Silver Shadows

  The receptionist relayed this enigmatic message through the phone and hung up a few moments later. “She’ll see you. Right through this door, please.”

  I stepped through, not sure what to expect. From the stories, barbed wire and chains on the walls wouldn’t have surprised me. The Alchemists were still keeping it “business casual” on the ground floor, however, as the room we entered looked very much in line with the lobby’s style—with one exception.

  Six men stood guard in the room, ranged strategically around two doors: an elevator and a stairwell. The men wore suits and had golden lilies on their cheeks and were among the biggest and bulkiest I’d ever seen among the Alchemists. Their HR department must’ve searched pretty extensively to find the beefiest specimens in their gene pool. Most intimidating of all, however, was that each man visibly had a gun—a real gun that could kill, not the sleek little tranquilizing kind that Marcus had covertly armed Trey and Eddie with. Marcus had said the fallout would be big enough without us leaving fatalities behind and also worried about innocents getting injured in the fray. (It went without saying that no one had suggested giving me a weapon.)

  I kept a cool smile on my face, like it was totally normal for me to see a bunch of armed guys there to keep a group of bedraggled prisoners from escaping or having free thought. The elevator chimed, and a smartly dressed young woman stepped out. She was pretty in the kind of way that said she’d run a dagger through your heart and still keep smiling the whole time. She maintained that smile as we made introductions.

  “I’m afraid you’ve caught me off guard here,” she said. She leaned forward a little bit to read my ID tag. “I wasn’t expecting you. I wasn’t even aware there was a Department of Occult and Arcane Transgressions.”

  “OAT doesn’t make very many appearances—certainly not many public ones,” I said sternly. “But when a debacle of this magnitude reaches my desk, we have no choice but to intervene.”

  “Debacle?” Sheridan asked. “That’s kind of an exaggeration. We have things under control.”

  “Are you saying one of your detainees didn’t use illicit magical resources to escape your control and conduct affairs you still don’t fully understand?” I demanded. “I’d hardly call that under control.”

  She flushed. Seriously, I deserved an Oscar for this stuff. “How do you know about that?”

  “We have eyes and ears you can’t even dream about,” I told her. “Now. Are you going to cooperate with our investigation, or do I need to call both of our superiors?”

  Sheridan wavered and then cast a self-conscious glance at the stoic guards. “Let’s talk in here,” she said, gesturing us to what looked like a small office adjacent to the room. We followed, and she shut the door as soon as we were all in. “Look, I don’t know who’s been telling you stories, but we really do have everything well in—”

  The shriek of a fire alarm in the corner of the room cut her off. It was followed by a crackling sound, and a voice suddenly came from a small walkie-talkie attached to her belt. “Sheridan? This is Kendall. We have a situation.”

  Sheridan lifted out the walkie-talkie. “Yes, I can hear the alarms. Where is it?”

  “Multiple locations on level two.”

  Sheridan winced at the word “multiple.” “How big are they?” she shouted back. “The sprinklers should be able to contain them.” She glanced up at the ceiling and looked surprised. “Are yours on? They should be set off universally for multiple fires. This whole place should be under water.”

  “No, nothing’s come on yet,” the voice replied. “Should we wait? Or do you want us to evacuate?”

  Sheridan stared at her walkie-talkie in disbelief and then back at the inactive sprinkler in the ceiling. Duncan had said there were few situations that would actually cause them to evacuate the entire facility, so we’d gone out of our way to create one. Apparently, their art teacher was fighting a smoking habit, and along with a massive gum stash, she kept cigarettes and matches in her desk. Between those and a supply of paint remover, he’d made arrangements with other detainees to start fires simultaneously on their living floor. That was dangerous enough in those conditions, but one of Marcus’s comrades had found exterior control of the facility’s water system and had sabotaged it to delay the sprinklers coming on.

  The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Sheridan, do you copy? Do you want us to evacuate?”

