As I watch, the door flies open and people start walking out. I duck down for a second, and then pop my head back up when I realize they’re walking away from me, down the hall. Leading the group is Whit, and just behind him walks a camouflaged guard holding a gun. Then comes Juneau—my heart squeezes painfully when I see her—and following her is another guard with a gun. Juneau isn’t carrying anything—neither her backpack nor her crossbow. Which isn’t surprising. It’s not like they’d let her bring weapons with her.
But again, I wonder why she hasn’t thought of some way to disarm them. Or disappear and slip away. Is it just because of the boy?
When I saw them outside, I had thought that maybe Whit would defend against any tricks Juneau could come up with. But the guard behind him doesn’t seem to be obeying his orders. It looks like Whit himself is being kept against his will. Which is a total about-face from when he was driving the jeep and ordering the guards around.
I see them disappear down the hallway and take a left before the TV room. If my hunch was right, they could be going to a kitchen. But they could just as easily be going to a cellar or even upstairs.
I’ve got two people unaccounted for: Avery and the doctor. I realize they could appear at any moment. But I know I have to make my move while I’m sure Juneau and the guards are away.
I creep around the corner into the garage, toward the door that leads inside the house. I turn to look for Poe. He has trailed me and is standing a few feet away.
“Can you avoid squawking or making any loud bird noises?” I whisper to him. He angles his head with the same you’re-crazy look, and then with a flap, launches himself into the air onto my shoulder.
I turn the doorknob slowly. As I suspected, it is unlocked and doesn’t set off an alarm. Who needs security with an entire army within shouting distance? I ease the door open and glance down the hall. No one’s around. I shut the door quietly behind me, tiptoe across the carpeted floor and enter the bookless library.
It smells like a mixture of Old Spice cologne and cigar smoke, and I have the overwhelming urge to sneeze. Pressing hard on my nose bone, I creep the entire length of the room, past all the animal heads, which I imagine are turning to stare at me as I pass. Taxidermy is so freaking creepy.
I pass the fake fireplace on my right, and then a big copper bar that looks like it was stolen straight out of a saloon on my left. Poe is digging his claws into my shoulder, squeezing for all he’s worth. Maybe being surrounded by dead things is as traumatic for him as it is for me. I ease open the door to the front hallway and peer out before closing it behind me and tiptoeing across the hall toward Masterpiece Theatre. I’m not even halfway across when I hear voices coming my way.
“You’re following me to the bathroom?” I hear Juneau say. “Do you realize how weird that is?”
I book it through the hall, steadying Poe with one hand and my crossbow with the other, and throw the office door open, thanking the WD-40 gods that the hinges don’t squeak.
“I’ve been told not to let you out of my sight,” comes a man’s voice. I inch the door inward until it’s open just a crack.
“You’re holding Badger hostage. Your boss made it clear I have to wait here until he awakes. That’s more than eight hours guaranteed that I’m not going to run,” Juneau says. I hear a door in the hallway open. “But suit yourself, pervert,” she says, and the door slams shut.
Badger. That’s the name of the kid—now I’m sure he’s the one I saw in the bedroom upstairs. As for the rest, it doesn’t make sense. Why would Avery bring Juneau here and then go straight to bed? Unless . . .
I shudder as a new thought grabs me. Maybe Avery doesn’t own a pharmaceutical company. Maybe he wanted the Amrit for himself. And maybe he’s just taken it.
Juneau said she usually performed the Rite, and Whit’s excuse about wanting her to be safe was obviously a sham. What if he can’t do the Rite without her? And what if she’s just been forced to do it for Avery? It took me around eight hours to regain consciousness after the Rite. That’s got to be what Juneau’s talking about. Avery’s lying dead somewhere in this house, and Juneau’s being kept here until he awakes.
I hear a toilet flush and a door open. “Still here?” Juneau asks in an eat-dirt voice.
“Just shut up and get your ass back to the kitchen,” the guard says as their voices disappear down the hall. Easing the door closed, I breathe a sigh of relief. I set Poe carefully on the floor, and crane my neck to inspect my shoulder. “Dude, for a raven you’re acting suspiciously chicken,” I say, touching the spot tenderly. “I think you drew blood.”
There is a grandfather clock ticking in the far corner. It reads ten thirty. That means Avery will be waking up around seven.
I’ve got all night to do something. But I don’t even know where to start. How about with something you’re good at? I think. And sitting down in front of the computer, I click the mouse and pull up Avery’s desktop.
41
JUNEAU