CHAPTER 13
Sydney
CHARMING SALT WHILE in re-education was certainly more convoluted than it had been as a free woman, but it wasn’t impossible. It was just a slow and unwieldy process, smuggling out small amounts of salt and then getting private moments in the bathroom to infuse it with elements. What proved to be far more difficult was getting the syringes.
“Someone’s in the purging room almost every day, either because it’s routine or they did something,” said Emma, when I told her that would be the hardest part to pull off. “We’ll just put the word out that anyone who’s in there needs to smuggle out a syringe and get it to you.”
“Even if they’re able to successfully do that, the supervisors are going to eventually notice that many syringes going missing,” I pointed out. “And I’m not sure I want the ‘word out’ with everyone.”
She shook her head. “I’m not stupid. I’m only letting in select people I know we can trust, others who value their minds more than they do turning you in. They all know something went down with Jonah. They’ll keep your secret for the chance at getting that same protection for themselves.”
“That doesn’t really make me feel better,” I grumbled. My last encounter with Adrian had left me feeling optimistic for the future, but that didn’t mean the present wasn’t fraught with complications. “And it doesn’t solve the syringe issue.” We were almost at our next class, meaning this conversation was just about up.
“Too bad we can’t reuse them,” she mused.
I grimaced. “Ugh. This is already unsanitary enough, not having access to purified water.”
“What we need is free access to those supply closets on the purging level. You know where they are.”
“Yeah,” I said, in agreement. “There’s just the small problem of me never being able to get to them again, what with the massive security around here.”
She shrugged and smiled. “I didn’t say it was a perfect plan.”
“It’s no kind of plan.”
But the suggestion stirred in my mind as I went through the motions of my Alchemist schooling that day. Having talked to Adrian had lifted my spirits, as did knowing he’d be speaking to Carly soon. I hoped desperately that Keith would give them some lead to where I was. From there, I didn’t know exactly how they’d get me out, but I was already envisioning liberating the others here with me. If I could send them into the world free of mind control, it’d be a job well done.
I turned over Emma’s words in my head, trying to solve the jumble of problems before me. What I really needed was unfettered access to the floor with the supply closets, the ones Sheridan had made me organize. To get to them, I needed to move around unseen, which wasn’t easy but was actually easier than getting out of my room in the first place. Those night locks were a huge problem.
Although Emma—and a couple others—watched me eagerly throughout the day and were the ones most anxious for results, it was Duncan I finally broached the topic with in art class. He never spoke extensively about his past, but I’d gleaned some things that were important to him. The mysterious Chantal was one, of course, and he occasionally expounded on artistic pursuits before coming here. One thing he didn’t speak much about that I’d picked up on was his knack for mechanical devices. Someone had easel trouble on a daily basis, and Duncan was always the go-to person to adjust them. I’d even observed him helping our instructors, like the time Harrison’s projector stopped working.
“Do you know how the locks on our room doors work?” I asked that day. Still life was done for now, though Duncan had assured me it was a popular assignment and would be back. Now we were on to the tedious task of molding clay bowls by hand.
“They lock,” he said bluntly. “They stop the doors from opening.”
I tried not to roll my eyes. “I know that. I mean, do you know how—”
“Yes, yes, I know what you mean,” he interrupted. “And it isn’t something you should be worried about. You’re playing a dangerous enough game already.”
I peered around, but no one was listening to us as we worked at our table. “It’s not a game!” I hissed. “This is serious. I can stop others from being brainwashed. Like I did for Jonah.”
“And get yourself sent back to reflection time in the process.” A small frown between his eyebrows was the only outward sign of his discomfort. “I can’t handle another friend disappearing, Sydney.”
I had to take a moment to blink back tears as I remembered that he had been my first ally here, offering me friendship because of what he liked about me and not because of what I could potentially do for him.
“I won’t disappear,” I said, taking on a gentler tone. “But I need to get out of my room some night. Tonight, ideally. It’s important. I can help a lot of people.”
His bowl, much like his painting, was nearly perfect. I was beginning to wonder if that was some inherent skill or simply the result of having been here so long. “The locks are turned on by a central system each night,” he said at last. “It’s actually just a simple bolt shooting out from the door into the wall. It’s touchy. If there’s an obstacle, it won’t work.”
