Fall of Night The Morganville Vampires - By Rachel Caine Page 0,59
hand to the panel on the side. It lit up red, and the door slid shut.
‘I programmed it for your palm print,’ Anderson said. ‘You can open and close it on your own now. But only if there’s no one else in the room but me. If someone tries to force you to open it, it’ll simply stay closed, so you just tell them you don’t have authorisation. Without authorisation, you wouldn’t be of any use to them.’
She’d thought ahead, Claire thought, and it was a little chilling that she’d thought as far as someone holding a gun to Claire’s head and forcing her to try to open the hiding place.
But that was someone from Morganville for you – always thinking of the worst-case scenario.
Claire said goodnight, and started for home.
She was walking down the street from the Mudd Building, dodging excited groups of students who were apparently headed to the Biopolymer Lab, when her phone rang – no, it hadn’t, actually, because she had a voicemail, not a call. Dodgy reception in the lab, she guessed.
The call was from Liz, as were the three text messages. All were alerting her, with cheery good humour, that Liz had invited someone to dinner, and to please come home on time, before six.
Claire checked her watch. She just had time to make it.
Elizabeth met Claire at the door, which swung open before she’d even reached for the doorknob. She was wearing a fancy dress, nice shoes, earrings, a glittering necklace, and she even had on lipstick.
Claire blinked. ‘I thought we were just having somebody over for dinner.’
Liz dragged her inside and closed the door. She leant closer to whisper, ‘We are, but put on something nice. I want to impress him, okay? It’s important!’
‘Um … okay.’ Claire wasn’t sure why she had to dress up to impress Elizabeth’s date, but she was willing to meet her halfway for the sake of good roommate karma. Up the stairs, and into her room. She dumped her backpack on the still-unmade bed and sorted through her limited clothing choices, settling on a fitted white shirt and some black pants. Plain, but nice. Adding one of the necklaces Eve had given her – a Day of the Dead skull, enamelled in all kinds of bright colours – jazzed it up a little. Claire fluffed her hair in the mirror and decided that she wasn’t going to resort to make-up; after all, it was Liz’s date, not hers.
When she made her way downstairs, she heard Elizabeth laughing, and she opened the door to the kitchen and saw her in an actual apron over her fancy dress, stirring a pot. A man was sitting at the small kitchen table – not a college boy at all, a man of about forty, probably, with little grey threads at his temples and sparkling blue eyes in a suntanned face. Even sitting down, he seemed tall. He was wearing a denim work shirt with the collar open, and a sports coat, and he had a little smile on his face that Claire somehow didn’t really like.
She’d rarely taken an instant dislike to anyone, but … she might have to make an exception, she decided.
‘Claire, this is Patrick,’ Elizabeth said. Which caught her by surprise. Somehow, Claire had thought that she’d introduce the man as her father, which he was certainly old enough to be. Or an uncle, or something. But just plain Patrick? ‘Dr Patrick Davis, I mean. He’s one of my professors.’
‘Really?’ Claire raised her eyebrows and carefully nodded to him. ‘Which class?’
‘Biology,’ Patrick said. ‘Elizabeth’s a very bright student. I hope you don’t mind that she invited me over for a meal.’
Claire avoided answering that by joining Liz at the stove. ‘What are you making?’
‘Chicken and stuffing, peas, and carrots,’ her housemate said. Her smile looked excited, but it trembled a bit in the corners. ‘Sound okay?’
‘Delicious. What can I do?’
‘The bread? Just put it to warm in the oven.’
Claire did that, and fetched herself a glass of Coke from the fridge. She didn’t ask Dr Davis if he wanted anything, because as she was putting ice in the glass she caught him staring at Liz in a way that was not very professorial. More predatory.
Oh, God. Seriously? Gross.
‘Funny,’ Claire said, ‘but I don’t think I ever invited any of my professors home for dinner. Not even the ones I liked.’
Liz gave her a pleading look. ‘Well, that’s too bad. You haven’t had the fantastic teachers I have, I