not fatal. It will merely suppress all aggressive thoughts and behaviors. Common side effects may include dizziness, memory loss, aversion to social environments, difficulty with complex verbal communication and thinning of the hair. It is a very efficient medication, if I do say so myself. One shot will last up to seventy-two months or three years.”
The nannydrone spun around and headed toward the trash compactor. “But my primary protocol is to clean up your mess. Afterward, I will administer the drug.”
Nick stood to his feet.
The trash compactor slid open.
Nick raised his right tennis shoe.
The nannydrone held the popsicle stick over the trash compactor.
Nick kicked. Before the nannydrone could retreat from the compactor, he slammed the door.
Muffled commands came from the trash compactor. “Open the compartment, Nick Lyons. The nannydrone is in severe danger of being destroye—”
Nick tapped the button: COMPACT.
The compactor moaned, as it tried to crush the nannydrone.
“Please open the compartment,” the nannydrone repeated. “The nannydrone is in severe danger of b—eing damaged or—d—estro—Would you lik—executable file—chocoberry—R-5235—yum three-hundred and Pappy’sssssssssssszzz—”
The compactor moaned again, and then finally accepted its victim.
“You scare me,” said Tim.
An explosion of glass came from downstairs. Both boys turned to the intercom.
“Erik? Erik! What’s wrong?” their mom cried.
The door swished, and Nick flew down the stairs. “Dad?”
His dad lay in a halo of glass, still gripping his diet soda. He was lathered in sweat and blood. From what Nick could tell, he had collapsed onto their coffee table.
“Dad!” Tim yelled. “Is it the Geneva virus?”
Nick’s mom tapped her ear and shouted, “9-1-1!”
The ear piece answered, “Dialing . . .”
An electronic voice answered, “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
Nick’s mom sobbed into the phone, “Erik—Erik! Something’s wrong with Erik!”
Sweat ran down their dad’s puffy red face. Tim tried to prop him up.
“Don’t touch him!” screamed their mom. “Yes? No, I was talking to Tim. . . . OK. I won’t hang up.”
Within sixty seconds, a hoverbulance’s siren descended to the front of the house. A woman with a black bag and an ambudrone met Nick at the door.
“He’s over there.” Nick turned to his dad. Blood had now moved past the glass and onto the Persian rug.
The introductory system announced: Ambulance attendant Cheryl Sierra has now entered. Condition: Healthy. Heart rate: Normal. Geneva infection levels: 0.00. Ambudrone has now entered. Condition: Unavailable. Heart rate: Unavailable.
Beep, beep.
House secure.
The attendant opened her black bag and pressed a small, thin square on their dad’s chest. She fiddled with an earpiece, paused, and pursed her lips.
“What?” Nick looked at her.
The attendant quickly placed a square piece on Nick’s chest. Cold metal pressed through his shirt. She repeated it with Tim, then their mom. The attendant paused, looked at the diet soda in their father’s hand and closed her bag.
“Was it the diet sodas?” said their mom.
“Ma’am—” the attendant didn’t answer her. “—we need to get you and your husband to the ER, now!”
Their mom croaked through tears, “Wha—?”
“Please, ma’am, follow us.” The attendant turned to the boys. “Next of kin?”
“Our Grandpa, Grand,” Nick answered. “Nikolas Lyons, the eleventh.”
“Call him now. Meet us at St. Mary’s ER.”
Another ambulance attendant came in with a stretcher. It was a whirlwind of limbs and lifting and dispatches to the ER.
Ambulance attendant Cheryl Sierra has now left the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition: Healthy. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.
Ambulance attendant Robert Killigan has now left the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition: Healthy. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.
An ambudrone has now left the premises.
Erik Lyons has now left the premises. Heart rate: Low. Condition: Critical. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.
Sonya Lyons has now left the premises. Heart rate: Excited. Condition: Critical. Geneva infection levels: 0.00.
Beep, beep.
House secure.
Seven • A Question for the Road
What a tragedy,” Yeri said, as he held the parchment bearing the secret of the Merrows. “Of course I will deliver this for you.”
“No common humling or creature has ever known, until now,” said Nia. “You understand why the pearl-of-devotion was so necessary.”
The guard took the scroll from Yeri and returned it to Lir. Another attendant held out a large fish scale with a puddle of steaming red wax. Lir rolled up the scroll, then lifted the scale, and poured the wax over the edges of the paper.
Lir raised a signet ring and, with a commanding tone, said, “Be ye the hand of the Steward Nikolas Lyons or be ye the hand that turns black and dead.” A hundred strands of black swarmed between the signet ring and the scroll. He pushed his signet ring over the flap. The