Bite Club mv-10

by Rachel Caine

  Claire looked him over. He was reasonably action hero today, with a long, black velvet coat and a turquoise vest and some kind of dark red shirt beneath that. If you liked your action heroes from the late 1800s, at least. “If you go, you do exactly what we say. And no running off to tell Amelie.”

  “I don’t like that last bit.”

  “You don’t have to. Take it or leave it.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll take it, then. Stay here. I will get my things.”

  He left, heading for the room at the rear of the lab that doubled as his bedroom, supposing that Myrnin ever actually slept. “Things?” Eve said. “He has things?”

  “Probably lots of them,” Claire said. “He invents them in his spare time.”

  Sure enough, when Myrnin came back, he was carrying a bag just a little bit bigger than the ones Eve and Claire carried. His was also black, with a popular swoosh-y logo on the side. Just do it, Claire thought. Well, that made sense for Myrnin, mostly because he rarely thought things through, anyway, unless they were mechanical and mathematical.

  “What’s in the bag?” Eve asked. “Your bunny slippers?”

  Myrnin hefted it to his shoulder and said, “A projectile weapon that fires silver aero-dispersant cartridges, among other things.”

  “I don’t understand what you just said.”

  “Like tear gas, but with powdered silver,” Claire said. “Airborne. Right?”

  “Exactly so. I have several things I’d like to try.” He seemed gruesomely enthusiastic about that, actually. “I so rarely have the chance to field-test anything. Amelie is so conservative about these things.”

  “No kidding,” Eve said. “Holla.”

  Myrnin’s eyes widened. He looked at Claire, who shrugged. “She agrees,” she said. Eve started for the stairs, and Myrnin moved to follow, but Claire held him back. “Wait. You’d better not be following us and reporting back to anybody else.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I am not a—what do you call it? Snark?”

  “Narc. Or snitch.”

  “I would tell you quite honestly if I intended to betray you to Amelie,” he said, and his luminous black eyes locked onto hers. “I’m not as fond of your friend Shane, but I will help you. For one thing, I don’t like it that Gloriana has such a hold on this town, or that Bishop is at large. These things can’t end well for anyone. I’d rather take them on now than risk Amelie coming to harm.”

  It was the first time she’d heard Myrnin say anything about Amelie that she could interpret as friendship. Claire said, frowning, “Because you care about her?”

  “Well, that, of course, but I can’t see Oliver supporting my research nearly as thoroughly. Can you? He doesn’t have much respect for the scientific or alchemical arts.” He swept his hand in the direction of the stairs in an elegant gesture, and bowed from the waist. “After you, my dear.”

  “You’re going to need a hat and coat. It’s sunny.”

  “Bother.” He grabbed up a ratty-looking old trench coat with a torn sleeve, and a floppy hat that looked like something a little old lady might have worn to work in the garden, if she’d been color-blind. “Is that sufficient?”

  “Brilliant,” Claire said. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”

  FOURTEEN

  Myrnin had a car. Somehow, this surprised Claire; she hadn’t thought he had any use for one, but Amelie would have undoubtedly thought about emergencies, which was why there was a conservative, dark-toned town car sitting in a dilapidated shack behind Gramma Day’s home. It wasn’t locked up, and it had a coating of dust that made Claire wonder if it had ever been moved at all. Myrnin had no idea where the keys were. Claire found them on a nail, hanging behind the shack’s sagging door.

  They were loading the black bags into the trunk of the car when the door slid back and a squat, round, stooped shape was silhouetted by the sunlight at its back. It took a second for Claire’s eyes to adjust, but when she did, she recognized the lined, hard-set face of Gramma Day under that soft cloud of gray hair. Gramma was wearing a flowered dress and house shoes, and she was carrying a shotgun that Claire would have sworn was too big for her to lift.

  She sure looked like she knew what she was doing with it. The sound of her racking a round into the chamber, that heavy metallic chuk-chuk, made all three of them freeze. Even Myrnin.

  Gramma leveled the shotgun at them, squinted, and then started to lower it. “Is that Claire?”

  “Gramma, it’s me. And my friend Eve. Oh, and you probably know Myrnin.”

