Silver Shadows

CHAPTER 11 Sydney

BEING RIPPED AWAY from Adrian was agonizing, but I still woke with a renewed sense of hope, feeling even more optimistic than I had when I’d disabled the gas. I saw Emma give me a double take as we got ready for the day, so my inner thoughts must have shown on my face. I quickly tried to rectify that and look subdued. She didn’t dare say anything to me while we were under our room’s surveillance, but I could see curiosity burning in her eyes. When we were in the crowded hall with the others, on the way to breakfast, I fell into step beside her.

“I did it,” I murmured. “I got a message out.”

It was a sign of the supernatural things we dealt with that she didn’t ask for specifics. She took me at my word and focused on more pressing concerns. “So, what, help’s on the way? Some knight in shining armor is going to come bust us all out?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “Especially since I don’t know where we’re at … do you?”

She gave a frustrated sigh and rolled her eyes. “What do you think? We share a room. Do I have my own private window?” With that, she hurried off to join Amelia and some others.

I wasn’t entirely surprised Emma didn’t know where the facility was. Duncan hadn’t either. That was a secret no detainee seemed able to crack but one that I would need to find out if I made contact with Adrian—no, when I made contact with Adrian.

Emma’s brusque attitude didn’t sting quite as much anymore because some attention had been taken off me, thanks to a shake-up in the veteran detainees. A guy named Jonah, who was around Duncan’s age, had slipped up in our history class and gotten too vocal with his opinions recently—much more than I had my first day. It had earned him a trip to purging and obvious disapproval from our superiors. Some of the other detainees had also started shunning him, but Duncan and those at his table were still including him. I had recently been allowed to sit with them and was learning the whole story.

“I ruined it,” Jonah muttered, lest one of the cafeteria supervisors overhear. “I was doing so good. I could’ve been out of here! But Harrison made me so mad when he started off with his so called historical facts about dhampirs and—”

“Hush,” said Duncan. He had an easy smile on his face, no doubt for the benefit of those watching us. “Don’t fixate on it. They can tell. You’ll make things worse. Smile.”

“How can I smile?” demanded Jonah. “I know what’s coming. I’ll be like Renee. They’re going to re-ink my tattoo with stronger compulsion! They’re going to try to force me to change my mind that way!”

“You don’t know that,” said Duncan. His expression, however, betrayed him.

“And it doesn’t always take,” added Elsa. She was one who’d moved her seat from me on that first day, but I’d since learned she wasn’t that bad—just scared, like they all were. “None of us would be here if it did. You might power through it.”

Jonah looked skeptical. “Depends on how heavy they dose me.”

I thought of Keith and his automaton responsiveness when I’d last seen him. From what I’d gathered, that could only have been achieved by some pretty severe conditioning here, as well as strongly compelled ink like Renee’s. Silence fell at the table, and I wrestled with a decision. Duncan had told me my acceptance with the group needed to be in baby steps and that although it was okay for me to sit with them now, it’d be better if I stayed quiet for a while and didn’t act like I had too many opinions or attitude left. That was probably sound advice, yet I suddenly found myself speaking anyway.

“I might be able to help you,” I said. Jonah’s gaze locked on to me.

“How?” he asked.

“She’s kidding,” said Duncan, a warning note in his voice. “Aren’t you, Sydney?”

I appreciated his help, but the fear in Jonah’s face was too strong. If I could stop him from becoming another Keith, I would. Are you sure? an inner voice asked me. You actually made progress in getting to Adrian. You need to lay low now until he talks to Marcus. Why risk everything by helping someone else?

It was a valid question, but I knew the answer immediately: because it was the right thing to do.

“I’m not kidding,” I said firmly. Duncan sighed in dismay but let me continue. “I can make a compound that’ll fight the effects of the compulsion.”

Jonah’s face fell a little. “I almost believe you. What I don’t believe, not even for an instant, is that they give you access to the standard bank of Alchemist chemicals.”

“I don’t need them. I just need”—my eyes fell on the center of the table—“that saltshaker. Specifically, the salt. Do you think I could smuggle it out of here without them noticing?”

