Fade Out (18 page)

Oh. “You get me the nicest things.”

“Anybody can get jewelry. Posers.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “Let’s go, comedian.”

As she tossed the keys again, Shane grabbed them in midair. “I may be a comedian, but you look like a mime, anybody ever tell you that?”

He dashed for the door. Eve followed. Claire shouldered the nylon bag and prepared to shut the door of the house; as she did, she felt a wave of emotion sweep through her. The house, Michael’s house, was worried. It was almost alive, some of the time. Like now.

“It’ll be okay,” she told it, and patted the countertop. “He’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.”

The lights dimmed a little as she shut the door.

Eve’s car wouldn’t start.

“Um . . . this isn’t good,” Eve said as Shane cranked the engine again. There was a click, and nothing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is not the time, stupid evil hunk of junk!” She slapped the dashboard, which had zero effect. “Come on, work!”

It was very dark outside—no streetlights on, and the moon and stars were veiled by thick, fast-moving clouds. In the glow of the dashboard, Shane and Eve looked worried. Shane pulled the old-fashioned lever under the dash, and the hood of the car popped up with a thick clunk of metal. “Stay inside,” he said. “I’m going to take a look.”

“Because you’ve got guy parts, you’re automatically a better mechanic than me? I don’t think so,” Eve said, and bailed out of the passenger side. Shane banged the back of his head against the seat.

“Seriously,” he said. “Why is it always so hard with her?”

“She’s worried,” Claire said.

“We’re all worried. You stay in the car.”

“I don’t know anything about cars. I will.”

“Finally, a girl with some sense.” He leaned over the seat to kiss her, then got out to join Eve as she hauled the giant, heavy hood of the car upward. From that point on, Claire had a limited view of what was going on—the hood, the dark night outside, some lights glowing in nearby houses. . . .

A car turned the corner, and its headlights swept color over darkness, lighting up the Glass House in all its decaying Victorian glory, then the sun-faded picket fence, the spring crop of weeds along the curb. . . .

And then came a group of vampires out of the darkness, heading for Shane and Eve. One of them was Morley, the skanky homeless dude from the cemetery. She supposed the others were his friends; they didn’t look as polished and well-groomed as most of the other vamps seemed to be. These looked hungry, mean, and dirty.

Claire lunged across the big bench seat from the back and slammed her hand down on the horn. It was as loud as a foghorn, and she heard a sharp bang as either Eve or Shane hit their head on the hood of the car as they straightened up.

“Guys!” she yelled. “Trouble!”

Shane, one hand held to the top of his head, opened the back door and pulled her out. “Door,” he said. “Get back inside. The car thing isn’t happening.”

Claire didn’t argue. She dug her front door key out of her jeans pocket as she ran, banged open the front gate, and skidded to a halt in front of the door. The porch light flickered on.

“Thanks,” she told the house absently, jammed the key into the lock, and opened the door.

Shane was at the foot of the steps, but he’d stopped, looking back.

Eve was trapped between the car and the house, and she was surrounded by vampires. Claire gasped, and saw that neither Shane nor Eve had had time to grab the weapons bag out of the car.

She still had hers.

Morley lunged forward, slamming Eve against the rounded fender of her car, and Eve’s scream of panic split the night. Shane rushed toward her, pulling a stake from his jacket, but it wasn’t going to help. There were six of them, all with vampire strength.

He’d get himself killed.

Claire zipped open the bag and pulled out the big plastic Super Soaker. It was a totally absurd color of neon, and it was heavy with a full load of water.

God, please work. Please work.

Claire moved forward at a run, and pressed the trigger. A shockingly thick spray shot out, hit the sidewalk, and splashed; she quickly angled it up, over the fence, and sprayed it in an arc across Shane’s back, the vampires turning to meet him, Morley, Eve.

Where it hit exposed vampire skin, the solution of silver powder and water lit them up like Christmas trees. The bony woman with long dark hair heading for Shane broke off with a yelp, slapped at her burning face, and then gaped at the burns on her hands as the solution began to eat away at her flesh.

Claire pumped the toy gun again, building up pressure, and put it to her shoulder as she came to a flat-footed stop. “Back off!” she yelled. “Everybody just stop! You, let her go!” That last was directed at Morley, who had Eve by the shoulder and was holding her in front of him. He was wearing a filthy old raincoat, and it had protected him from the spray; she could see a livid burn spreading across his cheek, but nothing that would really hurt him.

