Read Online Sparked (The Metal Bones Series Book 1) by Sheena Snow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sheena Snow
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with the body?”
“Believe it or not, that’s not the problem here.” Robotatouille paced across the room. “It’s what we’re going to do with your daughter. That’s the problem.”
Chapter 11
“Me?” I whispered. Why?
Did he know that I knew? Was that why?
“She can’t stay here. Not anymore.” Robotatouille shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
My eyes widened.
Too —
“Too dangerous?” Dad’s voice rose. “What is going on here? I come home from work to . . . to my daughter screaming and you’re fighting off a . . .” Dad gestured toward the robot on the floor. “I-I don’t know what he is. I don’t . . .” His arms waved in the air. “I can’t. I just . . . I can’t make sense of any of it.” Dad wilted on the edge of my bed. “I can’t look at this thing anymore.”
My heart pounded in my chest.
Robotatouille nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and I sucked in a breath. It was such a human-like gesture. He had never done it before. Had he been human this whole time?
I flashed back to the way he fought, to his . . .
No.
I shook my head.
Definitely not human.
An owl hooted, ringing straight through the vacant space where my window used to be. I looked out into the night sky, through the shattered pieces, the tiny bits sparkling in the moonlight. My eyes followed the blinking lights to the shattered base of my fish bowl, lying on the floor.
Caribbean?
No.
I dropped to my hands and knees.
No-no-no. No.
Not you.
Not. You.
“Vienna?” Dad tugged at my arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I pushed Dad away, moving pens, books, sheets, anything that fell on the floor. “He might still be alive.”
Dad dropped on his hands and knees, avoiding the patches of broken glass. I lifted a piece of paper that blew under my desk, to find Caribbean, lying inert on the floor.
Caribbean?
My breath caught.
No.
“Vienna.” Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “Some things . . .”
“He’s gone,” I whispered. The one thing that was always there for me, the one thing that always cared, the one thing I could always depend upon, gone.
“The puddle.” Dad gestured toward the soaked water on the carpet, where Caribbean’s tank had fallen in my room. “Vienna.” His eyes lightened. “You saved us.”
It didn’t feel like I saved anyone. I had been squeezed too hard, Dad had almost been choked to death, and Robotatouille had almost been decapitated. We had been seconds away from death and by sheer luck, we survived.
I gazed at the fried robot lying on the floor.
Robotatouille covered his nose. “He stinks.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“And you.” Dad pointed at Robotatouille. “Since when can you do things other than cook? And since when does a robot become superman? Living with us? Cooking for us? Spying on us? You’re like an undercover agent sent here to expose all our secrets. Which would have worked.” Dad’s vein popped out of his forehead. “If we had any!”
And you have feelings.
“I’m not an agent.” Robotatouille’s jaw clenched. “For future reference, that’s an insult. And seeing that I just saved your daughter’s life, I’m going to try and forget your allegations.”
“What in the heck are you?” Dad glared.
“I am classified as MC-81.”
Dad’s jaw worked. “I take it you’re not called MC-81 because you cook so well.”
“MC means third in command.”
“Command?” I hissed. This plot kept getting thicker. “Of what?”
“My unit.”
“Unit?” I shrieked, my voice hitting new octaves. “What in the heck do you mean, unit!” I stormed up to his face. “So now, not only are you some wicked-mutant-ninja-feelings-classification thing.” I seethed. “But one that’s also part of unit? How in the world does stuff like this happen? And through all my research how in the world was all this randomly omitted!”
“My unit ”—He coolly stared me
“Believe it or not, that’s not the problem here.” Robotatouille paced across the room. “It’s what we’re going to do with your daughter. That’s the problem.”
Chapter 11
“Me?” I whispered. Why?
Did he know that I knew? Was that why?
“She can’t stay here. Not anymore.” Robotatouille shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”
My eyes widened.
Too —
“Too dangerous?” Dad’s voice rose. “What is going on here? I come home from work to . . . to my daughter screaming and you’re fighting off a . . .” Dad gestured toward the robot on the floor. “I-I don’t know what he is. I don’t . . .” His arms waved in the air. “I can’t. I just . . . I can’t make sense of any of it.” Dad wilted on the edge of my bed. “I can’t look at this thing anymore.”
My heart pounded in my chest.
Robotatouille nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, and I sucked in a breath. It was such a human-like gesture. He had never done it before. Had he been human this whole time?
I flashed back to the way he fought, to his . . .
No.
I shook my head.
Definitely not human.
An owl hooted, ringing straight through the vacant space where my window used to be. I looked out into the night sky, through the shattered pieces, the tiny bits sparkling in the moonlight. My eyes followed the blinking lights to the shattered base of my fish bowl, lying on the floor.
Caribbean?
No.
I dropped to my hands and knees.
No-no-no. No.
Not you.
Not. You.
“Vienna?” Dad tugged at my arm. “What are you doing? You’re going to hurt yourself.”
I pushed Dad away, moving pens, books, sheets, anything that fell on the floor. “He might still be alive.”
Dad dropped on his hands and knees, avoiding the patches of broken glass. I lifted a piece of paper that blew under my desk, to find Caribbean, lying inert on the floor.
Caribbean?
My breath caught.
No.
“Vienna.” Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “Some things . . .”
“He’s gone,” I whispered. The one thing that was always there for me, the one thing that always cared, the one thing I could always depend upon, gone.
“The puddle.” Dad gestured toward the soaked water on the carpet, where Caribbean’s tank had fallen in my room. “Vienna.” His eyes lightened. “You saved us.”
It didn’t feel like I saved anyone. I had been squeezed too hard, Dad had almost been choked to death, and Robotatouille had almost been decapitated. We had been seconds away from death and by sheer luck, we survived.
I gazed at the fried robot lying on the floor.
Robotatouille covered his nose. “He stinks.”
I narrowed my eyes at him.
“And you.” Dad pointed at Robotatouille. “Since when can you do things other than cook? And since when does a robot become superman? Living with us? Cooking for us? Spying on us? You’re like an undercover agent sent here to expose all our secrets. Which would have worked.” Dad’s vein popped out of his forehead. “If we had any!”
And you have feelings.
“I’m not an agent.” Robotatouille’s jaw clenched. “For future reference, that’s an insult. And seeing that I just saved your daughter’s life, I’m going to try and forget your allegations.”
“What in the heck are you?” Dad glared.
“I am classified as MC-81.”
Dad’s jaw worked. “I take it you’re not called MC-81 because you cook so well.”
“MC means third in command.”
“Command?” I hissed. This plot kept getting thicker. “Of what?”
“My unit.”
“Unit?” I shrieked, my voice hitting new octaves. “What in the heck do you mean, unit!” I stormed up to his face. “So now, not only are you some wicked-mutant-ninja-feelings-classification thing.” I seethed. “But one that’s also part of unit? How in the world does stuff like this happen? And through all my research how in the world was all this randomly omitted!”
“My unit ”—He coolly stared me
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