Silver Shadows (14 page)

Despite my pounding headache, I shifted into the trance needed to embrace spirit and reach out to her. Nothing. That was okay, though. I slipped back to myself, vowing to try again later. I hopped in the shower and washed away last night’s party. When I got out, I found I could stomach food a little better than earlier and ate a leftover donut I’d brought home the previous day. Or maybe the day before that. It was stale, but it did the trick.

As I munched on it, I made a mental to-do list of things that didn’t include going to parties tonight. Apologies were first on my list. Along with Nina, I needed to fix things with Dimitri, after the asshole way I’d walked out on him. I also needed to talk to my mother. Just because she’d given up on herself was no reason for me to. I’d start with her first, seeing as she was the one I hadn’t spoken to in the longest time. Before I did, though, I should probably stop by a feeder since I couldn’t recall my last blood. It would help clear my head.

I was almost at my front door when I decided to search for Sydney. Maybe hourly searching was excessive, but it would keep me in practice and sober. It was important that I get in the habit of these new patterns if I was going to change my life. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Tendrils of spirit shot out from me across the world of dreams, reaching for Sydney as they so often did …

… and this time, they connected.

I was dumbfounded. It’d been so long since I’d formed a successful dream connection that I almost didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t even gone in with a preplanned setting because I’d simply been running on autopilot, making the effort without expecting results. As the world shimmered around us and I felt her materialize in the dream, I quickly summoned up our old meeting place: the Getty Villa in Malibu. Columns and gardens appeared around us, surrounding the museum’s focal point: an enormous pool and fountain. Sydney appeared on the other side of it. For several moments, I could only stare across the water at her, certain I was imagining this. Could I hallucinate in a dream I’d created? Surely this was too soon for any crazy alcohol-withdrawal symptoms.

“Adrian?”

Her voice was small, nearly lost in the dripping of water from the fountain. But the power it carried—and the effect it had on me—was monumental. I’d heard the expression “weak-kneed” before but had never lived it until now. My muscles didn’t feel as though they could sustain me, and there was a great swelling in my chest, the result of a tangle of emotions I couldn’t even begin to describe. Love. Joy. Relief. Disbelief. And mixed in with all of them were the emotions that I’d endured these last few months as well: despair, fear, sorrow. It spread out from my heart, and I felt tears form in my eyes. It wasn’t possible that one person could make you experience so many emotions at once, that one person could trigger a universe of feelings, simply with the sound of your name.

I also knew then that they were wrong—all of them. My mom. My dad. Nina. Anyone who thought love could simply be built on shared goals alone had never, ever experienced anything
like what I had with Sydney. I couldn’t believe I’d almost lost this through my own ignorance. Until I looked into her eyes now, I didn’t truly realize what a hollow life I’d been living.

“Sydney …”

It would take too long to walk around the fountain. I jumped up on the edge and then into the pool, wading through the water toward her. I would’ve done it even if I wasn’t wearing dream clothes. No physical discomfort mattered. Only getting to her did. My entire world, my entire existence, became focused around her. The journey took seconds, but it felt as though I’d been traveling toward her for years. I reached the other side and stepped out, dripping water onto the sunlit stones. I hesitated only a moment and then wrapped my arms around her, half expecting her to vanish into thin air. But she was real. Real and solid (in that dream kind of way), and her whole body shuddered with a repressed sob as she buried her face against my chest.

“Oh, Adrian. Where have you been?”

It wasn’t a chastisement, simply an expression of her own longing and fear. She couldn’t have known about the demons I’d faced these last couple of weeks or how very close I’d come to missing this opportunity. I cupped her face in my hands and gazed into those brown eyes I loved so much, eyes that now glittered with unshed tears.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry. I looked for a long time … but I couldn’t reach you. And then I—I slacked off. I know I shouldn’t have. You wouldn’t have. God, Sydney, I’m so sorry. If I’d tried harder and sooner—”

“No, no,” she said softly, running her hand through my hair. “There was nothing you could have done—not until recently. They regulate our sleep here with some kind of gas. I’ve been
too drugged for spirit to reach me.” She began to tremble. “I was so afraid I’d never reach you—so afraid I’d never find a way out—”

“Shh. You found me now. Everything’s going to be okay. Where are you?”

