"Shane?"
Static, and then came Ada's weird machine-flat voice. "Myrnin needs you. Now. Come!" She sounded angry, and cold, but she usually did unless she was simpering at Myrnin. Claire slapped the phone shut, blew hair off her forehead, and stared at the darkness. It could be Myrnin's lab. She just couldn't tell. Myrnin had a vampire's habit of forgetting to turn on lights, which sucked.
"I really need to start carrying flashlights," she muttered, and then had an inspiration. There was a Tiffany-style pole lamp in the corner by the sofa; Claire lifted off the heavy glass shade, set it aside, and rolled the base to the limit of its electrical cord, then lowered it across the threshold of the portal, into the darkness on the other side.
She saw Ada standing there, hands clasped in front of her, cold and expressionless, surrounded by at least ten albino-pale vampires, who cried out and flinched back at the touch of the light. They had oversized fangs and sharp talons, and they weren't like the regular vamps. . . . These were tunnel rats, the ones who stalked the dark places, keeping out of the light and existing just to kill. Failures, Myrnin had called them.
Ada had meant for her to walk right into the middle of them.
Claire yelled in shock, and slammed the portal closed in her mind, then put her hand on the blank wall of the room as it took on weight and reality again. There was a way to lock it - maybe - and she searched for the right frequency to trigger the security. It was like a deadbolt, and it would hold against Ada or anyone else who wanted to come through.
She hoped.
Closing the portal had chopped the pole lamp in half, and she dropped the base part as it sputtered and sparked, then kicked the plug out of the wall. Claire stood there staring at the wall, and the mutilated lamp, for a long moment with her hands curled into fists, then took out her phone and dialed Myrnin's lab.
"How kind of you to check up on me," he said. "I'm fine, as it happens."
"We've got a problem."
"Really? The stake in my chest didn't indicate that at all. I must send Oliver a bill for a new shirt."
"Ada just tried to kill me."
Myrnin was silent for a moment. Claire could almost see him, hunched over the old-fashioned wired phone that looked like it had come from a Victorian junk shop. "I see," he said, in an entirely different tone. "Are you certain?"
"She told me you needed to see me, and opened a portal into a nest of hungry vamps. So, yes. I'm pretty sure."
"Oh my. I will have a talk with her. I'm sure it was a misunderstanding."
"Myrnin - " Claire squeezed her eyes closed, counted to five, and started over. "She's not listening to you anymore. Don't you get that? She's doing her own thing, and her own thing means getting rid of the competition."
"Competition for what?"
"For you," Claire said. "Not that I am. But she thinks I am. Because you haven't killed me."
She was babbling, because saying this was making her feel a little sick and giddy. She wasn't in love with Myrnin, but she did love him, a little. He was crazy; he was dangerous ; he was a vampire - and yet, he was somehow not any of those things, in his better moments.
"Claire." He sounded wounded. "I do not find you attractive, except for your mind. I hope you know that. I would never take such advantage of you." He paused, and thought about it for a second. "Except if I was hungry, of course. But probably not. Most likely."
"Yeah, that's comforting. The point is, Ada thinks you care for me, and she wants me out of the way so you'll care more for her. Right?"
"Right. I'll go have a talk with her."
"You need to pull her plug, Myrnin."
"Over that? Pshaw. It's merely a flaw in her programming. I'll take good care of it." He paused, then said, "Of course, in the meantime, I wouldn't follow her anywhere if I were you."
"No kidding. Thanks."
"Oh, don't mention it, my dear. Enjoy your evening. Oh, and tell Michael that I enjoyed his concert."
"You were there?"
She heard the smile in Myrnin's voice. "We were all there, Claire. All the vampires. We do so enjoy our entertainments."
That was ever so slightly creepy, and Claire hung up without saying good-bye.
Downstairs, the video game raged on; Kim was as good a player as Shane, apparently, which didn't surprise Claire but depressed her kind of a lot. Shane didn't even notice her reappearance; he was wiggling around on the couch, putting body language into his shooting as his game character ducked zombie attacks and kicked, punched, and shot his way out of trouble.
Kim's character was a slinky-looking girl with black hair in a ponytail, and half a costume. She fought in high heels.
Great.
Claire sat down on the stairs, watching through the railing, and hugged her knees to her chest. Eve was gone, probably to change clothes, so it was just Shane and Kim.
They looked oblivious to everything but the drama on the screen.
She was developing some kind of sixth sense where Michael was concerned; he didn't make any noise coming down the steps, but she knew he was coming, and turned her head to see that he'd switched out his rock-star gear for a faded, old gray T-shirt and, like her, jeans. He took a look at what was happening in the living room, then crouched down next to her. "Hey," he said. "You all right?"
"I wouldn't have been if you hadn't crashed into us," Claire said. "Thank you."
He looked ashamed. "Yeah, well, that wasn't quite the plan. I was just trying to make him stop. I didn't think he'd actually hit me."
She almost laughed, because he sounded so sad about it. She took his cool hand and squeezed. He squeezed back. "It was still a good plan."