Daylighters (12 page)

A lull came as true dark fell and the last remnants of orange slipped away. Myrnin, without a sound, grabbed her hand and urged her into another run down the sidewalk. He didn’t pause when the sidewalk came to a sudden end but darted into a deserted lot, then through to another sidewalk, a sharp left turn, then a right, and she was lost, entirely lost, and everything was moving too fast for her to get her bearings. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she’d collapse, and air burned hot and thick in her lungs. She didn’t even have time to consider the pain in her legs and feet until, suddenly, it was over. He had stopped so quickly that the momentum sent her crashing hard into him. He hardly even wavered.

For a moment, they were pressed together, and she knew he could hear her too-fast heartbeat drumming in his ears, smell her sweat and blood, and she saw his pupils slowly expand to drink all that sensation in . . . and for a moment, she saw the hunger. It was dark and desperate, and she wondered just how far she could trust him.

But then Myrnin gently pushed her back as she struggled for balance, held her until she found it, and said, “I do believe we’ve arrived.”

The house was like many others around it—small, faced with clapboard, built into a square. It had a little character because of the dark blue trim on the windows and front door, and a little pride in its new Daylighters-approved paint job, but all in all it was Morganville through and through—a little lopsided, a bit run-down, a shade odd. Myrnin led her up the cracked sidewalk to the front porch, and before he could reach for the iron door knocker, the door opened.

Jenna stood there—tall, blond, with piercing pale eyes. She just
looked
the part of a psychic, somehow, even to the faraway expression on her face . . . but there was nothing psychic or dreamy about the consternation, as she saw Myrnin.

There was just worry, and calculation.

He waited a second, then made an abrupt flapping motion with his hands. “Well?” he demanded. “I’m a vampire, you silly woman. Ask me in! We’re wanted felons, you know!”

She didn’t seem convinced that was a good idea, but she stepped back and said, “Please come in, both of you.” He rushed in, bringing Claire with him, and Jenna swung the door shut behind them.

Claire had just begun to catch her breath when suddenly Miranda appeared out of thin air, rushing at her, and her solid body crashed against Claire’s as she wrapped her arms around her. “You made it!” she said. “I didn’t know if you could. I’m so sorry we left you there. I’m so sorry, but I was scared to leave Jenna for long . . .”

“It’s okay,” Claire said. She was still gasping for air, and she felt sweaty and horrible, but there was something good about seeing Miranda. The girl backed away, and Jenna put her arm around her; that, too, was good, the motherly vibe from the psychic for the ghost girl. Jenna had, from the beginning, felt protective of Miranda, and it looked as if that relationship had gotten closer—something Miranda desperately needed, because she’d been basically abandoned by her own family. Something good had happened in Morganville for a change, after all: two sad people had found each other, and made each other better.

Shane was standing in the doorway, patiently waiting for her to notice him. She knew that expression—or lack of one—on his face. It was specific to situations where Myrnin was involved, and Shane was trying very hard not to let his jealousy show. He had nothing to be jealous
about
, and he knew it, but seeing her clutching Myrnin’s hand probably hadn’t been his most favorite moment ever.

That, and Shane’s anti-vampire instincts were probably churning, being so close to one of them now.

“Hey,” Shane said, and raised his chin. His most neutral greeting. She came to him and hugged him, then kissed him. That broke through the wall he’d put up between them, and his arms went around her to hold her tight. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t let them keep you there. You’re not exactly built for jail.”

“Well, you have to admit, it was probably my turn to get handcuffed and thrown in the hole,” she said. Her smile didn’t have much strength, though, and faded quickly. “The man in the basement—he was killed with one of our knives, Shane.” She managed not to
quite
make it a question.

He got the message anyway, though, and responded with a frown. “Well, it wasn’t me. Wasn’t Eve, I guarantee you. She’d at least have moved the body someplace else. She’s no dummy.”

“Where is Eve, exactly?”

“Out,” Jenna said. She sounded very blunt, and very disapproving. “I warned her, but she said she couldn’t stay. She went back to try to see Fallon.”

“I thought she went to see him when she left our house!”