The others looked incredulous, but Elsa played along. “Yes … but I think they’d notice it was missing afterward and come asking questions.”

She was probably right. With the Alchemist’s efficiency, they probably counted every piece of silverware after we left. A missing saltshaker might make them think we were making weapons out of its plastic or something. I casually slid my napkin toward the center of the table and then reached for the saltshaker. As I lifted it over my tray to salt my scrambled eggs, I managed to unscrew the top with one hand. When I went to return it to its spot, the shaker slipped out of my hand and fell over on the table, spilling salt onto my napkin.

“Oops,” I said, quickly reassembling the saltshaker. “The top was loose.” I moved my napkin around like I was cleaning the table, but in actuality, I folded the napkin up as I worked, making a neat little pouch of salt. I then slid it back beside my tray. It would be easy enough to pocket the napkin when we left. Usually, they were thrown away with the trays. No one would count them.

“Deftly done,” said Duncan, who still looked like he didn’t approve. “That’s all you need?”

“Mostly,” I said. I wasn’t close enough to any of them to reveal that I’d be using magic for the rest of the key components. “It’d be better if I had some of the compounds that go into ink, but injecting you with a saline solution—once I’ve treated this salt—should work just as well.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I spotted another problem and groaned. “I don’t have anything to inject you with.” Salt might be a common commodity, but needles generally weren’t left lying around within our reach.

“Do you need a tattoo gun?” asked Jonah.

I speculated, based on what I knew of the Alchemist tattooing process and my own experiments. “Ideally, that’d be great. A full-fledged tattoo with solid ink would provide permanent protection. But we should be able to get fine short-term protection from a basic medical syringe—like they do for run-of-the-mill re-inkings.”

Duncan arched an eyebrow. “Short-term?”

“It’ll negate whatever they do to you in the near future,” I said, feeling confident even with a makeshift solution. “Like, months at least. But for lifetime protection, you’d eventually need it tattooed in for real.”

“I’ll take months,” said Jonah.

It was hard to keep the dismay off my face. “Yeah, but I can’t give you that without a proper needle. That’s the one thing I can’t improvise on here. I … I’m sorry. I was too hasty with this plan.”

“Like hell,” he retorted. “There are plenty of needles like that in the purging room. They’re in that cabinet by the sink. I’ll just get myself sent there and swipe one.”

Beside him, Lacey scoffed. “If you act out again so soon, they aren’t sending you to purging. You’re going for re-inking—or worse.” That threat hung heavily over us a moment. “I’ll do it,” she declared. “I’ll do something in our next class.”

“No,” I said quickly. “I’ll do it. I’ll get the needle directly that way. It’ll save time in getting it back to me, in case they send Jonah for re-inking sooner rather than later.” There was truth to my point, but a large part of my motivation was that I wasn’t going to let anyone else get sent to purging for one of my plans. Amelia still glared at me whenever we made eye contact. I wouldn’t risk any more enemies. Purging was miserable, but it did eventually end, and so far, it wasn’t having the desired effect, considering my first impulse upon seeing Adrian last night was to kiss him, not throw up.

The rest of my tablemates thought it was a heroic act, particularly Jonah. Others, like Duncan, thought I was on the verge of making a huge mistake, but none of them would intervene.

“Thank you,” said Jonah. “I mean it. I owe you.”

“We’re in this together,” I said simply.

That sentiment took a few of them by surprise, but the chimes signaling the end of breakfast prevented any further conversation. I successfully smuggled my salt out and slipped it into my shoe when I reached my next class, on the pretense that I was adjusting my sock. As the others filed into their seats, I decided it was best to get this plan going as soon as possible. I wouldn’t let Lacey do my work for me, but I used her now as an accomplice as she sat down in a nearby desk.

“Look, Lacey,” I said, as though we were continuing some conversation from the cafeteria, “I’m not saying you’re wrong … just misguided. Until the Strigoi are eradicated, there’s nothing wrong with being civil toward the Moroi.”

