Book Five, Chapter 84: A touch of chemistry...

~Riley~

"Do you think it'll help him?" Kimberly asked, chewing on her bottom lip. She still stared after him long after he ran into the forest.

We were Off-Screen, and the tears that had started On-Screen were still coming down her cheeks uninterrupted. Maybe that was why she was a good actress. Because the feelings—to her—were real.

Even as we and the mercenaries started preparing for what was certainly going to be a big action scene, she would occasionally glance in that direction or find an excuse to climb up onto the fort's wall, hoping she might be able to see into the forest.

It was too dark to see anything, even under the full moon.

I didn't know how to answer her question.

"It can't hurt," I said. "The werewolf curse exacerbates trauma, so maybe by helping him forget his trauma, it'll help him overcome the wolf. But like I told you, I don't know what will happen, Kimberly."

Antoine’s nightmare trope was powerful, but it was also a bit vague.

I wished I knew what to say to make her feel better. Heck, I wished I could understand exactly what was going through her mind. This was a storyline, and when it was over, Antoine would be fine—assuming we survived.

Was she worried that the damage would be more than just physical?

I didn't have time to dwell on that. That wasn’t my job. I wasn’t there to help Kimberly just then. I wasn't here to help the mercenaries. I was a planner.

We had already come together and digested Antoine’s transformation On-Screen. There wasn’t much to it. We stood around, looking at his blood trail in the moonlight, and realized that we might share his fate within a few days.

Kimberly cried.

Andrew rationalized.

Hawk and Michael planned their hunt.

I did nothing but use the little camera from the back of my character’s car and film things. It was a great way to contribute without contributing much.

The funny thing was, my character would be feeling the same way I was, or close enough. What did I feel?

Like I had just barely escaped death? Like I was a doomed man?

No.

I felt like we just had to get the scene over with and go back to planning.

Feeling things was the enemy.

If we worked and planned and manipulated the story just right, all of our feelings would disappear.

I hoped.

The truth was we were under-leveled in a sandbox of a storyline, and Second Blood was likely to shock and awe us into oblivion.

We could die here.

Antoine’s fate might not be temporary. My fate in this story—probably a tragic one—might not be temporary. As much as we were acting, we weren’t really.

This was real danger.

All I could do was treat it like a game and do whatever it took to win it.

If we failed, I wouldn’t have to think about it.

Andrew and I had plans to make.

Unlike previous nights, Kirst had not flown away in a helicopter just yet. Maybe he knew there wasn't going to be another attack tonight, that Antoine's transformation was the only excitement we would get on this full moon.

We still had quite a bit of work trying to find a way to make rolling silver usable as a weapon.

There was no doubt it was effective, but the problem was you had to hold it up against a blowtorch for a minute or two. Then, once the silver had already been cured of its impurities, the effect would fade away.

Suffice it to say, it was not battle-ready.

In truth, I thought we would be up all night trying to figure this out, but Carousel seemed to know otherwise. The moment we started speaking about it, huddled in the corner of the fort's courtyard just after sunset, we went On-Screen.

We were going to have a busy night.

"So, we figured out what rolling silver is," Andrew said. "We could spend weeks trying to understand it, but we only have until the end of this phase of the lunar cycle to turn this into a viable weapon. Now, I've been thinking up some ideas about how we could create a sort of rig to melt the silver and sift it back and forth so that the impurities would be removed. If only we had a proper engineer around. I thought perhaps a cement mixer and a large blowtorch might do the job, but even then, I am out of the realm of my expertise.”

“Also, werewolves might notice the cement mixer,” I said. I wasn’t trying to be a smart aleck.

We were in deep thinking mode. Brainstorming mode. The mode that came right after research, where we had to put all the facts together.

I was pacing back and forth. You had to pace back and forth for a brainstorming montage.

"We're assuming that it's that particular method that is causing the effect on werewolves," I said.

"Isn't that what we concluded?" Andrew replied. "We sought to discover what rolling silver was, and we found it out. Now we have to find a way to apply it to the problem."

We discussed it for some time out there under the moonlight.

"We need something portable," I said. "I wouldn't be surprised if they attacked us all at once, but we can't rely on that—not in the time frame we have. We need something we can carry around with us."

