Free Kiss of Death by Rachel Caine Page A

case.”
    “In case what?”
    “In case someone like Mr. Bishop decides to visit again.”
    Myrnin smiled and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap. “There is no one like Mr. Bishop,” he said. “Thank the most holy. And this is excellent work, Claire, but it doesn’t solve our fundamental problem. The difference engine needs programming to allow for removal of dangerous memories. I know of no other way to achieve what we need than to interface it with a biological database.”
    “A brain.”
    “Well, if you want to be technical.”
    Claire sighed. “I am not getting you a brain, because I am not that kind of lab assistant, Dr. Frankenstein. Can we go through the map again?”
    The map was a giant flowchart that stretched the length of the lab, on giant notepads. She had painstakingly mapped out every single if, then, and and/or that Myrnin had been able to describe.
    It was huge. Really huge. And she wasn’t at all sure it could be done, period—except that he had done it, once, to Ada.
    She just wanted to take the icky brain part out of the equation.
    “It’s so much easier,” Myrnin insisted as they walked the row of pages. “The brain is capable of processing a staggering number of calculations per second, and is capable of incorporating variables and factors that a mere computer cannot. It’s the finest example of a calculating machine ever developed. We’re fools not to use it.”
    “Well, you’re not putting my brain into a machine. Ever.”
    “I wouldn’t.” Myrnin picked a piece of lint from his shiny vest. “Unless it was the only answer, of course. Or, of course, unless you weren’t using it anymore.”
    “Never. Promise.”
    He shrugged. “I promise.” But not in any way that mattered, Claire thought. Myrnin’s promises were kind of—flexible. “You’re leaving town the rest of the week?”
    “Yeah, we’re leaving tonight. You’ll be okay?”
    “Why wouldn’t I?” He clasped his hands behind him and paced back and forth, staring at the charts. He was wearing shorts today, and flip-flops, of course—like some homeless surfer from the waist down, some Edwardian lord from the waist up. It was strange, and ridiculously Myrnin. “I’m not an infant, Claire. I don’t need you to take care of me. Believe me.”
    She didn’t, really. Yes, he was old. Yes, he was a vampire. Yes, he was crazy/smart—but the crazy part was always as strong as, or stronger than, the smart part. Even now.
    “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you?” she asked him. He turned and looked at her, and looked utterly innocent.
    “Why in the world would I do that?” he asked. “Have a good time, Claire. The work will still be here when you return.”
    She shut down the laptop and closed the lid, packing it up to put it away. As she did, he finally nodded at the machine. “That’s not bad,” he said. “As a start.”
    “Thanks.” She was a little surprised. Myrnin didn’t often give out random compliments. “Are you feeling okay?”
    “Certainly. Why wouldn’t I be?”
    There was just something off about his mood. From visiting her parents to the way he was restlessly prowling the lab—he just wasn’t his usual, unsettlingly manic self. He was a different manic self.
    “I wish I were going with you,” he finally said. “There. I’ve said it. You may mock me at your will.”
    “Really? But—we’re just going for Michael, really.” That wasn’t true. It was a chance to get out of Morganville, experience life out in the real world. And she knew it would be amazing to feel free again, even for a little while. “Couldn’t you go if you wanted?”
    He sat down in his leather wing chair, put on his spectacles, and opened a book from a pile next to it. “Could I?” he asked. “If Amelie didn’t wish me to leave? Not very likely.”
    She’d never considered that Myrnin, of all people, could be just as trapped in Morganville as everybody else. He seemed so