“Don’t know. I’m just the lab monkey. Need-to-know-only basis.” He watches me. “Talk to the ferry captain about rescuing the Alcatraz prisoners, then go to the aerie.”
“What if—”
“Whether you can talk the captain into the rescue or not, go to the aerie. The number of people dying here is no worse than what’s happening out there. Your sister is more important than releasing prisoners into a bigger slaughter house, which is what the world will be if we can’t figure out a way to stop it.”
That jars my brain into thinking. “Why is Paige so important?” I can’t help the distrust that laces my voice.
“She’s a very special girl. She may be helpful in our fight against the angels. If you find her at the aerie, bring her back to me. I’ll work with her. I’ll help her if I can.”
“Help her how?”
He rubs the back of his neck, looking half-ashamed, half-excited. “To be honest, I’m not sure yet. I altered the kids in this latest batch in the hope that I might be able to increase our chance of survival as a species. A desperate move in desperate times. The angels would tear me to pieces if they knew about it. But the altered kids got wiped out during the attack on the aerie before I even got a chance to see if any of it worked.”
He paces around the small office. “Now, you’re telling me there’s one left. We need to find her. I don’t really know what she can do, or even if it works the way I think it does. But it’s a chance for humanity. A tiny one but that’s better than what we’ve got now.”
I don’t trust him any more than I trust a rabid angel. But if he can help me find Paige, I’ll go along with his plan for now. “Okay. Help me find Paige and I’ll bring her back to you.”
He looks at me as if he knows I don’t trust him. “Let me make this very clear. We cannot have someone like Beliel in control of your sister. Do you understand? Under Beliel’s control, she could end up being a major instrument of our destruction. You have to lure her away from him. She could be our last hope.”
Great.
Before this all goes down, I could really use another Saturday morning where Paige and I eat cereal and watch cartoons in our condo during the peaceful lull before Mom gets up. Our biggest concern on mornings like those was whether we still had our favorite cereals left at the end of the week or if we’d have to settle for the non-sugar kind.
“If I don’t make it off this island, or if you can’t find me—” Doc pauses as if dwelling on all the terrible things that could happen to him—“it’ll be up to you to figure out what she can do and if she can help people. If your sister can’t help humanity, I’m just an evil doctor doing horrific deeds for the enemy. Please don’t let me be that person.”
I’m not sure I’m the one he’s pleading with, but I nod anyway.
He nods back. “Okay. Come with me.”
Chpater 45
WE WALK out of the heart of the monster factory, down the brick passageway, and into another room. I assume this was once a gift shop by the look of the postcards and key chains on a forgotten stand by the door.
Inside, several human minions mix with prisoners. The minions stand out with their clean faces, groomed hair, and fresh clothes. There’s also an air of confidence about them that the prisoners don’t have.
“Madeline,” says Doc.
A woman with the strong lines and the aging-model looks of a ballet instructor saunters over. Every motion is graceful and fluid, as if she was used to being on stage or on the catwalk. The tight bun of her gray-streaked hair only emphasizes her emerald eyes.
“Can you find a place for her?” asks Doc in a low voice.
Madeline looks me over. She’s not just glancing at me to get a quick impression of who I am. She assesses, taking in my hair, my height, every curve and plane of my face. It’s as if she’s memorizing me, cataloging aspects of my appearance. She glances back at the collection of prisoners.
The prisoners are all female and they stand in pairs. There’s a pair of twins with matching strawberry hair and freckled pink skin. The rest of the pairs are probably not twins, but at first glance, they look like it. A set of curvy women with chocolate skin, a set of skinny girls with honey hair cascading down their shoulders, a set of tall women with Mediterranean eyes and skin.
Madeline looks around the room, then back at me.
“Wrong body type, wrong age,” she says.
The door opens and a man ushers in a pair of teen girls. Dark hair, high cheekbones, petite like me.
“How about these?” asks Doc.
Madeline swings her laser focus onto the girls. Then she looks at me.
“These two are better matched,” says the tanned guy who brought them in, gesturing to the girls beside him.
“We’ll have to make do with this one.” Madeline nods her head toward me.
“You’re going to tell the archangel that this is the best match we could find?” asks the guy.
My skin prickles at the word “archangel.”
“Same coloring, same body type,” says Madeline. “After a makeover and haircut, they’ll look like twins.”
“If they don’t, it’s all of our necks on the line, not just yours,” says the guy.
Madeline looks at Doc who nods.
“Switch them.”
The guy’s face darkens. “Just because he’s got your husband holed up in a jail cell doesn’t mean you can trade our lives for his whenever the good doctor snaps his fingers.”