Andrew was exasperated. He wasn't sure where to go with that.

"And what do you propose?" he said.

"What if it wasn't the specific method," I said. "I’ve been thinking about this. You’re not going to like it. This is a magical curse. We’re thinking too scientifically. Maybe it isn’t the heat or the silver particles. What if it's the very act of purifying silver that causes the damage?"

We weren't alone in our brainstorming montage. We had Hawk Kipling with us. Despite his gruff exterior and ample weaponry, he was technically an academic.

Unfortunately, he had nothing to contribute to the conversation. But I did think the way he looked at me was weird. Was that a good sign or a bad sign? I couldn't tell. I assumed he wanted us to win, but I had no idea how much he was willing to do to help us.

"What is it you're suggesting?" Andrew asked. “We don’t have enough data to speculate on the exact mechanism for this effect and I would hardly expect it to be so… abstract.”

He was doing great. He was a man of science; I was a semi-psychic grandma’s boy. It was a nice back-and-forth.

"In modern times, how do we purify silver?" I asked.

"Chemicals," Andrew answered confidently. "We use chemistry."

"Let's try that," I said. "We know that rolling silver was the activity used for purifying silver. So what chemicals can we use in place of a giant blowtorch and a frying pan?"

I really wished we had had time to talk about this Off-Screen, but we had only shared snippets of ideas.

"It's that simple, then. We'll just use chemicals to activate the magical reaction," Andrew said. But right after he had finished, I could see an idea appear in his eyes.

"Well, we could…" he said.

"We could what?" I asked.

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"We need to run an experiment," Andrew said. "We don't have much time, and I don't know if we could get the equipment we need before sunrise. It will have to be quick and dirty. If we need something that can be portable and done quickly, where is Kirst?"

"He's back at the Manor," I said.

"It's time we put those unlimited resources to use," Andrew said.

~-~

"Are you sure this will work?" Kirst asked. He was sitting in the same dining room where we had had our fateful dinner.

"No," Andrew answered. "This is in the name of experimentation—a much more convenient method for purifying silver. It is our current… hypothesis that it is the very act of purification that seems to affect the wolves. As if by magic."

Kirst was silent for a time.

"Can you get our supplies?" I asked.

Kirst nodded his head. He had no choice; we were his only hope.

He looked over to his butler and nodded toward him.

Andrew had written up a quick list. The butler took it and was soon out of the Manor.

"If we can get those back before morning light, we should be able to test to see if it is effective. A quick chemical purification of silver would be far preferable to the bulky setup needed for rolling silver."

"Yes," Kirst said. "It is my understanding that Mr. Stone has left a blood trail into the forest."

"That's right," I said. "He stepped on one of Miss Morgan's silver caltrops. The wound isn't going to heal for some time, so they will be able to track him. Hawk Kipling feels certain about it."

"And you will have this weapon ready in time for the excursion?" Kirst asked. He had a look of intensity and concern. Time was closing in.

"I cannot make such a promise," Andrew said. "If this chemical version works, then yes, we can begin production on a weapon that will bring the werewolves to their knees. I don’t know if the mercenaries are willing to wait that long. Kipling has been stoking their fears about the full moon tonight being stronger than the others."

"Remember, you only have to kill the pack leader," Kirst said. "Just one death is necessary."

"I suspect we'll get more than one death, whether we like it or not," I said.

Kirst didn’t respond.

~-~

Good to his word, Kirst was able to get us the supplies Andrew had drawn up within an hour and a half.

It was good to have a wealthy benefactor.

We were in the basement, accompanied by the growling of two caged werewolves. Their snarls echoed off the stone walls, though I noted they weren’t as energetic as they usually were. This didn’t make sense—it was the first full moon of the cycle.

Waxing moon.

No. Waning.

Waxing. It was something.

The effects of rolling silver were still evident on Logan and Avery, leaving them in a weakened state. It wasn’t clear if this was due to the potency of the process itself or simply because they had no Grit to defend against it.

The table that had once held a blowtorch was now set up with a variety of laboratory glassware: beakers, flasks, pipettes, and funnels, all glinting under the lantern light. We didn’t need most of it, nor had we asked for it, but Carousel always insisted on setting the scene.

On-Screen.