“Will it alert the central system that there’s a problem?” I asked.
“Not unless they’ve changed it in the last year. About, oh, eight months ago, someone’s door malfunctioned, and the powers-that-be never knew. They found out when one of the guys in the room made a break for it and tried to find an exit.”
That was useful—but also dangerous. “Did they fix it?”
“That particular door? Yes. But as far as I know, the bolt’s still touchy. Doesn’t matter much since even if the surveillance didn’t catch someone trying to block it, the cameras in the hall would detect—” Duncan suddenly shot me a pained look. “Please tell me you aren’t going to try to actually escape.”
“I’m staying here … for now.” I glanced down and lightly touched the ID badge clipped to my shirt. It was a little thinner than a credit card. “Something like this would work nicely to block the bolt.”
“Very nicely,” he agreed. “But remember there’s that tiny gap between the door and the wall, even when it’s slid closed. You can’t just stick that card in there.”
“I need some kind of adhesive to hold it there.” I racked my brain, trying to remember when I’d last seen glue around here. I hadn’t. But as my eyes rested on Addison’s desk, I found something even better. “Gum would work. I wouldn’t even need to use my card … I could just stick a clump over the bolt’s release, couldn’t I?”
Duncan chuckled in spite of himself. “Juvenile, but yes, you could.”
“Go ask her for help on something,” I said, inspired. “I’ll swipe the gum while you talk to her.”
“Sydney.” He pointed at my bowl and then his. “Which of you us do you think legitimately needs to ask her for help?”
I looked between them, noting that his could go straight in the kiln now and that half of mine was caving in on itself. “You don’t approve of my plan. I can’t ask you to steal the gum.”
“I don’t approve of illogical plans,” he said. “And it’s much more logical for you to go ask for help. Besides, I need another potter’s needle. This one’s dull.”
“They’re all dull,” I reminded him. Even for the sake of therapeutic art, the Alchemists didn’t leave anything around that might be used as a weapon. “But I’ll go ask.”
Addison always appeared annoyed at being asked questions, but at the same time, I could tell she kept track of who came and asked for help. I was one of a handful that would generally suffer great pains before seeking assistance from our superiors, and I knew some of them viewed us giving in and relying on them as a sign of us breaking down our resistance. So, although she still wore that perpetually unpleasant expression as she smacked her gum, she didn’t hesitate to advise me on why my bowl kept collapsing, and I had a feeling there would be new notes added to my record later on. As I spoke to her, I saw Duncan move toward her desk out of the corner of my eye. I nearly stopped breathing, terrified she’d turn around and see him.
But she didn’t, and five minutes later, when he and I reconvened at our table, he covertly slid me two sticks of gum. “Use it wisely,” he warned. “Or at least don’t do something completely stupid tonight. Please tell me you have a plan not to get caught once you’re out of your room. You know there are cameras in the halls.”
“I do have a plan,” I said hesitantly. “But I can’t tell you.”
“Hey, that’s good enough for me.”
Despite my anxiety over my daunting task, I was still feeling triumphant over this small victory. I was riding on a high and was totally unprepared to be knocked down when Sheridan turned to me in communion time and said, “Sydney, don’t you have something you’d like to tell us?”
I froze and could’ve sworn my heart skipped a few beats. My eyes darted around the circle of watching faces as I wondered which of them had betrayed me. “I beg your pardon, ma’am?”
“You’ve been with us for some time now,” she explained. “Yet you’ve spoken very little about your past. Every day, the others open up about themselves, but you keep to yourself. That’s not really fair, now is it?”
I wanted to tell her that it was really none of their business, but I knew I should be grateful I wasn’t on the hook here for more immediate crimes. “What would you like to know, ma’am?”
“Why don’t you tell us why you’re here?”
“I …” My earlier cockiness dried up. Masterminding plans to break out of my room by sabotaging the lock so that I could then create magical protection for my fellow detainees didn’t faze me nearly as much as the scrutiny of all those eyes. It didn’t matter how friendly I’d gotten with a few of them. I didn’t want to share my story.