Morganville - 10 - Bite Club (31 page)

"Frank," Myrnin repeated, frowning. Over his shoulder, Claire saw Frank's image flicker into black and white. He didn't smile, and there was something in his computer-generated expression that made her nervous. "No, I shall not allow Frank to help you, either. This is very dangerous territory. Amelie and Oliver have their plans, and you shouldn't get in the way. Not for your lives' sake."

"Look, I don't care about the risk," Claire said. "We're finding Shane and Michael, and we're going to get them out of there before they get hurt worse than they already have been. We have to do this now."

"It's too late." Frank's voice came from the speakers of her phone, Eve's phone, the radios positioned around the room. It was toneless and dark, and Claire felt all her resolve and energy go cold in its wake.

"I'm sorry, kids, but when that first Web site got hacked, they moved to a secondary location. I can see it, but I can't track it. I don't think they had time to do the full encryption, but they did enough. I do have one piece of information that could help, though...."

"Frank, be quiet," Myrnin said. "I didn't give you permission to -- "

"Don't make me say nasty things in front of the juveniles," Frank said, "because I'm not your dog, crazy man. You plugged me in, Myrnin. You don't get to shut me up now."

"We'll see about that. I can very easily shut you down, you know."

"And sacrifice all the security protocols around the town, now? How do you think Amelie would feel about that? I'm guessing she wouldn't be too thrilled, what with the risk of Bishop getting away undetected." Frank's image drifted closer to Myrnin and flickered unsteadily, as if he was having trouble keeping control of it. "He's my son, Myrnin. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you, but it does to me.

And I'm going to help, no matter what you say. If you want to pull my plug, go for it.

I always said I'd be better off dead."

Myrnin's lips parted, then closed. He made a frustrated gesture and stalked away, arms folded, back stiff. "Do what you wish," he said. "My hands are clean."

"Yeah? How long did it take you to wash off a thousand years of blood?" Frank returned his focus to Claire. "I got an open IP address during the switch over, just for a second, and it routed through a private computer right here in Morganville.

Happens to be a guy I know. It was one of the names I gave Myrnin when we first started talking about this."

"Who is it?"

"Harry Anderson, small-time thief and hacker, big-time idiot. If Harry had a motto, it would be „Anything for a buck.' He's good with computers, but bad with staying out of trouble. I pulled him out of the fire a couple of times when he almost got his head taken off. Literally. The good news is that Harry's got the backbone of a bacteria. Go get him."

"Awesome," Eve said. "Lock and load. What's the address?"

Myrnin sighed and buried his hands in his hair, tugging at it like a crazy man.

"You're actually going to do this foolish thing. Why can't you just stay out of it?

Amelie said -- "

"Do you always do what Amelie says?" Claire asked, and grabbed her black canvas bag.

"Yes." He thought about it. "Almost always. Or, well, occasionally, when it suits me.

But the point is that it suits me this time."

"I try to do what people say, if they have good reasons, but Amelie doesn't have a good reason. I don't intend to let her kill Shane just because she's in a bad mood and has some ancient feud going with a bunch of other vampires."

Myrnin shrugged. "All right. But don't ask me for any help."

Claire smiled. She knew what she was doing now; Myrnin was actually pretty easy, once you figured out how competitive he was with Frank. "I won't. I don't need it.

Frank's already given us what we want."

That made him give her a strangely hurt look. "I would be useful, you know. I can scare people quite easily when I want to. It's a valuable skill. Frank can't dothat. "

"We're going to get what we need," Eve said. "And we don't need a vampire to make it happen, either."

"But it would, in fact, make things easier."

"I said we didn't need you," Claire said. "And you said you didn't want to help. So you don't have to come with us now."

He pulled himself up with great dignity. "I never said I wanted to!"

"Doesn't matter what you say. You're not coming."

"Why not? Provided I had any desire, which I don't."

Eve shook her head. "Where do you want me to start? You're nuts, and you just told us you're not interested in saving Shane and Michael. So why should we bother with you? What's the point?"

Myrnin turned his back on her and looked at Claire. "And you don't think you need me?"

