“Why not?”
“I think we both know why, Claire.”
“You mean, because she loves you? I’m not really seeing it right now.”
“Ada needs me as much as I need her,” Myrnin snapped, suddenly—and very un-Myrnin-like—offended. “You know nothing about her, or me, and I am ordering you to stay out of my affairs where they concern Ada.” He suddenly staggered, and had to put out a hand to steady himself against the nearest lab table. “And fetch me some blood, Claire.”
“Get it yourself.” She couldn’t believe she’d said it, but he’d really stung her. “Also, your precious Ada killed Bob by supersizing him and trying to get him to bite me. So maybe youdon’t know anything about Ada.”
“Get me blood, or I’ll have to take what’s available,” Myrnin said softly. He didn’t seem dramatic about it, and it wasn’t a threat. He raised his head and looked at her, and she saw that shine there—lunatic and focused and very, very scary. “I’m very hungry.”
“Claire, go,” Michael said, and moved to stand between her and Myrnin. “He’s not faking it.”
He really wasn’t, because Myrnin lunged for her. He was faster than she or Michael could have expected, and Michael was off balance and nowhere near the right place as Myrnin shoved him out of the way and sent him crashing into the nearest stone wall. . . .
Then he grabbed Claire by her shoulder and a fistful of hair. He wrenched her head painfully to the side, exposing her neck, and she felt the cool puff of his breath against her skin, and she knew she had only one move left.
She touched the tip of the bone stake to his chest, right over his heart, and said, “I swear to God I’ll stake you and cut your head off if you bite me.” Her hands were shaking, and so was her voice, but she meant it. She couldn’t live in fear of him; it hurt her to see him lose control like this. There was something shining and good in Myrnin, but there were times it just drowned in the darkness. “If I let you do this, you’ll never forgive yourself. Now let go, and get yourself a bag of blood.”
She could actually feel his fangs pressing dimples into her skin. And Myrnin himself was trembling now, a very fine vibration that told her just how much he was in trouble—well, that and the fact he was about to kill her.
She pressed harder with the stake, and felt the blue satin tapestry vest give way to the point.
She didn’t see Michael move, but in only a few breathless seconds he was at her side, carefully putting in her free hand a squishy bag of blood. It was straight out of the refrigeration; he hadn’t taken time to warm it, which was probably lifesaving.
“Let go,” Claire said.
And Myrnin did, loosening his hands just enough to let her step back. His eyes were wild and desperate, and his fangs stayed down like glittering exclamation points.
Claire held out the blood bag.
After a second’s hesitation, Myrnin grabbed it,brought it to his mouth, and bit down so hard, blood squirted over his face, the way a really juicy tomato would.
Claire shuddered. “I’ll get you a towel.”
She went to the small bathroom—so well hidden, it had taken her forever to find it—and turned on the rusty tap to moisten a towel marked PROPERTY OF MORGANVILLE; it was probably hospital supply, or from a prison. She splashed some water on her face, too, and looked at herself in the mirror for a few seconds. A stranger looked back at her—someone who didn’t look that frightened. Someone who had just faced down a vampire intent on feeding.
Someone who could handle that kind of thing, and still be his friend.
The towel was soaked through. Claire squeezed to wring out the excess warm water, then went back to help her boss get cleaned up.
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 howshe 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.”