Bloodlines

CHAPTER 21

MIXING WHAT I NEEDED TO was easy. Getting it to where I needed took a couple of days. I first had to pay attention to what kind of shampoo Laurel used in the PE showers. The school provided shampoo and conditioner, of course, but she wouldn’t trust her precious hair with anything so commonplace. Once I knew her brand, I hunted it down at a local beauty supply store and emptied its expensive contents down the drain. I filled bottles with my homemade concoction instead.

The next step was switching it with Laurel’s own bottle. I recruited Kristin for this. Her locker was next to Laurel’s in PE, and she was more than willing to help me out. Part of it was that she shared our dislike of Laurel. But also, ever since I’d saved her from the tattoo reaction, Kristin had made it clear that she was indebted to me and had my back in whatever I needed. I didn’t like the idea of her owing me, but her assistance did come in handy. She found a moment when Laurel looked away from her unlocked locker and covertly made the switch. We then simply had to wait for the next time Laurel used the shampoo to see the results of my handiwork.

Meanwhile, my other lab experiment wasn’t receiving quite the reaction I’d expected. Ms. Terwilliger accepted my report but not the amulet.

“I have no use for it,” she remarked, glancing up from the papers I’d handed her.

“Well . . . I certainly don’t either, ma’am.”

She set the papers down. “This is all true? You followed every step precisely? I’d certainly have no way of knowing if you’d, ah, fudged some of the details.”

I shook my head. “Nope. I followed every step.”

“Well, then. It looks like you have yourself a fire-making charm.”

“Ma’am,” I said, by way of protest.

She grinned. “What do the directions say? Throw it and recite the last incantation? Do you know it?”

‘“Into flame, into flame,’” I said promptly. After having typed the spell initially for her notes and then re-creating it, it was hard not to have picked it all up. According to the book—which was an English translation of a Latin text—the language didn’t matter so long as the words’ meaning was clear.

“Well, there you go. Give it a try one of these days and see what happens. Just don’t light any school property on fire. