Morganville (Justin Bieber)

Chapter 107

I booted up my laptop and checked my e-mail, which was really more like checking my spam. Today, come-ons from sad Russian girls and Nigerian businessmen desperate to get rid of millions of tax-free dollars didn't amuse me all that much. Neither did random surfing or the I'm Feeling Lucky Google feature. I had hours to kill, and my whole body was aching with tension.

You could visit Myrnin. Myrnin's not going, either.

Oh, that was way too tempting. Myrnin was work. And work was a great distraction.

Richard told me to lock myself in. Yeah, but he hadn't said where, had he? Myrnin's lab was pretty safe. So was the prison where Myrnin was kept. And at least I'd have company.

"Nope," I said. "Can't do it. Too dangerous."

Except it was still daylight outside. So, not nearly as dangerous as it could be.

The sensible side of me threw up its hands in disgust. Whatever. Go on, get yourself killed. See if I care.

I grabbed a few things and shoved them in the backpack - textbooks, of course, but a couple of novels that I'd been meaning to take to Myrnin, since he was always interested in new things to read.

And a bread knife. Somehow, that seemed like a wise thing to pack, too. I put it in my history textbook, like the world's most dangerous bookmark.

And then, with one last glance around the house, I left.

I hope I come back, I thought, and turned to look at the house as I fastened the front gate. I hope we all come back.

I felt like the house was hoping that, too.

It was a long walk to Myrnin's lab, but I wasn't in any danger, except from dying of the creepies. I saw one or two cars, but they were full of frightened, anxious people heading to some safe haven - work, home, school. Nobody else was outside. Nobody else was walking.

I followed the twisting streets of Morganville into a run-down older area. At the end of the street sat a duplicate of the Glass House - the Day House, where a lovely old lady named Katherine Day still lived. Today, her battered rocking chair was empty, nodding in the breeze. I had been kind of hoping that Gramma Day, or her fiercer granddaughter, would be hanging out; they'd have invited me up to the porch for a lemonade, and tried to talk me out of what I was doing. But if they were home at all, they were inside with the curtains drawn.

Just like everybody else in town.

I turned down the dark alley next to the Day House. It was bordered with tall fences, and it got narrower the farther it went. I'd come here by accident the first time, and on purpose ever since, and it still struck me as a terrifying place, even in broad daylight.

Gramma Day had known about Myrnin. She'd called him a trap-door spider.

Gramma Day, in my experience, had been right about a lot of things, and that was one of them. As sweet and kind and gentle as Myrnin could be, when he turned, he turned all the way.

I reached the end of the alley, which was a rickety shed barely large enough to qualify as one room. The door was locked with a new, shiny padlock. I dug in my pocket and found my keys.

Inside, the shack wasn't any better - nothing but a square of floor, and steps leading down. What little light there was spilled in through the grimy windows. I grabbed a flashlight from the corner - I always kept a supply there - and flicked it on as I descended the steps into Myrnin's lab.

I'd half expected to find Amelie here, or Oliver, or somebody else - but it was just as I'd left it. Deserted and quiet, with only a couple of dim electric lights burning. I pushed aside the bookcase that stood against the right-hand wall - it was rigged to move easily - and behind it was a door. It was locked, too, and I got the keys out of the drawer under the journal shelves.