Hardwired. Pete was probably right about that.
They got me into the somewhat deserted ER, and it took only about four hours (some kind of record, I was assured) to get me into X-ray and find out that yes, I still had a functioning, if lightly bruised brain, and that nothing important was busted in the rest of me. By that time, the beer's comfortable cushion had evaporated, and with the cold light of dawn coming, Jesse had taken off and left me to Pete. He didn't seem especially upset about losing his beauty sleep; maybe he was used to staying up until dawn, given the bar job and his clear alliance with Jesse, which seemed to be more about business than pleasure. Jesse had left him the car and gone her way on foot; she must have had some bolt-hole put away nearby, because she seemed pretty casual about the sunrise. Unless she was pretty old, she'd still be susceptible to the burns delivered by the daylight ... and even if she was old, she wouldn't enjoy being out in it.
Once I'd paid the bill (which ate up all my free cash, plus a loan from Pete, silently offered) I collapsed back in the car and let him drive me back to Florey's. We passed Claire's row house along the way, and I remembered the foggy, ill-formed plan to stagger up to her door and let her forgive me and drag me upstairs to bed. Wow. That had not been smart. It was almost good I'd wandered into a beating instead. At least I'd preserved my self-respect.
Because now, sober, I knew exactly how it would have played out. Claire would have been kind, and pitying, and given me aspirin and a blanket and pillow, and I'd have slept it off on some direly uncomfortable couch with her upstairs and unattainable. And then I'd have had the awkward awakening, the explanations, the apologies, and ... what?
I was afraid that there would be nothing, afterward.
'What were you guys doing?' I asked Pete, as he pulled to a stop in front of Florey's. 'How did you find me?'
'Didn't,' he said tersely. 'We were looking for those jackasses. They'd already beaten up a g*y guy two blocks down. Cops don't always get on this stuff quick in our neighbourhood, so we do. It's kind of a hobby.'
I paused in the act of opening the door and looked at him with what were probably cartoon-wide eyes. 'Wait a second,' I said. 'So, you're best friends with a hot vampire chick who likes leather.'
'Yeah.'
'And together, you fight crime?' I couldn't help it. I cracked up.
'Everybody needs a hobby, man,' Pete said. 'Now go inside, because you're going to start throwing up soon and I don't want it on my floorboards.'
Dammit.
He was right about that, too.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Claire started to call Professor Anderson to tell her about her night-time visitors, but she realised that it was probably a very bad idea ... if the government really was involved, they had the power and the ability to monitor cell communication as easily as breathing. In fact, her conversation with Michael and Eve, even encrypted on the Morganville system, was probably vulnerable in some way, though she imagined that Amelie's paranoia was a pretty decent firewall against such things. Some things needed to be said in person, though. In a secured environment.
So, even though she slept remarkably little, and felt hungover from lack of sleep, Claire got up early and jogged to the lab. It was very quiet at that hour - just after dawn, really - and she passed a few students sleepily heading to early sessions. The hallways of the secured area were deserted and silent. Claire quickly badged into Anderson's area, and found the professor already there, sitting at the desk in the corner, typing away. Anderson turned around, frowning, when she heard the warning chime of the security door, and her eyes widened when she saw Claire.
'Is everything all right?' she asked, and got up to come closer. 'You look pale.'
'Long night,' Claire said, and took a deep breath. 'Can I talk here?'
'Give me your cell phone.' Claire handed it over, and Anderson took it over to the computer. She linked it on with a cable and did some key-clicking, and handed it back about a minute later. 'I've installed an app to block anybody trying to snoop. They'll get playback of innocuous conversation instead, so they won't be able to tell there's anything wrong. Now you can talk freely.'
'My house was searched last night by two men. I think they thought I'd gone out, like my roommate. Professor - they didn't break in. They let themselves in, like they had keys.'
'Did you get a look at them?'
Claire nodded. Anderson sat down in her computer chair and brought up a screen. More mouse movement and key clicks, and suddenly Claire was looking at an album of surveillance photos ... not the grainy kind, either. These were sharp and clear as high-res stills. 'See anyone you recognise?'
Claire pointed over her professor's shoulder at one of the men pictured there. 'He was one of them, for sure. I'm not sure about the other, I just got a quick look. Could have been one of the others, but I'm really not sure at all. Who are they?'
'Well, they're not from the people I work with directly, but there are plenty of players on the board. Best to be careful. Do you have an alarm system?'
'No, I told my housemate we need to get one.'
'Convince her. It wouldn't hurt for you to learn to use that knife I gave you, either.'
'I know how to use it,' Claire said, pretty calmly she thought, given that suddenly she was hip-deep in government agencies and foreign spies when she'd thought all that she was getting into were vampire politics. 'Professor - are you sure that we're not in over our heads, somehow? Is this related to VLAD?'
'I have no way of knowing what it's related to,' Anderson said, which was just logical, Claire guessed. 'I am under contract to several government and privately funded groups; any one of them could have decided that you should be carefully checked out. Let's not read too much into it, shall we?'
'They came into my house!'
'And left you and your possessions unharmed. Let's not call in an air strike quite yet.' Anderson gave her a warm, comforting smile. 'Now, I'm glad you're here early. There are some things about VLAD that still puzzle me, and I'd like to go over them before our test today.'
'Test?' Claire had a blinding moment of panic; nobody had warned her there was a test coming.
'Not for you,' her professor said, laughing, because the panic must have been visible. 'We're testing VLAD on a live subject at noon.'
'By subject, do you mean-'
'Vampire, yes, that's exactly what I mean.'
'There are vampires here?'
'Not in the school per se, no. But close by. Because, of course, Amelie doesn't trust anyone to leave Morganville without a little oversight, especially someone who's been so deeply into Myrnin's confidence. Luckily, I'm a friend of my particular minder, and she's agreed to keep the secret - for now. I'd rather not involve her, but we do need a live subject, and she's the only one I have at hand.'
'But - I thought you were scared of Amelie finding out about VLAD!'
'I was. But the fact is, she's going to find out. It's more important for us to make quick, efficient progress than to go carefully. Myrnin would take my side, and yours; I think he'll be able to contain her paranoia, at least for a while. And so while this will be a risk, it's probably one we have to take. Now. Let's go over the questions.'
Dr Anderson brought VLAD out from the secured area, and Claire answered about an hour's worth of detailed questions on the internal workings. Some of the questions startled her, led her off on tangents that started discussions about better ways to channel and concentrate the energy being generated. It was ... well, exciting. Problem solving was always thrilling for Claire, and clearly it was for Anderson, too.
Finally, her professor nodded and stowed VLAD away, and Claire got ready to do something even more exciting.
She was disappointed.
'Sometimes, being my assistant isn't going to be action-packed,' Anderson said, and pointed to a huge bin full of paper. 'Shred all that, then take the pieces to the incinerator at the end of the hall for burning. I like to be thorough.'
'What is all this?'
'Old projects,' her professor said. 'Don't read it. Just shred and burn, or your eyes will melt.' She said it so matter-of-factly that Claire had a moment's hesitation, before the other woman laughed. 'Don't worry. I haven't perfected that eye-melting technology quite yet. Shredder's over there.'
That commenced a vividly exciting morning of sitting in a chair feeding paper into a machine that spit out shreds, and putting the shreds into a giant plastic bag when the bin was full. It took a full three hours to go through the stack of paper, and Claire quickly learnt that shredded paper might be more volumetric than the flat kind, but it wasn't really that much lighter in total weight. She struggled with the bag down the hall, located the incinerator room, and dumped the paper down the chute before she pushed the big red button to fire up the oven.