CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FOUR

The laboratory was in its typical morgue-like state, the way Dr. Rueppell preferred to keep it: cool, quiet and lit only enough for him to read his charts. It saved on electricity and made him feel strangely at home and at peace. Those were proper conditions to promote real cognitive processes.

But his personal Rose Cottage was infiltrated unexpectedly. The laboratory door was ripped open so hard it banged against the wall behind it and he looked up to see Gabriel standing there like a heroine out of a comic book, her feet planted hip-distance apart and both hands, in fists, digging into her hips.

"What. The hell. Did you. Do to her?!" Gabriel seethed.

Dr. Rueppell acknowledged Gabriel in a suspiciously casual manner. He was having one hell of a time with his arthritis that day. Damned contemptible winter and damn its bitter cold! "Gabriella," he greeted her. His voice was especially low and raspy, hinting at a looming case of laryngitis. "Good afternoon. Can I help you with something?"

"Yes you can help me with something!" Gabriel snapped, storming into the laboratory. "You can tell me what the hell you did to her!"

He smiled, non-plussed by her approach. "Heavens, Gabriella, such language from the tender sex. Now tell me what you're talking about." That same irritating, low and lax tone.

"Tegwen!" Spat Gabriel. "I'm talking about Tegwen Dodgers! The poor girl Agent Steelbeak and I brought in with the --" she waved her hands around her face. "-- the head injury!"

"Ah yes," said the doctor, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to reminisce. "Temperamental little critter," he referred to Tegwen, "though terribly quiet. Surprisingly uncooperative. Not F.O.W.L. material, if you ask me."

"I didn't ask for your opinion! I asked what you did to her!"

Dr. Rueppell looked confused. "I didn't do anything. . . to her. . . I gave her a typical assessment." Then he smiled a bit too broadly. "Treated the poor child for a nasty concussion. You know, she's fortunate her injuries were not. . . more extensive."

Gabriel would never know what drove her to grab the frail old bird by his neck and shove him up against the nearest wall. Perhaps it was the tone by which he spoke of Tegwen, or that eerie smile he had plastered on his ugly mug. Maybe it was guilt over the accident or confusion over her recently appointed solo mission. The livid haze was so thick, she would never be able to figure it out. She would barely even recall it afterward.



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