shouldn’t have, because he stopped, looked away, and shrugged. “With an opportunity as well. In any case. Dinner. Do you prefer hamburgers or hot dogs?”
Hot dogs made her think of Shane, and that made her want to cry. She knew how he was taking the news; he’d be going crazy, and probably trying to do something stupid that Michael and Eve were trying to stop. “Hamburger,” she said. “I guess.”
“And french fries? And cola? Young people still like those things, I assume?”
She nodded, miserable already. Myrnin reached out and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “Chin up, little one,” he said. “I have faith in you. Well, in us, actually. I’ll be back in five minutes.” His hand tightened on her, and she looked up into his face. “I don’t have to tell you what the consequences are if you try to flee while I’m gone, do I? I don’t have to put you in a cage to be sure?”
“No,” she said. “I’ll stay.”
“Good. Because if you do manage to escape, Amelie has issued orders that your friends and your parents are to be immediately arrested, to join that unfortunate stupid boy in his doom. Do you understand?”
Claire’s eyes flooded with hot, angry tears. “I understand,” she said. “I won’t run.”
“I didn’t expect you would. But I had to tell you.”
She hated him a little bit just then, but he patted her on the shoulder, grabbed his flamboyant hat and cloak, and was up the steps and gone in a vampire flash.
Claire sank down on the dark medieval chair and put her head in her hands. She hadn’t realized how tired she was, but her muscles ached, and she could feel a fuzziness in her thoughts that told her she was getting close to the end of her energy. Myrnin had been kind, as much as he could be. Rest would help her get through at least another day, maybe two.
Forty-eight hours, max, before she’d start losing focus, making mistakes, failing.
She couldn’t fail. She
The tears came then, even though she didn’t really want them. She didn’t know how long she cried, lost in a bleak fog of misery, until the smell of french fries made its way into her nose. She sat up, wiping her eyes, and saw Myrnin standing in front of her in that ridiculous pimp hat. He’d left the cloak somewhere.
He held out a paper bag stained with grease, and a gigantic paper cup with a lid and a straw. She took it and sipped the soda first. Pure, sweet, cold Coke. Somehow, it made her feel a little better.
“Follow me,” Myrnin said. “Eat, then rest.”
She got up and followed him through the lab, through one of the doors at the back that was normally kept closed with a gigantic, ancient padlock dangling above the knob. He searched through his pockets and came up with a clumsy-looking iron key, which he used on the lock, and then swung the door open with a flourish. He swept off his hat and bowed, which was so ridiculous Claire almost laughed.
Inside was a little room with a little table, and a very plain cot with clean white sheets. There were lamps, and in the dim light Claire made out tapestries on the walls. He’d put some colorful rugs on the floor, too. It looked oddly . . . nice.
“Is this your bedroom?” she asked, and turned to look at him. Myrnin straightened and jammed the big red floppy hat back on his head. The feathers waved back and forth.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “I’m far too young and innocent for that kind of thinking.”
He backed out, closed the door, and she heard the lock snap shut. Panic kicked in immediately; no matter how nice it was, this was a
She didn’t think he’d answer, but he did. “It’s for your own good, Claire,” he said. “Eat, rest, and I’ll see you in the morning.”
No matter how much she shouted after that, he didn’t answer.
Claire finally ran out of fury, although the fear seemed there to stay. She went back to the table, sat down, and took out the burger and fries. She didn’t really feel hungry until the first bite, and then she was ravenous and ate everything, even the pickles. She was getting sleepy even before finishing the Coke, and had time to wonder what exactly Myrnin had done to her drink, then stumble to the bed, before she collapsed and fell into a deep, dark sleep.
SIX
The next day started with breakfast, provided by Myrnin again. He set it on the table while she was still lying on the bed, blinking at the lights. Claire said, “You drugged me.”
“Well, only a little,” he said. He was wearing a violent-looking Hawaiian shirt, all pinks and yellows and neon greens, a pair of checked pants that had probably been ugly when checks were in style, and flip-flops. “Did you sleep?”
“Don’t drug me again.”
“It wouldn’t be appropriate in any case. You won’t be able to sleep, you know. Not until we’re finished.”
“Don’t remind me.” She got up, stretched, and wished she had fresh clothes. These were wrinkled, and starting to smell funky. Not that Myrnin would notice, probably. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Doughnuts,” he said cheerfully. “I like doughnuts. And coffee.”
Claire was doubtful about the coffee, but he’d provided some cream and sugar, and the chocolate-covered doughnut helped wash the taste away anyway. She drank it all, with plenty of sugary bites to help; she was pretty sure she’d need all the caffeine she could get.
Breakfast didn’t last nearly long enough.
She couldn’t have said what made her aware that something had changed; she’d developed a kind of sixth sense for these things, being around Myrnin for a while. Maybe it was just that he’d fallen silent for what seemed like too long. She looked up and saw him standing in the doorway of the room, watching her with big, liquidly dark eyes that seemed . . . wistful? She wasn’t quite sure. He could have moods about the oddest things.
He smiled, just a little, and it seemed very sad. “You reminded me of someone just then.”
“Who?”
“It wouldn’t make you feel better to know that.”
She could guess anyway. “Ada,” she said. “You had that thinking-about-Ada look.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You look like you miss her,” Claire said. “You do, don’t you?”
His smile faded, as if he didn’t have the strength to hold it anymore. “Ada was my friend and colleague for a very long time,” he said. “And there was . . . a great deal of respect between us. Yes, I miss her. I’ve missed her every moment that she’s been gone, strange as that may seem to you.”
He pushed away from the doorframe, as if he was about to leave. She couldn’t stand to see him walk off with that lost expression, so Claire asked, “How did you meet her?”
That brought him, and the smile, back. It seemed less wistful this time. “I heard of her first. She was brilliant, you know. Brilliant and charming and well before her time. She understood the concept of computing machines from the very beginning, but not only that—she was a student of a great many things, including people. That was how we met. She spotted me in a crowd one night in London, and the next thing I knew she was demanding to know what I was. She could tell, you see. It fascinated her. No surprise, because her father and his friends were the original Gothic crowd, you know.” Claire must have looked blank, because he sighed. “Really, child. Lord Byron? Percy Shelley? Mary Shelley? John Polidori?”
“Um . . .
“That would be Mary’s work, yes. Dr. Polidori became famous for a similarly dark work of fiction . . . about a vampire. So Ada was much more perceptive than one would have thought. And terribly persistent. Before long, we were . . .” He stopped himself, looked sharply at her, and said, “Close friends.”
“I’m not
“Very well, then; call it what you like. We became intimate, and we’ll leave this discussion there, I think.” He cleared his throat, looked away, and said, “Thank you.”
