Silver Shadows (18 page)

Later, when the lights went out, I heard a click at the door but didn’t know if it had been successful. I crept out of bed and tentatively approached the slit of light, waiting and listening to make sure no one was outside. They weren’t. Gingerly, I tried to slide the door open a crack … and succeeded. The bolt hadn’t worked! I exhaled a deep breath and braced myself for the next part of the task: getting out unseen.

I’d used invisibility spells in the past, once even to break into an Alchemist facility, which seemed ironic in my current situation. They weren’t easy, otherwise—as Ms. Terwilliger had noted—everyone would use them. The best coverage required a lot of spell components and ideally an amulet. Even then, the spell would often be unraveled if someone knew to look for you. I had nothing to aid me here, only the knowledge of a small spell and my own power to pull it off. It would last thirty minutes at most and be susceptible to anyone searching for me or who looked me directly in the eye. It would protect me from cameras, however, and my big gamble was that the halls would be deserted this time of night, when our masters thought we were all locked in and drugged.

I didn’t know what kind of shifts the Alchemists pulled, but I had to assume personnel would thin out later. So I sat back on my bed for a half hour, hoping by then that everyone would have settled down for a quiet night. Before returning to the door, I stuffed my pillow under the covers. Between that and the near darkness, I hoped it wouldn’t be obvious that the bed was empty to anyone glancing at the surveillance screens. At the door, I murmured the incantation as quietly as I could, not wanting to tip Emma off to my true nature. Meaning and focus were more important than volume, and I felt another exhilarating surge of power course through me as I finished speaking. The spell, such as it was, had worked, and now the clock was ticking. After again making sure no one was in the hall, I slowly slid the door open, just enough to slip through, and then closed it again. That was one of the other difficult parts of invisibility spells: just because you were invisible, it didn’t mean your actions were. Someone seeing a door open by itself would give me away just as much as bumping into a person, so I had to make sure all my movements were small and cautious, attracting as little attention as possible.

The dorm hall was empty, with only the cameras keeping sentry, and I hurried toward the nexus where other corridors intersected. There, I found my first Alchemist on guard duty, a hard-faced man I’d never seen before who was texting on his phone as he stood stationed in a spot that let him supervise all the halls. He never looked up as I moved quietly and slowly past him, turning down the hall that led to the elevators. It was still amazing to me that the only exit off the floor didn’t even lead outside in an emergency, but I supposed the Alchemists felt it was better to risk our lives than give us more escape points.

When I reached the elevators, I realized they’d taken precautions there too—precautions that I’d completely let slip my mind. You couldn’t even push the button for the elevator without first scanning your ID card. I’d seen our Alchemist jailers do it many times, but I’d left it out of my plan. The elevator was inaccessible to me, as was the similarly access-controlled stairwell next to it. Otherwise, we detainees would’ve constantly been trying to use them. As I stood staring, trying to find a work-around, a ding indicated the elevator’s arrival and that the doors were about to open. I hastily stepped to the side and out of direct sight. A moment later, the elevator opened and Sheridan came out.

Without hesitation, I slipped in after her while the doors were still open, praying the elevator would still function from the last swipe of her ID card. If not, I might be stuck in it for a very long time. Luck was with me, and the button for the operations and purging floor lit up when I pushed it. I moved down a floor, and the doors opened to an empty corridor. I hurried out and tried not to think about how I was going to be able to use the elevator again.

I remembered where the supply closets were, but when I reached them, I discovered something I hadn’t noticed before: They too required a keycard to open them. Sheridan must’ve unlocked them ahead of our visit before, but now I was out of luck. Time was slipping away on my spell, and I was getting nowhere fast. Sadly, I accepted that I’d probably have to return to my room and try again with a better plan tomorrow. At least I still had that second stick of gum.

Laughter jerked my attention from the medical supply closet, and I saw two Alchemists round the corner and come
walking down the hall—in my direction. Panicked, I flattened myself against the wall. There were no nearby corners or nooks to duck into. If luck was on my side, the twosome wouldn’t walk past me at all. If they did, I’d have to hope looking down would save me from eye contact and detection. For all I knew, that might not be enough.

The two of them stopped in front of the operations room, and I started to breathe a sigh of relief until an idea came to me and I realized I might be missing a golden opportunity. I sprinted toward the room they walked into and just managed to make it inside before the door—an automatic pocket one—slid closed. I froze and held my breath, terrified someone would notice me, but the two Alchemists I’d followed never even turned around. The only other person in there was a bored-looking guy in headphones, who was eating yogurt near a wall of monitors. The majority of the monitors were dark, and I realized those were the displays from our bedrooms. The other monitors showed classrooms and halls, most of which were empty.

