Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls - Jane Lindskold [61]
Professor Isabella raises a startled eyebrow at Midline’s choice of partner, but nods agreement. “Remember, though, Dylan and Eleanora may not wish to be ‘rescued’—this place may be all they know.”
Abalone stands, reaching for the door handle, before I can adjust to the shocking thought. I hadn’t wanted to leave the Home, had I? Would they feel any different about the Institute?
“I’ve unlocked the electronics on this level,” Abalone whispers. “Ignore any telltale that reads ‘Locked’ and go through.”
Then she presses down the handle and pulls the doors open. Quietly, I follow her into the hallway and to the right.
Walking after her down a hallway that seems nearly unchanged since I was a resident here, I am escorted by a shadow of my smaller self. Up and down this grey, nubby carpet, I would run, chasing Dylan and, more distantly I recall, Eleanora. I loved active games like these, because even then I couldn’t talk.
Dylan was less active than I. I think his head often hurt him, for my memories of him frequently show him with head in hands in a darkened room, speaking only in a husky whisper.
The click of the door latch startles me from my reverie and I walk after Abalone from the pearl and grey of the hallway into a man’s bedroom. It is empty, but even as I register that, I am recovering from the expectation that, like so much else, this room would be unchanged.
A faint scent of shaving lotion tints the air, but there is something besides its sharp spice—a mustiness that tells me even before Abalone turns on a low beam light and I see the dust on the dresser tops, the barren closet, its door ajar—that no one lives in this room any longer.
Dylan, apparently, has moved on and my dragons hiss my disappointment. Abalone has arrived at the same conclusion.
“They’ve moved him,” she whispers. “Let’s see if the others have had better luck.”
They haven’t. When I step into the hallway again, Abalone hard on my heels, someone grabs my shoulder and pulls me to the side. Someone else grabs Abalone. I feel myself quickly and efficiently patted down. The bag with Betwixt and Between is taken from me and Athena is removed from my shoulder.
I hear Abalone cursing a long and brilliant line of profanities that sear my ears. When I am allowed to turn, I see that they have taken her tappety-tap and that a large man in the same dark blue as those who attacked the Jungle is twisting her arm.
Professor Isabella and Midline are standing with guards behind them. The trickle of blood from one man’s lip reveals that Midline did not subdue easily. Too late, I remember the floor’s uniform soundproofing—a source of both amusement and annoyance to me and my sibs.
But memories are unimportant now, faced as we are with a half dozen guards and Dr. Lea Haas. If she is hoping to intimidate the Free People, she must be disappointed, for Professor Isabella’s words are calm.
“We were coming to meet you when these people leapt out from the stairwell. I am afraid that we were a bit over-matched, despite Midline’s valor.”
Midline shuffles his feet as if embarrassed, gaining a suspicious look from his bruised guard.
“Get them below,” Dr. Haas says coldly. “Accidents can be arranged, especially for dregs like these. Sarah, though, she can stay here—in her old room. There’s something in that.”
Her words give me an idea which is no sooner thought of then enacted. I slide my fingers to Athena’s control bracelet and touch a series of moves. Immediately, there is a loud, pained cry and a flurry of silver-grey wings.
“The bastard bit me!” is all the guard has time for before the Pack sprints for freedom.
Professor Isabella opens the door to my room, dodging inside. Midline chooses not to follow, preferring to deck the guard nearest to him. The other, the one with the bloody lip, is fumbling for a tranq gun.
I think I hear him mutter, “Not even for union rates,” but I am too busy to be sure.
With Professor Isabella and Midline freed up, I dive Athena at the guard nearest to Abalone. When he raises his hands to shield his face, Abalone throws