Rachel Caine: Ghost Town

“No, no, no, wait—you can’t. I must run tests; I need to have a blood sample.” Myrnin rooted frantically in a drawer, came up with an ancient blood-drawing kit, and came toward Shane.

Shane looked over his shoulder at Claire. “I’m seriously going to kill this guy if he tries to stick me with that thing.”

“Myrnin!” Claire snapped. “No. Not now. I’m taking him to the hospital to get him checked out. I’ll make sure you get your sample. Now leave us alone. ”

Myrnin stopped, and he actually looked wounded. Oh stop it, Claire thought, still furious. I didn’t kick your puppy.

She was almost at the top of the steps, and Shane was right behind her, when she heard Myrnin say, in a quiet voice that was like the old Myrnin, the one she actually liked, “I’m sorry, Claire. I never meant—I’m sorry. Sometimes I don’t know . . . I don’t know what I am thinking. I wish . . . I wish things could be like they were before.”

“Me, too,” Claire muttered.

She knew they wouldn’t be, though.

Getting Shane seen by a doctor was trickier than she’d thought. Claire couldn’t exactly explain to the emergency room what might be wrong with him, so after a complete fail at the ER, she went in search of the only doctor she knew personally—Dr. Mills—who’d treated her before, and knew about Myrnin. He’d actually helped create the antidote to the vampires’ illness, so he was pretty trustworthy.

She still didn’t explain about the portals, but he didn’t push. He was a nice guy, middle-aged, a little tired, like most doctors usually seemed to be, but he just nodded and said, “Let me take a look at him. Shane?”

“I’m not dropping my pants,” Shane said. “I just thought I’d say that up front.”

Dr. Mills laughed. “Just the basics, all right? But if Claire’s concerned, I’m concerned. Let’s make sure you’re healthy.”

They walked off toward his office, leaving Claire in the waiting area with piles of ancient magazines that still wondered whether Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston would stay together. Not that she read that stuff anyway. Much.

She was still mad at Myrnin, but now she realized that it was mostly because she’d been so tired and stressed out. He hadn’t been any worse than normal, really. And how much did that suck?

It doesn’t matter , she told herself. I did something amazing, and nobody got hurt. She knew they’d both been lucky, though. It still turned her cold to think what could have happened, all because she hadn’t thought to tell Shane not to come through the portal, no matter how safe it seemed.

Doctors always seemed to take forever, and while Shane was getting checked out, Claire fidgeted and thought about the progress she’d made, and—what worried her more—the progress that Myrnin had made. Apparently. What was he thinking? It was impossible to know, but she was pretty sure he hadn’t given up the idea of putting a brain—namely her brain—in a jar and hooking it up to a computer. It was the kind of totally cracked thing Myrnin would think was not only logical, but somehow helpful.

She really didn’t want to end up in a jar, like Ada had before her. A ghost, slowly going mad because she couldn’t touch, be touched, be human. Although in Ada’s case, she’d been a vampire. But still, Ada hadn’t exactly come through it with all her marbles. Oh, she’d seemed to do her job, running the systems; she’d kept the portals open and the boundaries closed, issued alerts when residents tried to flee, probably even done a lot more that Claire had never seen. But in the end, Ada had gotten less and less sane, and more and more determined to keep Myrnin all to herself, and never mind the rest of Morganville.

And Myrnin hadn’t been able to admit that there was a problem.

That brought a bad flashback of Ada’s proper Victorian school-mistress image standing in front of her, hands folded, smiling. Waiting for Claire to die.

Well, I didn’t die , Claire thought, and controlled a shudder. Ada died. And I’m not ending up like Ada, some insane thing trying to stay alive at any cost. . . .

She flinched as someone touched her shoulder, but it was Shane. He grinned down at her. “Hospitals freak you out?”

“They ought to,” she shot back. “You’re always ending up in here.”

“Not fair. You’ve had your turns, too.”

She had, more than she liked. Claire scrambled to her feet, grabbed her stuff, and saw Dr. Mills standing a few feet away. He was smiling. That was a good sign, right?

“He’s fine,” the doctor said, in such a soothing voice Claire knew she was looking anxious. Or panicked. “Whatever he was accidentally exposed to, I can’t find anything that’s off. But if you start feeling odd, dizzy, experiencing any pain or discomfort, be sure to call me, Shane.”

Shane, his back to the doctor, rolled his eyes, then turned and said a polite thank-you. “How much do I owe you, Doc?”

Dr. Mills raised his eyebrows. “I see you’re wearing Amelie’s pin.”

Shane was, haphazardly stuck in the collar of his shirt; he’d bitched about it at first, but Claire had insisted they all wear the pins, all the time. Amelie had promised that they would identify them as a special kind of neutral, free from attack by any vampires—though she’d yet to test out the theory.

Apparently, they were also gold cards, because Dr. Mills continued. “There’s no charge for services for friends of Morganville.”

Shane frowned, and it looked like he might argue, but Claire pulled on his arm, and he let himself be led away to the elevators. “Never turn down free,” she said.

“I don’t like it,” Shane said, before the doors even closed. “I don’t like being some charity case.”

“Yeah, well, trust me: you couldn’t afford his bill anyway.” She turned toward him as the elevator beeped its descent to the ground floor, and stepped closer. “You’re okay. You’re really okay.”

“Told you I was.” He bent down, and she turned her face up, but they had time for only a quick, sweet kiss before the doors opened and they had to dodge out of the way of a gurney with a patient on it. Shane took her hand, and they walked out of the hospital lobby and into the late-afternoon sun.

On the way out she caught a glimpse of a face in shadows, pale and sharp and hard. An older man with a vivid scar marring his face.

Claire stopped walking, and Shane continued on for a step before looking back at her. “What?” he asked, and turned to see where she was staring.

Nothing was there now, but Claire was sure of what she’d seen, even in that brief flash.

Shane’s father, Frank Collins, had been watching them. That was unsettling, creepy. She hadn’t seen Frank in a while—not since he’d saved her life. She’d heard that he’d been around, but seeing him was an entirely different thing.

Frank Collins was the world’s most reluctant vampire, and besides that, she was sure that he was the person Shane least wanted to see.

“Nothing,” she said, and focused her attention back on Shane with a smile that she hoped was happy. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“So, how do we celebrate my okayness? It’s my day off. Let’s go crazy. Glow-in-the-dark bowling?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you use the kiddie ball.”

“Shut up. I do not need the kiddie ball.”

“The way you bowl, I think you might.” He grabbed her in an exaggerated formal dance pose and whirled her around, backpack and all, which didn’t make her any more graceful. “Ballroom dancing?”

“Are you insane ?”

“Hey, girls who tango are hot.”