know?”
“Not exactly.”
Dylan grinned. “Like in, not at all.”
“He wouldn’t be too happy if he knew.”
“I’m not your babysitter.”
“Lucky for you,” Marty said. “When we were kids, Grace and I drove every nanny we had stark raving mad.”
“Imagine what Luther did to his sitters,” Dylan said.
“I think he had keepers rather than sitters. You want to look at the graphic novels?”
“Yeah. And if you’re hungry, there’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”
Marty let PD out of his pocket and followed the poodle into the kitchen.
• • •
Forty-five minutes later, Marty came out carrying a huge platter of food with PD at his heels.
Dylan looked up from the dining room table, where he was reading the second graphic novel. “These illustrations are great.”
“Thanks. Half of them are Luther’s.” Marty set the platter on the table.
“What’s this?”
“Middle Eastern food. Stuffed grape leaves, hummus, baba ghanoush, flat bread, and tabouli.”
“There wasn’t any Middle Eastern in the kitchen the last time I checked.”
“Yes, there was,” Marty said. “It was just in a different form, except for the flat bread.”
“So you cook, too?”
“I can get around a kitchen.” This was an understatement. The only thing Marty liked doing better than drawing was cooking. “Where’s Luther?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
That can’t be good , Marty thought, looking at the bedroom door.
Dylan pointed at one of the drawings. “Is Theo Sonborn really Ted Bronson?”
Marty nodded. “The illustration doesn’t do the real transformation justice.”
“You’ve got that right,” Luther said, coming through the door.
PD barked and jumped back into Marty’s cargo pocket.
Marty and Dylan stared at Luther in shock. He was completely bald, except the bits of tissue stemming the flow of blood from dozens of nicks on his pale scalp.
Luther gave them a triumphant grin. “I bet Noah Blackwood wouldn’t recognize me now if we tripped over each other.”
“I bet Noah Blackwood would run if he saw you from a hundred yards away,” Marty said. “You look like an extraterrestrial that got his head stuck in a wood chipper. You may need stitches.”
“Head wounds look worse than they are.” Luther spotted the platter on the table. “Food!” He started gobbling down stuffed grape leaves and shoveling baba ghanoush into his mouth with flat bread. “Aren’t you guys eating?”
For some reason, Marty and Dylan had lost their appetites.
“Do you have a beanie?” Marty asked Dylan.
“I think so,” Dylan replied.
“I hope so,” Marty said back.
Grace walked into the mansion smelling like dinosaur emissions. She was in for a brutally hot shower, where she would have to scrub herself raw to get rid of the odor. But it was worth it. She loved hanging out with the hatchlings in spite of the resulting stench — and having to be near Yvonne.
As soon as she stepped into her bedroom she knew someone had been going through her things. But she disguised her dismay, breezing in and kicking her tennis shoes off with a bright smile on her face. Remember the cameras , she thought. She crossed over to the dresser and opened a drawer as if she were getting fresh clothes. The drawers had clearly been gone through, but she kept her smile, acting as if her biggest concern was what to wear. She had arrived at the Ark with virtually nothing but the clothes on her back. Her grandfather had taken care of that by setting up a generous credit account on the Internet for her. All she had to do was find what she wanted, press the buy button, and the item would arrive the next day. There was a laptop on the desk, which she had only used to order things. She was afraid to set up a private email account or surf the web for fear that her every keystroke would be monitored.
On the bed was a pile of freshly laundered towels. She picked them up and walked into the bathroom. As soon as she had
“Not exactly.”
Dylan grinned. “Like in, not at all.”
“He wouldn’t be too happy if he knew.”
“I’m not your babysitter.”
“Lucky for you,” Marty said. “When we were kids, Grace and I drove every nanny we had stark raving mad.”
“Imagine what Luther did to his sitters,” Dylan said.
“I think he had keepers rather than sitters. You want to look at the graphic novels?”
“Yeah. And if you’re hungry, there’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”
Marty let PD out of his pocket and followed the poodle into the kitchen.
• • •
Forty-five minutes later, Marty came out carrying a huge platter of food with PD at his heels.
Dylan looked up from the dining room table, where he was reading the second graphic novel. “These illustrations are great.”
“Thanks. Half of them are Luther’s.” Marty set the platter on the table.
“What’s this?”
“Middle Eastern food. Stuffed grape leaves, hummus, baba ghanoush, flat bread, and tabouli.”
“There wasn’t any Middle Eastern in the kitchen the last time I checked.”
“Yes, there was,” Marty said. “It was just in a different form, except for the flat bread.”
“So you cook, too?”
“I can get around a kitchen.” This was an understatement. The only thing Marty liked doing better than drawing was cooking. “Where’s Luther?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
That can’t be good , Marty thought, looking at the bedroom door.
Dylan pointed at one of the drawings. “Is Theo Sonborn really Ted Bronson?”
Marty nodded. “The illustration doesn’t do the real transformation justice.”
“You’ve got that right,” Luther said, coming through the door.
PD barked and jumped back into Marty’s cargo pocket.
Marty and Dylan stared at Luther in shock. He was completely bald, except the bits of tissue stemming the flow of blood from dozens of nicks on his pale scalp.
Luther gave them a triumphant grin. “I bet Noah Blackwood wouldn’t recognize me now if we tripped over each other.”
“I bet Noah Blackwood would run if he saw you from a hundred yards away,” Marty said. “You look like an extraterrestrial that got his head stuck in a wood chipper. You may need stitches.”
“Head wounds look worse than they are.” Luther spotted the platter on the table. “Food!” He started gobbling down stuffed grape leaves and shoveling baba ghanoush into his mouth with flat bread. “Aren’t you guys eating?”
For some reason, Marty and Dylan had lost their appetites.
“Do you have a beanie?” Marty asked Dylan.
“I think so,” Dylan replied.
“I hope so,” Marty said back.
Grace walked into the mansion smelling like dinosaur emissions. She was in for a brutally hot shower, where she would have to scrub herself raw to get rid of the odor. But it was worth it. She loved hanging out with the hatchlings in spite of the resulting stench — and having to be near Yvonne.
As soon as she stepped into her bedroom she knew someone had been going through her things. But she disguised her dismay, breezing in and kicking her tennis shoes off with a bright smile on her face. Remember the cameras , she thought. She crossed over to the dresser and opened a drawer as if she were getting fresh clothes. The drawers had clearly been gone through, but she kept her smile, acting as if her biggest concern was what to wear. She had arrived at the Ark with virtually nothing but the clothes on her back. Her grandfather had taken care of that by setting up a generous credit account on the Internet for her. All she had to do was find what she wanted, press the buy button, and the item would arrive the next day. There was a laptop on the desk, which she had only used to order things. She was afraid to set up a private email account or surf the web for fear that her every keystroke would be monitored.
On the bed was a pile of freshly laundered towels. She picked them up and walked into the bathroom. As soon as she had
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