Desks and computers filled the room, and I prowled around, again struck by a sense of déjà vu for the time I’d conducted similar activities in an Alchemist facility. Only then I’d had a much more reliable invisibility spell to fall back on. Still feeling determined, I searched around until I found what I’d hoped for. The guy eating the yogurt had taken off his suit coat and draped it on a chair. Clipped to the coat’s pocket was his ID badge. I had no idea if some badges had more access than others, but at the very least, this would get me back on the elevator before my spell wore off. I pilfered the ID from his coat while his back was to me and slipped it into the waistband of my pants. I’d
thought at first when I saw his headphones he was monitoring sound surveillance, but being that close to him, I realized he was actually listening to some kind of metal band. I wondered how that would fly with his superiors.

Regardless, it was good news for me, as was the fact that the two people I’d followed in were huddled over some computers and chatting loudly. I was pretty sure I could slip out, and no one would really notice the door opening. Before I could make my way back, however, I saw something new that made me hesitate and then walk the opposite direction. It was a touchscreen panel in the wall labeled sedation control. Current readouts indicated that the system was on nighttime settings, and every region of the detainee living quarters was listed: bedrooms, halls, cafeteria, and classrooms. All bedrooms were labeled 27 percent, with the rest of the rooms at 0 percent.

The gas levels
, I realized. When I’d been in isolation, I’d gotten the impression they were controlling my cell manually, which made sense since they would knock me out instantly if the conversation wasn’t going their way. From this display, however, it was clear the regular detainees were modulated by a central, automatic system that piped in the correct level to keep us heavily asleep each night. Three options at the bottom of the touchscreen suggested there was occasionally a need for manual intervention:
OVERRIDE—STOP ALL SYSTEMS, RESET, AND EMERGENCY PROTOCOL—ALL REGIONS
42
PERCENT
.

For a moment, it was simply the number that was staggering. If the normal 27 percent sedative concentration sent us into a heavy sleep, what would 42 percent do? I knew almost instantly. That much sedative piped in would knock us out in the blink of an eye. There’d be no drifting off into heavy slumber. We’d
keel over where we were standing and practically be in comas—which would be very useful if there was ever any sort of mass escape.

I didn’t know exactly what Adrian and Marcus might be able to pull off when they found me, but I knew this could cause some serious kinks in the plan. Disabling the gas in my own room wasn’t going to be good enough. I need to kill it for the whole floor, and that was no small feat. Turning it off here was pointless when the touch of a finger would bring it right back. Somewhere, there had to be a more mechanical system I could interfere with.

That wasn’t a problem I could focus on tonight, though. With a last lingering look at the panel, I hurried away and slipped out the door, unnoticed as I’d expected. From there, it was a hasty trip to the supply closets. Like all the other doors I’d encountered, I opened them as little as possible, allowing me to slip inside each one and gather what I needed where there was no surveillance. I soon had two bottles of purified water tucked into my waistband and a dozen wrapped and capped syringes hidden variously in my socks and bra. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but I needed everything to remain under my clothing to be covered by the spell. My surprise find of the night was that extra condiments were also kept in the food supply closet: ketchup, mustard, and—salt. I’d planned on smuggling out small amounts throughout the week, but one stolen shaker from the closet solved that problem.

Laden down with my stolen goods, I made my way back to the elevator. Having seen how relaxed the night surveillance was in the control room, I was no longer as worried about them noticing doors opening small amounts by themselves on-screen
as I had been. When I reached the detainee living floor, however, the texting guard came walking down the hall when he heard the elevator and saw no one come out. I pressed against the wall again, frozen and looking down as he passed me. He stopped a few feet away from me and stared at the elevator with a frown while I held my breath. Even if he didn’t make eye contact, my spell had to be on its last leg.

After several agonizing seconds, he finally shrugged and returned to his post. I moved passed him, mercifully unnoticed, and finally made it back to my room, where I nearly fainted in relief. There, I carefully concealed all my contraband in the pocket formed between my mattress and its sheet. They made us change our own bedding once a week, and we’d done it two days ago. That meant I had five days to use up all my supplies before running the risk of someone noticing syringes falling out of my mattress sheet on laundry day.

