“What’s the drama?” Shane asked, and pointed to the door. “With Lord High Cranky, I mean?” He sounded like his old self, Claire thought. Maybe a day of hanging around Michael had been really good for him. Maybe it was … all okay.

“He wants faster action,” Claire said. “I said we need chemicals from the university lab.”

“You never actually got that far,” Myrnin said, “but I did know what you meant. And you’re correct. They would have a far more elegant and extensive selection of things there. We shall go.”

Shane said, “You’re kidding. You actually think she’s going anywhere with you. Ever.” He gave Myrnin a humorless little smile. “Much less me, of course. But I promise you, she is not going without me.” He watched as Claire crammed more sandwich into her mouth, moaning a little from the deliciousness of actual food, and then said, “So what exactly is it that you’re making with your chemicals again?”

“Binding agents,” she said, but it came out sounding a little like a foreign language. Maybe Klingon. She swallowed and drank more soda. “Sorry. Binding agents.”

“Which are …?”

“Chemicals that bind to contaminants in water. Or chemicals that can change the composition of water itself—something that causes a reaction or a state change.”

“From liquid to solid?”

“Exactly.”

“Like … Jell-O,” Shane said. He sounded thoughtful. Claire blinked, suddenly taken by the idea of a dump truck full of gelatin being backed up to a pool. Some kind of world record in that, she was pretty sure. But not extremely useful.

Myrnin slowly straightened up, put down the empty blood bag, and licked type O from his lips. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, you have something to say, Mr. Collins. Please tell me it isn’t about snack foods.”

“Not exactly,” Shane said. “But I think I know exactly the chemicals you’re looking for. And you won’t find them at the university. But I know where you will find them.”

“Where?”

“Morganville High School.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

EVE

My brother, Jason, was out of prison, again, which I found out because I walked into a room off of the Armory and saw him holding a shotgun.

It was like falling into a nightmare. I was younger, he was younger, it was four years ago, and he was facing me with my dad’s pistol and telling me that he was going to kill me. I still remember the way he said it. An eerily calm voice, and empty eyes.

See, my brother’s not someone you should trust with a gun. Or a sharp knife. Or empty hands, and it terrified me, a bolt of utter and paralyzing fear, to see him armed like that. And loose.

Jason’s my brother, and some of his screwed-up-ness is my fault, but he’s not the first guy I’d pick to hand any kind of weapon to, even in a crisis. Sure, he could fight. Sure, he could do damage. But he was the proverbial loose cannon, rolling around crushing everything in his path, friend or foe.