“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 résumé 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.
102
My lungs were burning. Know the feeling? About six blocks later, we slowed to a walk. No one seemed to be following us, no cop cars had emerged from the traffic, no sign of Erasers. My head was pounding and it hurt like crazy. I felt like I needed a time-out from life.
With no warning, the Gasman turned and punched a mailbox. “This sucks!” he yelled. “Nothing ever goes right! We get hassled everywhere! Max’s head is busted, Angel lost Celeste, we’re all hungry—I hate this! I hate everything!”
Stunned, I shut my gaping jaw and went over to him. When I put my hand on his shoulder, he pushed it away. The others crowded around—it was so unusual for Gazzy to break down like this. He was always my little trouper.
Crap.
The flock was watching me, waiting for me to tell the Gasman to snap out of it, get it together.
Stepping forward, I wrapped my arms around Gazzy, surrounding him. I rested my head against his and just held him tight. I smoothed his light hair with my fingers and felt his narrow back shaking.
“I’m sorry, Gazzy,” I murmured. “You’re right. This has really sucked. I know it’s hard sometimes. Listen, what would make you feel better right now?” I swear, if he’d said, Check into the Ritz, I would have done it.
He sniffled and straightened a bit, wiping his face on his grubby sleeve. I resolved to get us new clothes soon. ’Cause I was Ms. Bank Card.
“Really?” he said, sounding very small and young.
“Really.”