(Max's POV)
A few more blocks, and we turned left, walking toward the East River. Inside me, the tension mounted. My breath was coming in short huffs. Every step was bringing us closer to what could be the Institute: the place where the secrets of our lives might be revealed, all our questions answered.
And here's the thing: I wasn't even sure I wanted my questions answered. What if my mom had given me away on purpose, like Gasman and Angel's? What if my parents were horrible people? Or what if they were wonderful, fabulous people who didn't want a freak mutant daughter with thirteen-foot wings? I mean, not knowing almost seemed easier.
But we walked along, examining each building. Again and again the others looked at me, only to see me shake my head no. We walked down several looong blocks, and with each step, I was getting more and more uptight, and so was everyone else.
"I wonder what the Institute is like," Nudge said nervously. "I guess it's like the School. Will we have to break in? How do they hide the Erasers from all the normal people? What kind of files on us do you think they have? Like actual parent names, you think?"
"For God's sake, Nudge, my ears are bleeding!" Iggy said with his usual tact.
Her sweet face shut down, and I put my arm around her shoulders briefly. "I know you're worried," I said softly. "I am too."
"Iggy, please don't be so mean." Cookie said looking at Iggy over Fang's shoulder.
She smiled at me, and then I saw it: 433 East Thirty-first Street.
It was the building from the drawing in my brain.
And if you don't think that's a weird sentence, maybe you should reread it.
The building rose tall, maybe forty-five stories, and had a greenish facade, kind of old-fashioned looking.
"Is this it?" Iggy asked.
"Yep," I said. "Are we ready?"
"Aye, Captain!" Iggy said firmly, and saluted.
I so wished he could see me roll my eyes at him.
We marched up the steps and pushed through revolving doors. Inside, the lobby was all polished wood, brass, and big tropical plants. The floor was smooth granite tiles.
"Here," said Fang softly, pointing to a large display board behind glass. It listed all the offices and companies in the building, and their floors and room numbers.
There was no Institute for Higher Living. There was no institute of any kind.
Because that would have been too easy, right?
I rubbed my forehead, holding back bitter words of disappointment. Inside, I felt like crying and yelling and stomping around, and then getting into a hot shower and crying some more.
Instead, I took a deep breath and tried to think. I looked around. No other office lists anywhere.
At the reception desk, a woman sat behind a laptop computer. A security guard had another desk across the lobby.
"Excuse me," I said politely. "Are there any other companies in this building that aren't on the board?"
"No." The receptionist looked us over, then went back to typing something incredibly urgent-like her resume for another job. We turned away just as the receptionist made a sound of surprise. Glancing back, I saw that her computer screen had cleared. The pit of my stomach started to hurt.
There's a pot of gold beneath every rainbow, filled her laptop screen in big red letters. The message broke up into smaller letters that then scrolled across the screen over and over, filling it.
Pot of gold beneath every rainbow… Okay, did leprechauns work here? Was Judy Garland going to burst into song? Why couldn't I just get some straight information? Because it was a puzzle, a test. I literally gnashed my teeth. Beneath every… Hmm.
"Does this building have a basement?" I asked.
The receptionist frowned at me and looked us over again with a harder gaze.
"Who are you?" she asked. "What do you want?" She lifted her chin and caught the eye of the security guard. Were they Erasers? They definitely could be Erasers. This whole building might be full of despicable wolf men.
"Never mind," I muttered, pushing the others toward the revolving doors. The security guard was already on our tails, and just as we all got through, I jammed a ballpoint pen into the door channel. The guard was trapped inside one section and started throwing his weight against the glass.
On the street, we hit the ground running.