His eyes are a little wild as he dusts off his lab coat. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I—” I open my mouth, start to explain. Dr. Harwood is one of the good guys, one of the real good guys. If he knew what was going on here, he would help us. Would try to stop it. I know he would.
But before I can get out another word, he interrupts. “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He glances around nervously, then whispers, “I know where your mother is.”
“You do?” I feel Draven’s hand on my back.
Dr. Harwood turns around, startled. “There isn’t time now. I will email you what I know.”
“You have no idea how much I—”
Before I can thank him, he grabs my hands in his. “And when you find her, tell her—” He leans in close. “This is important. You must remember exactly.”
I nod, totally confused, but he seems to need the confirmation.
“Tell her,” he whispers, “the scarlet phoenix flies at dawn.”
I blink. That’s the same weird message he’d texted to my mom’s phone.
“What does that—?”
Dr. Harwood backs away. “I must go. Tell her,” he says, then turns and rushes down the hall. He calls back over his shoulder, “Tell her.”
I look from Draven to Dante to Nitro. Each of them seems just as confused as I am. What the hell did that mean?
“That guy is bonkers,” Nitro says.
“Ya think?” Dante replies.
“What do you think—?” Draven starts to ask.
I shake my head. Now isn’t the time. My mom isn’t here, but Deacon is. We’ll get him out, and then we can worry about Dr. Harwood’s cryptic message.
We start running again.
“Hey there, Team Hillain,” Jeremy’s voice echoes in our ears. “The security system is mine.”
“Hillain?” Nitro snorts.
“Yeah, it’s a mash-up of hero and villain,” Jeremy explains.
“We get it,” Dante says. “It sucks.”
“Team Vero?”
I laugh despite myself. “Vero?”
“Well, what would you call us, smarty-pants?”
“Team Stop-screwing-around-and-tell-us-if-we’re-close,” Draven snaps as we speed around another corner.
Jeremy clears his throat nervously. “Yeah, you’re—oh shit!”
My relief goes up in smoke.
“What?” I demand.
“Nothing, they’re just—hold on.” A strange scraping sound screeches through the earbuds and then Jeremy is back. “Okay, that should hold them off. You’re three turns from the holding area. There’s a secure door in the way.” He hums for a second. “Well, there was. You can thank me later.”
Sure enough, we race around the third turn and find ourselves face-to-face with a reinforced glass door. Looks like the indestructible plastic Dr. Valik developed a couple years ago. It really is a masterpiece. And if it wasn’t the only thing between us and rescuing Deacon, I would love to take a moment to admire its practical application.
There is a keypad on the wall next to the door.
“The light is red, Jer,” I say.
I know before I try the door that it’s going to be locked. Without the access code, the security badge won’t help. I try it anyway. No luck.
I send a pulse of power at it, but nothing happens. I close my eyes, start to send a second pulse, but before I can, Jeremy squawks, “Don’t, Kenna! Whatever you’re doing just made you visible to the sensors. Focus on holding the electro-shield.”
“No worries.” Nitro holds out his hands. “I can take care of this.”
“No!” I dive for him an instant too late.
His dark orange fireball hits the door and ricochets. We both slam into the wall. The fireball barely misses us as it bounces down the hall.
Nitro grins at me sheepishly. “Thanks.”
“Thank me later.”
“Come on, geek boy,” Draven teases. “I thought you owned the system.”
“I do. I just—oh wait, I see.” The sound of rapid clicks transmits over the earbuds. The keypad light turns green. We’re already piling through the door when Jeremy says, “Try it now.”
“We’re in,” I tell him, and then words escape me.
We’d been too focused on the door itself to look inside, but now that we’re here, the holding area is not at all what I expected. I’d pictured something like a city jail, cells with steel bars and stainless toilets.
This is more like a hospital ward. The room is the size of a football field, with several rows of metal beds, tables really, running down the middle. The wall on one side is decorated with an array of hand and ankle cuffs hanging from the wall. The handcuffs are positioned about six feet off the ground and the ankle cuffs at least three feet apart. Anyone chained to the wall would be spread-eagle and helpless.
I don’t let myself imagine what this space would look like if it were at full capacity. Thankfully, today, the tables and the cuffs are all empty.