“They wouldn’t let her in. She came back to find me, and we both saw you get taken to jail. Not sure which one of us held the other back, actually, but maybe your good sense is starting to rub off on us. We didn’t jump in and get ourselves arrested, at least,” Shane said. Claire swung around to stare at him, wide-eyed; so many questions ran through her mind that she couldn’t pick a single one out of the blur.

“But—” Claire couldn’t express how much she didn’t like the idea of Eve—angry and frustrated even more than she had been—heading at Fallon like a guided missile. It was pretty obvious, though, that there wasn’t much either one of them could do about it at this point.

“Look, it makes sense. It’s pretty clear he’s running the show here; if she can get in to see him—and I really don’t see anybody stopping her—then nobody’s going to storm Fallon’s office to march her out in cuffs. And if she can really intimidate him into letting her see Michael, maybe she can give him a chance to get away, or bust Amelie out. She’s the only one who’s got a shot at being our inside man. Woman. Whatever. Let’s face it—none of us is exactly in a mastermind position right now.”

“Does she know even about the dead guy?”

“Oh, she knows,” Jenna said. “Eve thinks the guard was killed at the prison and moved to your house, and she thinks she might be able to find out who did it, and why. I think her exact phrase was,
I’m going to Nancy Drew this crap.
”

“Bet she didn’t say
crap
,” Shane said.

“I’m paraphrasing.”

Eve’s plan was dangerous, and Claire immediately felt a rush of adrenaline, thinking of her trapped alone without anybody to trust. Michael, sure, but Michael couldn’t help—not unless something changed drastically.

Myrnin had been uncharacteristically quiet since they’d arrived, and she glanced over to see him frowning down at his flip-flops. He probably missed his vampire bunny slippers.

“Do the guards at the mall know you’re out?” she asked Myrnin. He didn’t look up.

“That’s very doubtful,” he said. “I did kill the guard who spotted me, after all.”

They all stopped what they were doing, and there was a second or two of silence.

Shane’s head suddenly snapped around, and he turned his whole body after it, facing Myrnin.

And took a step toward him. He said, in a voice tight with fury, “Would that be the dead guard in our damn
basement
?”

“Well, of course, how many dead guards could there be? Why, did you kill one, too? Wasteful.”

Shane snarled. It came from somewhere deep in his chest, a wet animal sound that Claire had never heard before, and hoped she’d never hear again. He took another step toward Myrnin, and Myrnin’s eyes flared an immediate, alarmed crimson. “Claire,” he called sharply. “Mind your young man. Do you really want me to have to kill him?”

It was the offhanded way he said it that terrified Claire. She forgot sometimes, despite her best efforts, that Myrnin was only mostly sane, and only mostly human.

And she wasn’t sure what Shane was right now, either.

Jenna and Miranda instinctively got out of the way, and even though every instinct in her body screamed at her to do the same, Claire stepped in the middle, faced Shane, and met his eyes squarely. They didn’t look right. Not right at all. The color—the blankness—it was all wrong.

He lunged forward, staring past her at Myrnin, and she could have sworn she saw a poisonous spark of yellow in his eyes.

She didn’t move. She lifted both hands, palms out, and he ran into them, jolting her hard and driving her back a step—but it shifted his focus away from Myrnin and onto her.

And the alien look in his eyes flickered, and died away, leaving just Shane. Angry, yes, amped up well beyond where he ought to be, but whatever had been set in motion, she’d stopped it.

For now, anyway.

Shane held up both hands, backed up a step, and then spun around and stalked away, breathing hard. “Why are you protecting him?” He didn’t quite yell it at Claire, and she knew it cost him to hold it down to just an angry accusation.

“Good question,” she said, and turned to Myrnin. “You killed a man,” she said. “And you brought him
to our house
?”

“In all fairness, I was looking for you,” he said, “but you weren’t yet home. I had to do
something
with him. Normally I would have taken him to the graveyard—by the by, it’s a great place to dispose of an excess corpse, one just digs up an old grave and—”

There were parts of him that she just would never reach, and knew she should never, ever try, for both their sakes.