To her credit, she caught on quickly and played along. “You weren’t talking about being civil. You were talking about being friendly. And we all know that’s a dangerous area with you and your history.”

I put on an offended look. “So you’re saying it’s not even okay to have a casual meal with one of them?”

“If it’s not for business, then no.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable!” I exclaimed.

Kennedy, our instructor, glanced up from her desk at the raised voices. “Ladies, is there a problem?”

Lacey pointed accusingly. “Sydney’s trying to convince me it’s okay to hang out with Moroi in a personal way outside of work.”

“I never said personal! I’m just saying, if you’re on assignment and have a contact, what’s the harm in getting dinner or a movie?”

“It leads to trouble, that’s what. You need to draw a line and keep things black and white.”

“Only if you’re stupid enough to think they’re as dangerous as Strigoi. I know how to walk in that gray area,” I retorted.

This was a particularly compelling point that Lacey had set up nicely because just yesterday, Kennedy had been using the black-and-white and gray areas metaphors. She tried to interject, but I wouldn’t let her and kept ranting at Lacey. Ten minutes later, I found myself ushered into the purging room. Sheridan looked mildly surprised to see me.

“A little early, isn’t it?” she asked. “That, and you’ve done so well this week.”

“They always backslide,” remarked one of her assistants.

She nodded in agreement and gestured me to the chair. “You know the drill.”

I did. It was as awful as it always was—maybe a little more so since breakfast was so fresh in my stomach. When I was able to throw it all up after the slide show, they sent me to the sink to brush my teeth. The disposable toothbrushes were right next to the cabinet holding syringes. I turned on the water and pretended to spit again, after first glancing back. The others weren’t watching me directly, presumably because they didn’t think there was much I could do in that small room. I started to reach for the toothbrush, planning on opening the cabinet in the same motion.

There was just one problem, and I had only a split second to solve it. How was I going to get the syringe out? My scrubs had no pockets. The syringe was in a plastic wrapper and had a cap over the needle, so I could theoretically slip it into my sock or even my bra without injury. That much motion might attract attention.

A commotion at the door startled me and the others, and we all turned to see two other security guys escorting someone in: Duncan.

He made the briefest of eye contact with me and then began to struggle. “Come on, I was just kidding! It was a joke, for God’s sake.” They tried to drag him toward the restraining chair, and he dug his feet in. “I’m sorry, I’ll never do it again! Please don’t make me do this. It’s been ages.”

I realized then that it was no coincidence he was there just as I was finishing up. Duncan had timed whatever “joke” he’d made so that he’d get carted off and could make a commotion here—a commotion I was wasting by staring stupidly. Quickly, I reached out and took both toothbrush and syringe, slipping the latter underneath my sock while the others were busy with Duncan. I then proceeded to brush my teeth and not act like a friend was about to endure something awful to help me.

Duncan was strapped into the chair by the time I was escorted away. Sheridan shook her head in exasperation. “What a morning.”

When I joined the rest of the detainees in our next class, I saw Jonah and a few of the others from our breakfast table shooting me furtive, curious looks. I gave a curt nod, indicating success, and then spoke to him later when we were filing out of the class. “It’s not ready yet, but I’ve got what I need.”

“I don’t want to rush you,” he whispered back, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead. “But I overheard Addison telling Harrison that with all the acting out lately, they should maybe consider taking ‘drastic action’ soon.”

“Noted,” I said.

Duncan showed up to our next class, Conscious and Moral Living, wearing the telltale signs of recent purging. He looked properly contrite, but I got the full story out of him on the way to lunch later.

“What happened to not doing anything stupid?” I asked.

“Hey, I didn’t do anything stupid. I stopped you from doing something stupid. No way could you have stolen that syringe without being noticed. I saved you. Now I hear they’re serving manicotti for lunch—my favorite.” He gave a woeful sigh. “You’re welcome.”

“What was it you said to Lacey that got you in trouble?” I asked.

He almost smiled then remembered there were always eyes around. “Well, you’d just had your little spat, so I followed up on it and said maybe she shouldn’t be so down on the idea of getting personal with Moroi. That maybe a little ‘personal time’ would make her less uptight.”

