* Reviewers, you are the highlight to every writer's day. Thank you so much for taking the time to leave a comment.
I'm going on vacation soon. Mexico, for one week! Eee, I'm so excited! I'll try to update once more before I leave. For now, I hope you enjoy the last Sydney chapter in Part I. [breathes into paper bag] I was so darn nervous writing it, let alone posting it.

Chapter Ten

Sydney

I awoke with a groan and, with my panic gone, was little surprised to be alive, though I almost wished I wasn't. My head pounded with a savage ache. My body felt as if it had been trampled, and I was still clothed. None were good signs. The last one meant the worst. A visitor.

"Hello, Sydney," said a voice. If only it were female and synthesized.

I lifted my head and squinted at the man to confirm. Jameson sat on the other side of the window, an old leather book in his hand and glasses perched on his nose. So, I hadn't been imagining things. I struggled to sit up and then rubbed my temples.

"I would apologize for the drug," Jameson said before he shrugged. "But we had to ensure you wouldn't try to escape during the alarm. You also needed sleep, and we couldn't have you dreaming now, could we?"

A tendril of hate seared from deep in my belly at the oblique mention of Adrian. I bit back my threats and, instead, asked, "What happened?"

"A breach. A long-range, very atypical, elemental one." When I opened my mouth to question what he meant, his hand sliced through the air. "Don't ask. I won't tell you anything else."

I glowered and grounded my teeth to keep silent.

Snapping shut his book, Jameson set it aside and studied me like I was a specimen he had never encountered, not one that needed to be squashed as I had expected, but one that fascinated him for the mystery it held. His gaze wasn't admiring or appreciative either, but calculating, dissecting. It made my skin crawl and muscles tighten, bracing for some sort of strike and to strike back.

"Your vampire friends have returned to the Royal Moroi Court," he stated after a few moments.

I breathed in and exhaled slowly, trying to calm down and appear relieved, as if I didn't already know. Now that Jameson was in the picture, I was even more grateful that my friends left Palm Springs. He couldn't harm them.

"Also, their monarch hasn't made the announcement to anyone yet, but I have it on good authority that they voted on the two-person family rule, and it passed."

Now that was surprise. I couldn't hide my smile. Joy filled me, and all the tension that had built up since I had been on the assignment to keep Jill hidden eased. I covered my face as tears sprung, and I laughed. Jill was finally safe! It had been my mission, but more than anything, I had come to care for her.

Marcus had mentioned that Jameson had been looking for a missing girl. A name had never been said, but I knew it was Jill. Who else could it be? Marcus didn't know my connection to her, and I didn't show my interest in the matter or try to get more information. Eddie and I had suspected, however, that Jameson wanted to kill her to incite a civil war, something the Alchemists worked hard to prevent so humans didn't learn of the vampires' existence. With the family quorum pulled, that possibility was no longer viable. No one could use Jill as a means to end Vasilia's rule.

Lissa … she actually changed their law, one we all thought had been set in stone. Yet, I realized, the ruling put her in more danger. She must have known and proceeded anyway because it was the right thing to do. A stitch of anxiety for the young queen hit me, but I knew Rose Hathaway and Dimitri Belikov, the best guardians ever and part of Lissa's personal guard, would never let anything happen to her.

The news was momentous—for everyone.

I was glad my face was covered. My happiness was suddenly seized by dread. While the news was monumental, not everyone knew. Jameson said the Moroi queen hadn't made the announcement to anyone yet. Did that include the Alchemists? If so, then how did he know? And why would he tell me this and that my friends were safe?

Wait. The cameras were on. There was one on his side too, so the Alchemists must be aware. But why would they let him tell me when my friends' safety took away their leverage? Unless … the cameras were off.

No. It didn't matter what position he held in the organization. The Alchemists recorded everything, prided themselves in being efficient, thorough. Jameson could be lying about being my superior, too. I wouldn't know the truth. Dale could be indulging him, though that didn't make sense either.

My mind raced, and for once, I couldn't come up with answers. I dropped my hands and scrutinized the head of the Warriors of Light. His eyes held knowledge and smug satisfaction. He knew questions churned inside me—as well as the doubt I was beginning to have.

"I always knew how sympathetic you were to those vile creatures." He stood and grabbed his book, holding it to his chest. "Since that impassioned speech you gave in my arena. It's a wonder the Alchemists didn't catch your treachery sooner. With your reaction from my news, they now know you don't only love your spirit wielder but the rest of them as well. And once the ruling is confirmed, the Alchemists and you will realize how much I know and can offer."

His fingers drummed on the book cover. Naturally, my gaze flicked to the movement for a moment. I did a double take when I read the Latin title.

Intrinsic Physiographic Designs

One of the books Inez, a formidable witch, let me borrow was titled the same. It focused on earth science and the power of geology and blood for magical charms. When I met Jameson's gaze again, his intimidatingly calm demeanor hadn't changed.

