The Gray Institute_Rebels' Hell

by Leanne Pearson

  'Why?' My next question feels more important than the first. 'Why would you help us? What do you want in return?'

  'A promise,' He answers immediately. 'That you will do whatever is in your power to return my sister to me. After so many years, I hold out little hope of ever seeing her again. As slim as this opportunity may be, it's the only one I have. I'm prepared to take a huge risk for the slight chance that you may be able to help me. To help her.'

  'It's too convenient,' I shake my head, speaking to Lorna. 'We show up in New Zealand, desperate for passports and I.D., and all of a sudden here is this stranger waiting on our doorstep to give us exactly what we need?' Angelo stays silent, allowing us to talk this through, as if he knows we need to.

  'What's the alternative?' Lorna asks thoughtfully. 'Your plan was to hang around a nightclub hoping to bump into the right people – '

  'And what was your plan?' I snap, irritated.

  'I didn't have one,' She admits. 'But you said yourself, if Angelo was with Sir Alec or the Auctoritas, we'd be long captured by now. Besides,' She glances sideways at Angelo, who's simply watching our exchange as if it's a mildly interesting TV show. 'It might be useful to have an older Immortal on our side; let's be honest, we know nothing of this world outside of the Institute. He may be able to give us information, help us avoid capture.'

  'Can you?' I bark at Angelo, who rubs his chin thoughtfully.

  'I'm not sure what kind of information would be valuable to you, but I will tell you everything I know if that is what you wish.'

  'And the documents,' I frown. 'How will you get them? When?'

  'I know a man who works in Regulation, he has a quiet reputation for dealing black market identification. For the right price, he'll give anyone documents, providing he knows who he's dealing with.'

  'Regulation?' I frown.

  'Ah, forgive me. Regulators are Immortal employees who deal with all matters concerning Immortal population and settlement. Part of their job entails issuing I.D. to Graduates or to people like myself who change identity every eight years.' He explains patiently.

  'And he'll deal with you?' Lorna asks.

  'I'm fairly sure of it. We've run in the same circles for decades, have several mutual friends. He has no reason to distrust me.'

  'Can you trust him?' I raise an eyebrow. 'Say he realises who we are,' I indicate myself and Lorna. 'And informs the Auctoritas?'

  'Word has it that he provided many of the old Rebels with documents during the uprising,' Angelo's eyes glitter. 'I'm certain he operates a 'no questions asked' policy, for the right price, of course. Besides, not many people, even Officials, know what the two of you look like.'

  'How long would we have to wait?'

  'He's based in Queensland, a four hour flight, give or take. I could leave tonight and be back by tomorrow evening.'

  It's too good to be true. I keep expecting the Army to start banging on the hotel room door, waiting for snipers on the roof and helicopters circling. But nothing happens besides Lorna resolutely folding her arms. 'It's our best option, Eve,' She tells me. 'By far.'

  'I need your word, though,' Angelo reminds us. 'That you will risk everything to free my sister. As much as you would your mother.' He nods at Lorna.

  'If you get us the documents we need, we promise we'll do everything we can.' Lorna replies kindly.

  'What do you know of the Rebels?' I ask suddenly. If he's as old as he claims, and knows so many people, surely he would have heard at least a whisper of the elusive, possibly non-existent Rebels. 'The new ones, I mean. Are they real?'

  'So they say,' Angelo shrugs. 'I've never met one but then I'm sure they're not in the habit of revealing their true identities. There will always be small factions of Rebels – renegades who despise Sirus, plotting all kinds of things. Whether an organised group with a solid strategy exists is anyone's guess. Is that your plan? To find some Rebels?' He looks doubtful, though he tries to hide it.

  'Part of it. If the Rebels exist it can only serve to help us in our plan to free the Confined. If they don't – ' I hesitate. I don't want Angelo to know that Lorna and I are making a lot of this up as we go; he might be less inclined to help us.