I had to try not to laugh. “She does know you were acting, right?”

“She better. You and I kept her out of purging today. Hey, where are you going?”

We’d almost reached the cafeteria, but I had started to turn away. “The only place a girl can get some privacy. I’ll join you soon.”

I stepped into a nearby hall that contained restrooms. I was entitled to visit them on my lunch break, so long as I didn’t linger and catch someone’s attention. While there were cameras in the bathroom’s main area (I think they were afraid someone might break a mirror and use it as a weapon), the individual stalls offered one of the few private areas in the facility. I shut the door to one and worked quickly, knowing I had limited time.

It had been months since I’d used magic, but I was surprised at how naturally and quickly it came back to me. I pulled out my precious packet of salt and carefully poured it into the syringe’s main compartment, giving me a much better storage container as I began the charming process. First was earth. I’d purposely touched my teacher’s potted plant in our last class, getting dirt on my fingers. From that, I was able to summon the essence of earth, murmuring the words that drew out its power and sending it to the salt. A rush of exhilaration seized me as the magic took hold, and I nearly gasped. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it or how alive I felt using it. It was especially noticeable after living in a hellish place like this.

Summoning air was next, which was also easy, seeing as it was everywhere. Water was also easy, since I had a toilet right in front of me, and I didn’t have any sanitation concerns since I was only calling on magical properties and not using any actual water in the compound—yet. Fire proved to be the most difficult, seeing as the Alchemists didn’t exactly leave matches within our reach. That was no surprise since, as far as I could tell, this place was one enormous fire hazard. There was no easily accessible source for elemental fire, so I had to create my own.

Ms. Terwilliger had grilled me in casting fireball spells, and I had excellent control over them. With a few whispered words, I called on that spell now, summoning just a spark of flame in my palm, barely enough to be seen. Its essence was strong enough, however, for me to pull its elemental power into the rest of the salt compound. Once that was done, I made the mini-fireball disappear.

Carefully concealing the syringe in one hand, I flushed the toilet and stepped out of the stall.

As I washed my hands, I was surprised that I felt a little dizzy. Being out of practice had taken its toll, especially having to summon fire rather than just take it from the environment. Still, that weariness was juxtaposed with that early heady feeling of bliss that magic use brought. Enhancing it was the knowledge that I wasn’t powerless, that I had the ability to help someone else and thwart the Alchemist agenda. That was a high in its own right.

When I reached the cafeteria and approached Duncan’s table with my tray, everyone appeared to be in light, easy conversation. Once I sat down, I could sense the unspoken tension among them. They continued talking about some earlier topic from history, though I could tell none of them were really into it. At last, smiling as though we were just kids at a regular high school with ordinary concerns, Jonah said, “Addison told me as I was walking in here to skip art class. She said Sheridan was going to meet me outside the room.”

A cloud fell over us at the subtext. “They didn’t waste any time,” muttered Lacey. Her eyes flicked to me. “Did this morning’s shenanigans pay off?”

“Kind of,” I said, pitching my voice low as I stirred up my manicotti. My stomach wasn’t quite as bad as Duncan’s, but I still decided to stick to the blander side dishes. “I got the syringe. The salt’s in it, ready to go. I just don’t have a purified source of water to mix the solution. It’d also be best if we could’ve boiled the salt in,” I added, “but a brisk shaking should do it if we can get the water. The teachers always have bottled water. Maybe we can steal some of theirs.”

“No time,” said Jonah. “Give me the syringe. I’ll fill it with tap in the bathroom if someone’ll block me from the camera.”

I winced. “You have to inject that into your skin. You don’t want tap water.”

“The stuff’s drinkable,” he countered. “And it can’t be any worse than what they’re planning on injecting me with. I’ll take my chances.”

My sanitary sensibilities still resisted. “I wish we had more time.”

“We don’t,” he said bluntly. “You’ve done a lot, and I’m grateful. Now it’s my turn to take the risks. Slip me the syringe on our way out of here. Is there anything special I need to do with it? Aside from the obvious?”

