There was
blood and Angela had to use of that scalpel, after much digging with those
tweezers with needle-fine tips. She used something to numb my neck, but I felt
a tingling-humming down in my bones, the longer she probed. I would have been
more comfortable if Felicity hadn’t been holding my hand. She squeezed harder,
the longer it took to get the dart out. That and her little flinches made me
want to scream and punch someone.
The worst
part was having to wait to hear what Angela and Kurt had done all Christmas day.
I would have appreciated some distraction, but Angela needed to concentrate.
What she
pulled from my neck was as long as the first joint of my pinkie, thinner than a
hair, with a brief greenish glint, reflecting the light, as she turned it. Hayward
put it in one of the wooden boxes Angela used to store things on the fourth
floor.
“Ah, I’m
sorry.” An unfamiliar voice came from the hallway.
A shimmering kind of sound, more felt along my skin than heard, accompanied the creaky-silvery voice. I nearly jerked, as Angela pressed a thick gauze pad cold with salve over the hole she had dug in my neck. From the corner of my eye I saw a skinny old man with a halo of white hair around his pink bald head, wearing a dark purple jogging suit. He leaned into the doorway, blinking his huge green eyes and giving us all a sheepish grin.
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