  Gramma clearly did, because the gun came right back to her shoulder. “I know who all my neighbors are. Don’t much care for that one.”

  Myrnin raised his chin. “Dear lady, I’ve never—”

  “Only ’cause I don’t allow you anywhere near my property. You know what I call you? Trapdoor Spider.”

  Myrnin blinked. “That is…surprisingly accurate, actually. Well, feel free to drop in on me any time you wish. Oh, of course, I promise not to hurt you.”

  “Don’t think I’ll be relying on your promises. What are you doing in here?”

  “Driving my car.”

  “Oh.” She did lower the gun now and staggered a little. If she’d actually fired it, she’d probably have broken her shoulder, as thin and fragile as she was. “Didn’t know it was yours. Knew it belonged to some vampire or other, but I never asked any questions. Never saw anybody driving it.”

  “Well, you have now,” Claire said. “Providing it starts.” She pitched the keys to Eve, who managed to field them while Myrnin was distracted with Gramma Day. “And before you ask, no, you’re not driving, Myrnin. I remember the last time.”

  “That accident was not my fault.”

  “You were the only one on the road, and the mailbox actually didn’t leap out in front of you. No arguments. You sit in the back, too.”

  “You’ve turned into quite a bossy little thing,” Myrnin said. “I think I might like it.” He opened the back door and slid inside. Eve shrugged, got in the driver’s seat, and cranked the engine. It wheezed and coughed, but it did start. Gramma Day shook her head and hobbled out of the way, holding the door back.

  “Claire,” she said. “You want to watch yourself. That man ain’t right. You keep a good watch on him. You hear me?”

  “I know. I will.”

  “You want my shotgun?”

  “No,” Claire said very politely. “But thank you.”

  Gramma waved at them as Eve piloted the car out of the garage and then applied the brakes sharply and said, “Um…problem?”

  “What?” Claire looked up from fastening her seat belt. Eve was staring at the front window with a horrified, mortified expression on her face.

  The black front window. “It’s a vampire car,” she said. “And I can’t believe neither of us thought about that.”

  “I can,” Myrnin said from the backseat. “Now. Could I please drive my own car, seeing as how I am the only one who is actually qualified to do so?”

  He’s been just waiting for that, Claire thought. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. It was going to be a long, long day.

  “Switch,” she said. “Myrnin, drive carefully. Understand?”

  “Of course.”

  He didn’t.

  Afterward, Claire tried not to think how hair-raising the ride was; Myrnin was the only one who could actually see the danger, but she could hear it, and it was horrifying. Squealing brakes at virtually every intersection as other drivers put all their skills to use in avoiding the moving target of their car. Yells. Honking horns. A siren that Myrnin blissfully ignored, and that finally turned off without him ever pulling the vehicle to the curb.

  At least he didn’t hit anything that she could tell. She was almost sure about that. Almost.

  Myrnin finally hit the brakes way, way too firmly, sending her and Eve hurtling against their seat belts, and put the car in park. “See?” he said, with an unholy amount of glee. “I hardly broke any laws at all. I
should drive more often.”

  “No. Trust me, you shouldn’t,” Eve said. “Think of the little old people and the children. Please tell me we’re there.”

  “Of course.”

  Eve opened her door and peered out cautiously. She shut it again. “By there I mean parked, Myrnin.”

  “We’re not moving.”

  “Against the curb.”

  He started the car and drove another two feet at an angle. Claire felt the bump as he ran over the curb. So much for not hitting anything. He left it there, with the car’s right wheels up off the street.

  “Not exactly what I meant,” Eve said.

  “Do you imagine they’re going to issue me a citation…what was your name again?”

  “Still Eve.”

  “No, I’m sure it’s something else. That doesn’t seem right.” Myrnin got out and opened the trunk of the car. They all loaded up on bags, and Claire took her first real look around. It was a decrepit old neighborhood; most of the houses looked deserted. The one where they were parked had sheets tacked up as curtains in the windows—those that weren’t covered up with peeling, rain-warped plywood. Trash had blown up against the walls, and from the look of it, some of it was older than Claire was.

