"That's AB," Myrnin said helpfully. "It's still warm. Oh, and there's a hint of sweetness in it. High triglycerides. I think the donor needed a bit of medication."
"Are you high?" Michael asked him, in a totally colorless voice.
Myrnin blinked, and looked at Claire for help. "He means, are you on drugs."
"Well, obviously."
"More than usual?"
"Oh. No, no, just the usual doses. And where is Shreve?"
"Eve," they all said in unison, and exchanged a look. Well, Shane and Claire did, and Michael made a fast-aborted effort at it. Shane licked his lips and continued, "She's out."
"Of the building?" Michael asked, still in that same nothing voice.
"Yeah. She's got escorts, though." That sounded weak, even from Shane, and he clearly didn't know where to take it from there. "I mean, I'm sure she's okay and everything."
Michael just nodded. He looked tight and grim, and he sipped his cup of blood as if he really didn't want it at all. Myrnin looked from him to the others, eyebrows going up and down as if he was about to blurt out a question that none of them wanted to answer, and then shrugged. "Very well," he said, "evidently there is some difficulty that I really don't care about, and is no doubt quite dramatic. Does anyone else care for coffee?"
Claire glanced at the red-stained cups he and Theo had left, and shuddered. "No, thanks."
Shane clearly decided a change of subject was in order. He turned his most harassed expression on Michael. "Bro," he said, in an injured tone, "I had to go out with a flamethrower, and you weren't there to see it."
"Pics or it didn't happen."
"Dude, little busy for pics. You know, throwing flame."
That earned a glance up, and a brief grin, and some of the tension leaked out of Michael's body language ... but not all. And the grin didn't last. "Wish I'd been there," he said, with a clear implication of anywhere but here. Which did not, again, bode well for the whole deal with Eve.
Myrnin rolled his eyes. "Oh, enough of this. Follow me." He immediately set off at a rapid, though not vampire-quick, walk down yet another hallway, identical to all the others; Claire fell in with Shane, behind Michael.
"What the hell are we into now?" Shane asked her.
"Nothing good," she replied. "But then, that kind of describes our day, right?"
"Speak for yourself. It describes my whole life." He reached out and took her in his arms, a sudden and unexpected crush that drove her breath right away. "Except for you." He kissed her, and despite everything, despite the hurry and the vampires and the draug and the doom hanging over them, it felt like sunlight shining right through her skin, melting her bones into soft, pliable gold. It couldn't have lasted long, that kiss, but it felt eternal to her, as if it might echo forever. "I can handle anything now."
"Well," she whispered with their lips still touching, "as long as you have a flamethrower."
He laughed, and let go ... but kept hold of her hand.
Myrnin led them into a room that had obviously started life as another ballroom ... but in the course of what could have been only hours, or at most a day, he had managed to transform it into a chaotic mess that reminded Claire strongly of his original laboratory. Books were stacked, scattered, and dropped everywhere, some open to a possibly important reference, or maybe just opened at random. He'd dragged furniture in to improvise work space, with limited success, and he'd taken the shades off the elegant lamps to let the bright incandescent bulbs glare freely. The room smelled strongly of oil and metal, and ... burned hair?
Myrnin strode across the deep maroon carpet (now liberally smudged with spots of dirt, oil, and who knew what else) to what had once been a giant sideboard, except that he'd ripped it away from the wall and shoved it into the middle of the room. It held about a dozen books, scraps of metal, bars of silver, and nails; he swept the whole thing clean with one dramatic gesture and then unfurled a set of blueprints across the lavish marble top-already stained from at least one chemical spill.
It was a map of Morganville. A standard-issue civilian kind of map, but there was a clear plastic overlay on it, marked with careful, precise handwriting and colored dots-Myrnin's writing, though far more controlled than Claire had ever seen it. The entire side of town from the border up to the TPU gates had been colored in flat black, simply marking it out.
Draug territory.
"Now," he said, and set random pieces of junk at the four corners of the map to hold it open. "Obviously, we're here." He pointed to a red dot overlay on the building at Founder's Square. "This is the police perimeter around us." A solid red line, as precisely drawn as with a compass. "This is the outer ring of our defenses." Another ring, but this one of individual red dots, spread evenly. It reached as far as Lot Street, where the Glass House-their home-sat empty. "There is nothing within this circle that has not been drained of standing water, or salted with silver if we couldn't drain it, so the draug cannot get here easily."
"The rain-," Shane began, but Myrnin cut him off.
"They can use the rain only when it is heavy and constant, and even then it's a risk; by spreading themselves so thin, they lose many parts into the dry soil. It's a bit of a kamikaze attack, to put it in human terms, and they dare not employ that method to attack us here, in our stronghold; there's no catch basin for them to use that hasn't been treated and prepared against them. But our problem is outside of this circle." He tapped the other two-thirds of the town, where black dots and puddles of dark ink marred the surface. "I've tracked all the reports I could find. Claire, you said the draug came after you just now, correct?"
She nodded. "Came after Theo and Naomi, probably. But there were a lot of them."
"Not so many now," Shane said, and yeah, that was smug. "Flamethrower."