Morganville - 10 - Bite Club (18 page)

When I opened my eyes, Glory was right there, bending over me. Her smile was like a drug, and the brush of her fingers on my forehead felt like the touch of an angel.

"Sleep," she whispered. "Dream of fire and strength, and remember how much this town has taken from you. Don't let it take the rest, Shane. Everything else is unimportant, except this: Michael doesn't mean you well. He's not your friend. And you can never fully trust him. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I said. It was something I knew already, something I should never have forgotten. You can't trust vampires.

Except Glory.

I was still smiling, drowning in the warmth of her touch, when I fell asleep.

NINE

S
hane came home seeming just as normal as ever. He even brought brisket, and they ate, four friends together, like nothing had ever gone wrong. Even Michael's opaque

"juice" bottle didn't set him off.

All Claire could think was that she needed to sit down and tell him about the call. But she didn't know what she was going to say, and she didn't want to say it in front of Eve and Michael. Not like that; it needed to be private.

But afterward, upstairs in his room, when Claire snuggled in next to him, talking didn't seem to be important. She kept thinking she'd bring it up, but after hours of slow, delicious kissing in his arms, she still hadn't managed to even start the conversation. Finally, she fell asleep. When she woke up, he was carrying her to her bed and tucking her in.

"Shane?" she murmured. He was leaning over her, close enough that his long, shaggy hair brushed her face.

"Still me," he murmured back. "Were you expecting someone else?"

She smiled. "Just you."

"Good girl." He gave her a slow, damp kiss, one that made her warm down to her toes.

"Shane, I was thinking..."

"About?"

"About..." She didn't want to do this -- she really didn't. Not when it had been so nice. So perfect. But she tried. "About leaving Morganville."

To her surprise, he didn't pull back or act surprised or anything. He kissed her again, lightly, and said, "We will. I promise."

"I just -- You know I want to go to MIT, right?"

"Of course. And you will."

Wow. Just like that...although she hadn't managed to work in the January part of the conversation. But it sounded good. Positive. They were on the same page, after all.

One last, sleepy, damp kiss, and she slipped away into the best sleep she'd had in almost a week.

He was gone when she woke up, but he'd left a note.... He'd signed up for an extra, early-morning shift at the barbecue restaurant. He even signed it with LY, which she knew was Shane shorthand for love you.

That felt better. Lots better.

Claire was just coming down the stairs, humming and thinking about how nice it was to have things getting back to normal, and how she'd tell Shane about the January thing tonight, when Myrnin sent a message through the portal -- well, more of a rock with a note tied to it, which rolled across the floor and scared Eve into a scream before the portal snapped shut. Eve kicked the rock resentfully with her thick black boots and glared at it, then at the wall. Claire, who was coming down the steps, gave her a "What the hell?" kind of look.

"Your boss," Eve said, and reached down to grab the rock, "needs to figure out texting. Seriously. Who does this? Is he actually from the Stone Age? And you need to figure out how to put something here that we can lock. What if this thing opens when I'm naked?"

"Why would you be naked down here?"

"Well -- " Eve didn't have an answer for that one. She handed over the rock. "Okay, bad example. But I don't like it that he can just drop in any damn time he wants. Or throw rocks at us."

"I don't like it much, either," Claire admitted, as she untied the string and peeled the paper off the stone.

She took a second to examine the rock. You never knew with Myrnin, but this looked just like what it appeared to be: plain granite. So the message was the paper, like if a normal person had thought of it...not that a normal person would have thrown a rock into their house in the first place.

The note said, Stay away from the lab until further notice. I am fumigating. It might kill you. Also, it appears that Our Old Friend may have left town. Oliver is sending operatives after him, but the crisis may be over. For now.

"Fumigating?" Eve said, reading over her shoulder. "What does that mean? And who's Our Old Friend?"

That was Bishop, of course, but Claire couldn't tell Eve any of that. "No idea. He probably thinks he's talking to someone else, anyway. Oh, and fumigating means that he's gassing the place. I guess he thinks there's some kind of bug problem."

"He usually just lets Bob loose on them."

"Maybe Bob's full. I hope he remembers to move him before -- Maybe I'd better remind him." Claire pulled out her phone and texted Myrnin, who promptly texted back, Of course i moved the spider. I am not an idiot .

No, he was a very smart guy who responded to texts, but threw rocks with messages tied onto them.

Claire gave up.

"I got a message from Miranda," Eve said. "She didn't have your e-mail. You guys have a thing today?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'm taking her shopping."

"Shopping. Miranda. Really?" Eve looked confused, then a little bit fascinated.

"Wow. Talk about the color-blind leading the blind."

"Hey!"

"Sorry, honey, but your amazing fashion sense is not the talk of anywhere. And Miranda doesn't go shopping. She's more of a Dumpster diver fashion victim."

"Well, she does with me," Claire said. She was stinging a little bit, because getting fashion dissed by a girl wearing red-and-black Halloween hose and a fake shrunken-head necklace was just too much. "Did she say where to meet her?"

"She said she'd be outside at ten."

Claire checked her watch. It was already ten after ten. "Guess I'm going, then. You heading out?"

"Some of us have work."

"Some of us have mad-scientist bosses who give them the day off for fumigation."

"Okay, you win." Eve winked and grabbed her stuff as Claire picked up hers. "Too bad I can't come with you two and give you decent makeovers. And why don't you ever wear that pink wig? That was the kick."

She wasn't wrong. The pink wig that Eve had practically made her buy in Dallas was, indeed, the kick, but away from Eve she always felt miserably self-conscious about wearing it. People looked at her.

Claire was much more used to being invisible.

And right now, with all that was going on, seeming invisible sounded good.

Miranda was standing outside the fence, rocking a very unfashionable look -- a plaid schoolgirl skirt that went past her knees and a wrinkled shirt in a color that might have been moss green in better light, but didn't match that skirt or her coloring at all.

Her worried face actually lit up when she saw Eve and Claire. Eve waved and got into the big, black hearse, and Miranda waved back, as enthusiastic as a kid at her first parade. She sighed, watching the tail fins turn the corner. "She is so cool."

"She is," Claire agreed. "But so are you. Come on. Let's go shop."

Those looking for clothes in Morganville had two options: the resale stores, of which there were three, or the one off-brand department store that mostly had clearance items from the better places. After considering Miranda's budget, Claire steered her to the resale shops. College students often discarded their outfits here at the store next to the campus. Nobody was more fashion conscious than a TPU girl. It wasn't like most of them were on campus for the education.

To be fair, that applied to the guys just as well.

Miranda followed along happily enough to the first resale shop. She didn't say much, but there was a glow about her, something that made her seem much healthier and happier than Claire could remember.

Just a little bit of attention, and the girl bloomed. That made Claire feel guilty and sad; she hadn't gone out of her way to make friends with Miranda, and she knew nobody else did, either. No doubt the girl could be weird and upsetting, but she was just like anybody else.

She needed to be seen .

"Here," Claire said, and held open the door of the shop for her. A tinny, cheerful bell rang overhead, and Miranda looked around as excitedly as if she'd never heard one before. That was impossible, wasn't it? That she wouldn't know what a shop bell sounded like?

Maybe not.

The woman at the back, dozing behind the counter, looked up and smiled sleepily.

"You girls look around," she said. "Let me know when you're ready to try on."

"Okay," Miranda said, and stopped at the first rack of clothes. "Oh. Wow. There are a lot."

"Yeah, honey. Those aren't your size. Here. Look through these." Claire felt like she was unexpectedly channeling Eve as she pulled things out and held them up against Miranda's skinny frame, discarding some, keeping others. Strong colors didn't work on her, but earth tones did. Before too long, Miranda was pulling things on her own and holding them up, staring into the mirror as if she was seeing a future that, finally, didn't scare her at all.

"Can I try them on?" she asked. Claire waved at the shop owner, who unlocked the dressing rooms.

Claire passed things over the top to Miranda, and leaned against the door.

"Nothing for you?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows. Claire felt the look that swept over her outfit as if it had been an actual red-hot laser. She'd just been scanned, and found wanting.

"Well, maybe a top," she said. "Maybe."

"I have just what you need."

And she did, too. Claire ended up modeling it in front of the triple mirror, frowning at her reflection. With the khaki pants she'd picked today, the pink-and-white lace top looked weirdly appropriate -- and kind of sexy. She'd come a long way in the last few months, but she wasn't sure she was ready for sexy in public. That just wasn't her.

The dressing room was too quiet. Claire knocked on the door. "Miranda? Hey, come out and take a look at this. Tell me if it's too much."

Miranda peeked around the edge, face gone ghost pale. Her eyes were dark, with that blank stare that people found so weird.

She was having one of her things. A vision.

"It has blood on it," she said. "You shouldn't buy it if it has blood on it."

Claire looked down. The top was perfectly clean. "Mir -- "

Miranda suddenly opened the door. She had on one of the tops she'd been trying on, and Claire had a hurried impression that it looked totally good on her, but the girl was focused on something else entirely.

She grabbed up all of the clothes, headed straight for the counter, and said, "I need this one, this one, and the one I have on." She put the buy pile down and then handed over the other one. "I just can't see myself in this, though."

Claire realized she meant that literally. As in, Miranda had looked into her future and couldn't see herself actually wearing that top. Bizarre. The shopkeeper didn't seem to get it, though -- why would she? -- and named her price. Miranda paid, and Claire barely had time to dig out five bucks for the pink-and-white top she had on before Miranda grabbed her arm and said, "We have to go. Hurry."

"But -- "

"Now!"

Miranda hurried her outside, down the sidewalk, and then quickly turned her left, into an alley between two buildings. "Hide there," she said, and pointed. "Right there.

Don't come out, Claire. Don't come out for anything. You understand? It's okay. It's going to be okay, but not if you come out."

"Miranda, what in the hell -- ?"

Miranda's face was chalk white now, but very determined. She looked down at herself and said, in a sad sort of voice, "It's completely cute, isn't it? This shirt?"

"Yes, it's perfect. But what are you -- ?"

"Hush." Miranda turned toward the mouth of the alley and pointed again into the shadows behind some trash cans. "Don't come out!"

"Wait. What happens if I do?"

"I die," Miranda said very simply. "Hide."

Claire didn't like it, but there was something utterly sure about what Miranda had just said, and for all that Claire didn't believe in psychic predictions and that sort of stuff, she couldn't deny that there was something about Miranda. Something weird and powerful, at times.

So she pressed herself into the shadows.

For a long few seconds, nothing happened, and then she heard footsteps. Confident high-heel taps that echoed off the bricks, then slowed and came to a stop.

"I saw you come in here," said Gina's voice. "Freak. Hiding in dark alleys now?

What's that about? You live in a Dumpster? Not that I'd be surprised."

Miranda didn't answer. Claire almost stepped out, because Gina was alone, and anyway, there was no way she was going to let Miranda face her down alone, no matter what Mir had said about it.

As if the girl knew what she was thinking, her hand moved behind her back and made a pushing motion. Stay there.

And Claire did. She didn't like it, but she did.

"You're going to hit me," Miranda said. "You're going to break my nose."

"Damn straight," Gina said. She sounded lazy and happy, as if she was enjoying all this. "You're lucky that's all I want to do. If you move, if you fight back, you're going to get it worse. Understand?"

"Yes," Miranda said. "I understand. If I don't let you hit me, you're going to kill me."

Claire actually felt a tremor of chill run through her, like a wave, because there was just no doubt in Miranda's voice at all. It wasn't scared. It was just...factual, as if she'd already seen it happen.

"You're smarter than you look, you spaced-out nutcase. So, yeah. Let me break your nose, and I'll let you walk away. You fight, and it gets worse and the knife comes out. We're clear?"

"Yes."

Claire tried to move again, because she knew with a nightmarish certainty what was going to happen and that she had to do something, had to, but again, Miranda made that stay put motion.

"It's okay," Miranda said in an eerily empty, remote voice. "It's not going to hurt that bad."