Bitter Blood (Morganville Book #2)

Chapter 5

Myrnin's actual lab was a deserted wreck.

Whether it was Bishop's goons, vandals, or just Myrnin being crazy, there was even more destruction now than the last time I had seen the place. Virtually all the glass had been shattered; it covered the floor in a deadly glitter. Tables had been overturned and floor in a deadly glitter. Tables had been overturned and splintered. Books had been ripped to shreds, with the leather and cloth covers gutted and empty, tossed on piles of trash.

The whole place smelled foul with spilled chemicals and molding paper.

Myrnin said nothing as we descended the steps into the mess, but on the last step, he paused and sat down - more like fell down, actually. I wasn't sure what to do, so I waited.

"You okay?" I finally asked. He slowly shook his head.

"I've lived here a long time," Myrnin said. "Mostly by choice, as it happens; I've always preferred a lab to a palace, which Amelie never really understood, although she humored me. I know it's only a place, only things. I didn't expect to feel so much . . . loss." He was silent again for a moment, and then sighed. "I shall have to rebuild again. But it will be a bother."

"But . . . not right now, right?" Because the last thing I wanted to do was get a broom and a dump truck to pick up all that broken glass when the fate of Morganville was riding on their staying focused.

"Of course not." He leaped up and - to my shock - walked across the broken glass. In flip-flops. Not even pausing when the glass got ankle-deep. I looked down at my own shoes - high-top sneakers - and sighed. Then I very carefully followed him, shoving a path through the glass as I went while Myrnin heedlessly crunched his way through.

"You're hurting yourself!" I called.

"Good," he shot back. "Life is pain, child. Ah! Excellent." He crouched down, brushed a clear spot on the floor, and picked up something that looked like a mouse skeleton. He examined it curiously for a few seconds, then tossed it over his shoulder. I ducked as it sailed past. "They didn't find it."

"Find what?"

"The entrance," he said. "To the machine."

"What machine?"

Myrnin smiled his best, looniest smile at me, and punched his fist down into the bare floor, which buckled and groaned. He punched again, and again - and an entire six-foot section of the floor just collapsed into a big black hole. "I covered it over," he said. "Clever, yes? It used to be a trapdoor, but that seemed just a bit too easy."

I realized my mouth was gaping open. "We could have fallen right through that," I said.

"Don't be overly dramatic. I calculated your weight. You were perfectly safe, so long as you weren't carrying anything too heavy." Myrnin waved at me to join him, but before I got halfway there, he jumped down into the hole and disappeared.

"Perfect." I sighed. When I finally reached the edge, I peered down, but it was pitch-black . . . and then there was the sound of a scratch, and a flame came to life, glowing on Myrnin's face a dozen feet down. He lit an oil lamp and set it aside. "Where are the stairs?"

"There aren't any," he said. "Jump."

"I can't!"

"I'll catch you. Jump."

That was a level of trust I really never wanted to have with Myrnin, but . . . there was no sign of mania in him, and he watched me with steady concentration.

"If you don't catch me, I'm totally killing you. You know that, right?"

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn't dispute that. "Jump!"