Another bang from inside.
“Yeah,” I said, my voice dry. The agents must’ve found our houseguest.
“Down here,” Red whispered. We stepped away from the glass doors and crouched against the outside wall of the building. After several moments of silence came the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. And voices. Agitated ones.
I tilted my head toward the doors, straining to hear.
“Hazel?” a woman called. Agent Sanghani. “If you’re here, can we talk?”
We stayed quiet and hunched.
(I wanted to run inside and scream, Yes, yes please, I can’t do this by myself, I need your help, I need—Mom—)
“Nothing in those rooms,” a male voice said. “I think the girls were here, though. Let’s check the bathr—Christ!” A door slammed shut. Footsteps.
“It’s called a cat,” Sanghani said dryly.
“Real funny. I almost shot it. Those troll pricks have me all nervous. How did one get to the ninth floor? It can’t squirm under the door, right?”
“You’re the one who’s been dealing with them for the past two days, not me. Call containment. And ask the mom what to do with that cat.”
By my side, Rainbow mouthed, Troll?
Two days? I wondered to myself.
“Living room and kitchen are empty,” Sanghani said. “Let’s check . . .” Her voice became too faint to understand.
Moments later, I heard the familiar thwap thwap thwap of leathery wings. Neven came from below, flying almost vertical to the building, and shot past the balcony. Wind rushed past our faces. She turned nimbly in midair and landed. The balcony was so narrow she barely fit; the only way she managed was by stretching her legs out so the bulk of her body reached above the balcony railing.
Yells came from inside.
“A whistle?” Neven said flatly. “Really.”
“We couldn’t—” I started.
“Later. Get on. Their choppers can’t be far.” As we scrambled onto her back, her tail aiding us, she glared at the agents inside the apartment. They weren’t shooting. They might have been stunned, or just waiting for instructions.
I clutched Neven’s scaly neck, ready for an abrupt takeoff. A strange sound caught my attention, like a rush of air.
Four climbed onto Neven’s back last. She probably heard the same sound, because we looked up simultaneously.
And saw a net dropping from above.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It was heavy, and it hurt.
The net knocked the air from my chest and pinned me to Neven’s neck. Several rapid thuds sounded nearby, like metal hitting stone.
I screamed. My backpack pressed painfully into my spine. I twisted my head (hairs snagged in the net—ow) to see behind me. Neven’s wings were trapped under the net.
So were the others, squirming against Neven and each other.
There hadn’t been any choppers overhead. The net must’ve been dropped from the rooftop. They’d set a damn trap.
Black lumps the size of my fist—the thuds I’d heard—lay scattered on the balcony floor and hung over the balcony railing. They pulled the net down on us tight. Neven was pushing against the material with one front paw, but it didn’t give. The weights didn’t even shift.
“Those industrious little humans,” Neven growled. “The rift sent them some useful materials over the years, apparently.”
More agents had arrived. From my position, I could just about see their legs through the balcony door glass.
I let out a cry of frustration. How many of those agents knew me? I’d trusted these people, I’d lived with them, and—
And I was the one who had gotten us in this position. I was the one who’d insisted on running.
“Who has the weapons?” I ground out. Maybe we could cut through the net.
“Me,” Rainbow said. “But I can’t reach.”
“Maybe I can.” Red’s voice sounded frail. “Let me try . . .”
I wormed a hand past Neven’s side, toward the knife in my back pocket. If Neven’s claws couldn’t cut through the net, I doubted my weird little canoe knife would make a difference. But I still had to try.
I wiggled the knife free and slid off the sheath. Wasn’t easy. Neven was still clawing at the net, a threatening rumble in her throat. Her every movement sent the cords scraping past the skin of my hand.
The balcony doors clicked open.
A set of feet stopped just short of the doorframe.
“Hazel,” the person said.
Director Facet.
I squirmed to look at him. The net pressed painfully into my cheek and shoved my glasses half off my face. Through one of the lenses, I managed an upside-down, slanted view of Facet. Same bright blue glasses as usual. Same long, skinny face. Same hair, except it looked more frazzled than I’d ever seen it.
He had bags under his eyes. Like he hadn’t slept at all.
Facet looked right at me. “Hazel. I’m sorry this had to happen. We had to capture that thing before anyone else got hurt. And we had to find you. The past day has been . . .” He pressed his lips together, as though searching for the words. “None of us knew this was coming,” he said. “Let’s get you out and talk.”
He sounded like he meant it. He looked like he meant it. He always did; I always believed it. I wanted to believe it, even now.
But I had to ask: “Days?” My jaw barely had room to move.
Facet had already turned away, presumably to arrange my release, but paused. “Come again? Is that . . . Are you holding a knife? Hazel, this isn’t you.”
“Not day. Days.” I struggled to understand my own words. I fixed my eyes on his, trying to look fierce rather than pathetic. “Past. Two. Days. Even before my birthday. There were trolls?”
He looked torn. “It’s complicated. We’ll talk about it. Your mother is waiting in the hall. She’s worried.”
“My dad?” I squeezed out.
“He’ll stay at the hospital a few days, but he’ll be good as new. We can visit him, if you want. And, hey, you can have your phone back. We found it by the road.” He smiled crookedly. “Look, I hate seeing you like this. We’ll get this net off you. We’ll sedate the animal—”
“The dragon,” Neven said. “Who has a name.
