Bitter Blood (The Morganville Vampires #13)(72)

“He tried to kill Eve.” There was a kind of terrible eagerness to the way he said it that made me want to shudder.

“Okay, man, it’s great you got in touch with your inner serial killer and all, but no way.” I was serious. I wanted Pennyfeather dead; that was no problem at all. What I earnestly didn’t want was for Michael to wake up from this—whatever it was—and have the memory of what he was about to do. Besides, in the event he suddenly took an unhealthy interest in me, I wanted to be the one holding the knife.

It took another few seconds, but finally the glow faded out of his eyes to a more-normal bloody color—I hated that I could say it was normal—and he sat back, shaking all over. “What the hell was that? I just—”

“Went all evil superhero? Yeah. I don’t know. One of Myrnin’s fun little gadgets, I guess.” I poked at it, frowning, and it slid on top of a pile of books and nearly toppled to the floor until I grabbed it and settled it in place again.

Michael was still holding out his hand to me, and I realized he was still waiting for the knife. Calmly, now. Our eyes met and held, and I said, “Are you sure, man?”

“No,” he said. “But it’s got to be done.”

I handed it to him. Pennyfeather’s eyes were shut, and he looked lifeless already, stunned unconscious by Michael’s furious attack. Lying there silent, he seemed a lot…smaller. And with that androgynous bone structure, he could have just as easily been a strong-featured woman as a man, and that made the whole thing even more unsettling. I wasn’t sure I could have done it at all, honestly.

And just to make matters worse right then, the portal shimmered, shivered, and belched out Claire. My girlfriend was still running on adrenaline; it was obvious in her too-wide brown eyes, the color burning in her cheeks. She had a longbow in her hand that was almost as tall as she was, and an arrow nocked and ready to pull. The arrow had a barbed silver tip.

She skidded to a halt, but she didn’t drop her guard. “Is Pennyfeather—” She spotted Michael kneeling over the fallen vamp, and the knife, and she sucked her breath in hard.

“Has to be done,” I said. She bit her lip, but she didn’t try to argue. “Look, we need to get out of here. Myrnin did something crazy and filled in the exit, so we’re now relying on the goodwill of my Frankendad keeping this portal thing open, and I’m not feeling good about the plan.”

“Feel worse,” she said. “Frank’s starving. I don’t know if he can even keep this up at all. We need to get out of here, now.”

“Not if we leave Pennyfeather behind and he has a way out that leads through our house.”

Eve burst through just then, having apparently stopped to load up a rapid-fire crossbow that she held with frightening competence. She checked the corners for threats, too, before letting her guard down and starting to head toward Michael.

“Wait,” I said, and got in her way. “Just—give him a minute.”

She took a step back and considered me silently a second, then said, “I’m the one Pennyfeather came after. It’s my job, right?”

“No!” Claire and I both said at the same time, but Claire went on, earnestly. “Eve, it’s not killing him in a fight. It’s—murder.”

“So?” Eve said. Her eyes had gone flint-hard. “How many murders has he committed? You don’t think he has it coming?”

“I don’t think that’s something any of us should decide!”

“Oh, honey,” Eve said, and smiled just a little. “You really aren’t from Morganville yet.” She looked at me. “What’s your objection, Collins?”

I shrugged. “Michael can handle him if he wakes up. You can’t. Logistics.”

Claire seemed shocked, but hey, Eve was right; Morganville kids understood this better. It might seem cruel and harsh, but when it came down to living and dying, we knew which side we wanted to end up on. Having Pennyfeather continue to stalk us was not an option.

Eve nodded. She walked over to Michael and put a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up at her and took in a deep, steadying breath.

“He can’t,” Claire said. “He can’t, Shane—”

I stepped in, and she dropped the bow and arrow with a clatter as I wrapped my arms around her and turned her back to what was going to happen. “Hush,” I said, and nodded to Michael over her shoulder. “It’ll be fast.”

“Stop.”

The voice seemed to come from everywhere, all around us, from hidden speakers and the tiny little one on my phone, too. It was scratchy and pale, and sounded exhausted, but it was all too familiar.

“Frank,” I said. Facing down my dad was something I’d done a lot over the past few years, but it always seemed to have a new sting in the tail, every time. I wondered what it would be today. I swallowed what felt like a mouthful of acid, and said, “Just leave us alone, okay?”

“You don’t need his blood on your conscience,” Frank said. “Trust me, kids, you don’t. Let me do it.”

“You? Dad, hate to break it to you, but downstairs there’s a computer, and in the middle of it there’s a brain floating in a jar with wires running into it, and that’s you. As in, you’re not doing jack to Pennyfeather, however badass you think you are.”