"I know, right? Couldn't be cooler." Eve beamed. "Oh, and actually, they were out of the bacteria special, so I got you the ham and cheese. That's usually the safest one."
Safe being a relative term when it came to UC food. "Thanks," Claire said. "Tomorrow I'm making spaghetti. Yes, before you ask, with meat sauce. Carnivores."
Eve made a chomping sound with her teeth. Michael just smiled. The smile faded as he asked, "You don't have to go see Amelie tonight, do you?"
"No, probably not. The book's been sitting in that shop for who knows how long. It can wait until tomorrow. I have to go to the lab anyway. Amelie will be a nice break, after my mandatory crazy-boss time." Eve got herself a cold Coke from the fridge and popped the top as she dragged Claire's bag off of a chair and dumped it in the corner. "How is crazy boss man, anyway?"
"Myrnin's . . . well, Myrnin, I guess. He's been getting a little weird."
"Sweetie, coming from you, that's alarming. You have an awfully large scale of weird."
"I know." Claire sighed and sat down, propping her chin on both fists. She debated how much to say, even to her friends, but honestly, there weren't any secrets. Not in the Glass House. "I think he's under a lot of pressure to get the machine fixed; you know the one--"
"Ada?" Eve asked. "Ugh, seriously, he's not bringing that back to life, is he?"
"Not . . . exactly, no. But Ada wasn't all bad, you know. Well, Ada was, the personality, but the machine did all kinds of things that the vamps need, like maintain the borders of the town, give alerts when residents leave, wipe memories when they want it done . . . and run the portals." The portals were the dimensional doorways that ran through town. Myrnin had discovered some freaky way of accelerating particles and constructing stable tunnels through space-time, something that Claire was still struggling to understand, let alone master. It wasn't quite magic, but sometimes there didn't seem to be much of a boundary between magic and Myrnin's science. "It's important. We're just trying to, you know, take the Ada factor out of the equation and get the mechanical piece working without the mind-of-its-own part."
"Killer computers." Eve sighed. "Like we didn't have enough trouble in Morganville already. I'm not so sure any of those things you're talking about are good for us, Claire Bear. You feel me?"
"If by us you mean the regular humans, yeah, I know. But"-- Claire shrugged--"fact is, having those safeguards lets them trust us, at least a little, and trust is all that keeps this town going."
Eve didn't have a comeback to that. She knew Claire was right. Morganville existed on a teetering, dangerous balance between the paranoia and violence of the vampires, and the paranoia and violence of the humans who outnumbered them. Right there, at the balance point, they could all coexist. But it didn't take much to tilt things to one side or the other, and if that happened, Morganville would burn.
Claire chewed her lip and continued. "We're getting it done; really, we are, but he's got some kind of deadline he's not telling me about, and I'm worried he's going to . . . do something crazy."
"He lives in a hole in the ground, dresses funny, and occasionally eats his assistants," Eve said. "Define crazy."
Claire closed her eyes. "Okay. I think he wants to put my brain in a jar and wire it into the machine."
Dead silence. She opened her eyes. Michael was staring at her, frozen in the act of opening the refrigerator door; Eve had put her Coke down, her eyes as wide as anything ever drawn in animation. Michael finally remembered what he was doing, reached in, grabbed a green sports bottle, which he carried to the table, and sat down. "That's not going to happen," he said. "I'm not going to let it happen. Neither will Amelie."
Claire wasn't so sure about that last part, but she was sure Michael meant what he said, and that made her feel a little better. "I don't think he's serious about it," Claire said weakly. "Well, not most of the time. But he keeps going on about how the brain is a much better CPU--"
"Not going to happen," Michael repeated flatly. "I'll kill him first, Claire. I mean it."
She didn't want Myrnin dead, but it did make her feel better to have her friend say it. Michael was a sweetheart most of the time, but the truth was, there was something cold inside him--and it wasn't just that his heart didn't beat. It was . . . something else. Something darker. Mostly, it didn't show.
Sometimes, she was grateful it did.
"Shane's late," Eve said, changing the subject. "Where's Mr. Barbecue McStabby?"
"Working late," Claire replied. "Somebody canceled on the night shift, so he had to work dinner service. He said it was okay; he could use the overtime. And he doesn't like you to call him Mr. McStabby, you know."
"Have you ever seen him cutting up that meat? He is like an artist with slicing. And that knife is as long as my arm. Mr. McStabby it is."
They debated it for a while, with Michael staying out of it and sipping his sports bottle of--probably--blood, until Eve got the sandwiches out and they ate a cold, and somewhat mushy, dinner. After that, Claire fidgeted around, too restless to study, missing Shane, until Eve finally snapped at her about pacing and moving stuff, and she went up toward her room.
On an impulse, she didn't go there; she stopped in the hallway, reached out, and found the hidden catch to the secret room. The paneling clicked open, and she went in and shut the door behind her. No knob on this side, but that was okay; she knew where the release was. She ran up the narrow flight of stairs and came out in the windowless, dusty room that they'd always figured had been Amelie's retreat, when she'd once lived in this house. It looked like her, somehow--old Victorian furniture, tapestry hangings, multicolored Tiffany lamps that were probably worth a fortune. It was always a little cold in here, for some reason. Claire stretched out on the old velvet sofa, staring up at the ceiling, and thought about how many times she'd come here with Shane. It was their private place, where they could just get away from everything, and the blanket draped over the back smelled like him. She pulled it over her and smiled, feeling like the ghost of Shane was here with her, snuggling up close.
She had no idea she'd fallen asleep at first, and then she thought she was dreaming, because someone was touching her. Not molesting her or anything, just a fingertip being drawn down her cheek, across her lips . . . a slow, gentle sort of caress.
She opened her eyes to see Shane crouched down next to her. His hair was--as usual--mussed, hanging long around his face, and he smelled like barbecue and wood smoke, and his smile was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he said. "It's three in the morning. Eve thought vampires stole you, but that's only because you didn't make your bed this morning. I think I'm a bad influence."
Her lips parted, and his finger paused there, tracing her mouth slowly. She didn't speak. His smile got wider.
"Miss me?"