But there was a Morganville Historical Society. She found the address in the phone book, studied the map, and calculated the time it would take to walk the distance. If she hustled, she could get there, find what she needed, and still make it to her noon class.
Claire showered, dressed in blue jeans and a black knit top with a screen-printed flower on itone of her thrift-shop buysand grabbed her backpack on the way to the door. She set herself a blistering pace once she hit the sidewalks, heading away from the university and into the unexplored guts of Morganville. She had the map with her, which was handy, because as soon as she was out of sight of the Glass House, things became confusing. For having been master planned, Morganville was not exactly logical in the way its streets ran. There were culs-de-sac, dead ends, lots of unlit deserted areas.
But then again, maybe that was logical, from a vampires planning perspective. Even in the hot beat of the sunlight, Claire shuddered at that idea, and moved faster past a street that ended in a deserted field littered with piled-up lumber and assorted junk. It even smelled like decay, the ugly smell of dead things left to rot in the heat. Having too much imagination was sometimes a handicap. At least Im not walking it at night.
No power on earth was going to make her do that.
The residential areas of Morganville were old, mostly run-down, parched and beaten by summer. It was bound to get cooler soon, but for now, Indian summer was broiling the Texas landscape. Cicadas sang in dull dental-drill whines in the grass and trees, and there was a smell of dust and hot metal in the wind. Of all the places to find vampires, this was pretty much the last she would have expected. Just notGoth enough. Too run-down. TooAmerican.
The next street was her turn, according to the map. She made it, stopped in the shade of a live oak tree, and took a couple of drinks from her water bottle as she considered how much longer a walk it would be. Not long, she thought. Which was good, because she was not going to miss another class. Ever.
The street dead-ended. Claire came to a stop, frowning, and checked; nope, according to the map, it went all the way through. Claire sighed in frustration and started to turn back to retrace her path, then hesitated when she saw a narrow passage between two fences. It looked like it went through to the next street.
Lose ten minutes or take a chance. Shed always been the lose-ten-minutes kind of girl, the prudent one, but maybe living in the Glass House had corrupted her. Besides, it was hot as hell out here.
She headed for the gap between the fences.
I wouldnt do that, child, said a voice. It was coming from the deep shadow of a porch, on a house to her right. It looked better cared for than most houses in Morganvillefreshly painted in a light sea blue, some brick trim, a neatly kept yard. Claire squinted and shaded her eyes, and finally saw a tiny birdlike old lady seated on a porch swing. She was as brown as a twig, with drifting pale hair like dandelion fuzz, and since she was dressed in a soft green sundress that hung on her like a bag, she looked like nothing so much as a wood spirit, something out of the old, old storybooks.
The voice, though, was pure warm Southern honey.
Claire backed up hastily from the entrance to the passageway. Im sorry, maam. I dont mean to trespass.
The tiny little thing cackled. Oh, no, child, youre not trespassin. Youre bein a fool. You ever heard of ant lions? Or trapdoor spiders? Well, you walk down that path, you wont be comin out the other side. Not this world.
Claire felt a pure cold bolt of panic, followed by a triumphant crow from the prudent side of her brain: I knew that! Butits daytime!
So it is, the old woman said, and rocked gently back and forth on her swing. So it is. Day dont always protect round Morganville. You should know that, too. Now, go back the way you came like a good child, and dont come here again.
Yes, maam, Claire said, and started to back away.
Gramma, what are youoh, hello! The screen door to the house opened, and a younger version of the Stick Lady stepped outyoung enough to be a granddaughter. She was tall and pretty, and her skin was more cocoa than wood brown. She wore her hair in braids, lots of them, and she smiled at Claire as she came to lay a hand on the old ladys shoulder. My gramma likes to sit out here and talk to people. Im sorry if she bothered you.
No, not at all, Claire said, and nervously fiddled with one of the loose adjustment straps of her backpack. She, um, warned me about the alley.
The womans eyes moved rapidly, from Claire to the old lady and back again. Did she? she said. She didnt sound warm anymore. Gramma, you know better than that. You need to quit scaring people with your stories.
Dont be a damn fool, Lisa. They aint just stories, and you know it.
Gramma, there hasnt been anytrouble around here for twenty years!
Doesnt mean it wouldnt happen, Gramma said stubbornly, and pointed a stick-thin shaking finger at Claire. You dont go down that alley, now. I meant what I said.
Yes, maam, she said faintly, and nodded to both women. Um, thanks.
Claire turned to go, and as she did, she noticed something mounted on the wall next to the old womans porch swing. A plaque, with a symbol.
The same symbol as was on the Glass House. The Founders symbol.
And now that she was looking at the house, really looking, it had some of the same lines to it, and it was about the same age.
Claire turned back, smiled apologetically, and said, Im sorry, but could I use your restroom? Ive been chugging water out here
She thought for a second that Lisa was going to say no, but then the younger woman frowned and said, I suppose, and came down the steps to open the white picket gate for Claire to enter. Go on inside. Its the second door off the hall.
Offer the child some lemonade, Lisa.
Shes not staying, Gramma!
How you know if you dont ask?
Chapter Twelve
Claire let them argue it out, and stepped inside. She didnt feel anythingno tingle of a force field or anythingbut then, she didnt going in and out of the Glass House, either.
Still, she recognized it immediately. There was something about this house. It had the same quality of stillness, of weight, that she always felt at home. Not the same at all inside from a decorating point of viewGramma and Lisa seemed to like furniture, lots of it, all in fussy floral patterns and chintz, with rugs everywhere and a smothering amount of curtains and lace. Claire walked slowly down the hardwood hallway, trailing her fingers lightly over the paneling. The wood felt warm, but all wood did, right?
Freaky, she muttered, and opened the bathroom door.
It wasnt a bathroom.
It was a study, a large one, and it couldnt have been more different from the overblown frilly living roomsevere polished wood floors, a massive dark desk, a few glowering portraits on the walls. Dark red velvet curtains blocking out the sun. The walls were lined with books, old books mostly, and in the cabinet there was something that looked like a wine rack, only it heldscrolls?