Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [36]
“How y’doing, Sarah? Feel better?”
“I was thirsty and you gave me drink,” I hint.
Grinning, she hands me the beer can. It is almost full and I must sit up so as not to dribble on myself. Refreshed and feeling clearer-headed, I hand her back the can.
“Enough?”
“Drink deeply, but never too deep,” I remind her.
“The Law—the Jungle—seems so far away,” she muses. “Not real. Dozens of kids living strung up and strung out in a big tin can. Weird. I kind of miss it.”
“Sarah’s awake?” Professor Isabella comes from her room, a book in one hand. “I’m delighted. I suspect all the new things today have been enough to unsettle her.”
“I’m not sure,” Abalone says, sucking on her beer. “She took to the Jungle easy enough and you’ve been teaching her gently enough. No, she seemed to flip when I mentioned Dylan.”
“Yes,” Professor Isabella nods. “We’ve both been suspicious that our girl knows more than she can tell us. You may be triggering some painful memories.”
“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought,” I add, “I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, and with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste.”
“Still,” Abalone says, “whenever you’re ready, Sarah, I think we need to review the rest of what I’ve found.”
She picks up one of the “Brighton Rock” cards and turns it in her hands before speaking again.
“We know someone wants Sarah and, frankly, I don’t understand all the psychobabble in her records. I can research, but it seems a waste of time with you two here.”
Professor Isabella touches my forehead, softly, lightly. She pushes back my hair.
“There is no fever, Sarah. Are you strong enough to go on?”
“I am a brother to dragons, a companion to owls,” I state defiantly, and my dragons thrum approvingly.
“Okay, then.” Abalone flips open the tappety-tap and Professor Isabella sits by my feet on the sofa.
Betwixt and Between are reassuringly strong, but I remember their tears. I will learn, but I will not go away from them as Dylan did.
Abalone looks at me and I nod.
“Here we go then.” She strokes my past up from her memory. “Like I said before you decided to crash your hard drive, Sarah, these records list a brother, Dylan, and a sister, Eleanora. When I get a feel for the Institute’s system, I’ll try and learn more about what’s with them.”
“Wait,” Professor Isabella asks. “You said the Institute’s system. I’d assumed that it was defunct—no more.”
“Me, too,” Abalone says, “but I think ‘gone underground’ would be a more accurate description. The Ivy Green Institute is still out there and I suspect that it wants Sarah back.”
I shudder, flashes of memory surfacing. Rolling hills, manicured lawns, all seen only through windows. I am small, but if I pull over a stool, I can see. Sometimes Dylan watches with me, his dragon close at hand.
“She’s getting white again.” I hear Professor Isabella’s voice as from a distance. “Give me that!”
I taste cocoa so hot that it burns and the burning forces away the memories. Taking the mug, I smile as confidently as I can. A few more sips and Abalone continues.
“The coding here is screwy, but I’ve finally resolved it into a chart or graph. Thing is, I can’t quite figure out what is being measured here.”
Professor Isabella leans forward and looks. “There should be a key for those colors. Did you check for hypertext files?”
“Too obvious.” Abalone swats herself and searches; in a few moments she has superimposed a block of orange on the pale blue screen. My head swims when I try to read the text, so I lean back and listen.
“The black line indicates something called ‘magical thinking’ the red line is empathy; the purple is memory: lavender for short-term, violet for long-term,” Abalone reads, shaping her mouth around unfamiliar jargon.
“What was that chart titled, Abalone?”
Abalone flips off the hypertext. “‘Brain Scan Mapping.’ Weird. I didn’t know the brain could be mapped.”
“Well, it’s not completely, but my guess is that a