JC discovered that he could see perfectly clear, faintly luminous lines crisscrossing the doors that he couldn't open on the third floor.
Intermittently, while cleaning, he scrutinized them, memorizing the design as clearly as he could. It was the same on each, he discovered, with only one small section that was different.
That night, JC left the others to divide up the food that Erica considered safe and dispose of the rest, his attention instead on the outer door. Now that he was looking closely, he could see the same design of luminous threads across it, too. That spot that varied included the bits from all three of the upstairs doors.
That was the lock, he concluded. And that bit that varied, that identified who could open it. That was the most logical explanation.
He sat down on the floor facing the door, studying it intently. When Theo brought him some bread, JC flashed him a quick smile, but turned his attention back to the door. Theo followed his gaze, looked back at JC, clearly seeing nothing, but JC gently shooed him out of the way. Puzzled, Theo shrugged and left him to it. JC had found and appropriated a pair of obviously-unused hairbrushes from the back of a closet, on the grounds that with all this long hair, they were a necessity; Isabel apparently didn't care. Since most were finding it easier to ask for help, between evening showers and the bedtime bell, mutual grooming dominated. It did feel unexpectedly good and relaxing, JC had to admit, but right now, he had other priorities.
Some instinct insisted that if he just understood it...
The bell rang for bedtime.
He waited until the others were settled down to sleep, sprawled around the padded floor—still in considerable contact, though less tightly bunched together than the first night. With any luck, if he got caught, he'd be very obviously the only one guilty. For whatever that was worth. But he had to try.
He paced over to the door, following the lines with his fingertips, then cautiously touched them. They twanged, a faint vibration with no sound; a fast motion went right through them, but if he moved very slowly and deliberately, he could hook a finger around a line and pull on it. Each one that he touched changed tension elsewhere, but as soon as he let go it snapped back into its original layout.
Experimentally, he tugged gently here and there, following the results of each.
And when he pulled in three places at once, just the right way, with a very slight twist to one of them... the threads came loose from the wall around the door and gathered into the middle, where he could hold them all with one hand. Gingerly freeing the other hand, he pulled on the door.
Which opened onto the night air.
He pushed it shut again, and carefully let go of the threads of light, which spread and smoothed back to their original configuration with no trace that he'd done anything at all.
He repeated it, just to make certain he could remember exactly what to do and that it could be reproduced.
Then he went to curl up with the others, the hope that had been fading over the past couple of days surging anew.
Isabel did one of her little surprise inspections in the middle of the night, but nothing suggested to JC that she had any idea he'd done anything he shouldn't have.
His friends kept giving him perplexed looks over breakfast—they'd resigned themselves to just not bothering to speak since it almost invariably meant pain, but they were rapidly learning how to understand each other without words.
JC just smiled, held a red-nailed finger to his lips in a gesture of silence, ate his bread, and waited for Isabel to come get them and set them their tasks for the day. He watched her intently, if covertly, but still saw no trace of awareness of what he'd done the night before. He doubted she'd hesitate to punish him ruthlessly if she knew, so it was probably safe to conclude that she didn't know.
Only once he saw Isabel through the window, striding off in the direction of one of the gardens to speak to Barry, did he decide to act. Even then, he finished making Nestor's bed and made sure that he had clean towels before heading to Isabel's suite.
He checked the whole layout over with care, but found no additions that suggested alarms. Since his friends seemed unable to even see the glowing lines, alarms would probably be rather redundant—why put alarms on a lock no one could even perceive?
Delicately, he gathered up the bright threads and opened the door. He braced it open with a heavy book and stepped inside, alert for any more of those lines.
The first room within was a library and study, filled with books, many of them heavy and old-looking, few of them commercial mass-market; behind it was a second that he could only think of as a stillroom, though he could also see beads of varying sizes and colours, metal disks, stranger things, all arranged on the shelves lining the walls and on a counter that had a high stool in front of it.
The study and library was more likely to have what he wanted.
He returned to that, and made a hasty search of the top of her desk.
And found exactly what he wanted: a hand-written journal.
He flipped back until he found the first mention of himself and his friends, and started to read as rapidly as he could.
> While searching for a replacement for Marcy, I encountered a fascinating find that is just too unusual. Despite concerns that we may be at maximum capacity for fae on the island, the abundance of data this should give us on the social aspects of faeling awakening is potentially too valuable. There are fully seven faelings, who appear to have all grown up together, who have just yesterday real-world time had their fae blood triggered during a nexus flare that was big enough to cause a localized blackout. How much of the end result is genetic and how much is a matter of environment and of individual subconscious imagery is always a question, of course, but this should at least hint at some answers. At the appropriate moment, we'll set up a calling to summon them to the fae nexus, with a temporary gate in front of it for them to step through directly into the outbuilding.
>
> This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
>
> I'm working on calculations for the best time. If we act too early, we learned the hard way that there tends to be much greater hysteria and risk of self-harm, although I'd rather enjoy an opportunity to observe them in human phase before they begin to actively transition. Not, I suppose, that I would get very reliable results. Captive animal behaviour never matches wild behaviour. I'll have to settle for watching via mirror, to what extent that's possible with the island timeslipped to such a degree. Reducing the time differential ratio dramatically is obviously a very bad idea, it would make us much too easy to find for those foolish wizards who are short-sighted and gullible enough to believe that placating the fae by following their rules is a better strategy than learning what we can about defending ourselves from them. I've asked Phrixos to reduce the timeslip factor to at least 4, to make it easier for me to gather preliminary information about them. Running at 4 for a few realworld days should be a reasonable compromise between safety and complete data.
