Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls (12 page)

But two days later finds me with auburn hair and dark brown eyes and red corneas. The cosmetic contacts that Abalone has brought me burn somewhat. She promises me that she will bring me other sets.

And then we go on living. Professor Isabella takes me to museums and as February moves into March, the Brighton Rock ads are withdrawn from the market. The candy stays on, however. Apparently, the ad campaign had been useful for something.

One afternoon, I am changing myself into the brown-
eyed stranger in the mirror when there is a banging in the direction of the living room window. One contact in, one contact out, I rush into the living room, bumping into Professor Isabella.

As we are jostling to get through the door, Abalone, still scrubbing sleep from her eyes, steps into the room.

“Damn!”

She runs forward and shoves the window open. Two small figures fall into the room. I recognize Chocolate's dreadlocks and hear Conejito Moreno cursing indignantly from the bottom of the pile.

“Peep! Chocolate!”

Forgetting that we are in hiding, I joyfully raise the boys to their feet, removing Conejito Moreno's ears from beneath Peep's foot and handing him to his friend.

Close to tears, the little Tail Wolf clings to me.

“Abalone! Sarah! We be of one blood, ye and I, and
Madre de Dios
, they have the Head Wolf!”

Her eyes widening and suspicion bordering her mouth, Abalone checks outside before shutting the window. Flicking the lock into place, she turns.

“Slow, Peep. Don't flip. How'd you find us?”

“We look for two days, Abalone,” Chocolate says. “It not easy to find you, but we got lotta ears and eyes, but this no matters. What we here for is not friendly visit. They got Head Wolf.”

“They?” Professor Isabella asks, simultaneously with Abalone.

“Yeah,” Peep is shaking too hard to continue, so Chocolate fills in.

“They, the Home from where Sarah come. Two days ago. Come and get him with the police and all when he go to do some fix-up on the tromp the eye painting over the east Jungle entrance. Take him so fast that not even the Four can help. We come here 'cause Sarah know that Home, maybe she know why they want Head Wolf.”

“Shit!” Abalone has hooked up her tappety-tap and is fingering icons and pulling files. “Let me tap into the Home.”

Professor Isabella leads the frightened boys to the sofa and I go for coffee with lots of sugar and cream. As I pour and mix, I listen.

“What is the Pack doing about this?” Professor Isabella asks.

“Not much good,” Peep says. “Most of the
lupos
were sleeping when Head Wolf got taken—y'know the Law.”

“Why was Head Wolf out in the daytime?” Professor Isabella asks. “He's usually fairly strict about keeping his own rules.”

“Some gang come and slash and spray,” Chocolate says. “The canvas need quick fix now and then Head Wolf was checking how much work he need to do.”

“Then the police come,” Peep says. “We saw it all, 'cause we had stayed out for breakfast at Jerome's place.”

“Too damn little,” Chocolate mutters angrily. “We too damn little and too damn scared and by the time we get some of the Four it too late. But we run after fast and check that what we hear is true. They take Head Wolf to the nuthouse.”

My pulse is beating too fast. This is too much to be coincidence. My hands start trembling so hard that I slosh the hot, sweet coffee onto the rug. No one but the rug notices.

“Got it!” Abalone growls through bared teeth. “The boys are cool. Head Wolf is in the Home. By the Opened Door that freed me! They have a record on him, an old one.”

“Really old or fabricated, Abalone?” Professor Isabella asks.

Abalone taps and new characters and colors overlay the ones already on the screen. She studies for a moment.

“Really old, I think. Some of these programming commands are outdated. Only a truly paranoid forger”—she grins briefly—“would bother to write a new file in an obscure older mode—especially if all they needed was a reason to grab him.”

“Do you know where they got him?” Peep asks.

“Pretty good idea,” Abalone says, “and I can narrow it down.”

“Good! Then we go, we get the man out of there,” Chocolate says, already on his feet.

“Not yet,” Professor Isabella countermands, pressing him back to his seat. “We need to think on this.”

Abalone raises cold eyes, her hand rests on her shirt, touching the hidden tattoo. The Tail Wolves look guardedly at the older woman. Even I am aware of feeling a sudden flash of hostility.

“We aren't leaving him there,” Abalone states.

“No, I didn't expect you would,” Professor Isabella looks stern. “And neither do ‘They'—Brighton Rock failed. Now they're asking us to bring Sarah to them. Head Wolf is just bait, an engraved invitation.”

Abalone nods impatiently. “I guessed, but we don't need
to bring Sarah. Me, the Four, the boys—we can bust him out. Sarah'll be safe.”

I squeak indignantly. Professor Isabella smiles coldly.

“Why have they taken him to the Home? Because only Sarah knows it well—even my information, if they even know of me, is dated. My guess is that the only way we will get in is if Sarah is with us.”