Shane backed up next to Claire, breathing hard. She aimed the Super Soaker directly at Morley and Eve. “Let her go,” she repeated. “We didn’t do anything to you.”

“Nothing personal,” Morley said. “We’re starving, love. And you’re so juicy.”

“Ewww,” Eve said faintly. “Has anybody ever told you that you smell like tombstones?”

He glanced at her and smiled. “You’re the first,” he assured her. “Which is a bit charming. I’m Morley. And you are . . . ? Ah yes. Amelie’s friend. I remember you from the cemetery. Sam Glass’s grave.”

“Nice to meet you. Don’t eat me, ’kay?”

He laughed and combed her hair back from her pale face. “You’re cute. I might have to turn you and keep you as a pet.”

“Hey!” Claire said sharply, and took a step forward. “Didn’t you hear me? Let her go! She’s under Amelie’s protection!”

“I see no bracelet.” Morley grabbed Eve’s arm and lifted it to the dim light, turning it this way and that. “No, definitely nothing there.” He kissed the back of her hand, then extended his fangs and prepared to munch out on the pale veins at her wrist.

Eve twisted and punched him in the mouth.

Morley stumbled backward against the car, and Claire triggered the sprayer, coating him in silver spray. This time, he screamed and flapped his arms and lunged away from Eve, toward the darkness. Claire sprayed the rest of his crew again as they followed, waking howls of pain and anger.

Shane dashed forward, vaulted the gate, and helped Eve stand up from where Morley had shoved her. “That went well,” he said. His voice was shaking. “No fang marks, right?”

“Lucky me,” Eve said, and laughed wildly. “Get the weapons bag. I can’t believe you left it in the car; what was that? What town did you grow up in?”

“I was trying to help you fix the car!”

“Bozo.” She hugged him, hard, and smacked him on the back of the head; then she took a deep breath as Shane left her to retrieve the black nylon bag out of the car. “And you.”

Claire lowered the Super Soaker. “What? What did I do?”

“Saved my life? Redefined awesome in our time?”

“Oh. Okay.” She felt a smile bloom from deep inside, and for a moment, it was all good.

Really good.

“Ladies,” Shane said, and slammed the car door. “Let’s have the champagne inside, okay? And talk about who pulled the wires in the engine, and how we’re planning to back Michael up with no wheels?”

He had a point. Claire covered their retreat with the Super Soaker, feeling kind of like a neon-gunned Rambo, and Eve slammed and locked the door, then put her back to the wood and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

The second Claire put the water gun down, Shane wrapped her in his arms and kissed her, really tender and sweet and a little bit desperate. Hot.

“Hey,” Eve said. “Michael, remember? What are we doing for transpo, cabbing it?”

There was exactly one taxicab in Morganville, and he didn’t work at night, so that wasn’t much of an option. They didn’t even bother to discuss it. “Well,” Claire said, very reluctantly, “there’s another way. But you won’t like it.”

“I’ll like it less than getting molested by a vampire in a flasher raincoat who smells like graveyards? Try me.”

“I could open a portal,” Claire said. “But I’ve never been to the radio station, so I can’t risk doing it blind. I have to go someplace close that I know. What’s around it?”

“Hang on a second,” Shane said, and dropped the weapons bag to the wood floor with a thump. “What about Ada? You said she was out for blood, right?”

“I said you wouldn’t like the idea.”

“So just to recap—Ada wants to kill you, and you’re going to walk through a portal she controls?”

“Well—”

“No, Claire. Next.”

“But—”

“Not happening.”

She sighed. “What if I get Myrnin to open it for us? He’s better at it. I don’t think she dares mess with him directly.”

“And tell Myrnin what’s happening? Bad idea. The dude is half crazy all the time.”

“So what’s your bright idea?” Claire asked. Shane spread his hands out. “That’s what I thought.”

She pulled her cell phone out and checked the screen. Her battery was getting low; she hadn’t had a chance to charge it up recently, although that was Morganville Survival 101. She picked up the old-fashioned landline phone on the hall table and dialed Myrnin’s lab.

It rang, and rang, and rang, and finally, Myrnin picked up. “What?” he snapped. “I was in the middle of dinner.”

Claire was afraid to ask who that was. “I need help,” she said.