Weak with relief, I finally crawled into my covers. Despite feeling weary in body, my mind was worked up and agitated from tonight’s sleuthing. It took me a while to fall asleep, and I knew Adrian would worry.

Sure enough, when I materialized in the Getty Villa’s courtyard, I saw him pacing back and forth. He turned abruptly toward me when I said his name.

“Thank God, Sydney.” He hurried over and swept me into his arms. “You have no idea how worried I was when you weren’t here at the usual time.”

“Sorry,” I said, holding him tightly. “I had some errands to do.”

He pulled back and gave me a knowing look. “What kind of errands?”

“Oh, you know, the kind that involve breaking and entering and magic use.”

“Sydney,” he groaned. “We’re getting closer to finding you. You need to just lay low. Do you realize how dangerous it is to be off prowling on these ‘errands’ of yours?”

“I do,” I said, thinking back to the gas control panel. “And so you’re not going to be happy when I tell you that I’m going to have to do it again soon.”

I
WANTED TO BELIEVE
S
YDNEY
when she told me she had everything under control, but it was hard, especially when she continued to stay vague on the details of what exactly it was she was doing in re-education. Rather than worrying, I tried to focus on the positives, like how I was able to talk to her at all and how ostensibly, despite her secretiveness about re-education, she seemed healthy and well.

Aunt Tatiana, sometimes my helper and sometimes devil’s advocate, didn’t make that easy.

Who knows what they’re doing to her?
she said in my mind.
She could be suffering now, screaming for you to help her, and here you are
.

Sydney’s fine
, I retorted firmly.
Obviously not in ideal conditions, but she’s tough
.

Aunt Tatiana was relentless.
So she wants you to think, when secretly, she wishes you’d come to her
.

Anger kindled in me—and guilt.
I’m trying! I’d be there now
if I could. Don’t make me feel worse than I already do
.

“Adrian?”

That was Marcus, speaking out loud. He peered at me across a diner’s table, drawing me out of the imaginary conversation.

“Where are you?” he asked. “I said your name three times.”

“Sorry, just tired,” I lied.

He nodded, taking me at my word. “You ready to go then?”

We’d grabbed a quick dinner after talking to Carly and were now ready to resume the journey to Boise. It was a longer drive than we could do that day, so we ended up spending the night on the outskirts of Las Vegas, in a plain motel nowhere near the excitement of the Strip I usually frequented when in the area. I hardly cared, though. My concern now was to make good time and find a decent place to sleep where I could make contact with Sydney. The following morning, after those goals were met, Marcus and I were back on the road, off to the Potato State.

“Gem State,” Marcus corrected when he heard me call it that on our drive.

“What?”

“Idaho’s the Gem State, not the Potato State.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, making no attempt to hide my skepticism. “I hear about Idaho potatoes all the time. No one’s ever like, ‘Wow, my engagement ring has a rare Idaho diamond in it.’”

A smile played on his lips as he kept his eyes on the road. “Pretty sure,” he said.

I wasn’t masochistic enough to argue random trivia with a former Alchemist, but when we crossed the border into Idaho and started seeing license plates that said
FAMOUS POTATOES
, I
felt pretty confident about who was in the right on this topic.

Talking about gems reminded me I was still carrying around Aunt Tatiana’s cuff links—in the pocket of my jeans, no less. I’d originally done it so they wouldn’t get lost on the plane, but now I was courting danger of a different kind, carrying around a fortune that might easily fall out if I was careless. I lifted one out now, admiring the way the sunlight played over the diamonds and rubies. Foolish or not, having them with me made me feel lucky, as though I had Aunt Tatiana herself helping me—the real Aunt Tatiana, that is. Not my phantom tormentor.

Marcus and I reached Boise around dinnertime, going to the address Carly had given us. It was a complex of modest apartments, and Keith’s was a first-floor one with its own tiny porch that we made use of when no one answered the door. Darkness and lack of movement inside suggested he actually was out—and wasn’t just hiding from us. It was a nice summer evening, pleasant for Moroi and human both, but I worried how long we’d be out there.

“How do we know he isn’t working a night shift?” I asked Marcus.

Marcus propped his feet up on the porch’s railing. “Because he’s an Alchemist that got in trouble for breaking rules and stepping out of line. If he was an Alchemist who’d become so fascinated with vampires he was in danger of collaborating with Strigoi, they’d give him a night shift to keep an eye on him. But for general insubordination? He’s probably on an eight-to-five schedule, just to remind him what normal human life is like—and to save those night shifts for the real risks.”

