So she looked for a portal that was open—open meant that it was at a low level of availability, not active. The one open at the university just now was in the Administration Building.
She headed over there, blending in with all the other students, and as usual, the part of the Administration Building where the portal was located was empty. The chain-smoking dragon lady secretary at the front desk nodded her in without argument; apparently there’d been some kind of memo since Claire had begun doing this kind of thing—a convenient development.
Moving through the portal was a little like taking a microsecond-long ice bath; it felt like every cell in her body received a shock, woke up, screamed, and then went immediately back to normal. Not exactly pleasant, but . . . memorable. It didn’t usually feel that way, and Claire felt some distinct uneasiness. If the portal system went out of balance . . .
“Myrnin?” She stepped away from the portal door of the lab, shoving aside a box of books he’d left lying around, probably for her to shelve. No sign of him here just now. The lab still looked clean and moderately organized, which wasn’t like Myrnin at the best of times; she wondered if he’d gotten some kind of maid service. Who cleaned mad scientist lairs, anyway? The same people who did villain lairs and bat caves?
No Myrnin, but he’d left her a note, written in his spiky antique hand, that asked her to—wait for it—sort the box of books he’d left to trip her up. And to feed Bob the spider. Ugh. Why was she even surprised? Claire began unpacking, sorting, and shelving the books, which was surprisingly fun, in the hopes that the universe would end before she had to actually feed a spider.
She was in the middle of doing that when Ada’s two-dimensional ghost formed in front of her. Claire’s heart rate doubled, and she wondered if she ought to just make a dash for the portal . . . but Ada made no threatening moves. In fact, Ada was being polite—she rang Claire’s cell phone. She didn’t actually have to do that before using the speaker. It was her version of knocking.
Claire swallowed an acidic mouthful of fear, and peered at the fading spine of the heavy book in her hand. German. She wasn’t sure what it said. “Do you know German?”
Ada raised her chin and gave her a haughty look, smoothing down the front of her gray scale gown. “Of course,” she said. “It’s hardly a vanishing tongue.”
I have to feed spiders and put up with a bitchy, homicidal computer. My job really does suck.
Claire didn’t say that out loud, and as far as she knew, Ada couldn’t read minds. Yet. “Good. Can you tell me what this means?” She held out the book, spine toward Ada. The ghost leaned forward.
“Alchemical Experiments of the Great Magister Kleiss,” she read, and the tinny voice sounded a little sad as it vibrated from Claire’s cell phone speaker. “Myrnin already has a copy. I remember buying it for him in a little market outside Frankfurt.”
Claire put it aside. Ada seemed to be in an odd mood—fragile, confrontational, and oddly nostalgic. “You tried to kill me,” Claire said. “You lied to me, and tried to get me to step through the portal to get eaten. Why?”
A very odd expression fluttered over Ada’s smooth, not-quite-human face. If Claire hadn’t known better, she’d think it was . . . uncertainty? “I did not,” she said. “You are mistaken.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you get wrong,” Claire said. “I’ve got a pole lamp that got cut in half when I had to slam the portal closed for proof. Remember now?”
Ada just—shut down. Not literally: her ghost still hung there in the air, bobbing ever so slightly as if gravity were just a bothersome suggestion, not the law. A flicker like static ran through her image, then another one.
Then she smiled. “You should see a doctor,” she said. “I believe you’re ill, human.”
“You don’t remember.” Claire heard the flat disbelief in her voice, but what she really was feeling was . . . fear. Pure, cold fear. Ada could lie—she had before—but this didn’t feel like deception.
It felt like something was very, very wrong. And if something was wrong with Ada, it was wrong with Morganville.
“There’s nothing to remember,” Ada said coolly. “Do you wish more translation done, or may I get on with my duties now?”
“No, I’m good. Where’s Myrnin?”
Ada paused in the act of turning her back—stopping edge-on, almost disappearing from Claire’s perspective—and slowly rotated in place. Her dark eyes looked like burned holes in her pale face.
“That’s none of your business,” she said.
“What?”
“Myrnin is mine. And you can’t have him. I’ll kill you first!”
And then she just—vanished.
Claire gaped at the space where she’d been, half expecting her to show up again, but Ada stayed gone. Claire replaced the book she was holding back on the worktable, and walked around toward the rear of the lab. The thick Persian carpet had been rolled back there, and the trapdoor Myrnin had installed—a clever job of painting the door to match the stone floor—was closed. Claire gritted her teeth and clicked the release, which was a book on frogs in the nearby bookcase. The lock released with a snap, and Claire hauled the trap to the catch position.
Myrnin never kept any lights on down there, in the basement/cave where Ada really lived. Claire grabbed a flashlight, checked the batteries, and then looked down into the darkness. “Myrnin?” she asked. No reply. She heard water dripping in the distance. “Myrnin, where are you?”
Great.
This made feeding Bob the spider look like a day at the park.
No way am I going down there alone, she thought, and flipped open her cell phone. Michael answered on the second ring. “Yo,” he said. “I’m guessing you don’t want to go to a movie, or anything fun like that.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Because that would be Shane’s job. When you call me, it’s usually an emergency.”
“Well—okay, fair point. But this isn’t. Not an emergency, anyway. I just need—some hand-holding. Can you come to Myrnin’s lab?”
Michael’s voice turned a lot more serious. “Is this crazy maintenance, or is something really wrong?”
Claire sighed. “I don’t know, actually. I just don’t want to go down into the dark without a big, strong vampire.”
“You mean you can’t get down there without my help.”
“Well, actually, I can’t get out without your help, since Ada’s not letting me do the portal thing near her. It’s still a compliment, right?”
“Except the part where you drag me into potentially deadly trouble? Yes. Stay put. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Be careful,” she said. She had no idea why she did; it wasn’t as if Michael had anything much to be scared of, especially in Morganville. But it was something her mother always said, and it made her feel better to express a little concern for her friends.
“No exploring on your own, Dora,” he said.
She felt lonely and exposed, even here with all the lights burning brightly, once his voice was gone from the call. She considered calling Shane, but honestly, what good would it do? He’d come running, but he needed his job, and Michael was already on the way.
Ten minutes.
Claire decided to get the Bob thing over with. Bob’s terrarium sat on Myrnin’s rolltop desk, amid stacks of books and some pens—quills, fountains, and rollerballs. Bob looked bigger than she remembered. And blacker. And hairier. Claire shuddered, looking in at him; all eight of his beady eyes looked back. He stayed very still.
There was a small bottle on the table that contained insects—live ones. Claire made a retching sound and tried not to look too hard; she just opened the top of the terrarium and tipped the contents of the jar into the cage.
Bob leaped on her hand.
Claire shrieked, and the bottle went flying to shatter against the wall. Bob didn’t budge when she violently shook her hand, trying to get rid of him; he clung to her like Velcro, and he felt different, somehow—heavier. Yes, he was larger. Claire batted at him with her right hand, and his fangs glittered as he lunged for her, skittering up her left arm.