“How do you know?” I asked.

“I walked by some repair guys doing maintenance in an empty room once.”

“So it’d be easier to block it on a room-by-room basis than at the control level,” I murmured.

She shook her head. “Not when it’s right in line with the cameras in the bedrooms. The guards would be on you before you even had the panel off. Which you’d need a screwdriver for.”

She started to set her book back, and I took it from her. Glittering inks decorated the cover, and the corner of each chapter was covered with a flat piece of metal. I ran my fingers over one. “A flathead screwdriver?” I asked, sizing up the thickness of the metal corner. If I could pull it off, it’d make an okay tool to undo a screw.

A slow smile spread over Emma’s face. “As a matter of fact, yes. You get creativity points, I’ll give you that.” She studied me a few moments more. “Why do you want to block the gas? Seems like we’ve got a lot bigger problems—you know, the biggest one being that we’re stuck here.”

“You tell me something first,” I said, still not sure if Emma was part of some great sting operation that was going to get me in even worse trouble. “You’re pretty much the poster child for model Alchemist behavior. What did you do to get here?”

She hesitated before answering. “I sent away some guardians that had been assigned to help my Alchemist group in Kiev. There were some Moroi I knew that I thought needed the protection more than we did.”

“I can see where that would upset the powers-that-be,” I admitted. “But it seems like there are worse things, especially with how good you’ve been. Why are you still here?”

Her cocky smile shifted to something more bitter. “Because my sister isn’t. She went through all of this too, was discharged, and then went even more rogue than before. No one knows where she is, and now, no matter how many strides I make, they’re ensuring they don’t make the same mistake twice in letting me go too soon. Bad blood in our family, I guess.”

That would certainly explain things. She seemed sincere too, but she was also an Alchemist, and we were good at conning others. Another question popped into my head as my eyes darted across the room to where Duncan and a few others perused the sociology section. “Why has Duncan been here so long? He seems to be on good behavior. Bad blood in his family too?”

Emma followed my gaze. “My guess? Too good of behavior.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked, startled.

She shrugged. “He’s so docile, I think they’re worried he won’t be able to stand up to vampire influence, even if he wants to. So they’re afraid to let him out just yet. But they don’t want him to have too much of a spine because that kind of goes against the operating procedure here. I think he wants to be braver . . . but something holds him back—I mean, more than the usual stuff holding us all back.”

Chantal, I thought. That was what held him back. He’d had enough of a spine to befriend me, but Emma’s words explained why he was so cautious in even that. Losing Chantal had left its mark and made him too fearful to do anything else. Hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake, I took a deep breath and turned back to Emma.

“If the gas is off, I can get a message to the outside. That’s all I can tell you.”

Her eyebrows rose at that. “Are you certain? Tonight?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Adrian would be searching for me in dreams. He just needed a window of natural sleep.

“Hang on a minute,” Emma said after a little more thought.

She stood up and walked across the room, over to where Amelia was browsing. They conversed until the chimes rang, signaling it was time to return to our rooms. Emma hurried back to me. “Check out that book,” she said, nodding to the embellished diary. “I won’t say another word to you once we walk out that door. Go back to our room, count to sixty, and then go to town on whatever you need to do with the vent.”

“But what about the camera—”

“You’re on your own now,” she said, and walked off without another word.

I gaped for a few moments and then scurried to join the others who were signing out books with the librarian. As I filed out with them, I tried to look natural and not like my heart might pound out of my chest. Was Emma serious? Or was this the ultimate setup? What could she have possibly done in one conversation that would suddenly make it okay to tamper with the ventilation system? Because when we got back to our room, I could see the small black camera that watched us was pointing straight in the direction of the vent in question. Anyone opening it would be easily spotted.

It had to be a setup, but Emma made it clear from her body language that she was going to have no further interaction with me as we got ready for bed. I silently counted and knew she must have as well because when I reached sixty, she spared me one sharp, meaningful look.

There are easier ways to set me up, I thought. Easier ways with worse consequences.

With a gulp, I pushed my bed over to the wall and used it to stand on, so that I had easy access to the vent panel. I’d pulled off a metal page corner from the book, and Emma’s assessment had been correct. Its thickness was right on par with a flathead screwdriver. Of course, it was nowhere near as ergonomically easy to use as a screwdriver, but after a little fiddling, I finally got all four corners of the panel loosened enough to pull it off. My nerves and shaking hands weren’t helping speed along the process, and I had no clue how long I might have to do this—or if Emma would warn me when time was up.