A remarkable transformation took place. She looked as though she wanted nothing more than to hold me and cry out all the fear and frustration she’d experienced over the last few months. I knew because I kind of felt the same way. But no matter her own longings, no matter what hell she’d endured, she still remained the strongest, most amazing woman I knew. Before my eyes, she pushed all those fears and insecurities aside, ignoring the part of her that only wanted comfort in my arms. She became the Sydney Sage I’d first met: efficient, strong, competent. Ready to make the tough choices in order to accomplish what needed to get done.

“Right,” she said. She paused to wipe the tears from her eyes. “We might not have long to talk. I’m not sure how long I’ve been asleep. And … I don’t know where I’m at. I haven’t seen a window since I was taken. We’re kept underground.”

“Who’s we?” I asked.

“There are twelve others—er, thirteen now, we just got someone new—all former Alchemists who got in trouble. They’ve been reprogrammed to varying degrees. Some are just playing along, I’m certain of it, but it’s hard to tell. We get in big trouble for stepping out of line.”

“What kind of trouble?” I asked. Although I’d been drinking up all her features since she appeared, I only now paused to truly study her. She was in some kind of horrible khaki outfit, and her golden hair looked longer than before. Both her face and
body also seemed thinner, but I was uncertain how accurate that was. Unless the spirit user specifically altered the other person’s appearance, that person usually showed up in the dream as a mix of what he or she looked like in reality and how that person perceived him or herself. Often, the two weren’t the same. I made a mental note to ask her about her physical condition later.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said brusquely. “I’m fine, and I’m sure there are others like me, they’re just too scared to act. Others have been completely reprogrammed, though. They’re just like Keith. They’re—” Her eyes widened. “Keith. That’s it.”

“Keith?” I repeated dumbly. I was still hung up on her evasiveness about getting in “big trouble” and didn’t see where her former asshole colleague fit into this.

“He was there. Long before me. At the same facility.” She clutched my sleeve in her excitement. “They have this wall where people write confessions, and he wrote one—well, an apology actually, to my sister Carly. The point is, he was there, and we know he left. Maybe he knows where the facility is. He had to go outside when he got out, right?”

“Didn’t you say he was really out of it, though?” I asked. “Is he even going to have the sense to talk to us?”

Her expression darkened. “Yes … he was more than out of it. That’s what happens when you’re fresh off of re-inking. But in most cases, the worst of that wears off over time, and even if people are still compliant, they should eventually lose some of that brain-deadness. He might have some answers if you can find him.”

“Finding him might be easier said than done,” I murmured, thinking of the difficulties I’d had locating Sydney’s father
and Zoe. “The Alchemists aren’t very forthcoming about their agents’ assignments.”

“Marcus can help you,” she said decisively. “And don’t look like that. He
can
. He has resources. I know you guys can put aside your differences and work together.”

I’d grimaced at his name, and she’d misunderstood, not realizing that Marcus and I had been in contact extensively since her disappearance. Mostly I was reminded that he too was another person I hadn’t parted well with, but that wasn’t her problem.

“We’ll make it work,” I assured her. “Plus, he’s got this list that—”

Her image began to fade before my eyes as the real world summoned her back. “Time to wake up,” she said sadly.

I clutched at her, but she was losing substance. Panic filled me. There were so many things I still wanted to ask her, but I only had a few seconds to use. “I’ll talk to Marcus, and I’ll come find you again. Is this your usual sleeping time?”

“Yes. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

I don’t know if she heard me because I was suddenly standing alone in the garden, with the fountain splashing behind me and Malibu sun shining all around. I stared at where she’d been a few moments longer and then let the dream dissolve, returning me to my suite in guest housing. I was still by the front door, where I’d been about to go see my mother. But now, everything had changed. I’d made contact with Sydney! I’d seen her face, and she was okay … relatively speaking, of course.

Thinking of my mom brought a pang to my heart, but I couldn’t go to her. I didn’t want to leave things badly with her—or
with Nina, Dimitri, Rose, and Lissa. But none of them could help me right now. They would have to wait. It was time for me to return to the people who could help me find Sydney.

I took out my cell phone and began looking up ticket prices to Palm Springs.

B
EING 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?”