  “This is it,” Eve said. “You’re sure.”

  “This is his address.”

  “Good. You go first.”

  Myrnin gave her a wicked smile. “Whatever happened to we don’t need you?”

  “We don’t,” Eve said. “But while he’s busy staking you, we can get the drop on him.”

  Myrnin didn’t seem to see the humor in that, but he shrugged and hurried to the door, looking ridiculous in his flapping trench coat and old-lady hat, right up until he kicked in the door with one casual blow, leaned in, and said, “Please don’t run. I’m not in a good mood. Better if you just sit still.”

  He cocked his head and listened, then smiled. What was it with vampires and chilling smiles? His made Claire grip her antivampire bag tighter and wish she hadn’t stood quite so close. “Ah,” he said. “And there he goes. You two wait here.”

  He dashed off, moving like a flicker of light. Claire looked at Eve, who shook her head and stepped over the threshold into the house. Claire stayed with her. There was some kind of commotion at the back of the house, where she presumed a rear door was located, and as the two girls walked through the deserted, messy living room (what was it with guys and old pizza boxes? Could they not throw them away?) Myrnin reappeared from the back, shoving a pale, skinny man ahead of him. The guy they were looking for, Claire supposed. He looked terrified.

  “Sit,” Myrnin said, and shoved the guy onto the threadbare couch. He looked around, sighed, and pushed some old pizza boxes and fast-food bags off an end table, then sat down. “You really should look into a maid. Just a thought.”

  “Are you Harry?” Claire asked. “Harry Anderson?”

  The man was not only pale and unshaven; he was also shifty-eyed. He looked like he was lying even when he wasn’t talking. When he did finally answer, it looked even worse. “No,” he said. “I’m, uh, watching the place for a friend. Harry’s my friend, I mean.”

  Eve reached into her bag and pulled out a crossbow. She stuck a lethal-looking metal bolt on it and cranked back the string. The man watched with increasing worry. “Uh, I’m not a vampire,” he said.

  “Yeah, I can see that, since you’re wearing Oliver’s Protection bracelet,” Eve agreed. “That’s not the only thing this is good for. You’d be surprised how effective it is on liars, too, Harry.”

  He licked his lips, staring at her, and then shifted his gaze to Claire. He must have decided she was nicer, because he said, “You’re not going to let her do this, are you? What are you girls, anyway, twelve? Do your parents know you’re hanging around with vampires old enough to be your—”

  Eve snapped the trigger, and the bolt whizzed past Harry’s head and buried itself in the wall next to him. He yelped and almost jumped off the sofa, but Myrnin put a hand on his shoulder and held him down as Eve reloaded.

  “Now,” Eve said. “We’ve got some questions, Harry, and I’m going to suggest, strongly, that you just go ahead and answer them. If you think Claire is going to be any kinder to you than I am, you’re very mistaken. My boyfriend’s only missing. Hers is in your little fight club.”

  “Oh,” Harry said, and then, in an entirely different and much more worried tone, “Oh. This is about—”

  “ImmortalBattles-dot-com,” Claire said. “You helped set it up, so you know these people. You know where they were.”

  “Uh, sure, but they’re not there now.”

  “Nobody’s there, idiot. They blew it up,” Eve said. “You see the bruises and cuts on my friend there? That’s what your friends did. They tried to blow up the Founder. How do you think that’s going to go over, Harry? Because I’m thinking that you should just take this crossbow bolt straight in the heart and get it over with. She’s not the forgiving type.”

  Harry closed his eyes and sweated, a lot. Claire waited, content to just stand there and look—well, not menacing, but maybe impatient. Myrnin, on the other hand, looked menacing. He’d shed the hat and coat, and now was perched with inhuman grace on the arm of the couch, staring down at Harry with those glowing, scary red eyes.

  “Harry,” he said quietly. “Do decide what you want to do. I’m hungry, and if you’re going to cooperate, please indicate it immediately, before I assume you’re not. I’d hate for you to be trying to utter a dying declaration and be unable to do so.”

