Fall of Night The Morganville Vampires - By Rachel Caine Page 0,87
narrow look, but Claire mouthed please, and he went to do it after all.
Then, without any more discussion, they headed out.
For the tunnels.
The MIT tunnel system was byzantine, and legendary; students used the wider ones for shelter and travel during the harsh Massachusetts winter, and the roof and tunnel hackers regularly explored and mapped in them. But even so, there were always new areas to be found – some long forgotten and sealed, like the famous bricked-up showers, or the tomb of the forgotten ladder. Claire checked the online maps through Michael’s borrowed phone, but didn’t find any sign of a tunnel beneath the library storage annex, which was at the far edge of campus … and that didn’t mean there weren’t any. Just that they had been cut off from the others.
In short, an ideal place to hide someone, because in her brief visits to the steam tunnels, Claire had quickly learnt that they were noisy. A few random shouts wouldn’t be drawing any particular attention, even if there was anyone around to hear.
‘Bother this nonsense,’ Oliver said, as they stood outside the darkened building; it was late, and little enough was stirring outside. ‘False caution breeds failure. Come.’ He headed straight for the doorway, which Claire was least inclined to do, but there really wasn’t much of a choice – follow, or don’t, and Oliver had the gravity trail of a born leader.
Jesse, however, had the brain of a tactician, and she pulled Pete and Michael and Shane aside. ‘Back door,’ she said. ‘Claire, you, me and your strange friend—’
‘Eve,’ they both said, simultaneously, and Eve held out her fist for a bump. ‘Or, you could call me Eve the Great, Mistress of All She Surveys. But Eve for short.’
Jesse smiled at that, a real smile, lively eyes crinkling. ‘Very pleased to meet you, Mistress Eve. Ah, you’d be the one who married the vampire, then?’
‘Am I that famous?’
‘Famous enough, among the undead, we’re terrible old gossips. Also, we’re terrible gamblers, so it might not surprise you to hear the odds against you making it to an anniversary are not fantastically good. I hope that doesn’t bother you.’
‘Not much,’ Eve said, ‘although it will unless I can put down a bet myself. I’d like to make a little money on my own survival for a change.’
‘I believe I might just like you, girl.’
‘You too, Red. You don’t seem to suck fangs as much as some of the others I have to hang around with. Honestly, why are so many young-looking vampires such blue-haired old biddies inside, anyway?’
‘Because vampires are born of being selfish, and we only get worse over the years,’ Jesse said. ‘It leads to a dreadful conservatism.’
‘Um – Jesse, about these Daylighters you were talking about earlier …’ Claire said.
‘A deep and weighty subject we have no time for right now,’ Jesse said. ‘And I hope that they are not behind this. But suffice to say that they are a group who believes in the existence of vampires, and believes that we are better off dead. Something they have been quite expert at accomplishing over the past few years.’
‘Look, this is interesting, but before we have a pyjama party and braid our hair, maybe we should, y’know, show the boys how this gets done?’ Eve suggested.
‘Excellent idea.’ Jesse reached into her leather jacket, and came out with an astonishingly intimidating knife – about six inches, with a wicked curve to it. It had a distinctively gleaming edge to it that seemed sharp enough to shave titanium … and it looked very familiar. Claire had one just like it in her backpack. Jesse held it in her unbandaged left hand. ‘After you, ladies.’
‘Do you have any impressive weapons?’ Eve whispered to Claire, as they headed after Oliver.
‘Yep,’ she said, and grinned. Eve looked crestfallen.
‘Well, I can throw a mean comeback, so there’s that. I will crush them on wit.’
Oliver was all business at the door, where he opened up the building simply by smashing in the thick glass door with a single punch. Not subtle, but effective enough, and although alarms probably went off somewhere, Claire didn’t hear a sound inside in response to the intrusion. Oliver stepped inside, and she followed, shoes grinding raw on the broken pieces. ‘Look for some kind of mechanical closet,’ she said. ‘It might not be marked. Listen for the sound of air handlers, compressors, that kind of thing.’
‘This way,’ Oliver said, and struck off down the hall in a confident,