Shane turned around, and Claire instinctively grabbed hold of his arm, because she still sensed the suppressed violence in him. He was under enough control not to lunge at Myrnin—which would end badly anyway—but she also knew sometimes he just couldn’t quite control those impulses, and she didn’t want to see anyone hurt. “You dumped a dead man in our house, and what? Just forgot about it?”

“I was busy, and how in the world would I have known you’d be stupid enough to allow the constables to roam freely through—”

“They had a warrant, and we are not your temporary storage for murdered bodies!” Claire said, and realized that she was a little too upset about things, too. Almost as much as Shane, and without the excuse of the dog bite’s infection. “You
killed him.
Where did you get a knife?
Our
knife?”

Myrnin shrugged, clearly not taking any of it too seriously. “You’re quite careless with those things,” he said. “I believe I originally got it from you. The guard in question had confiscated it from me when I was arrested, and I decided that I wanted it back. But I let him keep it in the end.” He grinned, and his vampire teeth looked long and terrifyingly sharp. “Oh, don’t frown at me so, Claire. He had it coming, you may be assured of that. He was a brutal thug of a man. I was defending a lady’s honor, in fact.”

“Jesse’s, maybe?” Claire asked. Because Jesse—the red-headed bartender that both he and Claire had made fast friends with—was not just a vampire but one that Myrnin had surprising affection for. “What happened?”

Myrnin didn’t answer, not directly. “Enough of this. Time is wasting. The Lady Grey will ensure that no one notices my absence for now, but I’ll need to be back in time for their nightly audit of their prisoners. Before then, I have things to obtain. I’ve stripped the building of all materials that might be of use, but I shall need some things that simply aren’t available in that place.”

“Materials for what?” Claire asked.

“Never you mind,” he said. “But these followers of Fallon’s madness have started a war, and I intend to finish it.” Myrnin’s eyes seemed to flare red for a second, alarmingly bright, and she remembered the hunger she’d sensed in him before, and the frightening sharpness of his teeth. He didn’t seem to be himself just now, and she realized, with a creeping sense of alarm, that they almost certainly wouldn’t have bothered with his usual medications at the prison—and in this state, he might not be willing to take them on his own.

There were a few things scarier than a bipolar vampire off his meds, but to be honest, not that many.

“Myrnin,” she said, and drew his instant attention. Unsettlingly. “You can’t go out there again. It’s too dangerous for you.”
Too dangerous for innocent people wandering around thinking it’s safe.

“If you’re implying it would be better for you to go in my place, it’s certainly far too dangerous for you, Claire, seeing as you are a half-convicted murderess.” He said it with entirely too much relish. “And before
you
offer your boy’s services—he’s in no better shape, is he? No, it’s best I go alone, and quickly. I’ve been in this town for too many of your short lifetimes to be caught by the likes of Fallon and his Daylighters when I have some warning of their intentions.”

Jenna exchanged a quick look with Miranda, and said, “I’ll drive you. Where are you going?”

“To my lab, of course.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

Myrnin sighed. “I
can
drive, you know.”

Claire flinched and made a quick throat-cutting gesture behind his back to Jenna. Myrnin on his best days was not a good driver. Her eyes widened, but Jenna caught herself, smiled, and said, “I’m sure you can, but it’s much safer if you’re out of sight, don’t you think?”

“Ah, perhaps so,” he said. “Let’s crack on, then. The night won’t last forever.”

Jenna pointed at Miranda. “You’re staying here,” she said. “I know you want to go, but stay with these two. Promise me.” Miranda nodded soberly. Claire grabbed Jenna before they headed out and whispered quick instructions on where to find Myrnin’s medications.

Shane let out a slow breath as the door shut and locked behind them. “I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded exhausted, and he sank down into a crouch against the wall and cradled his head in both hands. “God, I’m sorry. What the hell was that?”

“I think—I think it was just the stress, and him being so close,” Claire said. “You’re okay now.” She said it with confidence, but in truth, she really wasn’t as sure as she pretended, and after a few seconds of silence, she bent her head and half whispered, “Please, tell me you’re okay.”

“He killed someone, and he doesn’t seem to care much,” Shane said. “I don’t think I’m your biggest problem right now.”

“What do you think he’s planning to do?”

“Whatever it is, I guarantee you that it’s not going to be safe for anybody near him.”