  'You will find some other way?' He offers helpfully. 'I'm not stupid; I realise that the chances of an untrained Immortal and a human girl having the capacity to free my sister are slim, but – ' He smiles warmly. 'A week ago I would have said the chances of one Immortal escaping The Gray Institute with Lorna Gray were slim. And I would have been wrong.'

  'Not exactly,' I snort. 'They were slim. They still are. We haven't escaped yet.'

  'And time is running out. Will I be making the journey to Australia tonight... or not?'

  I glance at Lorna, and she at me. I suppose she's right; this is the best option by far.

  We pack Angelo off with a large wad of cash which makes a dent in our stash, and instructions on where we're likely to travel so that he can arrange for visas if necessary. It’s illegal for an Immortal to take photographs of themselves – too high a risk that a human might stumble across the same person hundreds of years apart – so Angelo will oversee the human likenesses chosen to depict us. Graduates getting their first Immortal passports the legal way would of course be present for this process, for obvious reasons, we can’t be. There’s also no sense in Lorna photographing herself – again, too risky – so she, too, will be given a doppelgänger.

  The moment he's gone, I begin to doubt him. What if the things we've handed him – the money, our route – is nothing but evidence for Sir Alec or his Institute Official friend? What if he's not who he says he is? What if this is part of an elaborate plan to catch us in the act? Apprehend us in Thailand with a team of Law Officers?

  Lorna spends the entire night pleading with me to calm down. Twice she manages to stop me fleeing the hotel, caught with a sudden certainty that Angelo will hand us in. When he's late returning the following evening, I feel sure it's just another sign that everything he said was a lie. I crouch by the window, straining hard for any sign of official presence. Lorna sits warily on her bed, watching me, ready to pounce if I make a sudden break for the door again. Just as I feel I might, Angelo's now familiar footfalls sound on the pavement outside, and soon enough he's rapping on the door, bringing the warm air in with him.

  He produces a brown envelope and I empty the contents onto my dirty bedsheet. Two burgundy-coloured passports with our likenesses staring out from between the pages, and two visas to Thailand, just as he promised. I'm so relieved, I almost hug him.

  'You seem surprised.' He grins.

  'She is,' Lorna snorts. 'If it was up to her we'd be halfway across the Pacific by now.'

  Angelo chortles, but his face suddenly turns deadly serious. He glares at me hard with dusky brown eyes. 'My sister?' He asks simply, his tone void of emotion. I reach out in a rare display of intimacy, and squeeze his forearm.

  'You have my word.'

  Chapter Eight

  Lucrezia.

  The Genus Room is large and bright, several candelabras casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. Four armchairs stand in a semi-circle, arranged around a tall oil painting hanging above the make-shift mantelpiece. The chairs are occupied and each head cranes around to witness our intrusion. 'Look who's just arrived.' My mother smiles with smug satisfaction, urging Malachy and I forward. For a moment the luxurious room is silent, then, one of the figures rises from his armchair, spreading his arms wide.

  'Malachy!' His voice is booming as his dark eyes survey my brother hungrily. 'So good to see you. Why didn't you tell us you were coming?'

  'He has business with Sirus, Caruso.' My mother says, just an edge of finality in her tone.

  'Ah, of course,' Caruso nods knowingly. 'It's no easy feat, being the future Auctorita.'

  'Good morning, Lucrezia.' Another figure shifts to the edge of her seat, better to see us. Her green eyes are welcoming, but don't hide their irritation towards Caruso. I'm perfectly used to be
ing ignored by my grandfather – he's seen me as nothing but a spare since day one – but Aed, even as the oldest and wisest of the Auctoritas, despises Caruso's old fashioned views towards women.

  'Good morning, Aed.' I smile politely. I would never admit it to anyone, but Aed is the only woman I’ve met with the ability to intimidate me.

  'Sit down, sit down.' My mother ushers us towards the plush rug, right in the middle of the semi-circle where we sat as children to be observed by the family, like precious, expensive ornaments. She clicks her fingers at a Servus who hurries out of the room, returning moments later with two golden cups. She hands one to Malachy, and then one to me.