Claire looked him over. He was reasonably action hero today, with a long, black velvet coat and a turquoise vest and some kind of dark red shirt beneath that. If you liked your action heroes from the late 1800s, at least. "If you go, you do exactly what we say. And no running off to tell Amelie."

"I don't like that last bit."

"You don't have to. Take it or leave it."

He shrugged. "I'll take it, then. Stay here. I will get my things."

He left, heading for the room at the rear of the lab that doubled as his bedroom, supposing that Myrnin ever actually slept. "Things?" Eve said. "He has things?"

"Probably lots of them," Claire said. "He invents them in his spare time."

Sure enough, when Myrnin came back, he was carrying a bag just a little bit bigger than the ones Eve and Claire carried. His was also black, with a popular swoosh-y logo on the side. Just do it, Claire thought. Well, that made sense for Myrnin, mostly because he rarely thought things through, anyway, unless they were mechanical and mathematical.

"What's in the bag?" Eve asked. "Your bunny slippers?"

Myrnin hefted it to his shoulder and said, "A projectile weapon that fires silver aero-dispersant cartridges, among other things."

"I don't understand what you just said."

"Like tear gas, but with powdered silver," Claire said. "Airborne. Right?"

"Exactly so. I have several things I'd like to try." He seemed gruesomely enthusiastic about that, actually.

"I so rarely have the chance to field-test anything. Amelie is so conservative about these things."

"No kidding," Eve said. "Holla."

Myrnin's eyes widened. He looked at Claire, who shrugged. "She agrees," she said.

Eve started for the stairs, and Myrnin moved to follow, but Claire held him back.

"Wait. You'd better not be following us and reporting back to anybody else."

"I wouldn't do that. I am not a -- what do you call it? Snark?"

"Narc. Or snitch."

"I would tell you quite honestly if I intended to betray you to Amelie," he said, and his luminous black eyes locked onto hers. "I'm not as fond of your friend Shane, but I will help you. For one thing, I don't like it that Gloriana has such a hold on this town, or that Bishop is at large. These things can't end well for anyone. I'd rather take them on now than risk Amelie coming to harm."

It was the first time she'd heard Myrnin say anything about Amelie that she could interpret as friendship.

Claire said, frowning, "Because you care about her?"

"Well, that, of course, but I can't see Oliver supporting my research nearly as thoroughly. Can you? He doesn't have much respect for the scientific or alchemical arts." He swept his hand in the direction of the stairs in an elegant gesture, and bowed from the waist. "After you, my dear."

"You're going to need a hat and coat. It's sunny."

"Bother." He grabbed up a ratty-looking old trench coat with a torn sleeve, and a floppy hat that looked like something a little old lady might have worn to work in the garden, if she'd been color-blind. "Is that sufficient?"

"Brilliant," Claire said. "Let's get this circus on the road."

FOURTEEN

M
yrnin had a car. Somehow, this surprised Claire; she hadn't thought he had any use for one, but Amelie would have undoubtedly thought about emergencies, which was why there was a conservative, dark-toned town car sitting in a dilapidated shack behind Gramma Day's home. It wasn't locked up, and it had a coating of dust that made Claire wonder if it had ever been moved at all. Myrnin had no idea where the keys were. Claire found them on a nail, hanging behind the shack's sagging door.

They were loading the black bags into the trunk of the car when the door slid back and a squat, round, stooped shape was silhouetted by the sunlight at its back. It took a second for Claire's eyes to adjust, but when she did, she recognized the lined, hard-set face of Gramma Day under that soft cloud of gray hair. Gramma was wearing a flowered dress and house shoes, and she was carrying a shotgun that Claire would have sworn was too big for her to lift.

She sure looked like she knew what she was doing with it. The sound of her racking a round into the chamber, that heavy metallic chuk-chuk, made all three of them freeze.

Even Myrnin.

Gramma leveled the shotgun at them, squinted, and then started to lower it. "Is that Claire?"

"Gramma, it's me. And my friend Eve. Oh, and you probably know Myrnin."

Gramma clearly did, because the gun came right back to her shoulder. "I know who all my neighbors are. Don't much care for that one."

Myrnin raised his chin. "Dear lady, I've never -- "

"Only 'cause I don't allow you anywhere near my property. You know what I call you? Trapdoor Spider."

