Bite Club Page 0,45

I can almost see it."

Claire's phone beeped for attention--a text. She checked it. It was, shockingly, from Myrnin; she didn't

think he even knewhow to text. Evidently, he'd found his cell phone again.

It said,Where are you, stupid girl? Run faster!

Claire sighed. "Dammit! Can you tell me about it while we walk?"

Miranda didn't, of course, have many details. Psychic impressions were the most useless thingsever , as far as Claire could tell...it was always feelings and impressions and vague warnings, and half the time it seemed like Miranda made things worse by trying to prevent something bad. Like today. The whole thing with Gina wouldn't have happened if Miranda hadn't come along trying to stop it. Well, probably.

Miranda's cold-blooded violent streak worried Claire almost as much as Gina's psycho tendencies. She thought about revenge in dangerously graphic terms.

"Let's try this again," she said as they walked down the mostly deserted street that led to the cul-de-sac where Myrnin's lab entrance was located. "So what you see is that Shane's in trouble because he gets in a fight."

Miranda nodded, so vigorously her tangled hair bounced. "A bad one," she said. "And gets hurt. I can't tell how much, but he gets hurt a lot, I think."

"Is it day or night?"

Miranda thought about it, frowning. She kicked an empty plastic bottle and flinched when a dog barked in one of the yards they were passing. The houses on this street were run-down, with bars on the windows. Only the Day house at the end of the street--a mirror for the house where Claire lived, the one owned by Michael Glass--looked nicely kept up, and even it needed a new coat of paint. "I can't tell," she finally said. "It happens inside. In a room. People are watching. There are bars."

"Like, with drinks?"

"No, like a cage."

That was sickly likely, because Shane seemed to end up behindthose kinds of bars way too often. "How many people?"

She shrugged. "It's dark; I can't tell. Maybe a lot? No--more. More than a lot. From a long ways off. There but not there."

That was definitely vague and not at all helpful. The fighting--well, that was something that honestly wasn't all that unusual. Shane was a born fighter. But the getting badly hurt--that was unsettling, all right.

"Is there any way to tell when it's going to happen?"

Miranda shook her head. "It's pretty clear, so maybe a few days? A week? But I don't know. Sometimes it's tricky. And sometimes it goes away, too. Things aren't always obvious."

"Okay, well, thanks. I'll try to look out for him." That wasn't much, because Claire knew she couldn't spend all her time watching out for him. Warning him would help, but knowing Shane, it wouldn't solve

the problem, either. If he felt like he needed to be in the fight, he'd be in it--whether he got hurt or not.

"You should get home," Claire said. "I have to go to work. Mir?"

Miranda stopped, looking at her. She was getting taller, Claire realized; still growing. She was taller than Claire was now, and would probably be Eve's height or better before she was done.

"Tomorrow, meet me at the house," Claire said. "If Myrnin doesn't need me, we'll go shopping. Okay?"

Miranda smiled at her--a sweet, delighted, heartfelt expression that lit up her whole face. No, her whole body. It was like nobody had ever offered before. "Okay!" she said. "I've never been shopping."

Claire blinked. "Never?"

"No. My parents used to buy me things before they died. And now people sometimes bring me things, but I've never gone myself. Is it fun? It looks fun."

"It's fun," Claire said. She had a sudden impulse to hug the girl, so she did. Miranda felt all bones and awkward angles, but she hugged back enthusiastically. "You go straight home and stay there. Monica may back off, but Gina's kind of nuts. I think she's after me, though."

"She is," Miranda said, in that distant, weird kind of voice Claire dreaded. "She'll be coming. Soon." She blinked and smiled. "See you tomorrow!"

She practically skipped away. Claire watched her go, shook her head, and headed into the monster's lair.

The monster himself was standing in the middle of the lab, pacing and shaking his cell phone as if he was trying to get it to work by sheer force. He'd changed clothes again--this time, to a Victorian long-tailed coat in black, a purple vest, no shirt, and black pants. He'd ditched the bunny slippers this time, in favor of real shoes. When she came jogging down the steps,