Thousands of Bobs, only larger, the size of small Chi huahuas. Eve shrieked and threw herself into the backseat, slamming the door as one launched itself toward them; it hit the glass and bounced off. Claire kicked one away as she jumped in the passenger seat, and Michael locked the doors. "What the hell?" Eve yelled. "Oh my God, it's like Attack of the Giant CGI!"
"It's Ada," Claire said. She and Michael exchanged a look. "She's tracking me. She's got to be."
"Why?"
Symbols flashed in front of Claire's eyes, the symbols she reviewed and committed to memory every single morning. "Because I know her secret," she said. "I know how to reset her, kind of like wiping her memory. Myrnin won't do it, but I will. And she can't have that."
"Great," Michael said. "And where do you have to go to reset her?"
"Guess."
"You are just all kinds of fun right now." He fired up the engine and hit the gas. Claire hid her eyes as they drove over spiders, because that was just sick and kind of sad. The spiders chased them for a while, then milled around in the distance and one by one, turned up their legs and died.
Ada hadn't been able to keep them alive for long, which was great news for the next person in the parking garage.
"Kim first," Claire said. "Eve's right. Something could have happened to her."
"You're sure."
"I'm sure Ada would expect me to come running. I'd rather let her wait. And worry."
10
Kim's loft was a crime scene. Maybe not literally, but Claire thought if the police had roped it off, nobody would disagree. . . . Things were tossed everywhere, broken junk was piled in the corners, clothes were tossed on every flat surface. It smelled of old Chinese food, and the at-least-month-old trash was overflowing with cartons and pizza boxes. One pizza carton lay on the floor with a couple of slices of sausage withered inside.
"Nice," Shane said, and looked around. "Well, we know she's not a closet neat freak." There was paint all over the walls, too - not paintings, just paint, thrown on in sprays as if Kim had taken a few gallons and spun around in a circle, splashing it all over. It was probably still art, just not Claire's favorite kind.
"She's busy," Eve said, and cleaned up the pizza box and a few other Chinese food cartons, which she jammed into a plastic trash bag. "She's an artist."
"She's a slob," Shane said. "I'm not judging, though. So, what's the plan? We look around? Can I have dibs on the underwear drawer?"
Claire winced. "I can't believe you just said that."
Shane took on an angelic look. "Somebody's got to do it."
"Then that somebody will be me."
Shane lost his smile and got serious. "Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't mean - "
"I know." It still hurt. She avoided his eyes and started rummaging through things. It wasn't as if Kim actually had an underwear drawer - she didn't seem bothered by leaving her bras and panties all over the place. Claire grabbed a bag and started stuffing the clothes into it, just because.
"Girls," Michael said. "We're here for clues, right? Not cleanup?"
"Right." Eve took a deep breath. "I'll check the bedroom."
"Bathroom," Shane volunteered.
"You're brave. All right, you keep going in here," Michael told Claire. "I'll take the kitchen."
"Good luck." She meant it. She bet mold had formed its own civilization in the refrigerator.
That left Claire on her own in the big, trashed-out room. She had no idea where to even start looking, but when she let herself ignore the trash, strewn clothes, and general mess, she found herself focusing on the walls. One of them had a mural painted on it, creepy elongated faces and staring eyes.
Staring eyes. They glittered. For a frozen second, Claire thought there was someone behind the wall, watching her, and then she got her head together. It was just glass, reflecting; it wasn't real eyes. But why would Kim put glass on the eyes - no, on only one eye?
Oh.
"Guys?" Claire opened the closet beside the mural, shoved through piles of crap and boxes, and found the camera that looked out through the eyehole. It was a small high-tech thing, wireless. So there had to be some kind of receiver, somewhere. She ducked out of the closet to yell, "Any computers around here?"
"In here," Eve said. There was a Mac set up on a rickety table in the corner of the bedroom, jammed in next to a sagging, unmade bed. It had a screen saver on it, and when Claire tapped the space bar, it asked for a password. She looked at Eve, who raised her shoulders in a clear no-idea shrug.
Claire typed in Eve's name. Nothing. She tried Morganville, but again, nothing.
On a wildly unpleasant hunch, she typed in Shane.
The screen cleared, and Claire was looking at herself. She recoiled in surprise, and the screen image did the same, leaning back from the camera. Oh. The built-in camera was on. Claire clicked it off and looked at what was on the desktop, which was where she personally put things she wanted to use quickly . . . and there it was. It was a folder, marked Reality Project Cam #72.
There were video files there. Claire clicked one, and instantly, Kim was there, filling the screen, leaning in dramatically toward the computer's lens. "Day twenty-two of the project," she said in a loud whisper. "Still not sure whether or not any of the extra sites have been discovered, but I'll run it as long as I can. Great stuff so far. The official history project is still going, but most of the vamps won't talk. It doesn't matter anyway; this is going to be so much better. The Oscars are going to be kissing my ass." She grabbed a handy bottle of soda and held it in both hands, looking over-the-top happy. "Oh, thank you so much; I just can't believe this honor. I'd like to thank the Academy - "