

"Who was in here with you? I heard her talking to you."

Shane raised his eyebrows and looked back at the TV, where a woman was lying around in skimpy lingerie, talking on the phone and winking at the camera. Some kind of phone sex ad. "You mean her? She's been on five times an hour. Sometimes they even run the ads back-to-back."

"No, I mean -- " What did she mean? How had this gone so wrong, so fast? "I mean, there was a girl in here. A vampire." It had to be a vampire, to move so fast.

Shane shook his head. "You're kidding, right? You know how I feel about them. And I'm not a fang-banger."

"You said you'd stop saying that." Because of Eve, of course. And Michael.

"Yeah, well, nobody here but us breathers. Or is that something I can't say, either?"

She was losing the thread of all this. It was all slipping away, like a dream at dawn.

"Shane, I saw her. I thought -- "

"Yeah," he said. "I thought the same thing when you were gone without saying a word to me. Just be straight with me, okay? Was it Myrnin?"

She was speechless, absolutely speechless. For one thing, she couldn't lie about it -- it had been Myrnin who'd shown up in her room in the middle of the night. And shehad run off with him. And now, inexplicably, she felt guilty about it, too. She could feel a traitorous burn in her cheeks, but the words just wouldn't come to save her.

Shane's face went still and cold. "Yeah. That's what I thought."

"Shane, I -- "

"Morganville's changing you," he said. "You used to be scared of them, but the more you're around him, the more you think the vamps can be your friends. They aren't. They can't be. They're ranchers. We're cattle."

Where the hell was all this coming from? She knew how he felt about the vampires, about Morganville, but this seemed -- so edgy. So bitter. "We're here," she said. "We have to make the best of it until we can leave. You've said so yourself."

Shane shook his head, still not looking at her. He looked drawn now, and a little bit haunted. "I need to get you out of this place before it's too late. I should have done it before the barriers went back up around town, but now...now it's going to be more difficult. Got to do it, though. You can't be here anymore."

"Shane, what are you talking about? What makes you think I want to go right now?"

Suddenly, his focus shifted, and she felt hot and cold all over at the passion and intensity in his eyes.

"Why wouldn't you want to go? Because of him? Myrnin?"

"No!" She felt appalled now, entirely out of control. This had not gone anything like she'd thought. "God, Shane, are you jealous?"

"Do I need to be? 'Cause you're running away in the middle of the night with him, Claire."

"I -- But it was -- "

He turned away. "Just go, Claire. I can't talk right now."

She felt tears well up in her eyes, tears of anger and sheer, maddening frustration. It didn't matter what she said now. Shane had just shut her out, as effectively as if he'd slammed the door between them.

As she watched, he turned off the TV, pulled up the blanket, and rolled over on his side.

Away from her.

"Shane," she whispered.

No response.

She couldn't take it -- she couldn't. Maybe it would have been better to stay there, tell him everything, but she felt trapped. She felt like she couldn't breathe, and she just wanted...wanted...

She wanted out.

Claire didn't even make the conscious decision to run, but she did -- out the door, into her own room, slamming and locking it behind her.

And then she sank down to a crouch against the door, wrapped her arms around herself, and cried like her heart was broken.

Which, in fact, it was.

SEVEN

M
orning felt like the end of the world. Claire didn't remember sleeping, but she supposed she must have a little. Outside her window the sun was shining, and when she pulled the sash up a warming breeze fluttered the white curtains. It was going to be a nice day.

For the end of the world, anyway.

She rolled over in bed and found herself facing a lot of empty space -- space that Shane had occupied sometimes, whether they were just lying together talking or watching TV or...doing other things. But no Shane. Not today. That side of the bed was smooth.

Claire rolled back over to face the other side, which was just a view of the blank wall and a dresser. On the dresser was a picture of her and Shane, arms around each other, laughing.

She squeezed her eyes shut. They felt raw and red, swollen from crying, and she knew she looked as miserable as she felt.

Get up, she told herself. You can't just lie around here all day, feeling sorry for yourself.

But if she got up, she might run into Shane in the hall or downstairs in the kitchen or......

Get up. You live here, too.

She didn't want to, but the idea of wallowing around in her misery didn't sound so great, either. She was tired of crying, and her head hurt. She needed something to drink, something to eat, and to tell Eve all about it.

Crawling out from under the covers, Claire realized that she was still wearing the clothes she'd thrown on to follow Myrnin; she hadn't bothered, in her generally awful mood, to undress. She took a fresh set with her to the bathroom (she noted that Shane's door was closed as she passed) and showered and dressed and fixed her hair.

When she realized that she was actually taking longer than Eve generally did, mainly to avoid any possibility of coming into contact with him, she sucked in a deep breath, dumped the old clothes in the laundry basket, and reached for the bathroom doorknob.

Her cell phone went off, scaring her so badly, she banged her elbow into the sink while reaching into her pants pocket. Ow. That hurt, hurt bad enough to make her take an extra second of deep breaths to stare down at the lit-up screen. She didn't recognize the number, not even the area code. Probably a wrong number.

She answered, and a voice on the other end, sounding brisk and businesslike, said,

"May I speak with Claire Danvers, please?"

"I'm Claire." She swallowed a bubble of anxiety. Could it be about her dad? No, he was doing better -- he'd said so himself. Everything was all right.

Then why was some stranger calling her?Now?

"My name is Mr. Radamon, and I am in charge of the Atomic, Biophysics, Condensed Matter, and Plasma Physics program at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Did you receive our letter?"

Claire went entirely blank. "Your...letter?"

"You applied for admission into our program last year," Mr. Radamon said. He sounded so...normal. So human. Somehow, she'd expected an MIT honcho to sound more godlike, with thunder rolling in the background. "We replied about six months ago with an acceptance letter to your home address. I just wanted to be sure you got it."

"Oh.Oh , no, I didn't. My parents -- my parents had to move. My dad is sick." MIT.

MIT was on her phone. She took it away from her ear and started at it in dreamlike disbelief. "You said...I was accepted?"

"Yes," he said. "We do have an opening. But, of course, we need to confirm that you'll be able to attend at the beginning of next year. If you can't, we'll have to give the opportunity to another applicant. You understand?"

"Of course," Claire said, and felt a wave of hot excitement roll over her, followed by an ice-cold wave of realization. "You said...next year? As in January?"

"Yes, January," he said. "I hope that gives you enough time to make your arrangements. I'm sorry to hear your father is ill. I hope it's nothing serious."

Claire honestly didn't know what to say, and wasn't sure she could say anything.

She'd been dreaming of this moment for years, thinking about how cool and perfect she was going to sound, how she'd impress them with her adult attitude and control.

All she wanted to do was cry. I can't. I can't go. They won't let me, and this is my chance, my only chance.... MIT had been her dream ever since she'd been able to understand what they did there, what they taught, what they achieved. There, she'd learn things that even Myrnin couldn't fathom. She'd discover the secrets of the universe.

All she had to do was get the hell out of Morganville. Which she couldn't do.

"Miss Danvers?" said the voice of the future on the other end of a very long line.

"Are you there?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm here."All the way here. "Mr. Radamon, I'm sorry. I'll need to get back to you a little later. I need to, uh, talk to my parents before I tell you for sure.