Ghost Town

“Because I need to tell them about what I think is causing these problems around town.”

Hannah was quiet a moment, then said, “All right. I’ll come get you in half an hour. Stay there. Don’t go outside.”

Claire felt a stab of unease. “Why?”

“Things are getting worse. We lost a whole family last night, and there are plenty of other problems. Just stay where you are, all right? This is important.”

“I’ll be here.” Claire hung up and stared down at her blank cell phone screen as if it might contain the secrets of the universe. Then she went to the window and looked out.

At first, she couldn’t see anything odd at all, but then she saw flashing police lights three streets over. She could just make out struggling shapes.

One of them was on fire. Like a vampire who’d decided to stroll around in the daylight.

Claire stepped back from the window and ran into Michael, who was standing behind her. She whirled, slammed her hand into his chest, and pushed him back. “Hey!” she said sharply. “Creep much, Michael? Man, don’t do that!”

He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before. “What?” she demanded. Her heart was still pounding from the shock. She was waiting for him to say boo or laugh or shove her back, like they normally would.

He said, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking out the window?”

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you can’t just . . .” He hesitated, and seemed to waver a little, as if he’d gone dizzy. “Can’t just—”

“Michael?”

“Can’t just come in here and—”

“Michael! ”

He put a hand to his head, as if he hurt, and squeezed his eyes shut. Then he took a deep breath, looked at her, and said, “Oh, hey, you’re up. Is there any coffee?”

She just stared at him, trying to see any more signs that something was going wrong with him. She remembered the vampire at Marjo’s Diner—and how suddenly she’d flipped out on that poor waitress. Could it happen to Michael? Could she end up fighting him off any second? Not that she’d be able to fight him off. Michael was tall, strong, and very, very fast. She’d have a better chance of punching a speeding truck.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he said. “Okay, I’ll make the coffee. What’s up with the window?”

She wordlessly pointed out to the flashing police car lights. They’d thrown a blanket over whoever was on fire. Michael looked, and then said, “What do you think? International spy ring? Meth lab? People who pissed off Oliver this week?”

He sounded so normal now. And he obviously didn’t even remember having that little . . . glitch. Claire cleared her throat and said, “I’ll make coffee.” It gave her an excuse to walk away from him, although he followed her into the kitchen. She got out the filters and the coffee and started loading the machine while Michael got down two mugs and put them on the table. “Hannah’s picking me up,” she said. “I’ll ask her about your international-spy-ring theory.”

“I’m betting on meth lab.”

Claire poured the water in and started up the machine, which hissed and gurgled and immediately reminded her of the gutted, reworked mechanical zombie of Ada under the basement of the lab. “Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah, why? Didn’t you?”

She had, but now she wanted to crawl back in bed and pull the covers over her head. “Did . . . ah, did you have any dreams?”

Now he was really looking at her as if she was a mental case. “Sure, I guess. Why do you want to talk about my dreams all of a sudden? What did you dream? Am I going to be embarrassed I asked?”

She’d been hoping maybe he’d casually say, Yeah, I had this weird dream where I didn’t know you, but instead, she’d made him think there was something wrong with her. Perfect. The coffee machine started filling the pot, to her relief. Michael was easily distracted with coffee. Sure enough, as soon as there was enough for a cup, he got up, took it off the burner, and poured half in his mug, half in hers. That was nice of him. “Claire?” he asked, as he slotted the glass carafe back in its spot. “Anything you want to tell me?”

“Not . . . specifically.”

“Why is Hannah picking you up?”

Oh, that. She was almost relieved. “I need to go to the Elders’ Council today, that’s all. Nothing dangerous, I promise.”

“You’re not trying to get that kid Kyle out of the cage, are you? Because that would be dangerous on a lot of fronts.”

Well, she might try to talk Amelie out of it, but she didn’t think Michael necessarily needed to know that. “I’m not going to do anything crazy,” she said, which was safe, because crazy these days was definitely open to interpretation. “I just want to talk to her about the machine. I don’t think it’s working right, Michael. And now people are—”

“Dying,” he said softly. “I saw the news. You think he killed his family because of whatever’s going wrong with the machine?”

“It’s like the vampire in the diner who went crazy. I think that man knew something was wrong, and he couldn’t deal with it.” Claire shuddered. “It must seem like a nightmare, and you can’t wake up. I tried to tell Myrnin, but he . . . he was weird about it. Weirder than usual, I mean.”

That made Michael pause in sipping his coffee. “He’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be doing, right?”

“Like what?”

“Like hitting on you.”

“Ew. No, of course not. He doesn’t see me that way.” Michael shook his head and went back to his coffee. “What? You think he does?”

“Sometimes he looks at you a little . . . oddly, that’s all. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he just wants you for your blood.”

“Again, ew! What’s with you this morning?”

“Not enough coffee.” The pot was filled now, so he got up and refilled his mug. She didn’t get a second free service, but, Claire reflected, maybe she didn’t need more coffee this morning. She was plenty jittery.

They got off of the subject of Myrnin, which was a relief, and onto things Michael liked to talk about, like the new songs he was writing. His demo CD was going to be out in the next two months, and he was supposed to see the packaging for it soon, too. That was cool.

He was telling her all about it when the doorbell rang. Hannah. Claire dumped out the rest of her coffee, told Michael she’d call if anything happened, and bounced.

Hannah was dressed in her cop uniform, looking serious and intimidating, even though she was lounging against a pillar on the porch with her arms folded. She turned her head as Claire came out and locked the door. She’d gathered up her braided hair, tied it, and put it up in a kind of bun; it looked cool, but then, Hannah always looked cool. It was something she just radiated, like body heat. “Morning, Claire.”

“Hey.” Claire nodded. “Do you want some coffee? We just made a pot.”

“I’ve got some in the car. Let’s go.” Hannah was already heading down the walk toward her cruiser, so Claire hurried after her, taking two steps for every one of Hannah’s longer legs. “Thanks for staying inside.”

Claire got in on the passenger side of the police car and put on her seat belt. As Hannah started the car, she said, “What was happening?”

“Where?”

“Over there.” Claire pointed in the approximate direction where she’d seen the other police cars. “Something happened.”

“Nothing you need to worry about right now.” That wasn’t like Hannah Moses at all. She was usually relaxed, calm, confident, and she was hardly ever evasive. Now she sounded tense.