Silver Shadows
Page 53
Weak with relief, I finally crawled into my covers. Despite feeling weary in body, my mind was worked up and agitated from tonight’s sleuthing. It took me a while to fall asleep, and I knew Adrian would worry.
Sure enough, when I materialized in the Getty Villa’s courtyard, I saw him pacing back and forth. He turned abruptly toward me when I said his name.
“Thank God, Sydney.” He hurried over and swept me into his arms. “You have no idea how worried I was when you weren’t here at the usual time.”
“Sorry,” I said, holding him tightly. “I had some errands to do.”
He pulled back and gave me a knowing look. “What kind of errands?”
“Oh, you know, the kind that involve breaking and entering and magic use.”
“Sydney,” he groaned. “We’re getting closer to finding you. You need to just lay low. Do you realize how dangerous it is to be off prowling on these ‘errands’ of yours?”
“I do,” I said, thinking back to the gas control panel. “And so you’re not going to be happy when I tell you that I’m going to have to do it again soon.”
CHAPTER 14
ADRIAN
I WANTED TO BELIEVE SYDNEY when she told me she had everything under control, but it was hard, especially when she continued to stay vague on the details of what exactly it was she was doing in re-education. Rather than worrying, I tried to focus on the positives, like how I was able to talk to her at all and how ostensibly, despite her secretiveness about re-education, she seemed healthy and well.
Aunt Tatiana, sometimes my helper and sometimes devil’s advocate, didn’t make that easy.
Who knows what they’re doing to her? she said in my mind. She could be suffering now, screaming for you to help her, and here you are.
Sydney’s fine, I retorted firmly. Obviously not in ideal conditions, but she’s tough.
Aunt Tatiana was relentless. So she wants you to think, when secretly, she wishes you’d come to her.
Anger kindled in me—and guilt. I’m trying! I’d be there now if I could. Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.
“Adrian?”
That was Marcus, speaking out loud. He peered at me across a diner’s table, drawing me out of the imaginary conversation.
“Where are you?” he asked. “I said your name three times.”
“Sorry, just tired,” I lied.
He nodded, taking me at my word. “You ready to go then?”
We’d grabbed a quick dinner after talking to Carly and were now ready to resume the journey to Boise. It was a longer drive than we could do that day, so we ended up spending the night on the outskirts of Las Vegas, in a plain motel nowhere near the excitement of the Strip I usually frequented when in the area. I hardly cared, though. My concern now was to make good time and find a decent place to sleep where I could make contact with Sydney. The following morning, after those goals were met, Marcus and I were back on the road, off to the Potato State.
“Gem State,” Marcus corrected when he heard me call it that on our drive.
“What?”
“Idaho’s the Gem State, not the Potato State.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, making no attempt to hide my skepticism. “I hear about Idaho potatoes all the time. No one’s ever like, ‘Wow, my engagement ring has a rare Idaho diamond in it.’”
A smile played on his lips as he kept his eyes on the road. “Pretty sure,” he said.
I wasn’t masochistic enough to argue random trivia with a former Alchemist, but when we crossed the border into Idaho and started seeing license plates that said FAMOUS POTATOES, I felt pretty confident about who was in the right on this topic.
Talking about gems reminded me I was still carrying around Aunt Tatiana’s cuff links—in the pocket of my jeans, no less. I’d originally done it so they wouldn’t get lost on the plane, but now I was courting danger of a different kind, carrying around a fortune that might easily fall out if I was careless. I lifted one out now, admiring the way the sunlight played over the diamonds and rubies. Foolish or not, having them with me made me feel lucky, as though I had Aunt Tatiana herself helping me—the real Aunt Tatiana, that is. Not my phantom tormentor.
Marcus and I reached Boise around dinnertime, going to the address Carly had given us. It was a complex of modest apartments, and Keith’s was a first-floor one with its own tiny porch that we made use of when no one answered the door. Darkness and lack of movement inside suggested he actually was out—and wasn’t just hiding from us. It was a nice summer evening, pleasant for Moroi and human both, but I worried how long we’d be out there.
“How do we know he isn’t working a night shift?” I asked Marcus.
Marcus propped his feet up on the porch’s railing. “Because he’s an Alchemist that got in trouble for breaking rules and stepping out of line. If he was an Alchemist who’d become so fascinated with vampires he was in danger of collaborating with Strigoi, they’d give him a night shift to keep an eye on him. But for general insubordination? He’s probably on an eight-to-five schedule, just to remind him what normal human life is like—and to save those night shifts for the real risks.”
Marcus was proven right ten minutes later when a Kia Sorrento pulled up in the parking lot, and Keith came striding out toward the apartment. When he caught sight of us—specifically, me—he ground to a halt and grew visibly pale.
“No. No,” he said. “You can’t be here. Oh my God. What if it’s too late? What if someone’s seen you?” He looked around frantically, as though expecting an Alchemist SWAT team to leap out at him.
“Relax, Keith,” I said, getting to my feet. “We just want to talk.”
He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t talk to your kind, unless it’s business. And I’m not allowed to actually do business with your kind until I—”
“It’s about Carly Sage,” I interrupted.
That drew his rambling up short. He stared at us for several long moments, deliberation written all over his features. “Okay,” he said at last. “You can come inside.”
Nervously, Keith stepped forward and unlocked his door, continuing to cast anxious looks at both us and the rest of the parking lot. Once we were in, he drew all the curtains and then backed up as far away from us as possible, arms crossed defensively over his chest.
