Into the Abyss by Stefanie Gaither

Author:Stefanie Gaither
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

There is no one in sight aside from Leah, who sits watching a system of computers similar to the setup Seth had back at the warehouse.

“You all right there, clone-girl?” she asks with a yawn. “How’s your head feeling? Any more crazy spells to speak of?”

I still haven’t really tested it. But I have an idea, now, of how I might be able to create the sort of violence I need to try to prompt a blackout reaction from my brain. It will have to wait for Seth, though, assuming he ever decides to come out of that room again. But still, just the thought of it—along with the excitement of another, grander plan that is thrumming through my veins—makes me feel positive enough to answer Leah’s question with: “So far so good.”

“Awesome.” She pauses, leaning back in the computer chair and rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. The quiet stillness between us borders on amicable—instead of the uncomfortable silence I’m used to causing most people—and maybe because of that, I venture a few steps closer.

“So, I should thank you, I guess.” It’s premature, I suppose. But she asked me if I was all right, and for some reason I almost feel as though I should thank her just for that.

She lets her hands fall back to her lap, and her gaze trails up to the ceiling. “You’re welcome, I guess.” She looks like she tries to smile then, but something stops it. Drowsiness, maybe. A glance at the clock above the doorway tells me it’s well past midnight. I frown; I didn’t realize I’d lost track of time quite as much as I apparently did. And I don’t want to wait until morning to figure out the details of my plan.

“Is Angie still up?” I ask.

Before she can answer, we hear a whistling sound coming from the kitchen area.

“In there,” Leah says, closing her eyes and sinking a little more deeply into her chair. “She doesn’t sleep much these days.”

I don’t find that hard to believe. I can think of several things that probably keep her up at night.

The source of the whistling turns out to be a kettle. Angie is taking it off the stove when I walk in, and she doesn’t let my sudden appearance interrupt her tea making. She only smiles a greeting at me—as if she fully expected me to walk in on her at one in the morning for an impromptu meeting—and offers me a cup. I decline, even though it smells wonderful. Like vanilla, and the spoonfuls of honey she is tipping into the cracked teacup. It’s the same scent I first noticed back at the warehouse.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” She takes a seat at a small, rickety-looking table, and uses her foot to push out a second chair for me. “Very homey, much cozier than that warehouse—I think they did good picking this new place out. I’m crossing my fingers that it lasts.”

“You have to move often?”

“I enjoy a change of scenery now and again, anyway.

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