"He wants faster action," Claire said. "I said we need chemicals from the university lab."
"You never actually got that far," Myrnin said, "but I did know what you meant. And you're correct. They would have a far more elegant and extensive selection of things there. We shall go."
Shane said, "You're kidding. You actually think she's going anywhere with you. Ever." He gave Myrnin a humorless little smile. "Much less me, of course. But I promise you, she is not going without me." He watched as Claire crammed more sandwich into her mouth, moaning a little from the deliciousness of actual food, and then said, "So what exactly is it that you're making with your chemicals again?"
"Binding agents," she said, but it came out sounding a little like a foreign language. Maybe Klingon. She swallowed and drank more soda. "Sorry. Binding agents."
"Which are ...?"
"Chemicals that bind to contaminants in water. Or chemicals that can change the composition of water itself-something that causes a reaction or a state change."
"From liquid to solid?"
"Exactly."
"Like ... Jell-O," Shane said. He sounded thoughtful. Claire blinked, suddenly taken by the idea of a dump truck full of gelatin being backed up to a pool. Some kind of world record in that, she was pretty sure. But not extremely useful.
Myrnin slowly straightened up, put down the empty blood bag, and licked type O from his lips. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, you have something to say, Mr. Collins. Please tell me it isn't about snack foods."
"Not exactly," Shane said. "But I think I know exactly the chemicals you're looking for. And you won't find them at the university. But I know where you will find them."
"Where?"
"Morganville High School."
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVE
My brother, Jason, was out of prison, again, which I found out because I walked into a room off of the Armory and saw him holding a shotgun.
It was like falling into a nightmare. I was younger, he was younger, it was four years ago, and he was facing me with my dad's pistol and telling me that he was going to kill me. I still remember the way he said it. An eerily calm voice, and empty eyes.
See, my brother's not someone you should trust with a gun. Or a sharp knife. Or empty hands, and it terrified me, a bolt of utter and paralyzing fear, to see him armed like that. And loose.
Jason's my brother, and some of his screwed-up-ness is my fault, but he's not the first guy I'd pick to hand any kind of weapon to, even in a crisis. Sure, he could fight. Sure, he could do damage. But he was the proverbial loose cannon, rolling around crushing everything in his path, friend or foe.
And some nitwit vampire had him on reloading duty. He was taking empty cartridges, filling them up, and sealing them using a reloader press. Oh, and he was cooking silver into shot, too, or rather coating regular shot with the stuff. Probably not as effective as solid pellets, but I wasn't surprised we were running short of precious metals to toss randomly at the enemy. The vampires stored surprising amounts of things that would hurt each other, but even their paranoia had limits, and we were bumping up against them.
He cranked out another shell on the press, then slotted it home into the shotgun, snapped the breech shut, and put the weapon aside on a rack. Then he saw me, and stopped for a second.
Neither of us said a word.
My brother was a little shorter than me, not really muscular, kinda weedy and angular. He wore his hair longer than Shane's, and most of it flopped down and hid his dark eyes. That was for the best. He had cold eyes, my brother. Really cold.
There was a scar on his forehead, angling from left to right. It looked pretty fresh. There was also a bruise on his jaw.
"Sis," he said. It was a nothing kind of voice, waiting for me to make a move. I didn't, because I didn't dare; I'd walked in here alone, and as far as I knew nobody knew where I was. Not Michael, who was hanging out with Shane today; not Claire, who was locked in the lab with Myrnin. I was dreadfully and irrationally afraid that he would somehow know that, know I was alone and vulnerable.
Deep down inside, he was a sociopath, and I'd helped make him into that by walking away from him when he needed me. By locking my doors and covering my ears and not doing what a big sister was supposed to do: protect him.
So I couldn't hate him. I could only fear what he'd become.
"I didn't know-" Didn't know they let you out of jail. "They put you to work here."
"You know vamps. Practical," he said, and shrugged. "No point in having prisoners if you can't get some kind of value out of them. They don't believe in rehab. It's all racks and iron maidens with them."
He was only joking a little, and darkly. The vampires weren't into torture these days, but they also weren't forgiving. And Jason had tested their mercy, a lot. He was lucky to be alive, and he knew it. My brother had a lot of sins on his conscience. He'd helped me sometimes, but he'd quit trying to be a better person some time ago, and I'd quit trying to help him.
So there was that between us, too.
"How are you doing?" It was an inane question, really, and I almost winced when I heard how it sounded. He tossed his hair back and smiled. Not a sane sort of smile, but it might have been for effect. I hoped it was.
"Peachy," he said. "Solitary confinement with vampire supervision is really healthy. You know, exercise, good diet, self-improvement. It's like a spa, but with teeth."
I glanced involuntarily at the guns, and when I moved my gaze back he was still smiling, but differently. It looked like someone had moved his lips and stuck them in that position, not that he found any real humor in things. "Ironic," he said. "Yeah? Me and the gun duty? But somebody's got to be making the shells, and vamps can't handle the silver very well. I can do it twice as fast, without burns. Like I said, they're practical." He poured some more silver shot into a shell casing, and jammed it in the press. "So. I heard you two are getting married. I think my invitation got lost in the jailhouse mail."
He was different, yet again, from the last time I'd seen him. He'd been trying, for a while-trying to be a better guy, a real person. And he'd been winning at it, until ... well, I didn't really know what had happened. Drugs, probably. Jason was always looking for a new high, mostly to avoid facing his own crappy past. He'd blown past alcohol by eleven; by thirteen, he'd been dealing to classmates and staying high most of the time. It hadn't made him nicer. By the time I'd turned eighteen he'd already gotten too comfortable with weapons. Shane had a scar to prove it. I was lucky I didn't, since I'd been the one he was really after.
"I didn't think you'd want to come," I said. "Or, you know, be out of jail."
"Surprise. And why wouldn't I want to come? You need somebody to give you away, sis. I always wanted to do that." There was that creepy, empty smile again. Something had broken inside my brother. It had always been cracked, deeply, but now it was just ... shattered. And I didn't know why, or what had happened to him, but whatever it was, it had left him feral and angry. "Guess that makes me a Glass by marriage. I always wanted a brother."
"Let's not get all Cain and Abel about it," I said. "You really don't want to go there, Jase."
"Cain was the killer," Jason said. "Which one of us gets to play the victim?"
Oh, Jason. I felt a tiny shiver ladder up my spine. My sweet, kind, rocker boyfriend had swallowed more darkness than my brother, and even though he kept it pushed way, way down, it was there when he needed it. He didn't let it rule him, but he could put it on a leash and make it work for him. It was pretty obvious to me, in that moment, who'd win that fight, whatever Jason might think. "Let it go," I said. "Trust me."
He laughed. "Yeah," he said. "That'll happen soon. You pimped me out, and then you sold me out. Not exactly a rock-solid basis for trust."
"I thought-I thought we were getting over all that."
"Easy for you. You ended up getting exactly what you wanted. Freedom. A hottie boyfriend who has full vamp status. Oh, and even though you said you were never a fang-banger, you've got a bandage on your neck the size of Nebraska. Guess you're coming to terms with a lot of things these days." He lifted a pan full of silver-coated shot and dumped it into a tub half full of water; the shot sizzled and cooled, and he scooped it out with a strainer as he readied another empty cartridge casing.