Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [33]
“When she left,” Between cuts in, “Martinez decided to heal his ego by telling another cop who wandered in how we got caught. Seems Abalone accidentally used the VIN number from a car that had been stolen. I guess when she scanned for a likely number it was neither on file as in use or as stolen. When we went driving by, eager rookie Martinez ran our number as practice and nearly lost it when he hit the jackpot.”
I giggle and Abalone looks at me. She clearly is feeling guilty at putting me in danger. I wish I could tell her what Betwixt and Between have told me, but the knowledge is walled in my throat.
I settle for hugging her. “True luck consists not in holding the best cards at the table: luckiest he who knows just when to rise and go home.”
She smiles ruefully. “You think I pushed my luck, Sarah? Took that bucket to the well one too many times?”
I shrug, motioning to indicate that we are free. “The net of law is spread so wide, no sinner from its sweep may hide. Its meshes are so fine and strong, they take in every child of wrong. O wondrous web of mystery! Big fishes alone escape from thee!”
Abalone squeezes me. “You’re right, Sarah. Don’t worry about the rent. I’ve enough socked by for now. I’ll let this scam die for now—it’s a big city.”
When we get home, Professor Isabella is nervously waiting. Abalone fills her in as we sit in the kitchen drinking thick, strong hot chocolate.
“I’m glad you got her out,” Professor Isabella sighs. “Clever of you to reprogram the station’s computer before going in so certain icons would trigger rather extraordinary results. You really are a wizard.”
“The best part,” Abalone admits, her good humor returning, “was that I’d reconfigured some of the standard commands I knew they use to try and stop what I’d done. So when they tried to turn off the sprinkler system, it poured harder and when they tried to override the lights, they triggered other stuff that made it even harder for them.”
She sips her cocoa. “I think most of Sarah’s records were wiped. She says she got my message and didn’t tell the secretary anything. I made sure her photos and prints were wiped. We couldn’t salvage the fake IDs but that’ll be minimal help.”
“If they even try and track her,” Professor Isabella agrees. “The case is minor enough and they still can return the stolen goods. What I want to know is how Sarah got out of the secretary room.”
“Yeah, those things are impossible unless you know the code. Maybe I accidentally tripped it by freaking out their computer system,” Abalone sounds unconvinced.
I consider trying to explain and give up almost before I begin. “Walls have ears.”
They look at me and then sigh. I smile and shrug, palms held upward, but when I go to bed that night, a happy little voice sings, “I got a secret.”
Eight
FEBRUARY IS ICY AND UGLY. OFTEN WHEN PROFESSOR ISABELLA and I go to a museum (I have learned that there are more than one—I had believed that the one was vast enough to hold everything), Abalone insists that we take a cab or rent a car.
She confesses shamefaced that she is doing legit freelance programming work. However, she hastens to add that all her ID is forged and the names are tags. I am curious why she is so secretive about her identity. Even Professor Isabella and I only know her by an alias.
The help Peep and Chocolate gave us has reopened our grapevine to the Jungle. They never meet us at our apartment, nor do we go to the Jungle. I wonder if Abalone misses Head Wolf as much as I do. She must, but she never shows it.
Sometimes we will cruise in a rented car with tinted windows by the corner where the little wolves strut in their tights or second skin trousers. Under the watchful eyes of the Four, we’ll buy a night of the boys’ time. Then the two Tail Wolves become little boys for a night.
“We can’t do it too often,” Abalone cautions one night when I start weeping after dropping the boys off. “We can’t make them soft. They’ve got to stay fierce,