“Bryn?” Her sister’s voice echoed faintly from somewhere upstairs. “Oh thank God, I was so worried. Patrick was going out of his mind—” She appeared at the railing on the second floor and paused, eyes going wide. “What —?”
Maxine was steadily advancing on Bryn, who stood very still, trying not to look like any more of a threat than she already did. The Rottweiler was normally very sweet, but she was in guard mode now, and Bryn no longer smelled like someone who belonged here.
She smelled like danger.
“Call her off,” Bryn said. “Hurry.”
Mr. French had backed all the way to the stairs, clearly torn by confusion—he wanted to protect her, but his instincts were all in conflict with his senses. Maxine wasn’t conflicted at all. She just wanted Bryn gone.
Annalie hurried breathlessly down the stairs. “Maxine!” She clapped her hands sharply. The Rottie didn’t even glance her way. Liam was her master, and the others were just tolerated guests. “Maxine, stop!”
She grabbed the dog by her collar just as Maxine’s growl dipped down to a truly menacing range. Maxine, surprised, tried to lunge forward, but Annalie held on and dragged her back over the slick marble floor, into the library, and blocked her way out until she could slide the door shut and trap the dog inside. Maxine wasn’t one for barking, but she did then, deep-throated and vicious sounds of alarm. The scrabble of her claws against the wood made Bryn wince. “Jesus!” Annie said, and backed away from the door, then turned to look at her. “Oh. Oh God.”
“I need shots,” Bryn said. Her throat felt horribly dry, and her voice sounded thin. This was happening much faster than she was used to, but then, she’d been through a lot; the stabilizing influence of the single shot Liam had given her was wearing off incredibly fast. “Mr. French—”
He was huddling against Annie’s leg. Her sister knelt and petted him, then picked him up. Mr. French didn’t generally like being carried, but he didn’t resist this time.
And he never stopped watching Bryn with that dark, confused, betrayed stare.
“Come on,” Annie said. “Let’s get you fixed up.” She sounded less bothered than Bryn would have thought, but then again, Annie had been through six months with Mercer and Fast Freddy. “Where were you?”
“At a nursing home.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I,” Bryn said. She followed Annie into the back kitchen, spotlessly clean as always. “I can’t believe they left you alone here.”
“Well, there wasn’t much choice, apparently. Liam said he couldn’t let Patrick run off by himself, and Joe —”
Annie pulled the lockbox from the refrigerator and put it on the table, then frowned. “I don’t know the combination.”
Bryn punched it in, opened the box, and uncapped one of the syringes before rolling up her sleeve and plunging the needle home. The burn of the nanites was especially tough this time, and she sank down into one of the dining chairs until the pain subsided enough to breathe. “What about Joe?” She uncapped a second shot and rammed that one home as well. She just managed not to convulse this time, or scream. When the pounding faded from her ears, Annie was talking.
“…kids,” she said. “I don’t know where they went, but he was definite that he’d be back once they were safe, but I haven’t seen him or heard from him. It’s been…quiet.” Annie blinked, and Bryn saw tears shining on her cheeks before she hastily wiped them off with the back of one hand. “Why is this happening to us? Is it me? Are these people after me?”
“No, not—It’s not you, Annie.” She managed to get that out, somehow, even though the agony burning through her from head to toe was so great she thought her flesh might start to smolder. Then it started to fade, thankfully. Bryn felt a rush of warmth instead, the billions of tiny machines rushing through her body, searching for all the million things to put right again.
“Go? Go where?”
“The place I used to work. Pharmadene.”
“But—you said that was the last place I should ever go!”
“I know. But things have changed. It’s the only place we’ll be safe. They can protect us there.”
“I don’t know, maybe—maybe you should talk to Liam. Or Patrick. Here, I can call—”
Bryn grabbed her sister’s arm and forced it down to the table, and took the phone out of her hand. “No,” she said. “No calling. No discussion. Go pack, now. In five minutes, meet me at the car.”
Annie stared at her, frowning, and pulled her arm free to rub it resentfully. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” she said. “Jesus, Bryn. What’s eating you?”
Fear, Bryn thought. Reality. “Just do it.”
Her sister left, taking Mr. French with her. Bryn cleared the used hypos and put them into the biohazard container near the trash can, then went upstairs herself to grab a few things. She didn’t bother with anything she could replace—just the necessary overnight accessories and a couple of changes of clothing. A zip-up pair of low boots that provided both comfort and traction. She looked around the room a little blindly, but everything else was just noise now, just distractions she couldn’t afford in this moment.
She took the bag downstairs and put it in the trunk.
Maxine had gone quiet behind the library door. Bryn checked her own skin; it still had a gray cast to it, but didn’t look quite so off as it had. “Max?” she said, and tapped on the wood. “Maxine?” She got a low growl in response. Taking Maxine out of here would be difficult at best, and being trapped in a car with an angry, suspicious Rottweiler didn’t seem like a very good plan. But the dogs didn’t deserve what was likely to come calling here. If she wouldn’t leave Mr. French, she couldn’t leave the other dogs, either.
So she got the rest of them rounded up—the greyhounds, the pug, and the other Rottie, who was much less suspicious—and put them in the backseat of the car together. Annie came back with her bag, and Mr. French tagged at her heels; he sniffed at Bryn suspiciously, then barked and seemed comfortable enough to settle in near her again, though he didn’t beg for a petting.
When Annie let her out, Maxine kept her distance, too, but she didn’t growl or attack. Still, there was something in the Rottweiler’s steady attention that kept Bryn on her guard. “Put her in a crate,” she said. There were travel crates, folding ones, stacked in the utility room off the kitchen, and Annie put one together and got Maxine inside; she and Bryn managed to fit the crate into the back of the car, barely. It was an uncomfortable fit with all the other dogs, even with the pug and Mr. French up front—one on Annie’s lap, one at her feet on the passenger side.
But it wouldn’t be a long trip.
Bryn headed for Pharmadene.
“What
Annie wasn’t going to shut up until she got some kind of answer, even a half-assed one, so Bryn finally said, “I met them. Everything’s fine. This is part of the plan. I can’t tell you the details right now.”
“Oh,” Annie said, and sat back, crossing her arms. She got that thundercloud frown on her pretty face. “I see. So you don’t trust me.
“Jesus, Annie, why does everything have to be about you?” For a wild, bitter moment, Bryn almost regretted making the trip to get her sister, but then she felt a surge of shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, but— things are bad right now.”
Annie’s frown faded, and she said, much more gently, “Is that why Patrick’s not here with you? Has something happened?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Annie didn’t seem too convinced, but she contented herself with calming the excited, agitated pug