"I do hope to see you again, Miss Sage. Such natural talent would be wasted if you do not make it out of here." He pointed at me and barely tapped on the book again with his other hand, saying, "Let's hope you get back your cross. People underestimate the power of such a symbol, and it could help center you to earth and divinity."

With that, he strolled to the door as though he didn't have a care in the world and hadn't thrown mine upside down. Because if I was reading his cues and words correctly, along with the title of that book, he knew about human magic and was telling me to use it. That he knew I could and should.

What. The heck?

Unable to keep still, I stood up and paced. My thoughts bounced from the news and implications to all the possibilities. I hardly knew where to start. I had no way to verify what Jameson said. I didn't trust him. I didn't know his history or his motives besides the Warriors of Light, wanting to team with the Alchemists for their resources, and taking down the vampire community.

In the grand scheme, I hardly knew anything. I only had endless speculations that seemed to grow more farfetched than the last, and when the inferences were highly unexpected and confusing to begin with, that was saying a lot.

I could never resist a puzzle, but this was like a Gordian knot. Disentangling it was impossible, and cutting through it or even thinking outside the box was unmanageable when I was stuck in a cage.

I wasn't sure how much time passed until I wore myself out and had to sit down. Too frustrated, I couldn't fall asleep. I was surprised that the synthesized voice hadn't returned, too. Jameson must have really stirred the pot.

I wiped my runny nose with my sleeve and grew hotter. I guessed the Alchemists didn't include cold medicine with any of the drugs they'd given me, but at least I had clothes. My mouth was also dry. I wasn't willing to chance drinking from the faucet yet, though. I needed to spirit dream with Adrian, exchange information, and I couldn't do that if I was drugged.

Adrian … I longed for him more than ever. He was the one person I could turn to with all my thoughts. Simply talking to him eased my nerves. He would listen intently, never once telling me what to do, only pointing things out and letting me work through each problem. Even if I couldn't solve the issue, he was the balm to my jumbling mind and anxious soul. I wished I had told him that and promised myself I would the next time I saw him.

Thinking of him, I finally fell asleep.

When I woke up again, I realized I hadn't dreamed. I hated to admit how much that stung, but I was more worried than wounded. Did something happen at Court? Was Adrian okay? Had spirit's darkness gripped him and led him to drink? I didn't care if he fell off the wagon—well, not too much. I was more worried about him not taking his medication. I had complete faith that he could take care of himself, but with everything that had happened and the unknowns of spirit, I couldn't help but be concerned.

I stood and walked to the sink, figuring I could take a drink. The water wasn't always drugged, and I was so thirsty—and burning up. I couldn't recall the feeling since it had been so long I had one, but I was pretty sure I had a fever. I swiped my hand under the automated faucet. The sensor caught the motion, prompting water. I cupped my hands together and raised the pooled liquid.

At the last second, though, I pulled back without a sip. I needed to connect with Adrian. The information was too important.

Unaware that I had fallen back asleep, I was jolted awake when I felt a prick in my arm. I moaned and tried to move but couldn't. My body was too heavy, too hot, and something held me down.

"Shh," a voice soothed. "You're sick."

I know, I thought. Not sick in the way you mean, though.

"We're going to help you get better."

I'd heard that before, too.

My protests were feeble. Voices rose around me as I dipped in and out of consciousness. One moment, I was sweating and then shivering. The sound of propellers—a helicopter?—thundered in my ears. The next, I was surround by water. After that, I felt nothing. I could only hear buzzing and see what I thought was a pair of sad, violet eyes. Then at last, I gave in to the black and didn't resurface.

_._

The world was warm. Soft sheets were inviting, the clean scent soothing. Languid, I stretched before I snuggled in deeper. My cheek scraped against something coarse. I winced and sat up.

"Hello, Sydney," greeted a female voice.

I looked toward the source. On the other side of the window were two men and a woman. They each had clipboards and white doctor coats, scribbling pens in hand and no nametags. A camera was propped on a pod next to the woman, pointed at me but not filming or recording. A television was set next to it on a table.

"Hello," I said. My brows furrowed. I hadn't meant to say anything, though I felt that I should. Habit, I supposed.

Shaking off my bemusement, I focused on the woman with her dark hair in a bun. Her thick-rimmed glasses gave her a more studious air. "How do you feel, Sydney?" she asked.

"I … I feel fine." No, that wasn't precisely right. I opened my mouth to say so but quickly shut it. Blinking, I glanced around the room. There was … something … off. I couldn't quite put my finger on it.

"That's good," the woman said, "because we're here to talk about your parents. A judge would like to ask you some questions."

A light in my head flicked on. Pieces clicked. "Oh, the custody hearing." I frowned. "That's today?" Wasn't it supposed to be somewhere else? I clenched my eyes shut and shook my head, not sure what I was thinking and wanting to avoid it.

"Miss Sage," said a man. It came from the TV. The man who sat there looked like a judge, clean cut in his black robe, hands folded together in front of him. His face was serious and neutral, but he had kind eyes. "I'm Jonas Addens."