  'So,' Caruso leans forwards in his chair, keeping his focus on Malachy. I hate sitting on the rug beneath them, as though we're still children, waiting to be dictated to. 'What is this urgent business you have with my son?'

  Malachy takes a sip from his cup, his gaze sliding quickly to me and back again. 'There's been an escape from The Gray Institute,' he pauses to allow them a moment of shock. Lalita – Caruso's wife – and Radha – Aed's partner – both widen their eyes. My mother takes an audible gasp. Caruso's expression turns thunderous. But Aed doesn't move a muscle. 'A first year,' Malachy continues. 'Three days ago.'

  'But how?!' My mother exclaims, a slender white hand over her mouth.

  'It's not so much the how as the who,' Malachy shrugs. 'The student in question took the headmaster's human daughter with her. Naturally, she has knowledge of Our Kind we wouldn't want leaked. It's imperative that we get her back as soon as possible.'

  'I knew it,' Caruso slaps his palm loudly on the arm of his chair. 'It's that French one isn't it? The daughter of Alec's Duchess puta?'

  'Caruso!' Lalita scolds him, but it’s half-hearted. She’s the most irrelevant Auctorita on the board being female and neither in power now nor ever having been in her own right, like Aed. And Caruso is the least likely Auctorita to listen to her, despite their marriage.

  'I told him to get rid of that girl! I told him she'd cause nothing but trouble but he wouldn't listen! Seems I was right, doesn't it?' Caruso rants, taking pleasure in proving Sirus wrong.

  'Father regrets his mistake just as much as you.' I interject, stung by Caruso's blatant disrespect.

  'Regrets it?' Caruso spits, eyeing me like a cockroach he's determined to squash. 'And when this niña shouts about Our Kind from the rooftops, his regret will be enough?'

  'We hope to re-capture her before she has that chance,' Malachy says smoothly, expertly bringing the focus back to himself. 'It's unlikely that a first year and a human girl will be able to evade us for long.'

  'And when she's captured, Sirus needs to do what he should have done the first time around!' Caruso scoffs.

  'He has already given the order to kill the girl – if she is not yet eighteen when captured.'

  'And if she is eighteen?' Caruso raises his dark eyebrows.

  'She will be changed.'

  'Dios mio,' Caruso shakes his head. 'Will he never learn? We don't need Immortals like her. She clearly has no regard for our laws, why should that change with her transformation?' He seems to be talking to himself rather than us. After a long pause, during which he shakes his head constantly, he stands. 'Excuse me, I must talk to my son.' He exits the room without a glance back.

  'What of the first year?' Radha breaks the silence left in Caruso's wake. 'She will be Confined?'

  'She – ' Malachy begins to speak with confidence, but his voice falters.

  'Absolutely,' I cut in. 'There's no question of it.'

  'Goodness, I can barely remember the last escape.' My mother shakes her head, looking troubled. We lapse into silence, digesting the information, and when Malachy speaks, they look up as if they'd forgotten we were there.

  'Excuse me,' He stands, handing his almost full glass to the Servus. 'I think I'll get settled in.'

  'I'll come with you.' I stand, too, and try to ignore the look of irritation that crosses Mal's face.

  'Mother,' He corners her before leaving the room, speaking quietly. 'Is Ebele home?'

  'Yes, she's – ' She shakes her head, distracted. 'I sent her to make up your quarters.'

  Malachy nods, barely glancing at my mother before leaving the room. I follow him along the corridor which winds around a left bend, through to the sleeping quarters. My room is next to Malachy's on the right, and the door is ajar. Inside there is movement, the rustling of sheets, the sound of soft footsteps. Malachy steps inside before me and stares at the woman with her back to us, throwing a clean sheet over my unused bed. Though we don’t sleep, many Immortals still furnish their rooms with beds and use them as a space to lie and relax, an imitation of sleep. I never saw the point.

  'Ebele.' Malachy smiles as he says her name, his tone unusually relaxed. She doesn't turn, but continues folding the sheet over the corners, her back hunched over.

