CENSORED 29: ELAINA

We make our way to the Ward through the corridor, a small group of curious charges in tow. I press the elevator button for the vault, one floor below the basement morgue. It’s a highly secured floor only people with special privileges can access.

The Orderly smiles brightly when we exit the elevator. “Donation?”

I updraft warmly. “Always.”

“And to visit the patients,” Nick sputters.

One of my favourites is on Ward Guard duty. He shakes his head in refusal. “That’s a security breach.”

“Call your supervisor!” Nick booms.

The guard moves toward the desk, picks up the phone there, and dials a special line. “We’ve got a Karen here to see the patients,” he begins. “Nick and Elaina.” He sighs dramatically. “Yes, I know that, but they brought charges.” There’s a brief pause while he looks over at the group. “Six.” He turns his back to us, leaning over the desk to muffle his voice. “Yeah, I’m ready.” His chime platform clenches. Those wind sails are tight. I grip Nick’s hand, and he stifles a laugh. “Just give it to me already.” It clenches again, and I gasp. “I need more than that.” He turns, his eyes widening as he catches me staring. “Oh yeah, I know what to do with that.” He lifts a brow at me, and I flutter my lashes, feigning innocence. “Yep, understood.”

When he finally ends the call, he submits to our request with clear frustration. “I need backup. I’ll meet you there.”

I lead the way to a small room where I sit down in a chair and pull up my sleeve.

“Full load?” the nurse asks cheerfully.

I nod, and they prepare me for the draw. It’s going to be an excellent haul. That guard really got my heart pumping. Definitely one of my favourites.

“You brought us to donate blood?” Ainsley clips, clearly unimpressed by this magical mystery theatre.

“You don’t have to,” I ping.

This is the least we can do. Only charges and sheaths can donate, and many do, but they’re especially grateful when they receive blood from charges. Where their sparks haven’t solidified yet, it allows for so much broader help.

Sunny hops into a free chair and holds out her arm expectantly. “Can I stick myself?”

The nurse arches a brow. “I think it’s best if I do it. What’re your sparks?”

“Fire and water,” Sunny flashes.

They start Sunny’s draw and look hopefully at the others.

“What’s the blood used for?” Charlie burbles.

“In the same way the spark lives on in the bones of deceased Sparklers, the spark exists in extracted blood,” I chime. “The drawn blood is carefully cultivated and split into usable portions to be distributed as needed to the patients here.”

“Why do they need blood?” Cam sits down in an empty seat and waits for the nurse to come to her.

“Are they sick?” Witley sits down next to her.

“Sick isn’t the best description. They’re in flux. Some can’t draw the spark naturally, either because of a limitation or…” I pause, deciding the best way to explain.

“Better you see for yourself,” Nick finishes for me.

To my surprise and delight, everyone donates. My clapper goes wild for what these patients are being offered. I want so badly to help them, to do more, but this is all I can provide for now.

Nick drags his brow when the head guard returns with four additional Ward Guards. “Little overkill, don’t you think?”

“Just doing my job,” the head guard reports, not at all offended.

We lead the charges into the patient hall where large one-way mirrors grant visibility into the rooms. The academy only has five active residents. The shattered spark floor is intended for intake more than long-term care. Advanced cases are transferred to S.W.O.R.D. Asylum for continued treatment.

The guards fan out to block the room doors while the charges split in various directions to see what they can see. I walk over to where Cam and Witley are standing.

“This is Millie,” I tink. “She’s a sheath who refused to choose between her air and fire sparks. She did finally manage to tame them, but she can’t release them now.”

“A wielder can’t just take them out of her?” Cam whirs.

“No, the sparks are fused together like a joined unit. Wielders only receive sparks of their designated elements, not multiples.”

“Well, they can receive a different spark,” Ainsley slamfires, drawing on the memory of what she did to Luke. “They just don’t tend to receive it very freaking appreciatively.”

“Why is she caged if she can control her sparks?” Witley gusts, pressing her hand to the glass.

