Silver Shadows (Bloodlines, #5)(31)

Communion time came around, and we all filed into the chapel. Some sat down in the folded chairs while others wandered the room like me. Yesterday had been Sunday, and in place of communion time, we’d gathered here in the pews, along with all our instructors, while a hierophant came and gave us a bona fide church service and prayed for our souls. It was the only part of our routine that had changed. Otherwise, we had the same classes on weekends as we did on weekdays. But that one service was empowering, not because of its message but because it was another way to mark time. Every piece of information I could get in this place could only be used to help me … I hoped.

That was why I read the Wall of Truth each day before our meeting. There was a history here of detainees who had come before me, and I longed to learn something. Mostly, all I found were the same sort of messages, and today was no exception. I have sinned against my kind and greatly regret it. Please take me back into the fold. The only salvation is human salvation. Another message read: Please let me out. Seeing Sheridan walk into the room, I was about to join the others when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. It was in a region of the wall I hadn’t gotten to yet, in scrawling writing:

Carly, I’m sorry.—K. D.

I felt my jaw drop. Was it possible … could it really be … the more I stared at it, the more I was certain of what I was seeing: an apology to my sister Carly, from Keith Darnell, the guy who’d raped her. I supposed it could be a different Carly and someone else with the same initials … but my gut told me otherwise. I knew Keith had been in re-education. His crimes had been of a much different nature than mine, and he’d also been released recently—recently being more than five months ago. He’d also practically been like a zombie by the time he’d gotten out of here. It was surreal thinking that he’d walked these same halls, gone to these same classes, endured the same purging. It was even more disturbing to wonder if I might be like him when I got out of here.

“Sydney?” asked Sheridan pleasantly. “Won’t you join us?”

Flushing, I realized I was the only one not sitting and hurried over to join the others. “Sorry,” I murmured.

“The Wall of Truth can be a very inspiring place,” said Sheridan. “Did you find something that spoke to your soul?”

I thought very carefully before answering and then decided the truth wouldn’t hurt me here. It might also help, since Sheridan was always trying to get me to talk. “Mostly I was surprised,” I said. “I recognized the name of someone I knew … someone who was here before me.”

“Did that person help corrupt you?” asked Lacey in innocent curiosity. It was one of the few times someone had shown semi-personal interest in me.

“Not exactly,” I said. “I was actually the one who reported him—who got him sent here.” Everyone looked interested, so I continued. “He was in business with a Moroi—an old, senile Moroi—and taking his blood. He told the Moroi it was being used for healing purposes, but he—this guy I knew—was actually selling it to a local tattooist who was in turn using it to sell performance-enhancing tattoos to human high school students. The blood in the ink would make them better at things, especially sports, but there were dangerous side effects.”

“Did your friend know?” asked Hope wonderingly. “That it was hurting humans?”

“He wasn’t my friend,” I said sharply. “Even before this started. And yes, he knew. He didn’t care, though. All he was focused on was the profit he was making.”

The other detainees were enraptured, maybe because they’d never heard me speak so much or maybe because they’d never heard of a scandal like this. “I bet that Moroi knew,” said Stuart darkly. “I bet he knew everything—what the tattoos were really being used for and how dangerous they were. He was probably just playing at being senile.”

The old Sydney—that is, the Sydney who’d been here on her first day—would’ve been quick to defend Clarence and his innocence in Keith’s scheme. This Sydney, who’d seen detainees punished for lesser comments and had endured two purgings this week, knew better. “It wasn’t my job to judge the Moroi’s behavior,” I said. “They’ll do what their natures tell them to do. But I knew no human should be subjecting other humans to the dangers my associate was. That was why I had to turn him in.”

To my amazement, a round of nods met me, and even Sheridan regarded me with approval. Then, she spoke. “That’s a very wise insight, Sydney. And yet something must have gone terribly wrong if you learned no lessons from that incident and ended up here yourself.”

All those eyes swiveled from her to me, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. I discussed Adrian occasionally with Duncan, but this was different. Duncan didn’t judge or tear my romance apart. How could I bring up something so precious and powerful to me in front of this group, who would revile it and make it sound dirty? What I had with Adrian was beautiful. I didn’t want to lay it out to be trampled here.

And yet, how could I not? If I didn’t give them something, if I didn’t play their games … then how long would I be here? A year—or more—like Duncan? I’d told myself, back in that dark cell, that I’d say anything to get me out of here. I had to make good on that. Lies told here wouldn’t matter if they got me back to Adrian.