They passed a door that was slightly cracked. Sophie slowed and slipped her hand through the slit, pushing the door wide enough for her to peek through. The room was dark, but light spilled in from the hallway and illuminated a bed with a figure sleeping on it. A girl. She looked to be Sophie’s own age, with a head of wild brown curls and a riot of freckles on her face. Sophie stared, her thoughts a jumble of questions and bewilderment.
Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her away, and she had to bite her tongue to keep from squealing. Nicholas let go of her, then pressed a finger to his lips as he silently shut the door. “Do you want to get yourself shot?” he asked.
She turned her head to look him in the eye. “I want to see my mother. Now. Let go of me.”
“All right! All right!” He released her and stepped back.
“What’s your game?” she asked. “What are you after?”
“I’m trying to help you. Why won’t you let me?”
“What did they do to you? And that girl in there—are you test subjects or something?”
“Or something. Do you want to see your mom or not?”
Sophie tried to read him, to get some idea of what he was and what he wasn’t telling her. He made her head spin, with his constant verbal dodging, his hovering presence, his kinetic buzz. He reminded her of a racehorse at the gate, all nerves and energy and impatience, forced to walk when he wanted to burst into a run. His fingers constantly moved, tapping and twisting. Was he a druggie? Hyperactive? On some kind of medication? Maybe Skin Island was a rehab center, some kind of top-secret therapeutic retreat for disturbed kids. But then, why the secrecy?
She finally nodded, and he rolled his eyes and went on. But wherever he was leading her, she never found out, because as soon as she saw an alcove that opened to an upward staircase, she darted into it and raced up, two steps at a time. She didn’t pause to look back to see if he was following her. When she reached the top, she found a hallway identical to the one below, and cut right toward the center of the building.
There was still no sign of anyone. Maybe all these rooms were filled with sleeping people like the curly-haired girl. She ran as softly as she could, and when she reached the wide doorway opening to the atrium, she glanced back and saw Nicholas hurrying after her.
She raced around the wide balcony, which opened to a lobby below her, and above her stretched a dome of glass that gleamed silver-white in the moonlight. There were few lights in the atrium, and no people. Three hallways plus the one she’d just come down branched away, two on her left and one on her right. She dashed toward the right one, then at the last minute whirled and climbed over the balcony, balancing on the outer ledge and staring down at the floor one story below. She was hovering just above a long marble receptionist counter.
Sophie heard Nicholas’s footsteps above her, and she didn’t hesitate, but let go of the balcony railing and dropped onto the desk, bending her knees and landing with surprising silence. Hazarding a look up, she saw Nicholas turn into the upper hallway; he hadn’t noticed her go over the balcony. Good.
Sophie jumped to the floor and crouched behind the counter. Above her on the wall, a colorful mosaic depicted a mermaid on a beach. Across the lobby, double glass doors led outside, and a scattering of old wicker furniture occupied the floor space between.
The four lower hallways were all lit brightly. She ignored the one she and Nicholas had entered first, and instead made her way around the perimeter of the room until she reached the next one.
I just want to have a look on my own. The island wasn’t that big. She could find her mother on her own, and if Nicholas really was just trying to help, she could make amends for running off later. Right now, she had only one goaclass="underline" to find Moira Crue. If she had to scour every room in every building to find her, she’d do it.
She opened the first door she came to. It was a narrow closet, filled with chemicals, linens, and old microscopes. So, it’s a lab after all.
The next room held four octagonal consoles set in the middle of the floor, with round gray towers rising out of them, as tall as she was. She walked around them curiously, unable to make sense of the numbers and letters stenciled on the gray exteriors. When she spotted a small lever on the side of one, she flipped it, and jumped back when the sides of the tower slid downward into the consoles, exposing an inner blue light and cold fog that rolled out and onto the floor. Inside was a series of glass shelves filled with small holes, and in the holes, tiny, apparently empty glass vials were suspended. An automatic arm lifted out of the console, a magnifying glass held in its grasp, and it lined up with one of the vials. Sophie leaned forward and peered through it to see an almost imperceptibly tiny sliver of metal floating in the vial in some sort of viscous substance. For some reason, it left her with a chill in her spine, and she hurriedly flipped the lever; the console closed itself, hiding the shelves and the fog and the little vials.
As she shut the door to the strange room, she heard voices. Her heart leaped into her throat and Nicholas’s voice haunted her mind: Do you want to get yourself shot?
She ducked back into supply closet and kept the door cracked just a hair—and she barely made it in time. A woman and a man strode past, voices low in conversation, clipboards cradled in their arms. The man was dressed in slacks and a white collared shirt; the woman wore a long white lab coat.
“Well, in my opinion, it’s too soon,” the woman was saying, her voice heavily accented with French. “We need another four years at least.”
“You know how it is, Laurent. We don’t get opinions, we get orders.”
“If it goes sour, it’s not my fault.”
“If it goes sour, it won’t matter. This place has been balancing between success and failure for years. All it’ll take is one mistake.”
Sophie held her breath until they’d gone past, and waited another moment for their voices to fade out of hearing before she crept out of the closet and tiptoed down the hall. Her senses were on high alert, listening and watching in case anyone else appeared.
She pressed her ear to the next door and heard no sound inside except the humming of a computer. Taking extra precaution after nearly being seen by the doctors, she peeked under the door to be certain the light was off. She was just about to turn the handle when she heard footsteps approaching from the atrium. Heart stalling, Sophie whipped open the door and slipped into the room, shutting the door softly behind her. Her muscles ached both from the crash landing and from the nerve-wracking business of sneaking around.
The room was lit with a soft blue glow, which came from the screen of the computer, which was set against the far wall. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior, and gradually made out a hospital gurney that stood in the center of the room. Several others were pushed against the wall to her right, but unlike them, the one in the middle held an occupant. She pressed a hand to her mouth and went stone still; if the person was awake, there was no way they wouldn’t see her.
But the person didn’t speak or even move. Sophie slowly crept across the room; if the person coming down the hallway opened the door, she’d be spotted immediately. She looked around frantically, but there weren’t many places to hide except—But it’s so obvious. Still, she was running out of time and options. The footsteps were getting closer. They were slowing down. She knew that in moments, the handle of the door would turn and she’d be caught.
Sophie ran to the gurney, intending to hide beneath it. As she did, she caught a glimpse of the sleeping figure’s face in the pale blue light from the computer.
A cold chill ran down Sophie’s spine.