“Us?”

“I may be of one blood with no Wolf,” Professor Isabella says with another cold smile, “but even Kaa fought with the Seonee Wolves when his friend was in danger. I'll help as I can.”

Professor Isabella insists that the Tail Wolves sleep. Agreeing, Abalone arranges for a message to be sent to the Jungle. Later, she will slip out to meet with the Four. Meantime, she calls up files on the Home, on Head Wolf.

“My oh My oh My oh My,” Abalone murmurs. “Shoulda known. Shoulda known this is how they'd see him.”

Her hand covers the picture between her breasts, a picture I suddenly realize was drawn by needle and pain and dye by Head Wolf himself with the same art through which he makes stone into wood and metal into paper. A twinge of envy touches me as I sense an intimacy beyond mere sex between this wild forger and her chosen lawgiver.

Professor Isabella leans over to look at the screen. Her tongue touches her dry lips as she reads the data.

“Ah, yes,” Professor Isabella agrees. “I suspected as much: paranoid with delusions, homicidal. Chemical equalizers unsuccessful. Quite a record here.”

Her musing trails off and she gestures with sudden urgency for Abalone to scroll the data upward.

“Did you see this?” she includes me with a glance. “He was once within the Mental Rehab system, a resident of the Home like both of us. But he was never released; he escaped.”

“Escaped?” Abalone scrolls the data. “Why would he have stayed so close? That's crazy!”

“Precisely,” Professor Isabella chuckles dryly.

I blush as I recall a monologue, half-forgotten in the drowsy indolence following lovemaking.

“To pull the very whiskers of death,” I say.

Abalone looks at me, “Head Wolf said that to you?”

I nod.

“He got a kick out of it then,” she says, “out of knowing he was hidden right under their eyes and that they couldn't touch him.”

“Couldn't?” Professor Isabella tilts her head. “Or didn't care to? Still, Abalone, I recognize this code. It means they have him scheduled for transfer within twenty-four hours. They may have decided that we weren't going to respond and wanted him out of the way.”

“If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,” I say.

“
Macbeth
, Act One, scene seven,” Abalone replies, reaching for her night cloak.

“Lines one and two,” Professor Isabella adds, her words punctuated by the sharp, closing snap of the door as Abalone heads out into the night.

T
HE NEXT NIGHT COMES COLD AND DARK
,
DARK
,
THAT IS
,
IN
the shadows and alleyways through which we make our approach on the Home. In the skies above, where we might seek omens of favor, the ambient city lights have washed out the stars as too much milk washes the taste from coffee.

We rattle through the subway tunnels to a rendezvous point where Abalone says we will be met by the Four.

“They've abandoned the Jungle,” she had told us when she returned the night before. “The place isn't safe any longer. Even the social workers are daring to come there now—got a couple of the Cubs. Gray Brother told me that he and Head Wolf had anticipated such possibilities and that there are other hideouts. None so good as the Jungle, but they'll do for now.”

When we skulk our way to the rendezvous point, we are met almost immediately by a slight figure, white and grey in the shadows: Edelweiss. Murmuring the Master Words for
greeting, she slips a hood over her icy hair and beckons for us to follow.

We do. Me, once again cream-haired and jade-eyed, though the former is mostly concealed by a cap and the latter behind tinted shades. Betwixt and Between ride in a day-pack that leaves my hands free. Professor Isabella is next, incongruous in her tidy tweed slacks and matching jacket. Her soft-soled pumps click slightly against the sidewalk as she walks, her breath coming a little fast. Abalone is once again blue-lipped and fire-topped, her wolf tattoo shows through a cutaway in her charcoal skintights, her tappety-tap hanging from a broad belt around her waist.

I nearly do not recognize where we have come until Edelweiss is pushing the door open. Then the scent of stale coffee and cream of mushroom soup wafts from the humid interior and I know.

Professor Isabella whispers, “When I Was Hungry.”

I can hear puzzlement in her voice.

We walk down an L-shaped hallway, through the darkened kitchen, toward the rumble of voices. I recognize several and realize that my heart is quickening in anticipation of rejoining the Pack.

Anticipation flips into dismay as Edelweiss leads the way into the pale fluorescent light of the main cafeteria. The long plastic tables have been shoved into a rough U and the Pack members lounge on tabletops, chairs, and floor. In the center of the group, sitting stiffly on a garish orange chair, is Jerome.

No bonds restrain him, yet he sits as if tied. Only his eyes move, watching the young men and women with fear and
betrayal. I wonder to how many he has given food and shelter.

Although Edelweiss means to keep us in the L, I circle right and run forward, skidding on the linoleum floor and ending up on my knees by Jerome's chair.

He puts out a hand to steady me and though his grip is strong, I feel an almost imperceptible trembling.

“You know these people, Sarah?”

