Bite clube by non (books not by me ) (i can read with my eyes shut txt) 📖

like she was unexpectedly channeling Eve as she pulled things out and held them up against Miranda's skinny frame, discarding some, keeping others. Strong colors didn't work on her, but earth tones did. Before too long, Miranda was pulling things on her own and holding them up, staring into the mirror as if she was seeing a future that, finally, didn't scare her at all.

"Can I try them on?" she asked. Claire waved at the shop owner, who unlocked the dressing rooms. Claire passed things over the top to Miranda, and leaned against the door.

"Nothing for you?" the woman asked, raising her eyebrows. Claire felt the look that swept over her outfit as if it had been an actual red-hot laser. She'd just been scanned, and found wanting.

"Well, maybe a top," she said. "Maybe."

"I have just what you need."

And she did, too. Claire ended up modeling it in front of the triple mirror, frowning at her reflection. With the khaki pants she'd picked today, the pink-and-white lace top looked weirdly appropriate--and kind of sexy. She'd come a long way in the last few months, but she wasn't sure she was ready for sexy in public. That just wasn'ther.

The dressing room was too quiet. Claire knocked on the door. "Miranda? Hey, come out and take a look at this. Tell me if it's too much."

Miranda peeked around the edge, face gone ghost pale. Her eyes were dark, with that blank stare that people found so weird.

She was having one of her things. A vision.

"It has blood on it," she said. "You shouldn't buy it if it has blood on it."

Claire looked down. The top was perfectly clean. "Mir--"

Miranda suddenly opened the door. She had on one of the tops she'd been trying on, and Claire had a hurried impression that it looked totally good on her, but the girl was focused on something else entirely. She grabbed up all of the clothes, headed straight for the counter, and said, "I need this one, this one, and the one I have on." She put thebuy pile down and then handed over the other one. "I just can't see myself in this, though."

Claire realized she meant that literally. As in, Miranda had looked into her future and couldn't see herself actually wearing that top. Bizarre. The shopkeeper didn't seem to get it, though--why would she?--and named her price. Miranda paid, and Claire barely had time to dig out five bucks for the pink-and-white top she had on before Miranda grabbed her arm and said, "We have to go. Hurry."

"But--"

"Now!"

Miranda hurried her outside, down the sidewalk, and then quickly turned her left, into an alley between two buildings. "Hide there," she said, and pointed. "Right there. Don't come out, Claire. Don't come out for anything. You understand? It's okay. It's going to be okay, butnot if you come out. "

"Miranda, what in the hell--?"

Miranda's face was chalk white now, but very determined. She looked down at herself and said, in a sad sort of voice, "It's completely cute, isn't it? This shirt?"

"Yes, it's perfect. But what are you--?"

"Hush." Miranda turned toward the mouth of the alley and pointed again into the shadows behind some trash cans. "Don't come out!"

"Wait. What happens if I do?"

"I die," Miranda said very simply. "Hide."

Claire didn't like it, but there was something utterly sure about what Miranda had just said, and for all

that Claire didn't believe in psychic predictions and that sort of stuff, she couldn't deny that there was something about Miranda. Something weird and powerful, at times.

So she pressed herself into the shadows.

For a long few seconds, nothing happened, and then she heard footsteps. Confident high-heel taps that echoed off the bricks, then slowed and came to a stop.

"I saw you come in here," said Gina's voice. "Freak. Hiding in dark alleys now? What's that about? You live in a Dumpster? Not that I'd be surprised."

Miranda didn't answer. Claire almost stepped out, because Gina was alone, and anyway, there was no way she was going to let Miranda face her down alone, no matter what Mir had said about it.

As if the girl knew what she was thinking, her hand moved behind her back and made a pushing motion. Stay there.

And Claire did. She didn't like it, but she did.

"You're going to hit me," Miranda said. "You're going to break my nose."

"Damn straight," Gina said. She sounded lazy and happy, as if she was enjoying all this. "You're lucky that's all I want to do. If you move, if you fight back, you're going to get it worse. Understand?"

"Yes," Miranda said. "I understand. If I don't let you hit me, you're going to kill me."

Claire actually felt a tremor of chill run through her, like a wave, because there was justno doubt in Miranda's voice at all. It wasn't scared. It was just...factual, as if she'd already seen it happen.

"You're smarter than you look, you spaced-out nutcase. So, yeah. Let me break your nose, and I'll let you walk away. You fight, and it gets worse and the knife comes out. We're clear?"

"Yes."

Claire tried to move again, because she knew with a nightmarish certainty what was going to happen and that she had to do something,had to , but again, Miranda made thatstay put motion.

"It's okay," Miranda said in an eerily empty, remote voice. "It's not going to hurt that bad."

"Bullshit," Gina said, and she must have hit her, because Claire heard the wet crunch of the punch and Miranda's thin little cry, and then the sound of a body falling.