Marcus was proven right ten minutes later when a Kia
Sorrento pulled up in the parking lot, and Keith came striding out toward the apartment. When he caught sight of us—specifically, me—he ground to a halt and grew visibly pale.

“No.
No
,” he said. “You can’t be here. Oh my God. What if it’s too late? What if someone’s seen you?” He looked around frantically, as though expecting an Alchemist SWAT team to leap out at him.

“Relax, Keith,” I said, getting to my feet. “We just want to talk.”

He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t talk to your kind, unless it’s business. And I’m not allowed to actually do business with your kind until I—”

“It’s about Carly Sage,” I interrupted.

That drew his rambling up short. He stared at us for several long moments, deliberation written all over his features. “Okay,” he said at last. “You can come inside.”

Nervously, Keith stepped forward and unlocked his door, continuing to cast anxious looks at both us and the rest of the parking lot. Once we were in, he drew all the curtains and then backed up as far away from us as possible, arms crossed defensively over his chest.

“What’s going on?” he demanded. “Who is this guy? Is Carly okay?”

“This is my friend, uh, John,” I said, realizing I probably shouldn’t cite the first name of one of the Alchemists’ most wanted renegades. As it was, he’d put on some sort of makeup to cover his indigo tattoo. “And Carly’s totally fine. We just saw her yesterday.”

Keith’s demeanor softened a little. “You … you saw her? She’s doing well?”

“Very well,” said Marcus. “She’s the one who gave us your address. She wanted us to come talk to you.”

“S-she did?” Keith’s eyes widened in wonder, which was actually kind of creepy, since one of his eyes was made of glass.

“Sydney’s missing,” I told him. “Carly wants you to help us find her.”

Keith looked genuinely surprised to hear this, then his expression turned to one of wariness. “Missing where?”

“She’s in re-education,” I said bluntly.

“No,” he groaned. “No. I knew I shouldn’t have let you in. I can’t have anything to do with this. I can’t have anything to do with her, not if she’s there.” He closed his eyes and sank to the ground. “Oh, God. They’ll find out you were here and send me back.”

“No one will know,” I said, hoping that was true. Until this moment, I never thought I’d feel pity for Keith. “We just need to know where Sydney is. She’s at the same place you were. Where’s it located?”

He opened his eyes and managed some kind of choking laugh. “You think they told us? They don’t even let us see the sun! We’re lucky to get light of any kind.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

A haunted look crossed Keith’s features. “It’s what happens when you’re in isolation.”

“Sydney’s not in isolation,” I said, not entirely following. “She’s with other people.”

“That’s its own kind of torture,” he said bitterly. “You learn pretty quickly what to do and not do to make your life easier.”

I was kind of itching to get more details, but Marcus pushed us back on track. “Okay, I get that they wouldn’t tell you where
you were, but you
did
leave eventually. You had to come outside that place to get here.”

“Yes. Blindfolded,” Keith said. “I wasn’t allowed to see anything until I was far away from there. And don’t ask me to gauge distances because I have no idea. I was in different cars and planes. … I lost track after a while. And honestly, getting back to that place was the last thing on my mind, so I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“But you were conscious,” Marcus reminded him. “You couldn’t see, but you had your other senses. Do you remember anything else? Sounds? Smells?”

Keith started to shake his head, but then I saw a spark of remembrance flash in his eye. He kept his mouth shut, the earlier wariness returning.

“I don’t know if Carly will ever forgive you, even if you help us,” I said quietly. “But I know for a fact she
won’t
if you’re sitting on information that could help her sister.”

Keith looked as though I’d hit him. “I tried everything,” he murmured. “I begged. I pleaded. I even got down on my knees.”

I realized he was talking about Carly now, not re-education. “Why?” I asked, in spite of myself. “Why do you care now about her forgiveness? Where was your conscience all those years ago? Or any of the years since then?”

“Re-education did it,” he said, staring down at his feet. “I’d never felt so helpless—so
hope
less—in my life as I did there. To be completely under someone’s power, with no one to turn to for help, to make someone feel like they’re at fault for you hurting them … I realized that was exactly what I’d done to Carly. That hangs over me every day.”

Again, I felt bad for him in a way, though he had no
sympathy from me over what he’d done to her. Even I got turned down by girls, and when it happened, I dusted off my ego and moved on. I’d never considered doing what he did. He should’ve known it was wrong before the Alchemists threw him into some mind-control camp. It was all between him and Carly now, and although he did appear legitimately sorry, she would be well within her rights if she let him suffer for the rest of his life.

