Free Morganville Vampires 11: Last Breath by Rachel Caine Page A

of satellite colony. Blacke’s citizens had good cause to support them, because so many of Blacke’s own people had been turned during the initial chaos caused by the sick vampires.
    “How’s Morley?” Claire asked, still trying to sound calm and reassuring. The boy looked like he might bolt at any moment. Morley had spearheaded the group that had left Morganville and settled in Blacke; he was definitely an old-school vampire, but he was oddly entertaining, sometimes. She respected him, a little.
    “Morley sent me,” he replied, looking just a little relieved she’d found the magic word—or name, anyway. “He and my aunt—Mrs. Grant. They kind of run the town now.”
    “I’m Claire.” She stuck out her hand, and he took it and shook.
    “Graham,” he said. “Hey.”
    “Graham, this is Shane.” Shane shook hands, too, and Claire finally got around to Myrnin, but she didn’t need to; he stepped forward decisively, whipped off his hat, and bowed.
    “I am Myrnin,” he said. “I’m in charge.”
    Claire rolled her eyes and mouthed, behind his back, Not really. Graham almost smiled, but he managed not to, and gave Myrnin an awkward bow back. “Uh, hi, sir,” he said. “How’s it going?”
    “That all depends on what you’re here to convey,” Myrnin said. “Did you walk all this way from Blacke?”
    “No, sir,” Graham said. “I ran. But mostly during the night. It’s not bad. Kind of restful, actually.”
    That settled the question of which sport Graham had been—or still was?—part of in school before he’d been turned vampire…. It had to be cross-country. “So what’s so important you’d run more than fifty miles over the desert, but Morley couldn’t pick up a phone?” Claire asked.
    In answer, Graham unzipped his hoodie and took out a sealed envelope, which he showed her. On it was written, in a spiky antique style, For the eyes of the Founder only . “He said what he had to say couldn’t be done over the phone, that it was too sensitive. So he wanted me to run it over and put it in the hands of either the Founder, Oliver, or—well, you, I guess. Claire.”
    Wow. Claire blinked, amazed that Morley would have put her in that particular company. “Uh, okay,” she said, and accepted the envelope. It felt light—maybe one sheet of paper inside. “Do you know what it is?”
    “Not a clue, and from the look on his face when he gave it to me, I want to keep it that way,” Graham said. He zipped his hoodie up again. “So, that’s it. It’s clouding up, probably will be overcast in the next hour. It’ll only take a couple of hours to get back.”
    “Don’t you think you should wait for dark?”
    “Nah, I’m good,” Graham said, and flashed her an unexpectedly flirty grin. “Morley sent me because I’m a freak, anyway. High tolerance for sunlight. He says it’s unusual or something.”
    “Oh, it is,” Myrnin said, and looked thoughtful, and interested. “Would you mind providing me a blood sample, boy? I’ve been conducting a study these past few hundred years of the relative immunity of younger vampires to the influence of the sun… .”
    Graham looked alarmed, which was probably wise. “Uh, maybe later?” he said, and put his hood up. It shaded his face well, and when he pulled the sleeves down over his hands, he was as covered as Myrnin, if not quite as flamboyantly. “Thanks. See you, guys.”
    “Be careful!” Claire said, but she was telling it to the wind, because Graham was fast . She saw a flutter of motion at the edge of her vision, and sand drifting, and he was gone .
    “Whoa,” Shane said, impressed. “Boy’s got some skills.”
    And they’d been put to a very curious use … because picking up the phone would have been easy for Morley, and Oliver, at least, would have taken his calls even if Amelie still held a grudge against the tattered old vampire for running away from Morganville. Still, older vamps didn’t trust technology much. Maybe he just