every step.
Oh. He wasn't going to help her move it. Well, of course he wasn't. Myrnin could have picked it up with one hand and carried it easily from one spot to another, but he was busy thinking. Carrying things was her job. Today, anyway.
Claire picked up the engine -- if that was what it was -- and staggered with it over to the other table. It felt as if he'd packed it with lead, and knowing Myrnin, that wasn't much of a stretch. It smelled like blood and flowers, and she hesitated to even guess what its purpose might have been.
"What's possible?" she asked again, leaning against the table and trying to work the kinks out of her arms after stretching them about six inches with the weight of that stupid thing , whatever it was.
Myrnin was muttering under his breath, but he paused and glanced at her, even though he kept pacing.
"That your friend was murdered by someone who believed he had a drug. Perhaps he was trying to sell the blood."
"How did you hear about that already?" She was surprised, because she'd meant to tell him all about it.
Myrnin waved that away.
"Interesting news travels quickly in a town as boring as this," he said. "Also, I tend to monitor police broadcasts. Your name was mentioned in connection with the investigation. I made a few calls to find out the rest. So, do you think he was trying to develop some sort of drug?"
"Myrnin, Doug was stinky, but he wasn't crazy. There may be people in Morganville who will just take any old thing to see if it gets them high, but he just saw that bloodboil under the lights. He wasn't not going to try to sell it as a drug."
"You'd be very surprised what people get up to. But, in any case, it's possible someone else understood the potential of it, and Doug was simply collateral damage."
Myrnin sighed. "I understand it was quite bloody. What a terrible waste."
He didn't mean of Doug, of course. He didn't know Doug, and Claire doubted he would have really cared. No, Myrnin was talking about the waste of plasma. Which made Claire shiver, and reminded her again that no matter how cute and cuddly Myrnin could sometimes be, there was something about him that just...wasn't quite right.
Not for a human, anyway.
"Frank!" Myrnin yelled, making her jump. "Do you have any insights to share? At all?"
Frank Collins's voice came out of every speaker in the room -- the old radio set in the corner, the newer TV mounted on the wall, the computer on the antique desk, and Claire's own cell phone in her pocket.
"You don't have to yell. Believe me, I can hear you. Wish to hell I could shut you off."
"Well, you can't, and I need your particular expertise," Myrnin said. He sounded smug and a little bit vindictive; Myrnin didn't like Frank, Frank didn't like anybody who drank plasma, and the whole thing was just plain weird.
Because Frank Collins, Shane's dad, had once been a badass vampire-hunting criminal, and then Mr.Bishop had made him a self-loathing vampire, and now he was...dead. She was listening to a dead man speaking over the radio.
Well, not dead , exactly. After Frank had died saving Claire and Shane, Myrnin had scooped out his still-sort-of-living brain, stuck it in a plasma bath, and hooked it up to a computer. Frank Collins was now the brain that ran Morganville, and, thankfully, Shane didn't know.
Claire could honestly not imagine how that conversation was going to go when he found out. It made her ill to even try to imagine it.
"This would go easier if you'd show your face," Myrnin said. "Please. You may be assured that by please, I mean do it, or I'll put an injection of something nasty in your plasma."
"Myrnin!" Claire blurted, wide-eyed. He shrugged.
"You have no idea how difficult he's been lately. I thought Ada was a problem, but she was positively the model of decorum next to this one," he said. "Well? I'm waiting, Frank."
In the corner, a faint shadow appeared, a blur of static that resolved into a flat image on the three-dimensional background.
Oh. He wasn't going to help her move it. Well, of course he wasn't. Myrnin could have picked it up with one hand and carried it easily from one spot to another, but he was busy thinking. Carrying things was her job. Today, anyway.
Claire picked up the engine -- if that was what it was -- and staggered with it over to the other table. It felt as if he'd packed it with lead, and knowing Myrnin, that wasn't much of a stretch. It smelled like blood and flowers, and she hesitated to even guess what its purpose might have been.
"What's possible?" she asked again, leaning against the table and trying to work the kinks out of her arms after stretching them about six inches with the weight of that stupid thing , whatever it was.
Myrnin was muttering under his breath, but he paused and glanced at her, even though he kept pacing.
"That your friend was murdered by someone who believed he had a drug. Perhaps he was trying to sell the blood."
"How did you hear about that already?" She was surprised, because she'd meant to tell him all about it.
Myrnin waved that away.
"Interesting news travels quickly in a town as boring as this," he said. "Also, I tend to monitor police broadcasts. Your name was mentioned in connection with the investigation. I made a few calls to find out the rest. So, do you think he was trying to develop some sort of drug?"
"Myrnin, Doug was stinky, but he wasn't crazy. There may be people in Morganville who will just take any old thing to see if it gets them high, but he just saw that bloodboil under the lights. He wasn't not going to try to sell it as a drug."
"You'd be very surprised what people get up to. But, in any case, it's possible someone else understood the potential of it, and Doug was simply collateral damage."
Myrnin sighed. "I understand it was quite bloody. What a terrible waste."
He didn't mean of Doug, of course. He didn't know Doug, and Claire doubted he would have really cared. No, Myrnin was talking about the waste of plasma. Which made Claire shiver, and reminded her again that no matter how cute and cuddly Myrnin could sometimes be, there was something about him that just...wasn't quite right.
Not for a human, anyway.
"Frank!" Myrnin yelled, making her jump. "Do you have any insights to share? At all?"
Frank Collins's voice came out of every speaker in the room -- the old radio set in the corner, the newer TV mounted on the wall, the computer on the antique desk, and Claire's own cell phone in her pocket.
"You don't have to yell. Believe me, I can hear you. Wish to hell I could shut you off."
"Well, you can't, and I need your particular expertise," Myrnin said. He sounded smug and a little bit vindictive; Myrnin didn't like Frank, Frank didn't like anybody who drank plasma, and the whole thing was just plain weird.
Because Frank Collins, Shane's dad, had once been a badass vampire-hunting criminal, and then Mr.Bishop had made him a self-loathing vampire, and now he was...dead. She was listening to a dead man speaking over the radio.
Well, not dead , exactly. After Frank had died saving Claire and Shane, Myrnin had scooped out his still-sort-of-living brain, stuck it in a plasma bath, and hooked it up to a computer. Frank Collins was now the brain that ran Morganville, and, thankfully, Shane didn't know.
Claire could honestly not imagine how that conversation was going to go when he found out. It made her ill to even try to imagine it.
"This would go easier if you'd show your face," Myrnin said. "Please. You may be assured that by please, I mean do it, or I'll put an injection of something nasty in your plasma."
"Myrnin!" Claire blurted, wide-eyed. He shrugged.
"You have no idea how difficult he's been lately. I thought Ada was a problem, but she was positively the model of decorum next to this one," he said. "Well? I'm waiting, Frank."
In the corner, a faint shadow appeared, a blur of static that resolved into a flat image on the three-dimensional background.
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