the thumbs-up from dozens of photographs. The picture frame on her desk housed an autographed photo of Michelle Pond. Two photos cropped side by side, in fact, contrasting thin Bubbles and large Bubbles.
Niobe clicked the remote for her stereo. The little Bose player was plugged into her iPod. Haunting vocals and mournful guitars echoed from the cinder-block walls and wrapped around Niobe like an acoustic blanket. Espers's "Children of Stone" had become her anthem the moment she first heard it. Stone children never age, never die.
She flopped down on her bed and cried. Christian's betrayal had been painful enough. Two years. Two years, she had let them poke her, prod her, humiliate her, all in the stupid belief that they wanted to cure her children. But they didn't give a shit about any of that.
She felt stupid. Ashamed.
They were going to chain her to a table and use her like a machine. But not before they murdered Drake.
Zoe and Zane climbed into her lap. Zane, a mournful cobalt blue with spots of jade, nuzzled her hand. Zoe's tears, hot with sorrow, trickled down Niobe's neck. They sat that way until Zenobia said, Uh, Mom?
She had unlocked the lower compartment of Pendergast's TV cabinet. The shelves were crammed with DVDs. Many had austere white labels on the spine: "Genetrix Insemination Session, 1-H," and so forth. But others had garish sleeves plastered with titles such as "All Joker Action," "Tentacle Tramps," and "Herne Takes Jokertown, volume 3."
Mom, there's magazines here, too, with -
Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
She'd thought nothing could be worse than how he viewed Niobe and her children as tools, means to an end. She was wrong. He spent half his time jacking off to her sessions and the other half trying to turn her children into weapons.
She felt filthy.
"Mom," Zoe whispered, "we can't stay here."
Niobe blew her nose. "If we leave, you'll get sick." She didn't add "soon." "If we stay, you have a chance."
"No." Zenobia shook her head. "No we don't. A few extra weeks at best."
Her siblings agreed. "Besides." Ides-ides-ides-ides. "Drake needs our help." Elp-elp-elp-elp-elp-elp.
His arm still hurt from the shot they'd given him. Whatever it was supposed to do, it hadn't worked, and the doctors weren't happy about it. Justice had him in tow again. The hallway they'd entered was blue and the doorway to it had two heavy bolts on the outside.
"Is that you again, spic?" a voice came from deep inside one of the rooms. Drake couldn't see inside because the heavily barred window was too high. Justice didn't reply and kept walking.
A horrible face appeared at another one of the windows. It was gray and the mouth had huge teeth. "Love to eat them fat boys. Fat boys what I love to eat. Bite they fat-boy heads off. Nibble on they fat-boy feet." The voice put a cold knot in Drake's stomach.
"Why are you putting me in here with them?" he asked.
"It won't be for long, Drake. That much I promise you." Justice unbolted the door to an empty room and herded Drake inside. There was a bed, a toilet, and not much more. Justice closed and bolted the door in place. His footfalls receded evenly down the hallway.
"Love to eat them fat boys." There was a laugh that sounded like gravel being poured down a garbage disposal.
Drake sat down on the hard, lumpy bed and closed his eyes. There had to be a way to make all this go away.
Zane waited in the television lounge, mimicking the color and wood-grain pattern on one of the tables. The same table where Pham tossed his key ring when he watched TV. He didn't notice when his keys disappeared.
Good work, Zane! I'm proud of you, said Niobe. Okay, you two, it's your turn.
They had until the end of Pham's break, a little under half an hour. Niobe headed for Q Sector. She stifled the urge to run. Hurrying would arouse suspicion.
Meanwhile, Zoe and Zenobia crept toward the central guard station. Zoe hid around the corner while her wraith-sister drifted down the corridor to take a position under the console. She studied the controls until she found the switch that unlocked Drake's cell.
Ready, Mom?
Ready, kiddo.
Zenobia flipped the switch. K-chunk. A four-inch steel bolt slammed into the solenoid situated on the outside of Drake's door.
Niobe tiptoed inside. "Psst, Drake," she whispered. "It's me, Niobe." She nudged his shoulder. "Wake up."
"Go 'way. Sleeping."
"It's Niobe. Please, get up. It's important."
A heavy sigh. "Fine."
Drake sat up, a sad