The Rising (Darkness Rising 3)

In walked a woman I'd known for almost my entire life. Dr. Inglis. Head of the lab in Salmon Creek. She'd been in charge of our medical care since I moved there. She hadn't always been our personal doctor, but she'd been a fixture in town and in our lives. Last time she'd seen me, I'd been in cat form--pinning her to the ground.

When she stepped in, her gaze went straight to me, and she started to smile. She caught herself and turned to Rafe instead.

"Is it time?" he asked.

"Yes."

"It went well?"

She nodded. Again she looked at me. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something. Whatever it was, she just murmured it under her breath, gaze dropping, and withdrew.

"What's she doing here?" I asked.

"The Nasts hired her," Rafe said. "Seems she wanted to stay and 'help' us. Which I've suggested she could do a lot better by opening a door and letting us out. But apparently, that's not the plan." He shook his head. "Enough of that. There's someone I want you to meet."

He walked to the door and turned the knob. I expected a security escort on the other side. The hall was empty.

I peered out.

"Yeah, we pretty much have the run of the place. Not much damage we can do. Shatterproof glass. Cameras everywhere. Only two exits--both with alarms and guarded by multiple guys with tranq guns. Patrolling guards, too, both on foot and in cars."

He really had done his research. Not that I expected any less.

I started to step out, Kenjii at my heels, but Rafe waved her back.

"Better leave her here," he said. "She doesn't like some of our jailers, not surprisingly. They've threatened to kennel her."

I nodded and urged her back inside. She obeyed with a sigh, as if she was expecting it.

As he closed my bedroom door, I said, "So that wasn't locked?"

He shook his head. "They never are. This isn't a jail, kiddies. Any security is for your own good. We all care about you. We all want you to be comfortable. We know you won't be happy--yet--but that is our goal, someday."

I made gagging noises.

He

grinned. "Exactly. Prepare to be treated like a rebellious twelve-year-old."

There were stairs right outside my door. Behind us, the hall stretched for at least twenty meters, flanked by a half-dozen doors.

"My room's the third down from yours. Just in case you were interested. Did I mention they don't lock the doors?"

"I believe you did."

He grinned. "Good. And we don't have roommates."

"Duly noted."

I looked at those bedroom doors. Who else was here? I wanted to ask, but part of me was afraid of the answer. Was anyone still with the St. Clouds? Had anyone . . . not made it? At any other time, those questions would have been the first words out of my mouth, but I was feeling . . . not myself. Still off from the drugs, I guess. Dazed and bruised, physically and emotionally.

As we walked down the steps, voices downstairs broke the hush. I strained to hear familiar ones, but they all sounded like adults and no one I knew.

We passed at least a half-dozen people, a few obviously security, a couple who looked like medical personnel, and some who might have been house staff. Some stopped what they were doing, as if expecting Rafe to introduce us.

"Kitchen's through there," he said, gesturing down a hall. "We've got free run of it. There's a list on the fridge where you can add anything you want. Meals are cooked and we eat"--he motioned right past someone--"in the dining room there."

He continued on, giving me the tour as if no one else was there. Treating them like furniture. It worked for me.