“No.” Ursula shook her head.
“With the exception of the bars, they really are—kind,” Dhuuxo admitted. “Most shadowed survivors run or kill us on sight. These people talk to us, feed us, and bring us new clothes and blankets whenever we need them. They want us.”
“And their questions do sound similar to what the news reported the scientists were asking Hemu Joshi, once they quarantined him for treatment,” Victor added. The smoke from the cigarette the woman in white had gifted him drifted in front of his eyes, and he looked down, embarrassed.
“We already know the scientists didn’t find anything useful, though,” Ursula replied, her voice harsh. Zachary stirred, shivering, and she put her arm around him. She was afraid, I could tell. Afraid that Transcendence’s gentle patience might be working on us. “I know they’re treating us well,” she said, softer this time. “But we are still in a cage.”
The woman we first met was one of the two who came today. We all sat silently, watching the pair of them or staring off into the empty hall as Ursula invented random lies.
It was the other one talking this time, a man wrapped in white layers. The woman was simply listening, smiling beatifically at us the entire time, as if we were her children. Ursula decided to ignore a question, just to break the pattern.
“Were you afraid when it first happened?” the man asked after the pause, continuing without frustration.
“You’d have to be stupid not to be afraid,” Ursula finally said.
The man nodded noncommittally. Not agreeing or disagreeing; simply hearing. “Did you feel the pull as soon as your shadow disappeared?”
“No,” Ursula said.
The man nodded again. Then the woman did—but a few moments later than he had. I looked more closely at her eyes. She wasn’t watching Ursula.
“What did it feel like when your shadow disappeared?”
Dhuuxo and Intisaar were pointedly ignoring the ones in white. Zachary stared blankly at his palms. I studied the woman as surreptitiously as I could. She was looking into the cage, but just past Ursula’s shoulder. Slowly, so that no one would notice, I shifted my eyes. Lucius, Victor, Wes, and Ysabelle were leaning on the bars at the back of the cage. They were all half-dozing from boredom as Ursula answered—except Lucius.
“Did you feel it when your shadow separated from you?”
“Not even a little,” Ursula drawled, lying.
But Lucius nodded. Ever so slightly.
My eyes flicked back. I saw the woman tip her head again. So minutely it was almost impossible to notice beneath all the layers.
It all made sense now. They weren’t interested in what Ursula said. They knew she would lie every time. They were interested in how long she would continue to do it. How long we would all let her before one of us would start to wonder if maybe there was another way out of the cage. How long until one of us would start to answer with the truth.
I wish you were here, Ory. I need to tell Ursula, but I don’t know how. The cage is big enough that I can sit in a corner and whisper to you without Lucius hearing—they all know I talk to you and ignore me anyway—but if I was to go over and say something in Ursula’s ear, he’d see for sure, and know something was wrong. I’ve been waiting for a time when I’m sure he’s asleep, but we all lay around so much, it’s hard to tell. Or what if he isn’t cheating the rest of us, but just trying to help in his own way, because Ursula is no closer to getting us out than the first day? Trying to win their trust so he can turn on them at the right moment? You would know what to do. You’d at least have a guess, and then we could figure it out together.
Ursula has started pacing, checking the bars again. Lucius is lying down on the other side of the cage, but his eyes just opened when she passed him, awake. No good now. Not yet.
We all woke up to Ysabelle crying this morning. “I forgot,” she was saying, over and over. “I forgot what they looked like.”
“Ys.” Victor scooted closer. “What is it?”
“My parents,” she said, and covered her face.
I felt a chill. It’s getting worse, Ory. The stress, the fear. We’re going to lose bigger and bigger things now, the more desperate we get. This whole time, we’ve had the memory of New Orleans holding us together, one thing to cling to. But now that we’re trapped here, unable to keep moving toward it—we can’t let ourselves unravel.