“I’m serious!”
“Me, too. I would never joke about sparkly unicorns.” He held up a hand to stop her from getting irritated. “Okay, yes, I will hide all the stuff that needs hiding. Give me fifteen minutes, and then I’ll head out to grab the stuff from Rad. Though, damn, grenades.
Not sure we need much more than that. They might even make good offensive weapons.”
“But they only blow out powder, right?”
“If I throw it at somebody and yell ‘Grenade!’ I’m willing to bet they’d duck anyway. At the very least, it would be hilarious.”
“Until they shot you.”
“Well. Yeah. That might not be as funny.”
One more kiss, and Shane was off. It took him less than fifteen minutes to gather things into a giant duffel bag, which he dragged downstairs and into the kitchen. She heard him stashing it in the dirt pantry room, and went to double- check that he hadn’t left any telltale traces on the floor, but he’d swept up neatly, and if she hadn’t known about the secret room she’d never have guessed it was there.
Another minute and Shane was gone to get the fire retardant stuff from Rad. He sternly told her to lock up behind him— as if she ever forgot, in Morganville. The Beast roared off down the street, and a profound silence settled over the Glass House. It was rare that she was alone in the place; there was almost always someone else to talk to, or at least to be aware of in another room. But it seemed calm, quiet and peaceful.
“We’ll take care of you,” Claire said to the house, her face tilted up to the ceiling. She patted the wall. “Don’t worry. We won’t let anything happen to you.”
The air around her immediately warmed, as if she’d stepped into a patch of bright sunlight. It was the Glass House’s equiva- lent of a hug, and she smiled and picked up the first two fire extinguishers to carry them upstairs. She stationed one in Michael and Eve’s room and one in her own— opposite ends of the hall, and they could cover most anything from there. The rest were distrib- uted downstairs, where she thought any kind of arson would probably start. Their enemies had once tried to burn the place down with well- placed Molotov cocktails, and now she made sure that no window was more than a few steps from a fire extin- guisher.
Then she set the grenades out, scattering them around to be sure they were all within easy reach.
She was setting out the last few when she heard the crisp sound of a knock— loud, authoritative, nothing tentative about it. Defi- nitely not Shane, and she wasn’t expecting any visitors.
Claire slipped one of the extinguisher grenades in her jacket pocket and went downstairs to check the peephole in the door.
Officer Kentworth was back. Officer Halling was with him, and so was a plainclothes man that Claire recognized as Detective Simonds. From everything she’d heard about him, he was a nice enough guy— and a good investigator. She wasn’t sure whether that last part was a good thing just now.
She opened the door and held on to it, blocking the entrance.
“Officers?”
“Miss Danvers,” Detective Simonds said, and gave her a pleas- ant smile. “Mind if we come in?”
“No offense, sir, but I’d rather wait until my friends are back if you don’t mind.”
“No offense taken, but I’m sorry to say that was just a courtesy question.” He slipped a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “This is a warrant from a judge allowing us to search this house for illegal weapons.”
Well, it wasn’t unexpected, but it still felt bad. Claire swal- lowed hard, but she stepped back and opened the door wider for them. As the three cops walked in, she felt the temperature in the hallway start to chill down. So much for the warm hugs. The house was picking up on her uneasiness, and it had never liked un- invited guests.
“Kentworth, check upstairs,” Simonds said. “Halling, this floor and the basement. Miss Danvers, how about you make me a cup of coffee in the kitchen and we sit and talk a minute.”
“Sure,” she said. Her heart was pounding, and she hoped that she didn’t look as guilty as she felt. “Follow me.”
She led him through the living room and through the kitchen door, and wished she’d grabbed a hoodie to put on over what she was wearing because the house felt positively icy now. She could almost see her breath. Simonds, wearing a light jacket suitable for the hot sun of Morganville, was shivering. “Damn,” he said. “You sure like to keep it chilly in here. Your electric bills must be insane.”
“Not really,” she said. “I think the house is just really well in- sulated.” She turned on the coffeemaker and did all the little things necessary to make it go. They waited in silence while it wheezed and steamed and filled the carafe, and then she filled two mugs, put milk and sugar on the table, and dosed her own mug in silence.
Simonds sipped his black coffee, made a polite lie about how good it was, and added a splash of milk. He stirred for an inordi- nately long time, and he kept watching her. Not actively intimidat- ing, like Halling, but very, very observant. “Let’s cut to the chase, Claire— may I call you Claire?” She nodded silently. “Morganville got a makeover while you were gone, no doubt about that. I know there are a lot of things different about it, and you’re probably not feeling too good about them right now. But I promise you, it’s all for the best. You believe me?”
“Not really,” she said, and took a careful sip from her own mug. “I don’t trust Mr. Fallon, and I don’t trust the Daylight Foundation, either.”
“Why not?” he asked. Interesting that he wasn’t wearing a pin, she thought, but he might have taken it off just to lull her into a false sense of security. “I honestly want to know, Claire. I’m not just shining you on.”
“Because I’ve seen what they’re capable of doing,” she said.
“The problem with fighting monsters is that you can become a monster by convincing yourself anything goes. Evil for evil. I’ve seen it, sir. I’ve seen them murder people for their own beliefs. And I won’t be a part of that.”