I nod. “I was a stranger and ye took me in.”

“So that's where you went. In all your visits, you never told me.” Jerome's hand does not leave my arm, but his attention shifts outward. “What do all of you want here?”

Grey Brother, the leader of the Four, runs his finger along the wide scar beneath his right eye. The scar is genuine, his lime green hair and orange eyes are not. He caresses the howling wolf tattooed on his left forearm before speaking.

“We're gonna free Head Wolf,” he says, “and you're going to get us in to him. We know you work in the nuthouse.”

“The nuthouse—the Home, y'mean?” Jerome asks, and at Grey Brother's nod continues. “Sure, I work there, but in the cafeteria. I never go much beyond the kitchen areas. I don't know where your friend is.”

“No?” Grey Brother weighs and dismisses this. “So, you gotta have a pass. Open the door for us and draw us a map. We'll go from there.”

“Pass? Sure, but it's only good if the security computer clears it and at this hour they won't clear me without some personnel checking.” Jerome chuckles without humor.
“They're always worried about the staff stealing from the place.”

The gathered Pack members mutter angrily, nervously.

“Shit!” Grey Brother says, flipping open his knife. “You're no good to us.”

I stand and spread my arms, interposing myself between Jerome and the angry youth. Words are not necessary and I stare, willing him to remember me as one of Head Wolf's favorites.

Whether he does or not, he steps back and the knife vanishes up his sleeve.

“Sarah, I won't hurt him—now—but what are we going to do about getting to Head Wolf?”

I meet the orange eyes. “The next way home's the farthest way about.”

He studies me. The room becomes so quiet that I can hear Abalone and Professor Isabella coming in past Edelweiss. I don't look to them—this must be my victory or Grey Brother will never treat me as an equal.

After what seems too long, the leader says, “You're offering to get us in there? Do you really remember the place?”

I laugh. “The very remembrance of my former misfortune proves a new one to me.”

“I'll take that as ‘yes,'” Grey Brother decides. “Abalone, you're with us on this?”

“If you promise not to harm Jerome,” she says. “I can get you through the security, better than he could.”

Grey Brother stares at her. “He's seen us.”

“Doesn't matter. If we get Head Wolf away, they'll never
find us. If we don't, what he knows can't hurt us any worse.”

Again he nods. “He can wait the night here and go free in the morning.”

“Let me call my wife!” Jerome cuts in. “She'll worry herself sick.”

Something melts the hard lines of Grey Brother's face. “She will? Then we'll get you home. Bumblebee, Tapestry, when we've been away an hour, escort the man home.”

Jerome's eyes widen with surprise. “I'll keep quiet, brother. I don't want to get involved with this. Some of those doctors ask questions in ways I don't want to try. Just let me go home.”

He whispers softly, so only I can hear, “Take care, Sarah. I don't know who scares me more—your friends or your enemies.”

An hour or so later, we are ready to go. Abalone has learned that Head Wolf is being held in a maximum security area on the tenth floor. The plan she and Grey Brother evolve involves various feints to draw attention away from our goal.

“They must be tightly timed,” Abalone cautions, “or we'll be dealing with the police, too. I will reroute what backup calls I can, but I may miss some.”

Grey Brother briefs his various teams, then turns away without another glance for them. He has insisted on heading the group that will break into Head Wolf's cell. He has insisted equally strongly that Abalone remain outside.

“You don't need to be inside,” he states flatly. “What
you're doing is too important to let you get flipped off by some stray shot. Sorry, Shellfish, you're out.”

Abalone stares at him with such pure anger I fear that he will melt. Then she nods stiffly.

“Professor Isabella goes. She may be slow, but she knows the Home and she understands Sarah's talk. You'll need that, Grey Brother. Trust me.”

He agrees and so I find myself preparing to reenter the Home through an infrequently used fire port on the eighth floor. Our group is small: Grey Brother, Professor Isabella, me, and a member of the Four tagged Midline. Peep operates the hovercat, wafting us silently to the iris in the wall.

On cue, the iris cycles open when we pause. Faintly, we hear shouts and know that the first diversion has begun. Without a word, we move.

Midline goes first, a slender Oriental with unnaturally golden skin. He steadies himself with a lean, muscled arm, then he is gone into the corridor. When there is no alarm, we follow, Grey Brother courteously assisting Professor Isabella.

The familiar scents of antiseptic not quite concealing urine and illness make me shudder. From my pack, Betwixt and Between warble, in duet, “Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, be it ever so humble, there's no place like home.”

I shush them, for though I know that none of the other three can hear them, I need my ears. Concentrating tentatively, I hear whispers from wall, door, carpeting.

Midline trots a few steps ahead, Grey Brother covers the rear. We make no effort to hide from the security cameras.
If Abalone is doing as promised, they will record nothing but empty corridor, white walls, and light green carpet.