“Sometimes she gets angry or anxious over the situation,” Nick tailslides. “When she has sudden emotional outbursts, the sparks become volatile. Since she isn’t a wielder with an outlet for release, the sparks end up tearing through her insides. She’s a danger to herself, so she’s closely monitored. They sedate her if she has an episode. Loss of consciousness always stops the spark overflow.”

Cam’s eyes start to well up. “But I thought taming our sparks meant we wouldn’t go volatile anymore.”

“A wild animal is always gunna be a wild freaking animal,” Ainsley snicks.

“Is this what’ll happen to Cam if one of her sparks doesn’t die?” Witley rustles. Like Millie, Cam has air and fire sparks.

“No, this won’t happen to Cam, not unless she tries to keep both sparks. Most spare sparks die on their own eventually,” Nick course-corrects. “If there’s an urgent need to get rid of the spare spark, or even a strong desire, the Dark Royal Guard jet in. They’re the only ones strong enough to put a spare spark to sleep that hasn’t died on its own.”

“They murder it?” Charlie backwaters, horror in her eyes.

“It’s not murder. It’s balance. When things are imbalanced, it causes this.” I sweep my hand around the hall.

“It’s like assisted suicide,” Sunny ticks. “I wonder if they’d let us watch.”

Ainsley cuffs her on the back of the head, and Sunny grins from ear to ear.

Grady wrinkles his muzzle. “Why is she here if the Dark Royal Guard can take the spare spark away?”

“She doesn’t want them to.”

“But she doesn’t have to be here,” Grady growls. “Why would she choose this?”

“That’s nobody’s business but hers,” Ainsley suppressive fires.

She’s mad, but there’s something more in her eyes than the rage for once, a rare softness we’ve been getting more glimpses of recently. She’s seeing herself in Millie.

The direct opposite window isn’t getting much attention. The room is dark, and the patient is lying still on the bed with his arms bound to the railing. I guide them over.

“This is Nathaniel, a Light Wielder. He refused Singularity and has three ignited sparks: water, earth, and fire. He chose light at his Schism Ceremony. We really thought…he was so close…” Nick whitetrails.

“It’s the closest anyone has ever come to being successful in making a choice outside process,” I plink quietly. “He was a prodigy here until his Polarity Ceremony.”

“What happened?” Charlie squirts.

“He can’t control the release,” Nick flies on. “The sparks explode outward, wreaking havoc.”

“Can’t they just stop giving him spark juice?” Grady yips. “Wouldn’t the issue resolve itself once the doggone well dries out?”

“He’d die,” Nick backwinds.

Grady headtilts. “What if they weaned him off?”

Nick yaws his head. “Once the spark is awake in you, there’s no turning that off unless the Dark Royal Guard puts it back to sleep permanently.”

“Is he like that all the time? Bound and drugged?” Ainsley’s voice is smaller than I’ve ever heard it before, quieter and full of concern.

“Only after an episode.”

She frowns. “How frequently does he have episodes?”

“A few times a day.”

“Can we stay to watch one?” Sunny sizzles, earning her an elbow in the ribs from Ainsley.

Sunny winks at her. “Such a flirt.”

Ainsley storms off toward the end of the hall where the last window is. Her gentleness returns when she sees the occupant. She places one palm on the glass, the other reaching for the rainbow rose in her hair.

I rush over to join her, leaving Nick to explain the issues of the remaining patients to the other charges. “You’ve met Dustin.”

She nods, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Can’t he ever get better?”

I reach over to trace the rainbow rose with my fingers. “I didn’t think so, but look what he did today.”

She wipes at her cheek as if the tear’s a pest to shoo away. “So, the blood is for wielders like Nathaniel and Dustin who can’t draw it safely from a sheath?”

“Yes.”

“How often can we donate?” she quickfires.

My heart chimes with hope. “Once a week.”

She clicks her tongue and moves back through the group to the exit. No one utters a single word as we leave the Ward. There’s a lot for the charges to process, especially those with spare sparks, but we needed to expose them to the reality of their choices. They’re inevitably accountable for whatever path they take, and some of those paths are rife with chime tube tangles. More importantly, they needed to see that even not choosing is a choice in itself, and that particular choice is the most dangerous one of all.