  It was clear from Sheridan’s face she’d never, ever expected to make a decision like this. After a few seconds, she finally responded. “Yes—you have my authorization. Evacuate.” She gave us a brief glance as she lunged for the door. “Excuse me, we have an emergency.”

  In the other room, the guards were on full alert from the screaming of the fire alarms. “We have a Code Orange,” she yelled to them. “Be ready. You two usher the detainees over there for holding. The rest of you, keep your weapons drawn, and watch for—”

  The walkie-talkie went off again, this time with a male voice. “Sheridan, are you there?”

  She frowned. “Kendall?”

  “No, this is Baxter. Something’s wrong. The detainees—they’re taking over—resisting our orders—”

  Sheridan blanched. “Have the control center initiate the gas shutdown. Knock everyone out. We’ll get masks and send people down to pull you out and—”

  “We already tried! The system seems to be disabled.”

  “Disabled?” exclaimed Sheridan. “That’s—”

  The door leading from the lobby suddenly burst open, and Marcus and his associates rushed in, wielding those little dart guns. They might not have been as lethal as the real guns, but they were still effective, especially when paired with the element of surprise. Eddie and Trey had theirs out in a flash, and within seconds, the Alchemist guards were down for the count. Only two of them managed to get off shots—shots that went wide—before collapsing from the tranquilizers. Marcus shoved a terrified receptionist into the room and assessed the situation. He ordered Grif and Wayne to pile the unconscious bodies in the office while Sheila stood guard over Sheridan and the receptionist. I let my spirit disguise drop, and both Alchemist women gasped upon realizing they’d been chummy with a Moroi. That shock increased when Sheridan did a double take and realized who Marcus was.

  “You!” she spit out.

  She didn’t get a chance to elaborate. Moments later, the door to the stairs opened, and that’s when the real chaos started. A mix of khaki-clad detainees came spilling out alongside more formally dressed Alchemist staff. Some of the detainees looked scared and unwilling to be there and were literally being dragged along by their colleagues, reminding me of how Emma had said they’d make sure everyone got out. Marcus quickly initiated a system that was the opposite of what Sheridan had intended in the evacuation: Detainees and Alchemists were split up as they emerged, with the latter—and very shocked—group being put under heavy guard. I watched it all anxiously, my jaw clenched so tightly that it was beginning to hurt. No one I knew was with the initial group coming up, but that was to be expected. When they began to thin out, my nervousness really increased.

  This is it, I thought. Any minute now, Sydney’s going to come out with Emma and Duncan.

  And then, Emma and Duncan did emerge—without Sydney.

  “What the hell?” I exclaimed. “Where is she? You said you’d get her!”

  “We tried,” cried Emma. She threw four ID cards on the ground. “None of these would open the doors on the fourth floor. They must not have had access … even though I’ve seen some of them going to that floor in the past.”

  I turned on Sheridan in a rage. “Why wouldn’t the fourth-floor doors open?” I yelled. “Who has access?”

  Sheridan took a step back from me. “Those are our most dangerous prisoners,” she said, mustering what dignity she could. “The system automatically locks them in for an event like this. Normal card access is disabled. They’re too dangerous to let escape.”

  The full implication of her wor
ds hit me. “So you just leave them there to die? What kind of sick bastards are you?”

  Her eyes were wide with fear, but whether that was because of my outrage or her own conscience, I couldn’t say. “It’s a risk we take—it’s a risk my own people take. Two of them are locked down there as well, one with each prisoner.”

  “You guys are even more screwed up than I imagined,” growled Marcus. “Someone’s ID must work. Does yours?” When she nodded reluctantly, he ripped it off her jacket. “The sprinklers should be coming on. Once they do, we’ll go down and get them. It’s unlikely the fire’s spread to that level, but the stairs are going to be—”

  “Uh, Marcus,” said Grif uneasily. “The sprinklers should’ve come on by now. I didn’t set the delay for that long.”

  Marcus gaped. “What the hell are you saying? Did you permanently sabotage them?”

  “Not intentionally! It was just supposed to be long enough to instigate the investigation.”