Our goal is a service crawlway that will take us up between floors without triggering the alarms in either stairwell or elevator. I listen for it and find it, locating its slight complaint over an aching hinge.

I tap Grey Brother, pointing to where I can hear the door. Squinting, he looks up, nods. Midline braces him and he opens the hatch, hanging the portable ladder he has carried wrapped around his waist. When this is done, Midline climbs up. We ascend after.

All of this is done without sound, so I hear clearly. The hatch sighs on opening, the ceiling moans when the ladder grapples dig in, the metal rungs in the access tunnel gasp in anticipation of our feet, wheeze as we pass.

For the first time, I wonder at the humanness of these sounds. Why should something with neither lungs nor nerves express pain or displeasure as a human might? Some filter vibrates loose behind my eyes as I contemplate this; my senses tremble. I fight back a strong urge to retch.

No. I cannot lose control. Suspecting that to hear and see as the inanimate do would drive me madder than I am, I push away the thoughts. The power to perceive so is there—but the symbols my mind chooses are safer.

Only Betwixt and Between notice my lapse. They rumble reassurance as we continue to climb.

On the tenth floor, we emerge into a small bathroom, tiled in pale blue. A coatrack near the door bears two heavy coats and a hat.

“Nurses?” Midline whispers.

“Guards,” Grey Brother replies with a quick shake of his head. “Abalone says that they have a roving patrol of the floor. We'll need to watch for them.”

Their conversation does not keep me from listening for what the tenth floor can tell me. Already, I am learning to filter out the inconsequential—a different skill than the simple defensive blocking that made me nearly deaf to all but those close to me like Betwixt and Between. With gratifying speed, I find what I am hunting for; even before Midline eases the door to the corridor open, I know the direction we must go.

I wait until we come to a cross corridor and Midline hesitates. Then I tap him and gesture right. My guidance is accepted without question and I feel a surge of power. I am almost disappointed when he takes his next lead from something stenciled in black on a wall.

But soon such pettiness is washed back by a tingle of warning. I know we are nearing Head Wolf's room, but this is more. I strain to hear over the complaints of the carpet as we step, over the chortle of the lights as we make shadows on the white walls. For a moment, it seems that there is too much, that I will not be able to sort out the strain that troubles me. Then I hear it.

Joy. Pure, malicious joy.

My dragons hiss as they too sense what I do. I cast about seeking to localize the source. When I do, it is too late.

Midline has reached the door that ends the corridor. His cautious approach melts into boyish enthusiasm as he sees the letters on the card in the door. Only his impulsive dash
forward saves him from the tranquilizer sliver that lances into the corridor from what had appeared to be a flat wall.

Too late, we all realize that a white-projected hologram has concealed the open doorways to each side of the dead-end corridor, one to each right and left, before and behind. Now that we know they are there we can detect a faint shimmer from their presence, like a mirage without heat.

Head Wolf's black door waits, solid, closed, and locked at the corridor's end.

Midline rolls flat beside the left side door nearest to him. Here he is safe from the man who had fired at him, who stands inside, dart gun in hand. The angle is bad from the other doors, so Midline is marginally safe, but pinned.

I also roll toward the wall, startled when Grey Brother jumps up, punching a drop ceiling panel aside and pulling himself upward into the recess. With the litheness of the Jungle, he vanishes.

Only Professor Isabella does not move quickly enough; the dart fired at her comes at an angle and buries itself in the thick tweed of her winter coat.

From where I am squashed against the wall, wishing myself as small as my dragons, I can see the anonymous halos of our four attackers, white ghosts, outlined by an unreal wall that still chuckles over the deception it has wrought.

Overhead, Grey Brother's voice is muttering intently. I cannot make out the words, but suddenly the holographs vanish. The figures of our attackers are clearly visible for a brief moment, then everything vanishes as the lights go out.

But before darkness shrouds us, I recognize one of the
people waiting in the doorway. Her smile glints from perfect teeth: Dr. Haas.

Darkness favors those of us from the streets. I force myself to remember this as I crawl rapidly toward the glow of the small, red safety light on Head Wolf's door. My allies must remember this too, because no one activates the small light sticks we each carry.

Our enemies are less certain of themselves. Their deception had necessitated turning off the self-powered lights over each cell door; the only remaining light is from the bars over the distant stairwell and over Head Wolf's door.

One by one, hand flashes come on: three clear targets revealed. I think I know who the holdout is, but she must wait. Head Wolf needs me. On hands and knees, I move to his door.

Before the lights went out, I had seen the keypad to the left of the door. Abalone had reported that each lock was a self-contained unit so she could not open the door, even when she got into the Home's computer system. Grey Brother carried some materials to force the door, but he would need light to use them. My way was no longer just an option—it was the only hope left to us.