Gina laughed. Claire pushed off from the wall, but it was too late. Gina was walking off, humming to herself while she went. If she hadn't been wearing high heels, she'd have beenskipping .

Miranda was getting up already, holding her broken, bleeding nose in one hand. Claire, angry and shocked, trembling with the sudden rush of frustrated adrenaline, started to go after Gina, but Mir grabbed her and shook her head furiously--and as she did, some of the blood gushing from her nose spattered Claire's new pink-and-white shirt. Claire didn't care at all. She crouched down next to the girl, helping her stand and holding her steady.

"Thatbitch !" Claire said. "You stay here. I'll--"

"No!" Miranda said. Her voice was muffled and small, but her eyes were wide and fierce. "It's the best thing. It's only my nose. She'd kill us."

"Then we're calling the cops. I amnot letting her get away with this...."

"Oh, don't worry. She won't," Miranda said. And beneath the blood, Claire was almost sure she smiled. "She's going to get in her car and drive real fast, and in two minutes she's going to run a red light. And then she's going to get hit by a big truck. My nose will set straight.She's going to the hospital, and she'll be there for a while."

Claire stared at her, this little, fragile girl with her bloody face and scary smile. Finally she said, slowly, "Mir, did you plan for that to happen?"

"No," Miranda said. "But sometimes it just happens the right way after all. It wouldn't have been right if you'd come to help me, though. She'd have stabbed me, right here, and then you, and she'd have died, too, but later and a lot worse. Amelie wouldn't have liked it."

It was fascinating and freaky, but Claire believed her. Every weird and scary word of it. She shook it off, with difficulty, and took Miranda back into the resale shop, where the clerk got her cleaned off, packed her nose with tissue, and even helped Claire sponge off the blood from her shirt.

As she did, Claire heard the distant sound of a car horn, then a crash, and then silence. She looked over at Miranda, who'd tilted her head back to slow the bleeding, and Miranda glanced back and shrugged.

"Karma," she said. "It's a bitch."

Miranda was dead right about Gina, not that Claire had any doubts; the accident was the talk of Morganville for days, and opinions were mostly on the "yay, finally" side of the scale. Gina had earned her suffering, not that Claire took much pleasure in it. She'd be weeks in the hospital and months in rehabilitation for the broken legs.

Miranda showed up the next morning for coffee, and the morning after, as if it had been planned that way. She probably saw it as inevitable, which it was, once she started showing up. A self-fulfilling prophecy. Eve thought it was weird, but she accepted it the way she accepted most things. It wasn't that she disliked Miranda; she just didn't know what to make of her, Claire thought. And she was fascinated by Miranda's psychic abilities.

Though she was just as shocked and fascinated by the spectacular bruises on Miranda's face and around her eyes. Double black eyes, and a swollen nose that had been reset at the hospital. "You look awful," Eve said on the second morning. "What coloris that? Eggplant? You look like a special effect, Mir." She poured Miranda a cup of coffee and set out the milk and sugar.

"It's okay," Miranda said. Her voice sounded a little muffled and congested, but she was smiling. "It's just a bruise. Nothing much."

"It looks painful." Eve frowned at her over her own cup of coffee. "Seriously, if Gina wasn't already all busted up, I would be on her. I mean it."

"I know," Miranda said. "Thank you. But I'm okay. Really."

Michael came in through the swinging doors and smiled at Eve, and his smile turned brittle and strange when he saw Miranda sitting there. She didn't look at him. "Hey, Mir," he said, and it sounded casual, but Claire had seen that first, unguarded look. Michael got his sports bottle out of the refrigerator and warmed it up in the microwave, then left.

Claire got up and followed him into the living room. "Hey," she said. "Wait. What was that look?"

"What look?" Michael asked, trying to sound innocent. He took a drink from the sports bottle, and a little red flashed like sparks through his blue eyes. "I'm just wondering what she's doing here."

"Having coffee."

"Yeah, I can see that. Why?"

"Oh, come on, Michael--"

"I don't want to sound like a hard-ass, but Miranda's trouble," he interrupted. "Look, I feel for the kid--I do--but you have to understand, she's not...she's not safe to be around. Things happen. They always have."

"She's akid . And it seems like nobody cares about her!"

"It's not that. It's just--" Michael gave up, sighed, and shook his head. "Not all strays are safe to bring inside, Claire. Trust me on that one."

Miranda was still sitting in exactly the same spot when Claire came back, still stirring her coffee with the same slow, dreamlike motions. Without looking up, she said, "He's right, you know."

"What?"

"Michael told you it wasn't safe to be around me. Well, he's right, mostly. Things do happen. Bad things, mostly."

Across the table, Eve looked up from her reading material, which looked like a celebrity gossip mag. She didn't say anything, but there was something weird about the way she looked at Miranda. Bad memories.

Miranda sipped her coffee. "I only came today because I needed to tell you something," she said. "They all