I shook my head, still frustrated but knowing he was right. “Inject small amounts into your tattoo, just like they do with re-inking. You don’t have to be precise. There’ll be enough of it in your system to negate what’s in their compelled ink.”

“What is in your solution?” asked Elsa.

“Don’t answer that,” warned Duncan. “The less we know, the better for all of us—especially Sydney.”

When the meal ended, our tablemates purposely crowded around Jonah and me as we waited to return our trays, allowing me to make the syringe pass. After that, it was literally out of my hands. I had to trust that Jonah would find a way to mix the solution with water on his own and inject himself before they came for him.

The rest of the day crawled, especially art class. He didn’t show up, and worry filled me as I wondered what brainwashing he was enduring. Duncan, who’d treated this as a joke and told me numerous times how foolish I was, shared my tension.

“Jonah’s a good guy,” he said. “I really do hope your plan works. I’ve seen what they can do to people. Some come back pretty bad.”

Remembering Duncan’s long tenure, I was hit by a startling revelation. “Did you ever know a guy named Keith here? With one eye?”

Duncan’s expression darkened. “Yeah, I know him. We weren’t that close when he was here. He was one of those … one who came back pretty bad.”

Reflection time followed, and Jonah returned. He looked cowed and said nothing as our usual session ran its course. Sheridan left him alone and instead drew out the rest of us, who were nearly as subdued, our moods darkened by the knowledge of what had happened to him. I almost hoped she would force him to talk so that I could get a sense of where he was at, but she must have decided he’d more than done his time today. He simply sat and listened with glazed eyes, his expression changing little. My heart sank.

When the session ended, and we were dismissed for dinner, his attitude didn’t change. Duncan ordered him to sit at our table, just as I had when Renee had returned. Jonah said nothing as the rest of us chatted about things we didn’t care about, all of us too nervous to ask what was truly on our minds. This behavior was right in line with what happened after a hardcore dose of compulsion re-inking. The question was, was Jonah faking or not? If he was, interacting with him might draw attention to him. If he wasn’t, he might very well report us.

Dinner wound down quietly at our table, and Duncan finished the last of his dessert, a cherry crumble that looked like it had been microwaved. “That actually tasted better than I expected,” he remarked, more to himself than us.

“You know what else is better than expected?”

All of us looked up, surprised to hear Jonah for the first time since his re-inking. Chimes sounded, signaling the end of dinner and spurring a collective rising of everyone in the room. Jonah stood as well, tray in hand.

“Me,” he said in a soft voice. “I feel great. Not a bit different.” He shot me a smile that was gone as quickly as it came. “You saved my life, Sydney. Thanks.” He strutted past me to join the line by the garbage bins, leaving me gaping.

I followed a few moments later, still stunned. He didn’t say anything to me for the rest of the night, but I’d seen that gleam in his eyes when he smiled. He was still there. His personality and mind were intact. They hadn’t gotten to him—and my formula had helped protect him. That realization stayed with me for the rest of the night, empowering me. For months, my captors had scored victory after victory on me, making me feel as though I could never fight back. Tonight, I had. It was a small victory, but it was real, and I had pulled it off.

I was so proud of my own cunning that I wasn’t paying attention to much else when I got ready for bed later on. I was in the girls’ bathroom, with a handful of others, still patting myself on the back. I was too oblivious to see Emma coming or make any defense when she slammed me into a corner of the wall. For a moment, I couldn’t believe she’d dare do it under surveillance. Then, I realized she’d positioned me under the camera, out of its view. Amelia and a couple of their other friends started talking loudly, drowning out Emma’s low and menacing voice as she kept me pinned in the corner and leaned forward.

“Jonah was re-inked today,” she said. “A major one—the kind that can make people forget their own name. And yet people are saying it didn’t affect him. And they’re saying it’s because of something you did to him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped back. “He seemed out of it to me.”

She pushed me harder than I expected her capable of since she was smaller than I was. “Did you or didn’t you do something to him?”

I glared. “Why? So you can report me and get out early for good behavior?”

“No,” she said. “Because I want you to do it to me too.”