Bitter Blood

And that, Claire thought, was his first mistake, because Eve, instead of being relieved that he was supporting her general objection, looked at him with a sudden frown. “No? Por qué, Miguelito?”

“Because, well…” Michael stumbled over putting it into words. “I mean, Captain Obvious…”

“Is what, always a guy? That’s what you’re going with?”

“No, not—it’s just that you—uh…” Michael leaned back and looked at Shane. “Help me out.”

Shane held up both hands in silent surrender. “On your own.”

“Look, being Captain Obvious makes you a target, and I don’t want you to be—”

Eve interrupted him again, rising her chin in challenge. “Don’t want me to be in charge? Out front? Taking risks? Have you seen the tombstone flyers people keep leaving us?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I’m scared, because I love you. And it’s going to be dangerous. You know that without my telling you.”

“She knows,” Claire said, “but you shouldn’t tell her she can’t.”

Michael was starting to get really concerned. Eve reached over and took his hand.

“Relax,” she said, and held his gaze. “I know I could do it. But I won’t. I know it would put you in a bad position, for one thing. Props for not saying that, by the way.”

“It wouldn’t matter what happened to me,” he said, and brushed the hair back from her face with gentle fingers. “You know that.”

“Okay, you’re making me lose my pizza,” Shane said, and pitched a napkin at him, and a paper war began, flying on all sides until Claire waved the last surviving unthrown one in a sign of surrender.

So it was all okay, then. For now.

One thing about pizza was that it made for an easy cleanup, again—paper plates and paper boxes, and some glasses dumped in the dishwasher. Miranda had stayed in her room, watching movies; she was still fascinated with their having so many of them, and it was shocking how many of the classics, such as Star Wars, she’d never seen before. Claire left Michael to cleaning up, since it was his turn, and considered joining Shane on the couch (he and Eve were bickering over which video game to play, because she was heartily sick of shooting zombies and he never was) but the lure of study was just too much.

That made her weird. She was aware of that.

After an hour or so, she became aware of a faint tapping, and for a moment she thought it was at the door of her bedroom (and that it might, miraculously, be Shane choosing her over zombies), but no, the sound was at her window, the one facing the big tree at the back of the house. It was full dark now, with stars set like diamonds in the dark blue velvety sky; here in the high desert it was so clear, she could even see the faint, cloudy swirls of galaxies. The sky seemed close enough to touch.

So was Myrnin, standing balanced on a tree limb that was far too slender for his weight. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was floating in midair, but not even vampires could accomplish that. No, he was just being incredibly graceful, and ignoring laws of physics that were inevitably going to protest.

“Open,” Myrnin said. “Hurry up, girl. Open the window. This branch won’t”—he stopped as there was a sharp crack, and the branch sagged under his feet—“hold me for long!” He finished his sentence in a rush as she jerked up the window sash.

He lunged forward through the opening just as the branch broke free and crashed through the leaves to the ground below. Claire got out of his way. Vampires were nimble. He didn’t need help, and just now, she wasn’t feeling especially like helping him, anyway.

Myrnin hit the floor, rolled, and came with fluid grace back to a standing position. He struck a pose. “I suppose you are wondering what brings me here like this, in secret.”

“Not really. But I see you found your shoes, thank God,” Claire said. Glancing down at the bright white patent leather loafers on his feet, he shrugged.

“I think they belonged to a pastor, perhaps. All I could locate,” he said. “No idea what’s carried the rest of my shoes away. Perhaps Bob has developed a taste for footwear, which would be most interesting. Albeit alarming.”

“Bob the Spider.”

“Yes.”

“That’s…not too likely. Please tell me you washed them.”

“The shoes?”

“Your feet. Do you know what kind of diseases are all over alleys?”

He gazed at her with perfect stillness for a second, then said, “I saw the campaign poster on the porch outside. I’m not sure whether to applaud you for your initiative or box your ears. Monica Morrell? Really?”

“I know it seems weird.”

“Weird? It seems insane, and believe me, when I am telling you that, it’s worth taking seriously, dear girl. I expected you to put forth a real candidate.”

“Can you think of anybody who could really do the job? If Hannah Moses couldn’t manage it, nobody else has a shot, anyway,” Claire said. “Monica will get the votes, just because, well, her brother died in office. And her father. And she’s a Morrell. People mostly just vote for what’s familiar, even if it’s wrong.”

Myrnin gazed at her, and he just looked…miserable. Defeated, really. “Unfortunately, I cannot refute your logic. Then we’re finished,” he said. “The grand experiment is done, and all hope is lost. I suppose I must make preparations to go away, then.”

“What?”

“Claire, attend: if this madness proceeds unchecked, there is only one way for this to end, and that is in blood, fire, and fury. Amelie and Oliver have formed what psychologists would call a folie à deux, and their indulgences will lead to cruelty, and cruelty will lead to slaughter, and worst of all, slaughter will lead to the discovery of vampires in this modern age. I’ve seen it before, and I won’t be caught up in the inevitable aftermath. Best to flee now, before the pitchforks and torches and scientists come calling. That is, if the two of them don’t have a bitter and blackened falling-out first, and destroy the town in their rage.”

“Myrnin!”

“I mean it,” he said. “There is a reason that I’ve tried to keep Amelie and Oliver apart. Opposites do not merely attract. A chemist of your skill should know that quite often, they violently explode. Go while you still can, Claire, and take all your friends. In a matter of weeks, it would not be a fit place for you to call home anyway.” He seemed almost sad now. “I have liked this home. Very much. It grieves me to leave it behind, and I fear I will never find a place that is as tolerant of my…eccentricities.”

He really did mean it, and it shocked her. He’d always been a little cavalier about danger, even his own; he wasn’t someone who ran away easily. In fact, he’d persuaded the other vampires to stand their ground against the draug, to protect Morganville.

How could he want to run away now, from so little?

“Well,” she said, “you can go if you want, I guess, but I can’t.”

“Won’t,” he corrected primly. “You can leave whenever you like. Amelie has said so, and as far as I am aware, she never countermanded that.”

“She said I could go alone. As in she insists that Michael, Eve, and Shane stay here. I’m not leaving them behind, especially not if you think it’s going to get dangerous. What kind of friend—what kind of girlfriend—would I be if I did that?”

“One with a sense of self-preservation,” he said, and gave her an off-kilter, fond smile. “And that would be so unlike you. You’re always caring about the strays and outcasts among us, myself included. You really are a very odd girl, you know; so little sense of what is good for you. Perhaps that’s what I find fascinating about you. Vampires, you know, have such an iron-strong sense of self-preservation; we are the ultimate narcissists, I suppose, in that we see nothing wrong with others dying to save us. But you—you are our strange mirror opposite.”

“Coming from you, I don’t know how to take that, and on the subject of strange and not at all appropriate, could you please stop dropping into my bedroom in the middle of the night?”

“Oh, did I?” He looked around vaguely. “I suppose I did. Sorry. Well. If you won’t leave this place, arm yourself heavily for as long as you stay,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere alone. And make alternate plans to flee when