I smiled a little. "Isn't that supposed to be preceded by 'Judge' or 'the Honorable'?"

"It's not necessary," he replied carefully. If I didn't know better, I would say he seemed … placating, indulgent, like he would with a child. "I have a few questions for you about your parents and upbringing."

"Yes," I said with a slow nod. "I've been told that already."

"Tell me about it—your childhood."

"Well, I imagine it wasn't all that different from others'." I scrunched my face because that wasn't right either. My childhood consisted of memorizing scientific algorithms and mathematical equations, along with geographical and societal structures, paradigms, statistics, analytics, and linguistics. Instead of dolls, I had played with chemicals and learned how to dress multiple wounds, not match different outfits. My favorite toys weren't toys at all—engines and a gas chromatograph to separate and analyze compounds. Best friend? I didn't have one. I had sisters, but my peers were adults.

I couldn't very well say this. I knew that. And what was on the tip of my tongue, what I felt I was supposed to say, wouldn't come out. Literally. As I was on the cusp of opening my mouth, I hesitated every time and rubbed the side of my face.

"Please elaborate, Miss Sage," said the judge.

"I—" I can't, I wanted to snap but couldn't.

He nodded. "All right." Again, careful, measured, deliberately so. As if he was afraid to spook me.

I eyed the three on the other side of the window and studied the room, barely paying attention to next question. Then I stilled completely. I didn't move a muscle as I noted how I was sitting. Prim and proper. Back straight, ankles crossed, with a hand in my lap. My other hand … on my left cheek, which was sore and tingled.

Understanding dawned. Hatred bloomed and burned but sputtered out quickly. My anger, however, didn't.

I flew across the room and threw all my weight against the window. The judge and white-coats flinched. I saw the woman jump out of her chair while the men stayed seated and studied me before the window frosted over.

I continued to bash on the thick pane with all the strength I had, and since I couldn't say all the vicious things that roared in my head, I screamed. I snarled and bellowed. I spit, swore, and clawed. I tore apart my cell as much as I could, like a part of my free will had been ripped from me.

The buzzing … The Alchemists had tattooed me with stronger compulsion and group loyalty. The sad, violet eyes … They'd had a Moroi compel me. As I raged around my cement cell, I wondered why they had even bothered to have me memorize the materials that Jared had sent over if they would force me to say nothing.

To make me say their words, I realized. It was an exercise, a way to desensitize.

But the bath and medicine … Why had they bothered to clean and heal me? If they hadn't, I would have looked—

I froze, my head and heart pounding.

You're sick, they'd said.

I'd known, but I wasn't sick in the way they meant.

I focused on the window, where a girl with my features but a skinny, hollowed-out shadow of whom she used to be now reflected and stared back at me. Where the camera had been and might still be, filming a girl with knots in her hair, tears in her eyes and down her cheeks, blood on her hands, lips, and face, shaking and looking sick. Crazed. Crazy.

The next sound that came from me wasn't a scream or growl or even some semblance of a word—but a sob. It rent through the air from the depths of my soul that I could feel breaking, and I crumpled beneath its never-ending weight.

I covered my ears at the broken cries that wouldn't cease no matter how much I tried to stop them. The noise undistinguishable from howls of anguish, moans of despair, and pleas for release. I didn't recognize this girl. I didn't recognize me.

Because for someone who knew so much, overanalyzed everything, anticipated all scenarios, and planned for each possibility … how had I not seen this, my own self-destruction? In the end, I didn't delude the Alchemists. I deluded myself.

I was treated, told, drove, and appeared crazy, but it was I who went berserk. And along with others, I witnessed the insanity. I met it in the eye and saw it. Felt it. Could hear it. Could practically taste it.

I was it. I was her. That broken-looking girl in the window.

I couldn't beat the Alchemists. They were one step—multiple steps ahead. They knew my testimony would be better served if given within a supposed mental institution, for it would be disregarded or maybe used against my mom. It was easier to discredit and instill doubt than to induce faith, was it not? At the same time, they efficiently utilized my effort to their advantage—to say their words.

And Jamie's words, his message … who knew if help was really coming. The Alchemists knew the Robin Hood pseudonym; the director had referred to it. Jamie could have been caught beforehand and then re-tattooed. He had been very good at being blank and stoic—too good. Which meant that not only did the Alchemists know of my involvement and would never let me leave for the treason, but more importantly, it could mean the salt ink didn't work against greater compulsion.

The realizations were stunning, overwhelming. They were deathblows to hope and months of work, and when delivered all at once in one fell swoop, the Alchemists hit my greatest strength and weakness.

For someone who prided herself on knowledge and accomplishing, I knew nothing. Could neither be sure of nor do anything. And like a vicious vortex, acknowledging the fact sucked me down.

I couldn't escape it and had no voice or true will of my own. I was drowning, lost, weak. With one last mental touch to the dark compartment that held Adrian's cross, I sank in to the sensation and succumbed to the abyss.

[peeks through fingers] Thoughts?