  “Then get out there and take another look!” cried Marcus. “And bring the gate guard back with you.” Grif scurried out.

  I’d heard enough. More than enough. Sydney was down there, trapped in a room while a fire raged three floors above her and could be on its way. I strode over to Marcus and took Sheridan’s ID from him before turning back to her. “How many are down there? You said two prisoners and two personnel. Anyone else?”

  She did a quick count of the huddled Alchemists. “All m-my people are here,” she stammered.

  “We’re all here too,” said Emma. “Plus six we took from the solitary floor. We checked every cell.”

  “Fine,” I said. I stormed over to the stairwell door and flung it open. While it wasn’t exactly smoky, there was a faint haze in the air that didn’t bode well for the fire’s progress. “I’m going in for the last four. Anyone coming with me?”

  I immediately felt Eddie by my side. “Do you even have to ask?”

  CHAPTER 17

  Sydney

  IT TOOK ME A WHILE to realize the fire alarm was going off. At first, I thought it was some kind of new spin on the torture.

  Unlike reflection time, when the Alchemists flaunted their power by putting us to sleep at will, those running the so-called persuasion floor had a big emphasis on keeping us awake. The scholar in me, who vaguely recalled reading articles on interrogation and torture techniques, understood this. The more sleep-deprived you were, the more likely you were to slip up and say something you didn’t intend. In reflection, and even while living with the other detainees, I’d never felt fully rested, but what I experienced now was on a completely different level.

  When I wasn’t being tortured and asked the same questions over and over, I was subjected to blinding light and irritating noises to make sure I couldn’t lapse into any sort of real rest. There was no need for gas to keep from dreaming; I never got close enough to REM for it to be an issue. I soon lost track of time again, and even the erratic meals (more lukewarm gruel) and bathroom breaks didn’t help with that.

  I’d actually remained remarkably resilient, despite how excruciating the experience was. I stuck to my story that I’d been looking for a way out the night I was caught, and I refused to tell them any details about how long I’d been practicing magic or who had taught me. It didn’t seem likely they’d do anything to Ms. Terwilliger, but there was no way I could take a chance. I’d let them rip me apart before I ever uttered her name to them.

  When the shrieking alarm and small strobe light in the room’s corner went off, it jerked me out of a fragile dozing state I’d been enjoying. Those times were rare, and I was sad to see it end, especially since I knew what was probably coming. Aside from the alarm’s light, the room was in pitch darkness, so I had no idea how many people were there until I heard a man speaking into a phone or radio. His name was Grayson, and he’d been a constant companion of mine in running torture and interrogation sessions—when Sheridan wasn’t doing it personally.

  “Hello?” he said. “This is Grayson in P2. Is anyone there? Is this a drill?”

  If there was any response, I didn’t hear it. After a few more attempts, I heard him over by the door, like he was trying to open it.

  “Something not going according to Alchemist plans?” I asked. I wasn’t sure if he heard me over the noise, especially since I couldn’t actually manage to put much volume in my voice. But when he spoke again, he was right next to me.

  “Quiet,” he ordered. “And say your prayers that we actually walk out of here. Not that I expect yours to work.”

  The tension in his voice told me more than his words, and I struggled to snap my addled brain into focus and assess what was going on. Whatever was happening, this definitely wasn’t part of any plan, and Alchemists hated it when their plans went awry. The question was: Was this to my advantage or not? Things were so regimented in re-education that it would take something extraordinary to really throw them off … and Adrian was the most extraordinary person I knew.

  After Grayson failed at outside communication a couple more times, I dared speak again. “Is there really a fire?”

  A few of those annoying spotlights came on, one illuminating him, the other shining right in my eyes. “Very likely. And if so, we are also very likely going to die in it,” he said. I could see sweat on his brow, and there was an edge of unease in his voice, despite the cold delivery. Noticing my scrutiny—and that I’d observed his weakness—he scowled. “Who knows? Maybe in fire, your soul will finally be purged of its—”

  A click at the door preceded its opening, and Grayson spun around in surprise, mercifully ending his tirade. I couldn’t see his face, but I kind of wished I could have when I heard a familiar voice say, “Sydney?”