Andrew looked nervous as he held up a large glass beaker, inspecting it carefully.

“This will do nicely,” he said. He placed it on the table, then lifted a plastic jug from beneath. Another jug sat nearby, which I grabbed to look useful.

"Water first," Andrew said sternly, which was an instruction for me because I had the distilled water. He should have called it H2O like a proper movie scientist. Carousel was going to dock points.

I poured the water in until it hit the amount he had told me previously.

He began to pour a liquid from his jug, narrating as he went, “Equal parts Nitric acid.” The clear, slightly yellowish fluid poured gently into the beaker.

Andrew reached into a small wooden crate that had once been filled with various silver items that Kirst’s men had collected. These had been melted down by Hetty Morgan into small, uneven lumps and pellets. He laid them out on a scale, meticulously measuring until he reached the precise weight he wanted. Satisfied, he used a pair of tongs to drop the silver pellets into the acid-water mixture.

It didn’t take long to see a reaction.

The silver began dissolving almost immediately, tiny bubbles forming as it broke down into the solution.

“The silver will dissolve, forming silver nitrate,” Andrew explained. “The contaminants will simply sink to the bottom.”

As he spoke, I watched exactly that happen. The heavier impurities sank in slow motion, settling into a dark sludge at the bottom of the beaker. The reaction was faster than I’d expected, thanks to the small size of the silver pellets.

Logan—or the werewolf he had become—began to softly howl in his cage.

Andrew and I exchanged a glance. That sound was a sign of success, even though we hadn’t expected it so early in the process.

“Interesting,” Andrew said, his brow furrowing. “We’ve not yet produced pure silver. Simply removing the impurities seems to affect them—even at this stage, all we have is silver nitrate.”

When the silver pellets had completely dissolved, all that remained was a mostly clear liquid with sediment settled at the bottom.

“Now we must filter the solution,” Andrew said.

He poured the mixture through what looked an awful lot like a coffee filter, though its setup was decidedly more scientific. The liquid dripped into another beaker below, leaving the dark sediment behind. Andrew worked with the precision of someone who had clearly paid attention in his college chemistry classes.

I, on the other hand, tried not to stick out like a sore thumb.

“Now, the real test,” Andrew said.

He opened another wooden crate, which was filled with copper items: wires, pipes, and fittings. Selecting a small clump of copper wire, he gripped it with tongs and held it over the filtered silver nitrate solution.

“We drop the copper into the silver nitrate, and we should precipitate pure silver,” he narrated.

Sure enough, as the copper hit the liquid, an instant reaction occurred. A dull clay-like material began forming around the copper wire.

“That’s silver?” I asked softly, captivated by the transformation. It didn’t look like it. The audience would need a dumb guy to ask about it.

“Yes,” Andrew said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “Silver crystals.”

He gave the beaker a gentle shake, causing the gray material to fall off the copper wire and sink to the bottom of the beaker. The process repeated itself: new “crystals” grew, detached, and sank, forming a growing layer of pale material.

If I hadn’t known better, I might have thought the process looked like mold forming.

As the reaction continued, the once-clear liquid turned a vibrant, intense Windex blue—a hue I swore Carousel was adding in to make it look cool, but Andrew would later inform me that it was quite accurate.

“See?” Andrew said. “The copper displaces the silver in the silver nitrate, forming that brilliant copper nitrate and precipitating pure silver. Of course, we’ll need to wash and melt it down to make it usable again, but I’d estimate this silver is already 90 to 95% pure.”

To me, it looked like yogurt and not silver. But looks could be deceiving.

A third reaction occurred at the same time as the others, and it wasn’t in the beaker.

It was in the cages.

Logan and Avery, the caged werewolves, howled and screamed. Their thrashing grew weaker until, moments later, both collapsed to the floor of their cells, unconscious.

Andrew and I looked at each other, stunned. The reaction itself had somehow incapacitated the werewolves. They were six or seven feet away, yet simply purifying the silver through this chemical process had completely neutralized them.

"Huh," Andrew said under his breath. "None of this makes any sense."

Kirst, who had been watching in silence, leaned forward, his eyes alight with newfound determination.

“How much more of these supplies do you need?” he asked.

Andrew and I exchanged a glance.

“As much as you can get,” I said.