Sure enough, when I materialized in the Getty Villa’s courtyard, I saw him pacing back and forth. He turned abruptly toward me when I said his name.
“Thank God, Sydney.” He hurried over and swept me into his arms. “You have no idea how worried I was when you weren’t here at the usual time.”
“Sorry,” I said, holding him tightly. “I had some errands to do.”
He pulled back and gave me a knowing look. “What kind of errands?”
“Oh, you know, the kind that involve breaking and entering and magic use.”
“Sydney,” he groaned. “We’re getting closer to finding you. You need to just lay low. Do you realize how dangerous it is to be off prowling on these ‘errands’ of yours?”
“I do,” I said, thinking back to the gas control panel. “And so you’re not going to be happy when I tell you that I’m going to have to do it again soon.”
CHAPTER 14
ADRIAN
I WANTED TO BELIEVE SYDNEY when she told me she had everything under control, but it was hard, especially when she continued to stay vague on the details of what exactly it was she was doing in re-education. Rather than worrying, I tried to focus on the positives, like how I was able to talk to her at all and how ostensibly, despite her secretiveness about re-education, she seemed healthy and well.
Aunt Tatiana, sometimes my helper and sometimes devil’s advocate, didn’t make that easy.
Who knows what they’re doing to her? she said in my mind. She could be suffering now, screaming for you to help her, and here you are.
Sydney’s fine, I retorted firmly. Obviously not in ideal conditions, but she’s tough.
Aunt Tatiana was relentless. So she wants you to think, when secretly, she wishes you’d come to her.
Anger kindled in me—and guilt. I’m trying! I’d be there now if I could. Don’t make me feel worse than I already do.
“Adrian?”
That was Marcus, speaking out loud. He peered at me across a diner’s table, drawing me out of the imaginary conversation.
“Where are you?” he asked. “I said your name three times.”
“Sorry, just tired,” I lied.
He nodded, taking me at my word. “You ready to go then?”
We’d grabbed a quick dinner after talking to Carly and were now ready to resume the journey to Boise. It was a longer drive than we could do that day, so we ended up spending the night on the outskirts of Las Vegas, in a plain motel nowhere near the excitement of the Strip I usually frequented when in the area. I hardly cared, though. My concern now was to make good time and find a decent place to sleep where I could make contact with Sydney. The following morning, after those goals were met, Marcus and I were back on the road, off to the Potato State.
“Gem State,” Marcus corrected when he heard me call it that on our drive.
“What?”
“Idaho’s the Gem State, not the Potato State.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, making no attempt to hide my skepticism. “I hear about Idaho potatoes all the time. No one’s ever like, ‘Wow, my engagement ring has a rare Idaho diamond in it.’”
A smile played on his lips as he kept his eyes on the road. “Pretty sure,” he said.
I wasn’t masochistic enough to argue random trivia with a former Alchemist, but when we crossed the border into Idaho and started seeing license plates that said FAMOUS POTATOES, I felt pretty confident about who was in the right on this topic.
Talking about gems reminded me I was still carrying around Aunt Tatiana’s cuff links—in the pocket of my jeans, no less. I’d originally done it so they wouldn’t get lost on the plane, but now I was courting danger of a different kind, carrying around a fortune that might easily fall out if I was careless. I lifted one out now, admiring the way the sunlight played over the diamonds and rubies. Foolish or not, having them with me made me feel lucky, as though I had Aunt Tatiana herself helping me—the real Aunt Tatiana, that is. Not my phantom tormentor.
Marcus and I reached Boise around dinnertime, going to the address Carly had given us. It was a complex of modest apartments, and Keith’s was a first-floor one with its own tiny porch that we made use of when no one answered the door. Darkness and lack of movement inside suggested he actually was out—and wasn’t just hiding from us. It was a nice summer evening, pleasant for Moroi and human both, but I worried how long we’d be out there.
“How do we know he isn’t working a night shift?” I asked Marcus.
Marcus propped his feet up on the porch’s railing. “Because he’s an Alchemist that got in trouble for breaking rules and stepping out of line. If he was an Alchemist who’d become so fascinated with vampires he was in danger of collaborating with Strigoi, they’d give him a night shift to keep an eye on him. But for general insubordination? He’s probably on an eight-to-five schedule, just to remind him what normal human life is like—and to save those night shifts for the real risks.”
Marcus was proven right ten minutes later when a Kia Sorrento pulled up in the parking lot, and Keith came striding out toward the apartment. When he caught sight of us—specifically, me—he ground to a halt and grew visibly pale.
“No. No,” he said. “You can’t be here. Oh my God. What if it’s too late? What if someone’s seen you?” He looked around frantically, as though expecting an Alchemist SWAT team to leap out at him.
“Relax, Keith,” I said, getting to my feet. “We just want to talk.”
He shook his head vehemently. “I can’t. I can’t talk to your kind, unless it’s business. And I’m not allowed to actually do business with your kind until I—”
“It’s about Carly Sage,” I interrupted.
That drew his rambling up short. He stared at us for several long moments, deliberation written all over his features. “Okay,” he said at last. “You can come inside.”
Nervously, Keith stepped forward and unlocked his door, continuing to cast anxious looks at both us and the rest of the parking lot. Once we were in, he drew all the curtains and then backed up as far away from us as possible, arms crossed defensively over his chest.