Spelling that out for him probably wasn’t going to help me with my task here, so I more kindly said, “It’s up to her now. But I know she’ll be grateful if you can offer us anything that might help Sydney. Any detail you remember from when you left re-education.”

Long silence fell, and that seemed to weigh on Keith nearly as much as our coaxing. Finally, he took a deep breath. “It was hot out,” he said. “Hotter than I expected. Even in the middle of the day. I got out in late November and thought it’d be cold. But it wasn’t. It was almost like I was still in Palm Springs.”

I gasped, and Marcus gave me a sharp look before I could jump to some terrible conclusion. “She’s not there. Palm Springs isn’t on the list.” He turned back to Keith. “But when you say it was like that, do you mean it was a dry heat? Desert-like? Not tropical or humid?”

Keith’s brow furrowed. “Dry. For sure.”

“How hot is hot?” pushed Marcus. “What was the temperature?”

“I didn’t really have a thermometer to look at!” exclaimed Keith, growing frustrated.

Marcus was equally impatient. “Then take a guess. A hundred degrees?”

“No … not that. But hot for November—at least for me. I grew up in Boston. More like … I don’t know. Eighties, I guess.”

My attention was on Marcus now. I secretly hoped he’d suddenly say, “Aha!” and have all the answers. He didn’t, but he did at least look as though this was useful information.

“Anything else you remember?” he asked.

“That’s it,” said Keith morosely. “Will you please go? I’ve been trying to forget that place. I don’t want to go back for helping someone try to find it.”

I met Marcus’s eyes, and he nodded. “Hopefully this’ll be enough,” he said.

We thanked Keith and started toward the door. Considering his insistence on us leaving, I was kind of surprised when he was the one who suddenly said, “Wait. One more thing.”

“Yeah?” I asked, hoping he meant he had one more useful fact about re-education to share.

“If you see Carly again … tell her I really am sorry.”

“Do you still want her to turn you in to the police?” I asked.

Keith got that faraway look again. “It might be better. Certainly better than going back there. Maybe even better than this.” He gestured around him. “Technically, I’m free, but they’re always watching, always waiting for me to screw up. This isn’t how I pictured my life.”

When Marcus and I got into his car, I couldn’t help but remark, “Two months. He was only there for two months. And look at him.”

“That’s what that place does to you,” said Marcus grimly.

“Yeah, but Sydney’s been there more than twice that long.”

Those words settled heavily between us for a few moments,
and I had a feeling Marcus was trying to protect my feelings. “Did she seem that defeated?” he asked.

“No.”

“She’s stronger than Keith is.”

My heart sank a little. “And that’s also probably why she’s still there.” When he didn’t respond, I tried to find a more optimistic topic. “Was any of that of use to you? The dry-heat stuff?”

“I think so. Here. Let’s trade.” He opened the driver’s side door. “You drive, so we can get some hours in. I’ve got calls to make.”

I swapped places with him but still couldn’t help but ask, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? Maybe we should stay put until we’re able to figure out where she is. We could be going in the wrong direction.”

“Not if what Keith said is true. She might not be in Palm Springs, but she’s definitely south of us.” He pulled out his phone as I drove us toward I-84. “I’ve studied this list of possible re-education locations so much, I’ve practically got it memorized. There aren’t many places in the United States that would be in the eighties in November.”

“There are tons,” I argued, feeling like we were having the Potato State discussion again. “Hawaii, California, Florida, Texas. We were just in Las Vegas, and it was an oven!”

He shook his head. “Most of those aren’t going to have dry heat. They have warm temperatures and rain in the winter. And a lot of the high-altitude dry places with desert climates—like Las Vegas—aren’t that hot in November. From what I can tell from this list, Keith’s info, and you being certain she’s in this time zone … well, I think there are only two possible hits.
One’s in Death Valley. The other’s outside Tucson.”

I nearly drove off the road in surprise. “California and Arizona? The two states we were just in within the last twenty-four hours?”

“They’re big states,” he said wryly. “But, yes, those are the ones.”

My mind reeled. Either one of those places was less than a day’s drive from Palm Springs. It wasn’t possible that she’d been that close the entire time, that I’d suffered like I had missing her, and there’d only been hours between us! Marcus started to dial his phone but then seemed to notice my stricken expression.