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As she was leaving, she saw Eve at the barista station, staring blankly at the levers as she worked. The happy glow hadn't returned. In fact, she looked grim. And scared.
Dammit. Why did I ruin her day like that? I should have just blown him off, the little psycho.
Claire checked her watch, snagged her backpack, and jogged off to her lab class.
When she met Dr. Mills later that afternoon, she did it at the hospital, in his office. He was a medium sort of guy - medium tall, medium age, medium coloring. He had a nice smile, which seemed to promise that everything would be okay, and despite the fact that Claire knew it was total fiction, she smiled back.
"Have a seat, Claire," he said, and indicated one of the blue club chairs in front of his desk. Behind him were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves - medical references in matching bindings, with some newer off-brand volumes thrown in for variety. Dr. Mills had stacks of magazines and photocopied articles on one corner of the desk, and a teetering set of patient files on the other. A framed photo faced away from Claire, so she couldn't see if he had a family. He had a wedding ring, though.
Dr. Mills didn't speak immediately; he leaned back in his leather chair, steepled his fingers, and looked at her for a while. She fought against the urge to squirm, but couldn't keep her fingers from restlessly picking at the fabric of her jeans.
"I knew you were young," he said finally, "but I admit, I'm even more surprised now. You're sixteen?"
"Seventeen in a few weeks," Claire said. She was getting resigned to having this conversation with every single adult in Morganville. She ought to just record it and play it back every time she met somebody new.
"Well, from the notes that Amelie has provided to me, you have a very solid grasp of what you're doing. I don't think I'll be so much directing your research as helping you execute your experiments. Where I see opportunities to add some value, I will. Obviously, the labs here at the hospital have much more sophisticated equipment than I imagine you have - wherever you developed your initial crystals." He flipped through the large folder open in the center of his desk, and Claire saw photocopies of her own neat handwriting. Her notes, which she'd provided to Amelie. "I took the liberty of making up a set of crystals based on your formula, using the facilities in our labs. I found that if you accelerate the drying process with heat, you can increase the strength of the dosage by about twenty percent. And I also created a stronger liquid version that can be delivered directly into the body by injection."
She blinked. "Injection." She tried to imagine getting close enough to Myrnin to stick a needle in his arm, especially when he was in one of his bad swings.
"It can be delivered through a dart," he said. "Like an animal tranquilizer, although I wouldn't use that analogy to anyone else. Wouldn't be respectful."
She managed a smile. "That'd be - very helpful. I didn't try the heating process for drying the crystals. That's interesting."
"No reason you should have. I tried it because I didn't have an unlimited time to dry them - our lab's busy, and I didn't want anyone questioning what I was doing. I've asked Amelie to provide us with some secured laboratory space at the university. More convenient for you, and safer for me. I can have equipment moved there as we need it, or requisition it through the Council." Dr. Mills cocked his head and looked at her again, brown eyes bright and challenging. Like Myrnin's, only not half as crazy. "About my request to tour the lab where you made the crystals . . ."
"Sorry, I can't."
"Perhaps if you checked with Amelie - "
"I did."
He sighed. "Then when can I examine our patient?"
"You don't."
"Claire, this will not work if I can't take baseline readings on the patient and determine what the measurable improvements are as we change the formula!"
She did see that, actually, but the thought of putting nice Dr. Mills in grabbing distance of Myrnin made her shiver. "I'll check," she promised, and got to her feet. "I'm sorry, it's getting late. I need to - "
Dr. Mills glanced at his office window. Outside the blinds, the sky was darkening from faded denim to indigo. "Of course. I understand. Here's a sample of the new batch of crystals. But before you give it to him, see if you can get baseline information - most importantly, a blood sample."
"A blood sample," she repeated. He opened a drawer and handed her a small, sealed kit. It had a syringe, gauze pads, alcohol wipes, and a couple of vacuum tubes. "You're not serious."
"I'm not saying it might not be difficult, but if you won't let me go with you to do it . . ."
She could do a lot of things, but she was pretty sure she couldn't hold Myrnin down and stick a needle in his vein. Not while he was . . . altered.
She took the kit and put it in her backpack. "Anything else?"
Dr. Mills passed her a gun - a dart gun. He opened the back to show her the fluffy end of the tube. "It's preloaded with one dose," he said. "I only made up a few - it takes some time to distill. Here are two extra, if you need them." As she stowed the gun in her backpack, he said, "It's untested. So be careful. I think it will be stronger and longer lasting, but I'm not sure about the side effects."
"And the crystals?"
He passed them over, too. They looked a little finer than the ones she'd developed - more like raw sugar. Those went into the backpack, as well.
"Claire," he said, as she hoisted the burden, "have you heard any rumors about a new vampire in town?"
She froze. Her gold bracelet, the one with Amelie's symbol etched on it, caught the light and glittered - not that she needed the reminder.
"Just Michael," she said. "But that's not news."
"I heard there were strangers."
Claire shrugged. "Guess you heard wrong."
She left before she had to lie any more. She couldn't stop herself from glancing back at him. He nodded and smiled a good-bye.
She felt bad, but there was only so much truth she was prepared to give, even to somebody who came recommended by Amelie.
"Did you bring the hamburger?"
Claire didn't even have time to drop her backpack on the hallway floor at home before Eve had buzzed in on her like a dark, caffeine-fueled Tinkerbell, brandishing a wooden spoon.
"Uh - what?"
"Hamburger. I sent you a text."
Oops. Claire dug her phone out and saw that, sure enough, there was a flashing message icon. "I didn't get it. Sorry."
