Ghost Town

Claire scrambled up to her feet and ran for her backpack. She didn’t want to use the silver, but she didn’t know what else to do. She couldn’t just let him eat her.

Myrnin seemed to have temporarily lost interest in her. He was standing now, looking around at the lab, mouth half-open. “What . . . what in the devil happened? Did Ada do this? My. She’s quite a good housekeeper, isn’t she? I remember it being so much messier.”

Claire grabbed her backpack on the run and unzipped it. She cut her fingers on the knife she’d crammed inside, but groped around for the hilt and got it out just as Myrnin stopped looking at the scenery and started ru

He leaped from table to table, zigzagging as she did, eyes glowing dull red. She saw Michael climb out of the tu

Claire waited until Myrnin got close, and then slashed the knife across his chest. She just missed his face.

He stopped, looked down, and said, “Oh, no, I loved this vest.” And then the silver started to burn him. His eyes went from dull red to bright, furious crimson.

He looked at Claire. “No one fights back. That’s strictly against the rules.”

“This isn’t you,” she said. “Please don’t do this.”

For a second she actually thought she saw something surface in him, something she recognized . . . but then it was gone, and the old Myrnin, the cruel one, was back. “If you come here again,” he said, “I’ll tear you apart. This is my home. You’re not welcome.”

“Claire!” Michael yelled. “The portal! Go for it!”

She wasn’t far from it, but there was no way she’d be able to beat Myrnin. He was deadly fast, and very angry. She needed to hurt him enough to stop him, at least temporarily.

She lunged, buried the knife in his shoulder, and left it there. She didn’t want to do it, but it was the only thing she could think of in that split second. Myrnin was old, maybe even older than Amelie; the silver would hurt him, but it’d take a long time to kill him. She had to take the risk.

It worked. Myrnin howled and grabbed at her, missed, and swatted at the knife, but it was all silver. He couldn’t get a grip without burning himself. Claire didn’t wait. She sprinted for the portal just as Michael arrived there and pushed Shane through ahead of him.

Claire looked back over her shoulder. Myrnin was wrapping his torn vest around his hand to pull the knife out.

She plunged through and willed the network to lock down the entrance. She did it just in time; she felt the shock of Myrnin trying to drag it away from her, but she’d had practice at this now, and he was in pain.

His attempts to break through to the Glass House finally stopped.

Claire backed up until she bumped into the sofa, still staring at the blank wall. “Hey, house?” she called. “We have to keep Myrnin out. It’s important.”

The Glass House had a weird kind of sentience to it—nothing she could name, exactly, but sometimes she asked it to help, and sometimes it even listened. Just now, she felt a rush of warmth, a kind of energy flow that moved through her and toward the portal, overlaying it.

A psychic lock, done better than she could have done it herself.

“Thanks,” she said. She wanted to collapse, but instead she looked around for Michael and Shane.

Shane was lying on the couch. Michael was still standing, but his shirt was shredded, and she saw the faint lines of injuries still healing up.

Shane had a cut on his head, and he still looked woozy.

“Right,” he mumbled. “Hope somebody remembered the ladder. That was a good ladder.”

Claire’s knees wobbled, and she had to sit down, quickly. It was fu

What had Ha

Myrnin was the old Myrnin. The crazy Myrnin, the one he’d been when he’d been at his worst, before he’d killed Ada and put her brain into the machine. He’d been cruel. And he’d been insane.

He wasn’t at all the man she knew. And now he knew what they were after.

“We have to get him back,” Claire said aloud, feeling sick and horrified. “We have to.”

Because she cared about him . . . but also because Myrnin was the only one who knew the password to shut down the machine.

She tried calling Amelie, but got voice mail. She left a message to send someone to detain Myrnin—more than one someone, preferably heavily armed. Claire promised to try to shut down the machine in the morning, when the lab was Myrnin free. If she couldn’t crack his password, she’d do exactly what Shane suggested: she’d pull the plug. Better to destroy it all than to risk this continuing.

Getting Shane’s head examined at the hospital was a little crazy, because of the number of strange incidents and injuries that were going on. Turned out he didn’t have a concussion, but he did need stitches at his hairline. Again.

He wasn’t too upset. “Girls love interesting scars,” he said. “Right? Girls? Are you with me?” Eve held up her hand. So did Claire. Michael and Shane high-fived, but not very hard, because Shane winced. “At least whatever’s going on hasn’t hit any of us four. That’s good.”

Claire looked at Michael, but he didn’t seem to know why she was staring his way. He didn’t remember. Or if he did, he’d chalked it up to dreams, the way so many people probably had.

Eve suddenly turned her head and watched someone walk by behind Claire. “Wow,” she said. “Can’t even come here to get away from the bad elements. Monica on your six, CB.”

Claire looked. It was definitely Monica, heading straight for them. She was trailed by Gina, but not Je

Monica went right past Claire without a glance, glared at Eve, smiled at Michael, and focused on Shane. “Oh, my God, you’re here, too! I was wondering where you were. Didn’t you get my texts?”

Shane looked at her, winced, and shut his eyes. “Please make the bad thing go away.” He groaned. “I’ve already got a headache.”

Monica’s bright smile faltered, and Claire could have sworn she saw hurt flare briefly across her expression. Then the smile just got brighter. “Oh,” she said. “I guess you didn’t get them. I e-mailed you, too. I’ll send everything again.”

“Let’s not,” Shane said. “Are you kidding me? What are we, friends?”

Monica frowned at him. “Quit being a little prick, Shane. Of course we’re friends.” She giggled. Giggled. “Well, you know. Kissing friends.”

Shane opened his eyes and stared at her. He opened his mouth, then closed it and looked at Michael, who was staring at Monica with exactly the same WTF look.

“Not that we couldn’t be more,” Monica said, and winked at him. “Remember that makeout session in the closet at school? That was hot, right?”

Shane actually blushed. Little red spots high on his cheeks. Claire stared at them, fascinated, and thought, This is like watching one of those reality-show train wrecks. It was almost . . . entertaining. “Shut up,” Shane said. He sounded like he was choking on something.

“Oh, relax. It’s not like we did it or anything. Yet.”

“Seriously. Shut. Up.”

Monica must have finally gotten the idea that Shane was really not joking, because she looked a little thrown, then hurried on to another topic. “So what happened to you? Oh, we’re here because Je