"Jeb, please explain."
Her breathing was frantic, frenetic, shaky, trembling fingers dragging into balls by her sides, nails digging into rough skin, because this couldn't be happening, this couldn't…
Iggy, her flock member, her brother-in-every-way-but-blood, was…
Her nails drew blood as they sliced.
No!
"I've been trying to for the past five minutes, Maximum, but you refuse to listen." The whitecoat looked weary, drawn, brow a mass of contorted furrows and lines offset by a pair of bloodshot eyes. He raked a trembling hand through his hair.
"Please, Jeb…"
"There's nothing more to say." he muttered. "Fourteen years ago, the School attempted an experiment to combine bat DNA with a human's via amniocentesis. The experiment was successful, but…"
The whole room seemed to freeze, four pairs of eyes riveting on him.
"What?" the Gasman whispered.
"There was an experiment…"
Jeb still had the video the School had taken the day Iggy had been forced to fight the two Erasers inside the arena. Jeb knew from his long talks with the bat hybrid that Iggy didn't know it himself, but the two Erasers had ended up with their ribcages completely caved in, their hearts pulled out and crudely dissected and their arms and legs separate from their bodies, each limb snapped completely in half…
"Iggy was made to fight two Erasers in an arena, but… it went wrong."
He told them. He told them everything. Every sleepless night spent waiting for the leathery flap of wings above the porch, every slash of the razor blade, every tantrum, Marian Jensen's experiment, every outburst, every nightmare and then…
31 days.
The room was deathly silent.
"Max…" Nudge whispered. Her voice was barely audible, whispering layers of emotion, the contrast to her normal chattering stark, almost raw against the pain and shock in the room. Her hands clenched on the arm of the chair she was sitting on. "Max, I don't think…"
"Shut up!" Nudge recoiled and nearly fell off the chair as Max screamed at her. The Gasman grabbed the back of the chair to support it as Max whirled away, pacing the length of the room, muttering. "This is so… God, I don't even know, I can't even think…"
Sometimes thinking isn't enough, Max, the Voice permeated into her head so suddenly she jerked, head shooting up with a whoosh of brown hair tangling around her face. You have to feel. What do you feel?
Scared. Max answered, even though the rest of the world seemed far away, a misty, veiled word that was slowly unravelling. Cold fear diffused the pit of her stomach and, reflexively, every muscle tensed in preparation for a fight. Duh. Scared and tired, and I can't think…
Then feel, answered the Voice, and then it was gone.
Nudge's motormouth was kicking in again, the steady chatter crowding the air like a babbling stream about to burst its banks, high and wretched and worrying. "Max, I don't think we should kick Iggy out, he's still a good person, we still like him, it doesn't matter if he's a bat kid and not a bird, he's still our Iggy, I know you hate bats but please don't kick him out, please, please, please don't…" her brown doe eyes glistened desperately, voice rising to a keen.
But she was scared. Right now Iggy would be sitting in the kitchen with those gross wings and scarred wrists, and from what Jeb had said it sounded like he was secretly a psycho anyway, and…
It would be better for everybody if she kicked him out. Wouldn't it?
The Voice came back. This is a part of the bigger picture, Max. This is another test, and if you can survive this…
What do you mean? she thought, muzzily, for her thoughts felt like rubber balls bouncing off a brick wall and if she could just lie down and sleep…
No, no, I have to look after the flock…
The Voice again. You thought Iggy was a bird hybrid, but he wasn't. Many things aren't what they seem. How can you be sure that what you're feeling… what you're thinking right now… is even real?
In this world, the Voice said, and its words possessed a wisdom and menace that seemed as old as the ages. It's up to you to decide what's a test, and what's real.
Her head gave another sickening throb, and she sank to her knees.
"Max?" the Gasman's voice.
And then Angel. "Max? Get up, please. You have to lead us."
"That's what I'm bloody trying to do," she muttered, past caring about her language. Her trembling hand sought the edge of the desk, but she felt too weary to haul herself up. "Jeb… the thirty-one days… we don't know what it is, do we?"
If she could put off seeing Iggy for as long as possible… if she could just keep away until they had figured out what the thirty one days thing was... then she would be able to decide what to do with him.
But didn't Iggy know what the thirty one days was already?
Damnit.
"No, we don't." Jeb's voice sounded cautious.
"Alright," she said, voice gaining strength as she pulled herself upright. "Here's what we'll do. We'll…"
What to do, what to do, damnit, damnit, pull a plan out of your hat, o' fearless leader…
The School.
… that wasn't a good plan, but it was the only one she could think of that didn't involve directly consorting with Iggy, so she spoke. "We'll go to the School, and confront Marian Jensen. Then we'll be able to find out exactly what this whole mess is about."
Mess? Or a work of art?
Shut up, Voice!
Her plan was met by a barrage of protests.
"The School? But you hate the School!"
"Maximum, wouldn't it be far better to just ask Iggy what it means…"
"I don't want to go, Max!"
Fang entered the room silently, and stopped. His eyes took in the scene – Max in a half-crouch by the desk, Jeb standing over her, Nudge cowering in a chair in front of a trembling Gazzy, Angel standing against the far wall with her arms crossed.
"Okay…" he said slowly. "Did I miss something?"
There was a crash from the other room, and everyone whipped around.
"Iggy!" Angel cried.
Jeb lunged for the door. "Iggy..!"
They pelted out into a deserted kitchen. Remnants of crumpled tissues floated along the table, blown by the breeze that whistled in through the open back door.
From outside, the night echoed back with the rhythmic of running footsteps.
Fang lunged for the back door just as it slapped shut in the wind, fingers clawing and slipping desperately on the handle. "It's locked! The latch fell down!"
"The windows are locked too!" the Gasman cried.
Iggy, Iggy… murmured the Voice with malicious amusement inside Max's head. What are you doing?