Carly nodded. “I wish she could have. I mean, I get why the Alchemists do what they do, but sometimes … I don’t know. It’s like they go overboard and lose sight of the big picture. Now that Zoe’s with Dad all the time, I worry it’s just going to get worse for her. At least with Sydney—the last few times I talked to her, that is—she seemed to be getting more perspective on life. I don’t know what was going on, but she seemed more balanced. Happier. I’d hoped she could do the same for Zoe, but I guess that’s not possible anytime soon.”
I don’t know what was going on, but she seemed more balanced. Happier. Carly’s words triggered a mix of emotions, and I couldn’t muster a response. That change she’d observed had been my doing. Carly thought it had been for the better, and I liked to think so too—but there was no denying it was also what had gotten Sydney in trouble.
As we moved to the door, ready for the next leg of our trip, Marcus paused and looked back at her. I thought he was going to ask her out, but instead he said, “What’s up with that Cicero quote? I studied a lot of Roman history and never heard anything about his philosophy on life.”
Carly grinned. “Cicero’s our family cat. Sydney and I used to joke that he’d figured out what life was really all about: eating, sleeping, and taking baths. She was so sad she didn’t go to college too, and I tried to downplay it, telling her I probably wouldn’t learn anything better than what Cicero taught me. When you mentioned it, I knew you were legit.”
Maybe it was the family resemblance coming out in Carly’s smile again or just the mention of Sydney’s college longing, but I felt an ache in me begin to surface that I hadn’t felt in a while. Go away, I told it. Mourn for Sydney later. Focus now on getting her back.
Marcus shook Carly’s hand, holding it a little longer than he probably needed to. “Thank you again for your help,” he said. “We won’t let you down.”
“Forget about me,” she said. “Don’t let Sydney down.”
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?”