  Harry’s eyes snapped open again, full of panic, and he scooted as far away from Myrnin as was possible. That wasn’t very far, because the other half of his couch was a rat’s nest of piled-up papers, mail, boxes, and wadded-up old clothes. The place was a pit. Claire shuddered and decided not to sit down anywhere.

  “Wait,” Harry blurted. “Just wait, okay? Uh, right, the fight people. Yeah, they paid me to move everything. You know, the cameras, the equipment, the server, the whole setup. And to run the re-encryption, not that it’s going to do any good; somebody cracked it pretty good the first time….”

  “Where?” Claire asked. When Harry didn’t answer immediately, she opened up her bag and rooted through it. She came up with one of Eve’s silver-coated stakes, decorated with shiny crystals in the shape of a Gothic cross. She showed it to Eve. “Pretty,” she said.

  Eve smiled. “I like things to be nice,” she said. “But you can never get the blood out from between those—”

  “Okay!” Harry interrupted. “Jeez, you’re just kids! All right, fine. I moved it all to a place near the edge of town. I can give you the address, and then I’m done, okay? Done. I pull the phone, grab my stuff, and I move the hell out of here. You won’t have any trouble from me—no, sir.”

  “I can think of an easier way to ensure that,” Myrnin said. “Girls? What do you think?”

  Eve stared at Claire, who stared back, twirling the silver stake in her fingers. It was all theater. She wasn’t going to kill anybody, and neither was Eve. Myrnin might have, but Claire thought they could hold him back. Maybe.

  “I think we should give him a chance,” Claire said. “Mr. Anderson, you understand that if you give us the wrong information, or if you do anything to warn them we’re coming…well, it won’t be nice. Will it?”

  “I knew it: you’re the nice one,” he said. “You called me Mr. Anderson.”

  Claire stabbed the stake in the coffee table, point down, with all her strength. It sank in, not as deeply as she wished, but enough to hold it upright on its own, with its red Gothic cross shining in the dim light. “Harry,” she said. “I’m really not that nice.”

  He swallowed and nodded and reached for a piece of paper and a pencil. He scribbled down an address and sketched out a map. He even noted on there which doors were safe to go into. He looked at her, then Myrnin, then Eve, and finally handed the paper to Myrnin.

  Who smiled. “Why thank you, Harry. W
hat a good decision you’ve made.” He jumped down with a loud thump, pulled on his trench coat, and slapped the hat on his head. “I think we can go now.”

  “No,” Eve said. She held out her hand. “Cell phone.”

  Harry dug in his pockets and came up with one, which she dropped to the floor and stepped on, a lot, until it was just pieces of glittering junk.

  “Your computer?”

  “Back there.” He pointed.

  “Myrnin, would you mind?”

  “Of course not. I told you I was useful.”

  “Then go rip it up. Claire, find his landlines.”

  In the end, they left Harry sitting miserably in his filthy living room, with a pile of broken phones and shattered computer equipment, and instructions to stay out of things, or else. Claire was pretty sure he’d gotten the message. Loudly. But just to make sure, Eve had tied him up with duct tape. He looked like a silver mummy.

  “Don’t worry,” Eve said. “I’m going to call the cops and ask them to look in on you in about, oh, three hours. None of those cockroaches look hungry—that’s the good news. They’re all about the pizza, not the human flesh. So you’ll be just fine, Harry.” She patted his head and smiled so brightly that Harry looked momentarily dazzled. Eve was pretty, and she could be totally stunning when she smiled like that.

  “Bye,” she said. He mumbled something around the duct tape, and that was that.

  Eve did do what she’d promised; as Myrnin drove (another terrifying, in-the-dark experiment), she called Hannah Moses’s office and reported the whole thing.

  “Wait,” Hannah said. Claire could see why, as head of the Morganville police department, she was a little puzzled about this whole thing. “You’re telling me you just assaulted and terrorized a Protected citizen of Morganville and left him tied up, and you want me to check on him for you? Did I get that right?”

  “Yeah,” Eve said. “Well, it sounds bad when you say it like that, but that’s pretty much it. Just so he doesn’t choke or have a heart attack or something. Also, there are a lot of cockroaches. I worried about that.”