“Claire, you are my assistant. Not the other way around. Perhaps it would be helpful if I prepared an organizational chart you could keep on your person. Possibly tattooed on your arm.”

He was in a mood. Claire bit her lip. “Please,” she said. “It’s a little favor.”

“Oh, all right. What?”

“You know the old radio station outside of town? KV—” Her mind blanked. She looked at Eve, who mouthed the answer. “KVVV. Could you open me a portal?”

“Hmmm,” he said. She heard the sound of liquid being poured in the background, and him swallowing it, and him smacking his lips. “Well, I suppose I could get you close, if not inside the building. Would that do?”

“Sure. Anything.”

“And why can you not do this yourself?”

“Ada . . . ?”

Myrnin was silent for a long few seconds. “She’s better,” he said. “I don’t know what got into the old girl. But I’ve had a talk with her, and really, she’s much better now. Much better.”

“That’s good.” It would be, if it were true, but Claire didn’t trust Myrnin’s judgment when it came to Ada. “Um, about that portal—”

“Yes, fine, coming right up. I will be there in a moment.”

“No, Myrnin—”

He hung up before she could explain that she didn’t actually need him to come along. Not that he was going to listen to her, anyway. Claire replaced the phone on its cradle.

“Crazy boss is coming,” Shane interpreted, just from the expression on her face. “Lovely. This ought to be fun.”

About five seconds later, Claire felt a psychic wave sweep through the house, so strong she was surprised neither Shane nor Eve seemed to feel it, and then a dark opening formed in the far wall of the living room, and Myrnin stepped over the threshold.

“I so want his wardrobe,” Eve sighed. “Is that shallow, or just strange?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. It’s both,” Shane said, and cocked his head to take in Myrnin’s latest effort at blending in. It was . . . interesting. Claire couldn’t decide if it was some deliberate, unholy mix of Victorian lord and hippie, or just what had been on the floor of his closet.

He had on his bunny slippers.

These had fangs.

They all stared at them in silence for about a heartbeat, and then Shane said, “That is impressively wicked. Crazy, but wicked.”

Myrnin frowned at him, then looked down at his shoes. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Oh. Those. I thought—well, they’re appropriate, I suppose.”

“Wouldn’t want to be inappropriate,” Claire said. “You really didn’t have to come. I’m sorry.”

“I did, in fact. I tried to open the portal to the radio station, and I couldn’t do so.” Myrnin’s dark eyes were wide and gleaming, clearly fascinated. “Claire, do you know what this means?” He paced, the bunny slippers flopping their ears in a very distracting way. “Someone locked down the area. And it wasn’t me.”

“Who else could?”

“No one.”

“But—”

“Exactly!” He smacked his hands together in glee. “A mystery! Thank you for calling and imposing on me for a favor; this is very exciting stuff, you know. Chaos, mayhem, someone stealing a march against me—ah, I’ve missed it these past few months, haven’t you?”

“No,” they all said, exactly together. Claire took Shane’s hand and said, “Myrnin, who else could lock down areas of town and freeze out portals?”

“Amelie,” he said, “but it’s not her. There’s a certain signature to her work, and by the way, she’s been here recently, did you know? She reeks of pain these days. It’s most disturbing.”

“Dude, focus,” Eve said. “Who else?” She threw Claire a why-am-I-even-asking look, but Myrnin got hold of himself and nodded as he thought about it.

“There have been a total of six others in the history of Morganville,” he said. “But they’re all dead. All but you, Claire.”

They all looked at her. She blinked. “Well, I didn’t do it!”

“Oh. Pity. Then I have no idea.”

She cleared her throat. “What about Ada?”

“Ada is not the boogeyman behind every shadow, my dear,” Myrnin said, and flopped himself down in Michael’s chair, taking hold of the acoustic guitar and picking out a surprisingly competent series of chords. “Ada does as she’s told. Unlike you, I might add, which is not an attractive quality in a lab assistant.”

“Could she do it?”

He stilled the strings with one hand, and looked up. His dark hair fell back from his pale face, and for a moment, he looked entirely serious. “Ada can do anything,” he said. “I don’t think even she understands that. But I find it highly unlikely—”

“You’re a vampire wearing bunny slippers with fangs. Highly unlikely kind of goes with the territory,” Eve said. “How close can you get us? To the radio station?”