  My heart leapt, and a hope I hadn’t felt in ages filled me anew. “Adrian?”

  Immediately, my hope dimmed. Suspicion born of weeks living in paranoia kicked in. This was a trick! It had to be a trick. I’d lost contact with Adrian. He couldn’t have found me already. He couldn’t have broken in here. This was probably the latest in a long line of Alchemist tricks to try to mess with my mind … and yet, when I heard his voice again, I was certain it was him.

  “What the hell have you done to her?”

  I wanted to see him, but the restraints wouldn’t allow it. What I did see was Grayson pull what looked like a gun from his side and aim. That was as far as he got before the gun literally flew out of his hand and landed across the room. He gaped in disbelief. “What evil is—”

  Someone who looked very much like Eddie came barreling into the dark room, knocking Grayson off his feet. They fell out of my line of sight, and suddenly, my vision was filled with the most beautiful image I could have hoped for: Adrian.

  For a few seconds, that doubt plagued me again, that this was just one more deception on the Alchemists’ part. But no, there he was before me. Adrian. My Adrian, gazing down with those piercing green eyes. I felt an ache in my chest as emotion momentarily overcame me. Adrian. Adrian was here, and I fumbled to find something to say, some way to convey all the love and hope and fear that had built within me these last few months.

  “Are you in a suit?” I managed at last, my voice choking up. “You didn’t have to dress up for me.”

  “Quiet, Sage,” he said. “I’ll make the hilarious one-liners during this daring rescue.” His eyes, warm and full of love, held mine for a moment, and I thought I would melt. Then they narrowed with determination as he focused on the various restraints holding me. “What in God’s name is this? Something from the Middle Ages? Does it need a key?” Meanwhile, in the background, Eddie and Grayson continued throwing each other around.

  “I’ve never seen them use one,” I told Adrian.

  It took him a few tries, but he finally figured out how to undo one restraint. Once he had the knack, the rest soon followed, and I was free. Adrian carefully helped me sit up, and I was just in time to see Eddie pin Grayson to the floor in one of the spotlights. Eddie pointed a gun at the back of
his head, which surprised me at first, but even in the poor lighting, I could tell there was something unusual about that gun.

  “Get up,” said Eddie, rising off his victim. “Slowly. And put your hands on your head.”

  “I’d rather die a fiery death than be the prisoner of some evil creature of hell!” retorted Grayson, though he still complied.

  “Rest easy, we’re not taking you prisoner,” said Adrian. “We’re saving your dumb ass so that you can go join the rest of your lame colleagues.”

  Eddie peered around. “Think there are any kind of restraints for him around here?”

  “I’m sure of it,” I said. I started to get off the table, but a wave of dizziness hit me. I turned to Adrian. “Check the sides of the room. That’s where the supplies will be.”

  Adrian hurried off to look and first found something equally useful: a master control switch that turned on lights throughout the room. It made me squint after so long in the dark, but the added visibility soon allowed him to find shelves full of supplies, including some zip-ties that he used on Grayson. Various chemicals and controls were also on the shelves, along with chairs and night vision goggles so that other Alchemists could watch the torture show when the lights were off. It disgusted me, and I had to avert my eyes.

  “Can you walk?” Adrian asked me.

  “Eventually,” I said.

  He slid an arm around me, and my legs threatened to give out. His strength, both physically and mentally, empowered me, and I was able to make slow progress out of the room with his help. Eddie moved ahead of us, marching Grayson at a brisker pace. When we reached the halls, which also had alarms but no sign of a fire, Eddie turned to his prisoner.

  “Which is the other occupied room?” When Grayson didn’t respond, Eddie glared and got into his face. “Come on! We’re trying to save your colleague here.”

  “I’d rather die than forsake my duty or ask for your help,” snarled Grayson.

  Eddie sighed and handed Adrian his gun. “Keep it on him while I check the rooms out.”