Bite Club

“What’s in the bag?” Eve asked. “Your bu

Myrnin hefted it to his shoulder and said, “A projectile weapon that fires silver aero-dispersant cartridges, among other things.”

“I don’t understand what you just said.”

“Like tear gas, but with powdered silver,” Claire said. “Airborne. Right?”

“Exactly so. I have several things I’d like to try.” He seemed gruesomely enthusiastic about that, actually. “I so rarely have the chance to field-test anything. Amelie is so conservative about these things.”

“No kidding,” Eve said. “Holla.”

Myrnin’s eyes widened. He looked at Claire, who shrugged. “She agrees,” she said. Eve started for the stairs, and Myrnin moved to follow, but Claire held him back. “Wait. You’d better not be following us and reporting back to anybody else.”

“I wouldn’t do that. I am not a—what do you call it? Snark?”

“Narc. Or snitch.”

“I would tell you quite honestly if I intended to betray you to Amelie,” he said, and his luminous black eyes locked onto hers. “I’m not as fond of your friend Shane, but I will help you. For one thing, I don’t like it that Gloriana has such a hold on this town, or that Bishop is at large. These things can’t end well for anyone. I’d rather take them on now than risk Amelie coming to harm.”

It was the first time she’d heard Myrnin say anything about Amelie that she could interpret as friendship. Claire said, frowning, “Because you care about her?”

“Well, that, of course, but I can’t see Oliver supporting my research nearly as thoroughly. Can you? He doesn’t have much respect for the scientific or alchemical arts.” He swept his hand in the direction of the stairs in an elegant gesture, and bowed from the waist. “After you, my dear.”

“You’re going to need a hat and coat. It’s su

“Bother.” He grabbed up a ratty-looking old trench coat with a torn sleeve, and a floppy hat that looked like something a little old lady might have worn to work in the garden, if she’d been color-blind. “Is that sufficient?”

“Brilliant,” Claire said. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”

FOURTEEN

Myrnin had a car. Somehow, this surprised Claire; she hadn’t thought he had any use for one, but Amelie would have undoubtedly thought about emergencies, which was why there was a conservative, dark-toned town car sitting in a dilapidated shack behind Gramma Day’s home. It wasn’t locked up, and it had a coating of dust that made Claire wonder if it had ever been moved at all. Myrnin had no idea where the keys were. Claire found them on a nail, hanging behind the shack’s sagging door.

They were loading the black bags into the trunk of the car when the door slid back and a squat, round, stooped shape was silhouetted by the sunlight at its back. It took a second for Claire’s eyes to adjust, but when she did, she recognized the lined, hard-set face of Gramma Day under that soft cloud of gray hair. Gramma was wearing a flowered dress and house shoes, and she was carrying a shotgun that Claire would have sworn was too big for her to lift.

She sure looked like she knew what she was doing with it. The sound of her racking a round into the chamber, that heavy metallic chuk-chuk, made all three of them freeze. Even Myrnin.

Gramma leveled the shotgun at them, squinted, and then started to lower it. “Is that Claire?”

“Gramma, it’s me. And my friend Eve. Oh, and you probably know Myrnin.”

Gramma clearly did, because the gun came right back to her shoulder. “I know who all my neighbors are. Don’t much care for that one.”

Myrnin raised his chin. “Dear lady, I’ve never—”

“Only ’cause I don’t allow you anywhere near my property. You know what I call you? Trapdoor Spider.”

Myrnin blinked. “That is…surprisingly accurate, actually. Well, feel free to drop in on me any time you wish. Oh, of course, I promise not to hurt you.”

“Don’t think I’ll be relying on your promises. What are you doing in here?”

“Driving my car.”

“Oh.” She did lower the gun now and staggered a little. If she’d actually fired it, she’d probably have broken her shoulder, as thin and fragile as she was. “Didn’t know it was yours. Knew it belonged to some vampire or other, but I never asked any questions. Never saw anybody driving it.”

“Well, you have now,” Claire said. “Providing it starts.” She pitched the keys to Eve, who managed to field them while Myrnin was distracted with Gramma Day. “And before you ask, no, you’re not driving, Myrnin. I remember the last time.”

“That accident was not my fault.”

“You were the only one on the road, and the mailbox actually didn’t leap out in front of you. No arguments. You sit in the back, too.”

“You’ve turned into quite a bossy little thing,” Myrnin said. “I think I might like it.” He opened the back door and slid inside. Eve shrugged, got in the driver’s seat, and cranked the engine. It wheezed and coughed, but it did start. Gramma Day shook her head and hobbled out of the way, holding the door back.

“Claire,” she said. “You want to watch yourself. That man ain’t right. You keep a good watch on him. You hear me?”

“I know. I will.”

“You want my shotgun?”

“No,” Claire said very politely. “But thank you.”

Gramma waved at them as Eve piloted the car out of the garage and then applied the brakes sharply and said, “Um…problem?”

“What?” Claire looked up from fastening her seat belt. Eve was staring at the front window with a horrified, mortified expression on her face.

The black front window. “It’s a vampire car,” she said. “And I can’t believe neither of us thought about that.”

“I can,” Myrnin said from the backseat. “Now. Could I please drive my own car, seeing as how I am the only one who is actually qualified to do so?”

He’s been just waiting for that, Claire thought. She sighed and rubbed her forehead. It was going to be a long, long day.

“Switch,” she said. “Myrnin, drive carefully. Understand?”

“Of course.”

He didn’t.

Afterward, Claire tried not to think how hair-raising the ride was; Myrnin was the only one who could actually see the danger, but she could hear it, and it was horrifying. Squealing brakes at virtually every intersection as other drivers put all their skills to use in avoiding the moving target of their car. Yells. Honking horns. A siren that Myrnin blissfully ignored, and that finally turned off without him ever pulling the vehicle to the curb.

At least he didn’t hit anything that she could tell. She was almost sure about that. Almost.

Myrnin finally hit the brakes way, way too firmly, sending her and Eve hurtling against their seat belts, and put the car in park. “See?” he said, with an unholy amount of glee. “I hardly broke any laws at all. I should drive more often.”

“No. Trust me, you shouldn’t,” Eve said. “Think of the little old people and the children. Please tell me we’re there.”

“Of course.”

Eve opened her door and peered out cautiously. She shut it again. “By there I mean parked, Myrnin.”

“We’re not moving.”

“Against the curb.”

He started the car and drove another two feet at an angle. Claire felt the bump as he ran over the curb. So much for not hitting anything. He left it there, with the car’s right wheels up off the street.

“Not exactly what I meant,” Eve said.

“Do you imagine they’re going to issue me a citation…what was your name again?”

“Still Eve.”

“No, I’m sure it’s something else. That doesn’t seem right.” Myrnin got out and opened the trunk of the car. They all loaded up on bags, and Claire took her first real look around. It was a decrepit old neighborhood; most of the houses looked deserted. The one where they were parked had sheets tacked up as curtains in the windows—those that weren’t covered up with peeling, rain-warped plywood. Trash had blown up against the walls, and from the look of it, some of it was older than Claire was.