Fade Out

She knew he’d say how sorry he was, and he did—first thing, as she sponged the splatter off his face.

Tomato juice, she told herself when what she was doing hit home. It’s just tomato juice. You’ve cleaned up after exploded catsup bottles; this is nothing.

“Claire,” Myrnin whispered. She glanced into his face, then away as she tried to scrub the worst of the stain off his vest. He seemed tired, and he was sitting in his big leather wing chair. “It came on me so suddenly. I couldn’t—you understand? I never meant it.”

“Is this what happened to Ada when she was alive?” Claire asked. There was blood on his long white hands, too. She gave him the warm towel, and he wiped his fingers on it, then found a clean spot and scrubbed his face again, although she’d gotten the blood off already. He held the warm towel there, covering up whatever his expression was doing. When he lowered it, he was completely in control of himself. “Ada and I were complicated,” he said. “This situation is nothing like that one. For one thing, Ada was then a vampire.”

“Well, things have changed,” Claire said. Myrnin meticulously folded the towel and handed it back to her. “You know she’s going to kill you? You get it now?”

“I’m not yet prepared to make any such claim.” He looked down at his vest and sighed. “Oh dear. That’s never coming out.”

“The stain?”

“The hole.” He continued to stare at the hole her bone stake had made, and said, “You really would have killed me, wouldn’t you?”

“I—wish I could tell you it was a bluff. But I would have. I can’t bluff with you.”

“You’re correct. If you do, I’ll know, and you’ll be dead. I’m a predator. Weakness is . . . seductive.” He cleared his throat. “Mutually assured destruction was good enough for the United States and the Soviet Union; I believe it will be good enough for us. I’d have preferred it not to come to that, but it’s hardly your fault—” He broke off, because as he looked up, his gaze fell on the motionless corpse lying on the table in the middle of the lab. “Oh dear. What is that?”

“That would be Bob. Remember Bob? That’s what Ada did to him.”

“Impossible,” Myrnin said, and rose out of his chair to stalk to the table and lean over alarmingly close, poking at the spider’s body with curious fingers. “No, quite impossible.”

“Excuse me? I was here! He grew, just like in a monster movie!”

“Oh, I can see that. Clearly, that isn’t impossible. No, what I meant was your identification of him as Bob.”

“What?”

“This isn’t Bob,” Myrnin said.

Claire rolled her eyes. “He came out of Bob’s cage.”

“Ah, that explains it. I found a companion for Bob. I thought it was likely they’d try to eat each other, but they seemed content enough. So this must have been Edgar. Or possibly Charlotte.”

“Edgar,” Claire repeated. “Or Charlotte. Right.”

Myrnin left the dead spider and went to Bob’s container. He rooted around in it for a few seconds, then triumphantly held out his palm toward Claire.

Bob—presumably—sat crouched there, looking as confused and frightened as a spider could.

“So it was only Edgar,” Myrnin said. “Not the same thing at all.”

“Was Edgar always the size of a dog?”

“Oh, of course not, he—oh, I see your point. Regardless of which spider it is, there are some mysteries to be solved.” Myrnin carefully nudged Bob off his palm, back into the container, and then rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Yes, there’s definitely work to be done. Ada must have made tremendous strides recently in her research, for her to be able to create this kind of effect. I must know how, and what went wrong.”

“Myrnin. Ada made a spider grow into a monster and tried to kill me with it. This isn’t about how she did it. It’s why.”

“Why is for other people. I am much more concerned with the method, and I’m surprised, Claire; I thought you would be the same. Well, not surprised, perhaps. Disappointed.” He carefully uncurled one of the spider’s long legs. Claire shuddered. “I’ll need a corkboard. A large one. And some very large pins.”

Claire and Michael exchanged a look. He’d been standing there, a fascinated but disgusted observer to all this, and now he just shook his head. “If all he wants is for you to fetch and carry, maybe you should just leave him to it.”

“She’s my assistant; it’s her job to fetch and carry,” Myrnin snapped, and then looked sorry. “But—perhaps you’ve done enough for one day.”

Claire ticked them off on her fingers. “Survived spider attack. Rescued you. Got you blood. Cleaned up blood leftovers.”

“I shall therefore fetch my own corkboard. Claire?” She turned and looked at him as she and Michael headed for the exit. Myrnin looked back in control again, and except for the bloodstain on his vest, you’d never have known he’d been anything less.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “I shall consider what you said. About Ada.”

She nodded, and escaped.

Michael, as it turned out, was headed for the rehearsal of the play Eve was in, and Claire belatedly remembered that she’d been invited, too. His car was parked at the end of the alley, on the cul-de-sac, and he had an umbrella with him to block the sun. It looked kind of fu

Michael even opened the passenger door for her, like a gentleman, but instead of getting in, she reached for the umbrella. “You’re the one who combusts,” she said. “You get in first.” He gave her a fu

“I was thinking how different you are,” he said. “You really stood up to Myrnin in there. I’m not sure a lot of vampires could have done that. Including me.”

“I’m not different. I’m the same Claire as ever.” She gri

He smiled and closed the car door; she folded the umbrella and got in on the shotgun side. She was careful to open the door only enough to get in; the angle of the sun was cutting uncomfortably close to reaching Michael’s side of the car. Inside, the tinting cut the light almost completely. It was like being in a cave, again, only she hoped this one didn’t house giant mutated spiders and—what had Michael called them?

Things.

“Some people come to Morganville and collapse,” Michael said as he put the car in motion. “I’ve seen it a dozen times. But there are a few who come here and just—bloom. You’re one of those.”

Claire didn’t feel especially bloomy. “So you’re saying I thrive on chaos.”

“No. I’m saying you thrive on challenge. But do me a favor, okay?”

“Considering you came ru

He shot her a smile so sweet it melted her heart. “Don’t ever let him get that close to you again. I like Myrnin, but he can’t be trusted. You know that.”

“I know.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Thanks.”

“No problem. You die, I have to call your parents and explain why. I really don’t want to do that. I’ve already got the whole vampire thing against me.”

That took up the entirety of the short drive to the rehearsal hall, which of course had underground parking, being in the vampire part of town. It also had security, Claire was interested to note—a vampire on duty in a blacked-out security booth whom she thought she remembered as being from Amelie’s personal security detail. Hard to tell when they all wore dark suits and looked like the Secret Service, only with fangs. Michael showed ID and got a pass to put in his windshield, and within five minutes, they were heading up a sweeping flight of stairs into the Civic Center’s main auditorium.

There they found the director having a total YouTube moment.

“What do you mean, not here?” he bellowed, and slammed a clipboard to the stage floor. He had an accent—German, maybe—and he was a neat little man, older, with thi