Seven Wonders Book 3 by Peter Lerangis Page B

popped open and I blinked. We were in the hallway, outside the recovery room.
    â€œDid you say something, Jack?” Dad was staring down at me, his eyes creased with concern.
    I blinked. “I said talk. I think.”
    â€œI knew it!” Aly blurted out, clinging happily to my dad’s arm. “He’s okay.” She leaned close to me. “JACK, ARE YOU FULLY AWAKE? CAN YOU HEAR ME? YOU HAD A TREATMENT. YOU ARE BACK TO NORMAL NOW.”
    â€œWhy are you yelling at me?” I asked.
    Cass appeared on the other side of the bed. “Bhegad’s awake. We asked him about the Loculus of Healing. And about the Mausoleum at Halicarnassus. Just to be sure. And guess what? You were right—about both!”
    â€œGood work, Tailor,” Aly said.
    â€œTailor?” Dad asked.
    Bhegad’s soft, breathy voice called out. He was on a gurney next to mine. “Tinker . . . tailor . . . soldier . . . sailor . . .”
    â€œI’m the Sailor, because of my emosewa lanoitagivan ability,” Cass explained. “The Soldier is Marco—you never met him, Mr. McKinley, but he’s cool—because he’s mad athletic. And Aly is the Tinker because of her tech amazingness.”
    Dad smiled. “So what’s the Tailor’s special ability?”
    I smiled weakly. “I was hoping you’d tell me.”
    The one who puts it all together, Bhegad had once said. But that seemed like an excuse. Like the trophy you get even if your team finishes last.
    Unfortunately, Bhegad had fallen silent.
    â€œWhatever it is, I’m sure it’s awesome,” Dad said. He gave a signal, and I felt myself being wheeled again. We were heading away from the recovery room toward the exit.
    â€œWhat’s happening?” I asked. “Where are we going?”
    â€œI had some time to think about what you told me before you passed out,” Dad said. “Since then, I’ve chatted with Dr. Bradley, Torquin, and your friends. I have decided it’s important to start planning for your fourteenth birthday. And fifteenth. So we’ve reserved Brunhilda to help us.”
    â€œWhat the heck are you talking about?” I said.
    We stopped by a small, empty room. Two McKinley Genetics Lab people stood just inside, holding some folded-up clothing.
    â€œBrunhilda is the name of our corporate jet,” Dad replied. “Change quickly. I’m going to get you a cell phone in case we get separated at any point. Wheels up in ten minutes. With Bhegad. Torquin’s flying.”

CHAPTER TWENTY
    B RUNHILDA
    â€œP AH! ” T ORQUIN YANKED the steering mechanism to the left. “Slippy is like Lamborghini, Brunhilda like minivan!”
    â€œHer ride feels smooth to me,” Dad said from the copilot’s seat.
    The jet banked gently left. “Smooth, yes,” Torquin shot back. “Fun, no.”
    Cass, Aly, and I sat quietly in three padded seats behind the two men. Cass was fiddling with his flash drive/worry beads again, staring at the Charles Newton letter. “There’s something funky about this,” he said. “Did you notice some of the letters are lighter than the others?”
    Aly peered over his shoulder. “Bad photocopy,” she said.
    â€œOr bad typewriter,” Dad added. “On those old machines, the keys responded to pressure. If you didn’t type hard enough, the letters were lighter.”
    â€œBut the light letters actually spell something,” Cass said. “‘The destroyer shall rule.’ Look.”

    â€œAre you sure?” Aly said. “Because a lot of those letters look light.”
    Cass shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like that could be a coincidence. Maybe it has something to do with King Mausolus.”
    â€œHe wasn’t a king,” Aly said. “He was a satrap. Kind of like a governor.”
    â€œMaaa . . .” groaned Professor Bhegad from the back of