Bite Club Page 0,58

must have hit her, because Claire heard the wet crunch of the punch and Miranda's thin little cry, and then the sound of a body falling.

Gina laughed. Claire pushed off from the wall, but it was too late. Gina was walking off, humming to herself while she went. If she hadn't been wearing high heels, she'd have beenskipping .

Miranda was getting up already, holding her broken, bleeding nose in one hand. Claire, angry and shocked, trembling with the sudden rush of frustrated adrenaline, started to go after Gina, but Mir grabbed her and shook her head furiously--and as she did, some of the blood gushing from her nose spattered Claire's new pink-and-white shirt. Claire didn't care at all. She crouched down next to the girl, helping her stand and holding her steady.

"Thatbitch !" Claire said. "You stay here. I'll--"

"No!" Miranda said. Her voice was muffled and small, but her eyes were wide and fierce. "It's the best thing. It's only my nose. She'd kill us."

"Then we're calling the cops. I amnot letting her get away with this...."

"Oh, don't worry. She won't," Miranda said. And beneath the blood, Claire was almost sure she smiled. "She's going to get in her car and drive real fast, and in two minutes she's going to run a red light. And then she's going to get hit by a big truck. My nose will set straight.She's going to the hospital, and she'll be there for a while."

Claire stared at her, this little, fragile girl with her bloody face and scary smile. Finally she said, slowly, "Mir, did you plan for that to happen?"

"No," Miranda said. "But sometimes it just happens the right way after all. It wouldn't have been right if you'd come to help me, though. She'd have stabbed me, right here, and then you, and she'd have died, too, but later and a lot worse. Amelie wouldn't have liked it."

It was fascinating and freaky, but Claire believed her. Every weird and scary word of it. She shook it off, with difficulty, and took Miranda back into the resale shop, where the clerk got her cleaned off, packed her nose with tissue, and even helped Claire sponge off the blood from her shirt.

As she did, Claire heard the distant sound of a car horn, then a crash, and then silence. She looked over at Miranda, who'd tilted her head back to slow the bleeding, and Miranda glanced back and shrugged.

"Karma," she said. "It's a bitch."

Miranda was dead right about Gina, not that Claire had any doubts; the accident was the talk of Morganville for days, and opinions were mostly on the "yay, finally" side of the scale. Gina had earned her suffering, not that Claire took much pleasure in it. She'd be weeks in the hospital and months in rehabilitation for the broken legs.

Miranda showed up the next morning for coffee, and the morning after, as if it had been planned that way. She probably saw it as inevitable, which it was, once she started showing up. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Eve thought it was weird, but she accepted it the way she accepted most things. It wasn't that she disliked Miranda; she just didn't know what to make of her, Claire thought. And she was fascinated by Miranda's psychic abilities.

Though she was just as shocked and fascinated by the spectacular bruises on Miranda's face and around her eyes. Double black eyes, and a swollen nose that had been reset at the hospital. "You look awful," Eve said on the second morning. "What coloris that? Eggplant? You look like a special effect, Mir." She poured Miranda a cup of coffee and set out the milk and sugar.

"It's okay," Miranda said. Her voice sounded a little muffled and congested, but she was smiling. "It's just a bruise. Nothing much."

"It looks painful." Eve frowned at her over her own cup of coffee. "Seriously, if Gina wasn't already all busted up, I would be on her. I mean it."

"I know," Miranda said. "Thank you. But I'm okay. Really."

Michael came in through the swinging doors and smiled at Eve, and his smile turned brittle and strange when he saw Miranda sitting there. She didn't look at him. "Hey, Mir," he said, and it sounded casual, but Claire had seen that first, unguarded look. Michael got his sports bottle out of the refrigerator and warmed it up in the microwave, then left.

Claire got up and followed him into the living room. "Hey," she said. "Wait. What was that look?"

"What look?"