Walker dropped his arms, carefully setting the needles on a small, circular table that stood near the doorway. “You’re allowed to unlock the doors, but that doesn’t mean you’re allowed access to the information in here. You know that.”
“Oh, come on. I’m curious. We’re already breaking the rules, so what’s one more? No one has to know,” Smith half challenged and half begged.
Walker stared at him until Smith’s shoulders fell. He edged back toward the main hall.
“Fine. I’ve gotta get back to my desk, anyway. I have a bad feeling about all of this, Walker. You need to be careful.”
“Now you sound like your mom,” Walker said lightly. “But I appreciate your concern.” He reached for the door, which looked solid but fell into place with the same rustle and shimmy as a curtain being pulled closed. When it had settled, shutting Smith out, Walker turned to face the room.
“Okay, Keira,” he whispered. “Time to go hunting.”
? ? ?
Keira watched Walker rifle through the books on the shelf. The double vision of the Hall of Records and the junk-filled spare room throbbed against the backs of her eyes. Walker finally found what he wanted, and when he pulled out a large, square case, Keira realized that the books in the case weren’t books at all. Walker carefully shook a flat circle, the size of a large plate, out of the protective square sleeve.
Oh, my God, it’s actually a record.
Keira hadn’t seen one in ages. Mr. Palmer had a stack of them in the back room of Take Note, but she never paid any attention to them. Walker put the record into a round depression on the tabletop. It had been carved into the surface of the table and it fit the record exactly.
Walker selected the smaller of the two needles he’d taken from Smith and held it above the record.
At least no one’s stabbing themselves, Keira thought with relief.
Walker looked up at her. “It’s really weird, not being able to hear you,” he whispered. She was uncomfortably aware that he was supposed to be alone in the little room. If someone heard him talking, that was bound to draw suspicion. “You can hear okay?”
She nodded.
“Okay, here we go.” He lowered the needle, tracing the irregular grooves in the surface of the record. “You have to feel the bumps to know what it says—it’s like . . . what do they call it? What blind people use to read in your world?”
“Braille,” Keira answered, even though he couldn’t hear her reply.
“Anyway, I’ll read it to you.” He cleared his throat.
Walker scrolled the needle around and around the record, reciting snippets of sentences as he looked for information.
“ . . . six two six, parentage Poppy Gates and human Mike Hannaford . . . ”
“ . . . discord apparent, combined with lack . . . ”
“ . . . failure of musicality . . . ”
“ . . . four seven declared insufficient . . . ”
“ . . . experiment officially at an end, the subjects are being eliminated in order of birth date, beginning with the eldest.” Walker slowed the needle and Keira guessed, from the mix of anticipation and dread on his face, that he’d found what they’d been looking for.
His voice got quieter. “After the integrity of the records was compromised by the program’s head, Dr.—”
The thump-swish of a door crashing open echoed through the Reynoldses’ house, breaking Keira’s concentration. The dog raced out of the bedroom, his tail wagging furiously.
“Hey, Buddy!” Jeremy’s voice bellowed in the kitchen.
Panic spread through Keira. What was he doing home? Why wasn’t Jeremy at school? She had to get out before he found her. The room’s only window was blocked by a dresser. The sound of paws racing down the hall made her spin back to face the door. Buddy the dog stood in the doorway and woofed at her.
“Buddy?” Jeremy called, concern tingeing his voice.
Keira looked over at Walker, who was bent low over the record, frowning in concentration. She waved her arm, hating the swishing noise the fabric of her shirt made. It sounded impossibly loud.
Buddy galumphed back down the hall. Keira heard his nails clicking against the linoleum back in the kitchen. He woofed again, and she could hear him racing back and forth between the kitchen and the bedroom. She was trapped. The closet was open, stuffed to bursting with shoeboxes. All the hiding places in the room were already full.
“What’s your problem, ya dumb dog?” Jeremy sounded irritated. She heard him start down the hall, as Buddy burst into the room dancing around her excitedly.
“Sssh,” she hissed, shooing him toward the other bedrooms. Her skin prickled with fear and she ducked behind the open door, pressing herself flat against the wall.
Jeremy’s footsteps stopped.
“Hello?” Jeremy called as he came down the hallway. The question had a lot of threat and no welcome in it. Buddy whined and darted back into the hall, twisting around to look at Keira. She glanced behind her.