That sounded very bad, as far as their futures.
There was also a lot in there that needed more research—what 'timeslipped' meant, for example—but right now, he had more specific goals in mind.
He couldn't figure out the dating system at all, it appeared to be just a single four-digit number. The day he'd just read said 7359; presumably that lined up to the day after the blackout, a week and a half before their Friday-night abduction.
There were subsequent entries on most days, and usually that didn't mention them, only brief notes about real-world shopping trips and about harvesting something, presumably plants, that she expected to need, along with some grumbling about Nestor and Phrixos leaving everything to her and occasional complaints about the staff, some notes about others who were, considering the context, probably also lab rats but JC couldn't make any sense of the details.
The number on the next one involving them directly was 7482.
That can't be counting by days. That would be... oh, man, four months between the blackout and Friday midnight, not about nine or ten days. It's not a miscount, there are numbers on most entries, and some of them have a “later” notation so it can't be multiple entries per day. That makes no sense at all.
> 7482
>
> Everything is in place, and our seven faelings are close enough to transition that they should change immediately after contact with any form of magic. The biological effects of first-phase change should work with the shock of being abducted to keep them pliable until the tea can take effect. Having them remember their histories might give us some information, but ultimately, it would be both too cruel for the possible info gained to justify it, and would increase the chances of them causing trouble that would jeopardize the research and endanger them and us. All in all, it's best if they just forget. Their loved ones will search and mourn, I'm sure, just like people do every day when someone goes missing. It's a shame they don't know that they've actually been protected from the fae nature of the ones they've lost and that this is ultimately for the good of humanity against the fae the next time they take it in their heads to start a war.
'It's for the greater good' had been the excuse for a terrifying number of horrifying events throughout history.
Erica was right about that tea!
> 7483
>
> We have all seven, and all went smoothly into midway phase, so quickly that in three cases Nestor and Phrixos barely had time to get all four cuffs in place. The collars give us enough of a doorway through their magic resistance that there was no problem with putting each to sleep as soon as they were done, so there wasn't a mass panic. One woman, the rather athletic-looking one I've seen doing yoga, (now the blonde in dark blue) turned out to be a handful and gave both Felix and Barry a few bruises fighting back, which made it tricky to get the cuffs and collar on her. One man, the tall blonde macho one (now the blonde in violet), gave them even more bruises and, in fact, managed to break two of Barry's fingers. We're going to have to find a way to give the two of them a bonus for this one, since we do need to keep them cooperative. The small woman with light brown hair (now the brunette in pink) arrived with a pair of dogs on leashes, which I had to take from her and send back through the gate. Since Nestor and Phrixos were just finishing with the radio DJ (now the redhead in aqua) as she came through, things were a little tense for a few minutes, but once he started to change we could concentrate on her long enough to restore order. Phrixos had to block the gate briefly to keep the dogs from coming back through in search of her. We've never dealt with a group so large, so some complications were to be expected, but overall, it went well enough, and all are now asleep.
>
> By the time they wake, their bodies will have begun to adjust to the change, and will have started the altered chemical balances that always seem to keep faelings from the kind of hysteria that a real human would experience if suddenly transformed.
>
> Once Phrixos has a chance to rest from that rather extensive magical exercise, he intends to push the timeslip factor back to 5, to discourage interruptions. We will need to not bring in any further faelings in the immediate future, but I do still need to find a replacement for Marcy and perhaps one or two more human staff. I'm no longer certain that five is adequate. We've been at this a long time. I would like to see more results than we currently have. We've made personal sacrifices for this project, and it would be disappointing to have insufficient reward for that.
>
> Later:
>
> We've allowed them to wake up, and I've explained the basics to them, as much as they really need to know at this point. The aggressive behaviour of the blonde in violet gave me a useful opportunity to demonstrate the futility of resistance.
>
> It's quite clear that they all had their fae genes potentiated during the same nexus flare around the time of their births and grew up sharing experiences through their formative years, since they rather resemble a matched set other than specifics of colouring and build that are probably heavily determined by what type of fae they are and their own subconscious minds. They match far too closely for any chance of it being a coincidence. That could be a problem, since it suggests a deep-level connection, but it's also fascinating.
>
> One of them, the blonde in violet, is definitely going to be an individual problem until the tea starts to break down her memories of her previous life and she starts to feel more detached and more docile. Is it worth it to try to find out their names, I wonder, when they'll forget even that before long? It's probably simplest for now just to refer to them by the colours they each chose. Violet may turn out to be one of the uncommon individuals whose ties to her life are so powerful that the tea isn't enough. From what I did find out in the mirror, she may not be the only one, especially if I'm right about a deep-level bond. I'm going to make the tea as strong as I safely can, so that in combination with the herb mixture in the bread that dulls emotional reactivity and physical responsiveness, it can work as quickly as possible. I'm not entirely comfortable experimenting with new formulas on a group this size, although after they've had a day or two I may try a small cautious adjustment or two based on earlier results. I believe that for the moment I'll make sure the spice mixture on the meat contains something to make sure they sleep through the night and can't get up to mischief. There's enough to do around here that I should be able to keep them busy and distracted through the day.
>
> By the time they reach their fae forms in a couple of weeks, it should all have a good foothold, and by the time they really master what they are it should have had a month or so to work and memories of a previous life as a human should never trouble them again. We'll be able to tell them whatever we need to tell them and they'll believe it, without rebellion or emotional distress.
Wait, what? In the bread? The bread's drugged too?