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“Jecis will destroy himself. And you, Solo, you will find a way out.”
    “Doubtful.” Dr. E checked his cuticles. “Sure, you’ve broken out of a prison before, S, my man, but the first time was a training exercise and the second was with help. Now, you’re alone. These people have weapons, and they won’t be afraid to use them. You’re unarmed.”
    “You will succeed—and you will aid all the others.”
    “You will fail—and you will heap more suffering on everyone’s head. Just behave and wait for rescue, and you’ll be better off.”
    Jecis said something else, drowning out his companions, but Solo didn’t hear him either. For the firsttime since waking up, he studied his own body. Like the other males, he was dressed only in a loincloth. His chest, arms, and legs were cut and scabbed, with black-and-blue bruises branching off in every direction. He was a mess.
    His skin was redder than it had been five minutes ago, the first sign of his still-growing rage. He twisted his arms to look at his tattoos. His mother’s name was etched into his right forearm, and his father’s name etched into his left. There was an irritated gouge bisecting the M and the first A of MARY ELIZABETH , but JACOB was untouched.
    His entire cage shook, and his gaze snapped up. A scowling Jecis stood right in front of him.
    “You listen when I speak, giant. Tomorrow the circus opens, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.” His voice boomed through the daylight, the skull beneath his skin seeming to move without the prompting of his body, coming forward, closer to Solo. “I mean that.”
    Evil left a cloying film in the air.
    I’ll be long gone, he told himself. “And if I’m bad?”
    Behind the human, men lumbered into the clearing and placed buckets of—he sniffed—enzyme soap on the ground. The buckets were followed by piles of rags, and bottles of—another sniff—perfume.
    “If one customer complains, just one . . .” A dramatic pause as Jecis lifted his arms and rubbed his fists together, “I’ll put a bullet in your brain, no questions asked.”
    When Solo gave no reaction to the threat—been there, done that—Jecis punched the bars of the cage, the film thickening. “If you doubt me, just ask your fellow animals. Many of their friends already have died by my hand.”

Four

    I am the rose of Sharon, the lily of the valleys.
    —SONG OF SOLOMON 2:1
    A S ALWAYS, VIKA WAS revolted by the induction of a new “animal.” Whether male or female, young or old, the newcomer always begged her to show mercy and grant freedom the moment her father marched away. Mercy she would not show. Freedom she would not bestow. Could not.
    Not yet.
    Years ago she’d assumed the beating Jecis had given her for attempting to release One Day was the most savage he had to offer, that her father would never be able to inflict more pain than that, and that, to save someone else, she could bear such pain again. But then, the day she’d freed his human animals, he’d taught her otherwise.
    He could always do much, much worse.
    And what could be worse than losing her hearing? Easy. Losing her eyesight, too. Oh, yes. Her father was that vile. He’d destroyed her hearing with no hope of repair, simply to make her reliant on him, and he hadthreatened to take her eyesight if ever she betrayed him that way again.
    If she wanted out, and she did, she had to adhere to a very strict escape plan. A plan that demanded she remain at the circus for another year. Just a year, and then she could free the otherworlders and run. She could hide forever and never have to fear being found.
    Jecis finished his speech about rules and expectations, and motioned Vika forward. She stepped beside him like any other obedient robot. He placed a big hand firmly on her shoulder, and she looked up to watch his lips.
    “This is your caregiver,” he said to the otherworlders. “You will treat her better than you treat the customers. You will keep your