Bite Club

And no matter how wack Shane may be right now, I can’t believe he would hurt her, not on purpose.”

Michael clearly had his doubts, but he held up both hands to signal surrender. “First we wait to see if he comes home tomorrow,” he said. “If he doesn’t, then we’ll drive you to the gym and wait for you—and Frank monitors your signal. Any sign of trouble, he pushes the alarm button, and all bets are off. Oh, and we tell Amelie. Immediately, regardless of how that conversation goes with Shane.”

Claire didn’t like it particularly, but she could see the wisdom of it, too. It hadn’t occurred to her, but since she knew Frank could use the camera, too, she could be wearing her cell phone around her neck with the camera activated, and he could see and hear everything. He’d wanted eyes and ears inside the gym; this was the best she could do.

“I’ll go there tomorrow,” she said. “If he doesn’t come home tonight.”

“Hang on,” Frank said. “What about this Web site?”

“Can you block access?”

“Only for people inside of town.”

“How about, you know, launching some kind of attack? Like a virus or a denial of service?”

Frank blinked. “No idea what you’re talking about. Look, I was never the Internet guy. And it’s pretty freaking strange to be—this. I got no idea how to do that denial of whatever. And I don’t have any viruses.”

“What if I give you one?”

“Try it, and you won’t need to be afraid of what my son does.”

“Okay, right. Never mind,” Claire said. “It was just an idea. Obviously not a very good one.”

“Bad enough I’m stuck like this, without you getting any ideas about making me sick like the last occupant.” Meaning Ada, Myrnin’s old assistant. And girlfriend. Claire was suddenly glad she hadn’t suggested the whole virus thing while Myrnin was around, because he would surely have been very unhappy with her.

And as if she’d conjured him up, thanks to even thinking his name, Frank suddenly turned to face the side of the lab where the portal door was located. “He’s coming back,” he said. “Nobody tells him nothing.” And just like that, Frank vanished, leaving behind nothing but a trailing hiss of static in Claire’s cell phone speaker, just as a pool of darkness formed inside an open doorway, then rippled into what looked like a dimly lit library.

Myrnin stepped through, and the portal collapsed behind him into darkness. He shut the wooden door and padlocked it, rolled the bookcase back in front of it as additional cover, and, without turning around, said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, uninvited guests?” He didn’t sound happy. Or even, as was more typical for Myrnin, wacky. Bad sign.

“I…needed to check on something,” Claire said. “Sorry. We were just leaving.”

“Were you?” He turned, clasping his hands behind him. He looked very old-school Myrnin, formally dressed, even down to shiny boots. Well, the shirt and vest might have clashed, but apart from that, he’d obviously been somewhere that didn’t accept his usual wardrobe choices. Like, say, Amelie’s office. “There are a number of odd things happening in this town, Claire. Most notably, the behavior of you and your friends. Including that boy most strangely absent from your little group. I don’t often see him separated from you.”

She felt a prickling of fear and tried not to let it show. “He’s busy,” she said. “So am I.” She nodded to Michael and Eve and headed for the stairs.

Myrnin got there ahead of her. She came to a fast stop, wondering what the hell was up with him this time. She’d seen so much insanity from him that it was tough to work up real terror anymore. He’d wig out on her and grow fangs, or not. But she wasn’t going to let him stop her.

“Wait,” he said. Not angry after all, and not crazy. He looked worried and sad. “You know that you can trust me, don’t you? You understand that I’m your friend. I am. I have always tried to be.”

“I know,” she said. It sounded hollow, because it wasn’t true. She’d seen Myrnin be a whole lot of things, and she knew better than anyone how fragile he was. She couldn’t depend on his current mood. She just couldn’t. There was too much at stake.

“You’d tell me if there was anything wrong, wouldn’t you? Something with which I might help?”

“It’s—” She swallowed and studied her scuffed shoes. “Shane and I had a fight. That’s all. It’s—making me feel pretty awful. I’m sorry if I haven’t been myself.”

“Yes,” Myrnin said a little helplessly. “Well. I see how that might—and I’m, of course, the last one to criticize anyone for not being themselves—but are you sure it’s not…? Perhaps it’s for the best that you and the boy—”

She felt tears burning in her eyes, real and instant, and looked up to glare at him through them. “Just leave it alone, okay? It’s personal!”

He was so surprised that he stepped aside, and she charged up the steps, panting with emotion that she couldn’t control and didn’t have the vaguest idea of what had brought it up. Everything, she guessed. Stress, worry, Shane, Morganville, Myrnin. Constantly being the one who had to be okay.

She was so tired of being okay.

Outside, in the alley, she realized that Eve was yelling her name, but she hit the pavement running. She had to run; she couldn’t control it, even though it was dark and a dumb idea, and when she hit a trash can with a crash and went flying, she expected, with a kind of fatalistic satisfaction, to get hurt. Maybe badly.

Only she didn’t, of course, because Michael had gotten ahead of her by doing that vampire jumping thing and was there to catch her, and she yanked free of his kindness, still furious. “Just leave me alone!” she shouted. It was shockingly loud. Lights went on after a few seconds in the Day House, next to the alley. She’d woken up old Gramma Day, another thing to feel bad about. “I don’t need your help!”

Except she had, of course. She wasn’t quite stupid enough to run the rest of the way; she walked, kicking bottles and trash out of her way with bitter anger, until she arrived back at Michael’s car. She yanked at the handle, but it didn’t open. Locked, of course. It beeped at her softly as Michael remotely unlocked it, but he didn’t come closer as she pulled it open and got in and slumped in the backseat, feeling blackly miserably. She probably should apologize, she realized. But she didn’t care.

Michael got in the driver’s side, and Eve, after bending over to look at her over the seat, got into the shotgun position. Nobody said a word. The engine started and the car pulled away with a crunch of tires, and Michael said, “I think Gramma Day thinks I’ve just abducted you.”

“Why?” Claire snapped.

“Because she’s out on her porch, loading up a shotgun.” He hit the gas. “Good thing she doesn’t keep it ready and waiting, or we’d be in a little bit of trouble.”

“Oh.” Some of her anger managed to fade away as she considered what could have happened. What if Eve had gotten caught in the crossfire? Michael wouldn’t have been hurt, but Eve…“I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Eve cupped her ear at Claire. “I’m sorry—was that an apology? Because it didn’t sound like one.”

“Don’t push it.”

“I’m not, but you’re acting like a drama princess.”

“Drama queen.”

“Hello, no. You need a lot more practice at door slamming, flouncing, and pouting before you can even pretend to deserve my throne, bitch. But you’re coming along.” Eve paused and fixed her with a long, serious look. “That wasn’t a compliment, by the way. In case you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Good.” Eve faced forward. “I get it, though. It’s all coming down around you, you don’t know what to do, it’s all too big and too scary to face, much less fight, so the first person who shows you compassion gets slapped. Been there so often, I pay rent.”

“I—” Claire intended to defend herself, but after running it through her head, that was a pretty accurate assessment, all things considered. She finally shrugged. “I guess.”

“Progress.” Eve laughed. “I love you, CB, but let’s face it: we can all be tools. It’s in our DNA. Yeah, even yours, Michael.” She punched his arm. He pretended to feel it. “So. Next step. We go home, get a good night’s rest, hope Shane slinks back with his tail between his legs and realizes what a douche he’s been. Right?”

“That’s the plan,” Michael said. He didn’t sound optimistic. “Give him some time. But one way or another, tomorrow we go to Amelie and tell her everything we know. Including about Shane.”