"I — I'm just now starting advanced biochemistry — "
"Nonsense, your native ability is clear." He pointed toward the shaker of crystals in her hand. "Take it."
"No. It's your medicine, not mine."
"And it will help you keep up with me, because we have very little time, Claire, very little." His eyes were bright and clear, like a bird's, and with about as much affection. "There are two ways you can assist me. You can take the crystals, or you can help me extend this period of clarity in other ways."
She sat back on her heels. "You said you wouldn't."
"Indeed. But you see, the disease makes me a sentimental fool. If I am to find an heir to my knowledge, and find a cure for my people, then I can't be burdened with such considerations." His gaze brushed over her, abstract and hungry. "You burn so very brightly, you know."
"Yeah," she muttered. "You said." She hated this. She hated that Myrnin could change like this, go from friend to enemy in the space of a minute. Which one was real? Or was any of it?
Claire shook half a teaspoon of the crystals into her palm.
"More," Myrnin said. She added a couple, and he reached out, took the shaker, and poured a heaping mound of it into her hand. "You have a great deal to learn, and you are operating from such a disadvantage. Better safe than sorry."
She didn't want to take it — well, she did, a little, because the strawberry smell of the crystals brought back flashes of the way the world had looked: diamond clear, uncomplicated, simple.
Hard not to want that.
Myrnin said, "Take it, or I will have to take you, Claire. We have no more moves on our chessboard."
She poured the crystals onto her tongue and almost gagged from the bitterness. The strawberry flavor was overwhelmed by it, and the aftertaste was rotten and cold on her tongue, and she thought for a second she might throw up ...
... and then everything snapped into hot, sharp, perfect focus.
Myrnin no longer looked strange and pathetic, he was a burning pillar of energy barely contained by skin. She could see that he was sick, somehow; there was a darkness in him, like rot at the heart of a tree. The room took on a fey glitter. Neurotransmitters, she thought. Her brain was rushing a million miles an hour, making her giddy and breathless. My reaction time must be ten times faster.
Myrnin bounded up to his feet, grabbed her hand, and dragged her to the shelves, where he began frantically pulling down books. Notebooks, textbooks, scraps of handwritten paper. Two black-bound composition books, the same kind Claire used in lab class. Even a couple of the cheap blue books she used for essay tests. Everything was crammed with fine, perfect handwriting.
"Read," he said. "Hurry."
All she had to do was flip pages. Her eyes captured things, like cameras, and her brain was so fast and efficient that she translated and comprehended the text almost instantly. Almost two hundred pages, and she paged through as fast as her fingers could go.
"Well?" Myrnin demanded.
"This is wrong," she said, and flipped back to the first third of the notebook. "Right here. See? The formula's wrong. The variable doesn't match up with the prior version, and the error gets replicated going forward — "
Myrnin gave out a fierce, sharp cry, like a hunting hawk, and snatched the book away from her. "Yes! Yes, I see it! That fool. No wonder he only sustained me for a few days. But you, Claire, oh, you are different."
She knew she ought to be afraid of the slow, predatory smile he gave her, but she couldn't help it.
She smiled back.
"Give me the next one," she said. "And let's start making crystals."
###
When it wore off, it hit Myrnin first. He took more, but she could see it wasn't really working this time. Diminishing returns. That was why he'd only taken a few crystals last time, to prolong the effects even if the change hadn't been as dramatic.
This crash was like hitting a brick wall at ninety miles an hour.
It started when he lost his balance, caught himself, and knocked a tray off of the lab table; he tried to catch it in midair, a feat he'd been more than capable of an hour before, and missed it completely. He stared at his hands in frustration, and viciously kicked the tray. It sailed across the room and hit the far wall with a spectacular clatter.
Claire straightened up from spreading the crystals out on the drying tray. She could feel the effects, too — her brain was slowing down, her body aching. It had to be worse for Myrnin, because of the disease. It was wrong to do this, she thought. Wrong, because his manic phase always led to dementia, and he'd wanted so badly to be himself again.
But the crystals drying on the tray could change that, or at least, she hoped they could. It wasn't that Myrnin had been wrong, only that his last assistant had made mistakes, whether deliberate or not Claire couldn't tell. But the crystals in the tray would be more effective, and longer lasting.
Myrnin could stabilize again.
"It isn't a cure," Myrnin said, as if he was reading her thoughts.
"No, but it buys you time," Claire said. "Look, I can come tomorrow. Promise me you'll leave these here, all right? Don't try to take them yet, they're not ready. And they're more powerful, so you'll have to start with a small dose and work up."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Myrnin barked. "Who is the master here? Who is the student?"
This was familiar, and dangerous. She lowered her head. "You're the master," she said. "I have to go now. I'm sorry. I'll come back tomorrow, okay?"
He didn't answer. His dark eyes were fixed on her, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. Or even if he was thinking. He was right on the edge.
Claire took the shaker of the less effective crystals and stuffed it in her backpack — there wasn't that much left, but enough for one more dose for them both, and if he did something to the crystals during his manic phase, they might need it. She needed to ask Amelie for some kind of strongbox where she could store things ...
"Why?" Myrnin asked. She looked up at him, frowning. "Why are you helping us? Isn't it better for humans if we waste away and die? By helping me, you help all vampires."
Claire knew what Shane would have done. He'd have walked away, considered it a win all around. Eve might have done the same thing, except for Michael.
And she ... she was helping. Helping. She couldn't even really explain why, except that it seemed wrong to turn away. They weren't all bad, and she couldn't sacrifice Michael for the greater good. If it was the greater good.
"I know," Claire said. "Believe me, I'm not happy about it."
"You do it because you're afraid," he said.
"No. I do it because you need it."
He just stared at her, as if he couldn't figure out what she was saying. Time to go. She shivered, shouldered her backpack, and hurried for the stairs. She kept looking behind, but she never saw Myrnin move ... even so, he was in a different place, closer, every time she looked. It was like a child's game, only deadly serious. He wouldn't move while she was looking at him.
Claire turned and walked backwards, staring at him. Myrnin chuckled, and the sound echoed through the room like the rustle of bat wings.
When her heels hit the steps, she turned and ran.
He could have caught her, but he didn't. She burst through the doors of the shack into the alley, breathing hard, sweating, shaking.
He didn't follow. She didn't think he could, past the steps. She wasn't sure why — maybe the same way that Morganville itself kept people in town, or wiped their memories, kept Myrnin confined in his bottle.
She felt the hair on the back of her neck stir, and then she heard a voice. Whispering and indistinct. Shane? What was Shane doing here?
He was inside. He was inside and he was in trouble, she had to go to him ...