And it never broke her heart.
Even with distilled water, it took almost three hours for the chemical reaction of iron wire, water, and electric current to create the thick green gel and scummy surface; she mixed it, then boiled it in water over a Bunsen burner until it was reduced to powder. The entire process produced only a couple of teaspoons of iron hydroxide. She’d lost track of what Myrnin was doing, but by the time she was finished, he took part of her output, mixed it into a glass of water, and drank it down.
No reaction. She wasn’t sure whether she was happy or sad about that.
“On to the next phase.” He picked up a sealed flask of murky liquid and set it on the counter in front of her. “Don’t spill any.”
The water in the container was moving and swirling on its own. Claire put her hand out for it, then drew back, because it reacted to her. “Is that the draug?”
“A sample,” he said. “You do not want to know what I had to do to get it, and I will not be doing it again, so please, small sample sizes, there’s a girl. Our goal is to come up with something that will immobilize them, or better yet, poison them without affecting a captive vampire.”
“Isn’t it dangerous, having this here?”
“Not really. It’s too small to form any kind of cohesive entity. If it tries to organize itself …” He handed her a small saltshaker, which she peered at with a frown. “Silver flakes. A shake or two will destroy the sample, but use it only in an emergency. Now. Work.”
Claire shook her head, picked up a dropper, and began to experiment with the iron hydroxide.
After another long few hours, they had an outcome. It wasn’t what they’d hoped—and it was just in time to report to Oliver, who swept in like the world’s most intimidating CEO. “Well?” he demanded. “What results have you?”
“Science is not speedy,” Myrnin snapped back. “Perhaps you’re deluded by those ridiculous television shows where one waves a magic eyedropper and crimes are solved. But what we have discovered is that although they show promise, binding agents will not be enough. Not in the strength we currently have available.”
“What the devil is a binding agent?”
“Iron hydroxide, for one,” Claire said. “Basically, it binds chemically with contaminants in water and weighs them down. It does hurt the draug; it might eventually even kill them, but it’s not fast. There are other agents like it, though. We can work through each of them.”
“How quickly?”
“Not quickly enough,” Myrnin said. “And frankly, most are far more esoteric than we can manufacture here in our crude little lab. It was a fantastic idea. Just not as practical as I had hoped.”
“Still, it’s more progress than the vampires have ever made before on their own,” Claire said. Her head hurt, and so did her back, and she was badly craving a sandwich. And Shane. “It’s something.”
“I wouldn’t say vampires never made progress. I provided the shotguns,” Myrnin said.
“Humans invented shotguns. And flamethrowers.”
“Don’t try to claim you invented silver!”
“We learned how to mine it, smelt it, and work it,” Claire said. “Sorry, but apart from you, Myrnin, vampires are not really big on the invent part of inventing. You just … steal.”
“Adaptation is the key to survival,” he said. “I believe Darwin pointed that out, quite brilliantly. Still, we need more time, Oliver. Much more. And I have no other ideas as yet.”
“I do,” Claire said. Myrnin turned to look at her, and she shrugged. “You didn’t ask. But I do.”
“Such as?”
“There are a lot of other uses for binding agents besides cleaning water. They are also used in cleaning up toxic spills, for instance. There are a lot that we might be able to find in Morganville, or make. But we’ll need a bigger selection of chemicals.”
“Which we will find where, exactly? Morganville is not exactly a hotbed of scientific—” Myrnin stopped in midsentence as the light dawned. “Ah. Yes. Of course.”
Oliver was not looking pleased. Or indulgent. “I have much to do. Can you provide us with a weapon we can use that is not toxic to vampires, or not? I need an answer. Now.”
“Maybe,” Claire said. Oliver growled, and she saw how close he was to just letting go and being full-on vampire. Once, that would have scared her. Now it hardly raised her pulse rate at all. “I can’t tell you until we get the chemicals, make batches, and test them on vampires. Some may be toxic. Some probably won’t be. The question is, what’s effective on the draug? And that’s going to take time to figure out. Myrnin’s right. It’s not a magic wand.”
“Then I have no use for it,” Oliver snapped. “We will proceed without your assistance. If what’s been reported is correct, we have cut off the draug’s major method of advancement. They are pinned in two spots: this end of town”—he slapped the map with a pale, strong hand—“and here, at the treatment plant.” Another hard slap. “It’s time to launch attacks. We’ll use the weapons we have if we must, but we can’t delay.”
“Why not? Magnus already has all the vampires he can get for his blood gardens; if he draws unfortunate humans, they won’t last, and it’s the equivalent to animal blood for us. It can’t sustain him long. They can’t raise the call. They can’t reproduce now. Let them wait until we are ready,” Myrnin said. He sounded smug. Too smug, Claire thought, and Oliver must have thought so, too, because he reached out, grabbed the lapels of Myrnin’s lab coat, and dragged him very close.
“I. Do not. Take orders. From you,” Oliver hissed. “You take orders from me, witch. And for as long as I find you useful, you’ll enjoy your privileged status. Once you’re a liability, we’ll revise the terms of your … employment. Are we understood?”
“Amelie—”
“Is dying,” Oliver said. His face looked hard as a bone knife. “Sentiment aside, we cannot leave a vacuum of power, and you know that. Without leadership, the vampires will battle each other in bloodline conflicts, run wild, attract attention. She has been a strong, fair leader. I hope I can be half as much.”
“Which half?” Myrnin asked. “Not fair, surely.”
Oliver’s fangs extended to their full, terrifying length, and he hissed like a cobra. Myrnin didn’t flinch. And didn’t fight.
Oliver shoved him away. “Do as you like,” he said. “But don’t get in my way. Any of you.”
He stalked out, throwing the door open and leaving it that way, and Claire pulled in a long, slightly shaky breath. Myrnin straightened the lapels on his lab coat with an irritated snap of fabric.
And another figure stepped into the doorway.
Shane. Carrying a glass of what looked like sweet, delicious, life-giving Coke, and a sandwich. Michael was with him, carrying another plate. On it was … a bag of type O, it looked like.
“Hey,” Shane said. “Hope we’re not interrupting. He’s in a mood.”
“You are a Greek god,” Claire said, and grabbed the Coke and sandwich. She hesitated then, mortified, and said, “Uh, these are for me?”
“Thought you might be hungry,” he said. Michael silently handed the plate to Myrnin, who bit into the bag without even the pretense of politeness. “Okay, that’s disturbing.”
“Sorry,” Myrnin mumbled, and kept sucking. Claire turned her back. Funny; a year ago, seeing something like that would totally have put her off her meal, but nothing was going to separate her from a turkey sandwich now. She took a giant, delicious bite, chewed, and washed it down with tingling soda.