her brain was slowing down, her body aching. It had to be worse for Myrnin, because of the disease. It was wrong to do this, she thought. Wrong, because his manic phase always led to dementia, and he'd wanted so badly to be himself again.
But the crystals drying on the tray could change that, or at least, she hoped they could. It wasn't that Myrnin had been wrong, only that his last assistant had made mistakes, whether deliberate or not Claire couldn't tell. But the crystals in the tray would be more effective, and longer lasting.
Myrnin could stabilize again.
'It isn't a cure,' Myrnin said, as if he was reading her thoughts.
'No, but it buys you time,' Claire said. 'Look, I can come tomorrow. Promise me you'll leave these here, all right? Don't try to take them yet, they're not ready. And they're more powerful, so you'll have to start with a small dose and work up.'
'Don't tell me what to do!' Myrnin barked. 'Who is the master here? Who is the student?'
This was familiar, and dangerous. She lowered her head. 'You're the master,' she said. 'I have to go now. I'm sorry. I'll come back tomorrow, okay?'
He didn't answer. His dark eyes were fixed on her, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Or even if he was thinking. He was right on the edge.
Claire took the shaker of the less effective crystals and stuffed it in her backpack — there wasn't that much left, but enough for one more dose for them both, and if he did something to the crystals during his manic phase, they might need it. She needed to ask Amelie for some kind of strongbox where she could store things ...
'Why?' Myrnin asked. She looked up at him, frowning. 'Why are you helping us? Isn't it better for humans if we waste away and die? By helping me, you help all vampires.'
Claire knew what Shane would have done. He'd have walked away, considered it a win all around. Eve might have done the same thing, except for Michael.
And she ... she was helping. Helping. She couldn't even really explain why, except that it seemed wrong to turn away. They weren't all bad, and she couldn't sacrifice Michael for the greater good. If it was the greater good.
'I know,' Claire said. 'Believe me, I'm not happy about it.'
'You do it because you're afraid,' he said.
'No. I do it because you need it.'
He just stared at her, as if he couldn't figure out what she was saying. Time to go. She shivered, shouldered her backpack, and hurried for the stairs. She kept looking behind, but she never saw Myrnin move ... even so, he was in a different place, closer, every time she looked. It was like a child's game, only deadly serious. He wouldn't move while she was looking at him.
Claire turned and walked backwards, staring at him. Myrnin chuckled, and the sound echoed through the room like the rustle of bat wings.
When her heels hit the steps, she turned and ran.
He could have caught her, but he didn't. She burst through the doors of the shack into the alley, breathing hard, sweating, shaking.
He didn't follow. She didn't think he could, past the steps. She wasn't sure why — maybe the same way that Morganville itself kept people in town, or wiped their memories, kept Myrnin confined in his bottle.
She felt the hair on the back of her neck stir, and then she heard a voice. Whispering and indistinct. Shane? What was Shane doing here?
He was inside. He was inside and he was in trouble, she had to go to him ...
Claire found herself reaching for the door to the shack before she knew what she was doing.
'Myrnin, stop it!' she gasped and pulled away. She turned and ran down the alley toward the relative safety of the street.
It was only when she got there that she saw it was already nightfall.
Eddie wouldn't come for her after dark, and she was a long way from home. Too far to walk.
Claire was about to dial Michael at home when she spotted a police car cruising slowly down the cul-de-sac. Not a vampire squad car — this one had only light tinting on the front windows, although the back was blacked out. Claire squinted against the harsh brightness and waved. The effects of the crystals were ebbing fast, and she felt clumsy, strange, and exhausted. All she wanted to do was sleep. She'd have taken a ride with Satan in his big red handbasket if it had helped her get off of her feet for a few minutes.
The cruiser pulled to a stop, and the passenger side window rolled down. Claire bent over to look inside.
Officer Fenton. 'You shouldn't be out by yourself,' he said. 'You know better. Everybody's looking for you. Your friends called you in as missing.'
'Oh,' she said. That hadn't even occurred to her. She hadn't realized how long she'd been away. 'I just — can I get a ride home? Please?'
He shrugged. 'Hop in.' She did, gratefully, and buckled herself in. Everything ached now — her head, her eyes, every muscle in her body. And she had the feeling it was going to get worse before it got better. 'Speaking of your friends, how are they? Heard about that thing with Shane. Damn shame.'
'He'll be okay,' she said.
'And the other one? Michael?'
'Yeah, he's fine,' she said. 'Why?'
'Just checking. Probably good to keep an eye on him, since he was the target of the hit in the first place,' Fenton said. He turned the patrol car in a slow, crunching circle and headed back out, away from the alley. 'Since the guy was looking for him, specifically.'
Claire's head hurt too much for conversation. 'I guess,' she agreed faintly. And then some last flash of cognitive clarity put together strings of chemicals, and she felt her heartbeat jump and hammer harder. 'How did you know that?'
'What?'
'I mean, about Sam not being the real target? He was unconscious when you found him. He couldn't have said anything.'
'Unconscious, crap. He was dead.'
'But anyway, he couldn't have said — ' Things clicked into place, and the pattern looked bad. Very bad. 'You were there before the sirens.'
'What are you talking about?'
'When we first looked out, we saw you parked behind Sam's car and we just thought you'd found him there. But you didn't just find him lying in the street —'
Officer Fenton pressed the gas pedal, and the cruiser shot forward at a high rate of speed. He turned on the lights. She heard the harsh clicking sound they made, and the night was flooded with flashes of blue and red strobes.
'Where are you taking me?'
'Shut up.'
Claire put her hand on the door handle, but they were going so fast she knew she couldn't jump. She'd be badly hurt, at the very least. 'If you hurt me, the Founder — '
'That's what we're counting on,' Fenton sneered. 'Shut up.'
###
Shane would have totally gotten off on the whole vampire-killer-secret-society thing. Claire just wanted to go home. Badly.
In addition to Officer Fenton, the group that gathered in the shed behind the photo processing store included Fenton's wife, the unpleasant nurse, who treated Claire like she was carrying some totally disgusting disease. She even wore latex gloves to tie Claire to the chair.
Claire barely recognized the others. One was a maintenance worker from the university, she'd seen him a few times. One was a bank teller. One was the smooth-faced, unremarkable guy who'd delivered Amelie's note to her this afternoon.
And he was the one who leaned over into her space, hands braced on the arms of the chair, and said, 'We don't much care for collaborators. Even little underage ones.'
Claire's mouth felt foul and dry, and she was shaking now with the aftereffects of the crystals. Myrnin had