  'You've been here an hour already and you didn't come find me.' She sniffs, her Jamaican accent familiar and warm, despite the frostiness of her tone.

  'I had business to attend to,' Malachy takes a step forward. 'Turn around, Ebele.'

  She finishes the sheet and sighs, placing her hands on her hips and turning to meet Malachy with a defiant stare. 'I missed you.' Malachy grins, taking another step forward.

  'I'm sure you did,' Ebele purses her plump lips. 'You missed me so much you couldn't even send a letter on me birthday.'

  'Oh, come on, Ebele,' Malachy snorts. 'You're the only Immortal I know who still celebrates her birthday.'

  'It's important not to forget these things,' She sniffs, eyeing me closely. She tries not to show her disdain, but she's never quite managed it. 'Now you just turn up, no warning, no nothing. Well?' She demands. 'Have you sorted your 'business'?'

  'Yes.' Malachy smiles.

  'Hmph,' She sniffs. 'Well, you'd better get over here. Never know when I'm going to see you next.' She takes a step forward, as does Malachy, and grabs his shoulders roughly, pulling him into a crushing hug. He doesn't protest, merely wraps his arms around her waist and lets her cling to him. She's a good two feet shorter than him and the sight of them is ridiculous. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

  Ebele was Malachy's nanny growing up. She wasn't allowed a say in what he wore, how he walked, how he talked or what he learnt, but she took care of him during those rare times when he wasn't being trained. She played games with him, told him stories, sung him old Jamaican songs and took the rap for his bad behaviour on many occasions. As he got older, she became his confidant, his shoulder to cry on, an outlet for all his pent up stress and fear. I was jealous of Ebele's closeness to my brother, but I was also jealous of Malachy for having Ebele.

  My nanny was called Dominika and she was Ebele's polar opposite in every way. She was Russian; strict, cold and distant. She didn't play games or sing me songs, and she certainly never took the blame for my wrongdoings. She was suspicious of mine and Malachy's relationship and often tried to keep us apart. I hated her. The moment I turned eighteen, the moment I was transformed, I had her sent to the Confine on a false charge as revenge for a shitty childhood in her care.

  Ebele heads off to see to father's quarters, leaving Mal and I alone in my room. The spark that ignited his eyes at the sight of her disappears as quickly as she does and I try to ignore the all too familiar feeling of jealousy stabbing my chest. 'It's so sweet that you're still so attached to her after all these years.' My tone is a little more sarcastic than I intended and Malachy's jaw hardens.

  'She raised me.' He replies coldly, unbuttoning his jacket.

  'Mother and father raised us.' I remind him, even though I know they did little more than ensure our physical well-being, as well as train us rigorously for our future roles.

  'I'll see you at dinner.' He mutters, crossing the room towards the door.

  'Malachy?' He stops, though I can tell he doesn't want to. I hesitate. 'Don't go,' I sound pathetic and I know it but he doesn't turn. 'Stay for a while. I hate b
eing in this room alone.' It's true. The only person who ever came into my room as a child, besides Malachy, was Dominika. Although Domum is my home and a place filled with many happy memories, none of them include time spent with Dominika.

  Malachy hesitates, his shoulders twitching. He finally turns back and crosses to the bed, slumping down on it in an uncharacteristic way. I know he doesn't actually want to stay but I feel a sick sense of satisfaction in it all the same. I sit down next to him and try to pretend that I don't know he's thinking about shifting away. 'How long do you think it'll take to capture them? I ask, knowing I don't need to clarify who.

  He shrugs. 'Not long, I wouldn't think. She's talented but... ' He lets his sentence trail off. I notice the way he doesn't say Ryder's name. A long silence pans out between us, the kind of silence it's impossible to measure. It echoes the miles of space separating us, even when we sit side by side. I think back to a time when Malachy didn't go stiff and rigid whenever he sat next to me. Of a time when he would willingly creep into my bedroom at night and we would sit talking until we heard the Servus' start work. I think of the time before we came to Domum, back in Germany – though I never linger on that time for too long.