Myrnin blinked. "That is...surprisingly accurate, actually. Well, feel free to drop in on me any time you wish. Oh, of course, I promise not to hurt you."

"Don't think I'll be relying on your promises. What are you doing in here?"

"Driving my car."

"Oh." She did lower the gun now and staggered a little. If she'd actually fired it, she'd probably have broken her shoulder, as thin and fragile as she was. "Didn't know it was yours. Knew it belonged to some vampire or other, but I never asked any questions. Never saw anybody driving it."

"Well, you have now," Claire said. "Providing it starts." She pitched the keys to Eve, who managed to field them while Myrnin was distracted with Gramma Day. "And before you ask, no, you're not driving, Myrnin. I remember the last time."

"That accident was not my fault."

"You were the only one on the road, and the mailbox actually didn't leap out in front of you. No arguments. You sit in the back, too."

"You've turned into quite a bossy little thing," Myrnin said. "I think I might like it."

He opened the back door and slid inside. Eve shrugged, got in the driver's seat, and cranked the engine. It wheezed and coughed, but it did start. Gramma Day shook her head and hobbled out of the way, holding the door back.

"Claire," she said. "You want to watch yourself. That man ain't right. You keep a good watch on him. You hear me?"

"I know. I will."

"You want my shotgun?"

"No," Claire said very politely. "But thank you."

Gramma waved at them as Eve piloted the car out of the garage and then applied the brakes sharply and said, "Um...problem?"

"What?" Claire looked up from fastening her seat belt. Eve was staring at the front window with a horrified, mortified expression on her face.

The black front window. "It's a vampire car," she said. "And I can't believe neither of us thought about that."

"I can," Myrnin said from the backseat. "Now. Could I please drive my own car, seeing as how I am the only one who is actually qualified to do so?"

He's been just waiting for that, Claire thought. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. It was going to be a long, long day.

"Switch," she said. "Myrnin, drive carefully. Understand?"

"Of course."

He didn't.

Afterward, Claire tried not to think how hair-raising the ride was; Myrnin was the only one who could actually see the danger, but she could hear it, and it was horrifying. Squealing brakes at virtually every intersection as other drivers put all their skills to use in avoiding the moving target of their car. Yells.

Honking horns. A siren that Myrnin blissfully ignored, and that finally turned off without him ever pulling the vehicle to the curb.

At least he didn't hit anything that she could tell. She was almost sure about that.

Almost.

Myrnin finally hit the brakes way, way too firmly, sending her and Eve hurtling against their seat belts, and put the car in park. "See?" he said, with an unholy amount of glee. "I hardly broke any laws at all. I should drive more often."

"No. Trust me, you shouldn't," Eve said. "Think of the little old people and the children. Please tell me we're there."

"Of course."

Eve opened her door and peered out cautiously. She shut it again. "By there I mean parked, Myrnin."

"We're not moving."

"Against the curb."

He started the car and drove another two feet at an angle. Claire felt the bump as he ran over the curb.

So much for not hitting anything. He left it there, with the car's right wheels up off the street.

"Not exactly what I meant," Eve said.

"Do you imagine they're going to issue me a citation...what was your name again?"

"Still Eve."

"No, I'm sure it's something else. That doesn't seem right." Myrnin got out and opened the trunk of the car. They all loaded up on bags, and Claire took her first real look around. It was a decrepit old neighborhood; most of the houses looked deserted.

The one where they were parked had sheets tacked up as curtains in the windows --

those that weren't covered up with peeling, rain-warped plywood. Trash had blown up against the walls, and from the look of it, some of it was older than Claire was.

"This is it," Eve said. "You're sure."

"This is his address."

"Good. You go first."

Myrnin gave her a wicked smile. "Whatever happened to we don't need you?"

"We don't," Eve said. "But while he's busy staking you, we can get the drop on him."

Myrnin didn't seem to see the humor in that, but he shrugged and hurried to the door, looking ridiculous in his flapping trench coat and old-lady hat, right up until he kicked in the door with one casual blow, leaned in, and said, "Please don't run. I'm not in a good mood. Better if you just sit still."