“Good luck,” said Phoenie, hugging the three of them, much to John’s discomfort and Theseus’s confusion. Doyle enveloped Andromeda with his bulk, then shared a ‘manly’ handshake with the John and an elaborate one with Theseus (Phoenie often wondered why boys couldn’t just shake hands like normal people). Lyra also resorted to the ‘manly’ handshake, even with Andromeda, though at least she didn’t bother with extraneous gestures.

Theseus led his partners through the labyrinth, hunched over like soldiers fighting monsters in those centuries-old films he was so fond of. They moved from hedge to hedge, stopping only when waiting for an opening. From her vantage point under cover of the hologram, Phoenie whispered sharp warnings into their ears whenever it looked like they might be in trouble. When the patrolling guards disappeared around a corner, the trio dashed towards the mansion wall. The last Phoenie saw of them was Theseus was cutting through a window, and John was setting up more projectors to cover them.

“You’d think they’d rehearsed this a hundred times,” whispered Doyle in awe as the second group watched from behind a low brick wall, “To think there’re people who still assume John’s some quiet geek; the dude’s quality, there’s no way I could pull off something like this,”

He wasn’t the only one, Phoenie also wasn’t sure how they could match the professional display they’d just witnessed, but didn’t want to dent her team’s confidence by voicing her concerns. “Let’s just follow their example,” she said, “If we lose faith in ourselves, we’re bound to get caught!”

Using a combination of the motion detector and satellite map on their cells, and their own observations, the second group made their way through the garden. At first Phoenie wondered why an organisation like Godhand would put some much time and effort into environmental conservation, but Lyra was quick to point out the reality.

“Almost everything here’s a bloody fake,” she sneered, “Not that most people can tell the difference. Make it look like you care about the environment and the idiots who don’t know what a real flower smells like will fall for it.” As if to demonstrate, she swiped a rose off a nearby bush and jabbed its stem with a pale finger. “See, you can’t even prick yourself on it!”

“I never knew you liked roses,” Doyle whispered over her shoulder, “I’ll buy you some real ones when we’re finished here,”

She shot him an uninterested glare and tossed the fake flower away. “I grow my own,” she retorted, and Doyle receded in defeat.

Phoenie ignored the bickering and led them onwards. They were halfway towards the manor when they had to hide behind a bush to avoid being spotted by an upcoming patrol. The robed guards meandered along, their staves clanking in perfect rhythm on the concrete slabs, oblivious to who was hiding metres away. Phoenie could see Lyra’s knuckles whitening as she fought the urge to step out and attack, while Doyle’s fingers were twitching over the tranquillizer gun he’d holstered on his belt. Just like her, both of them were beginning to sweat as the gravity of their situation and the danger they were in began to dawn on them.

And then the worst thing possible happened.

Chapter 17
Previous / Continue
(page 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8)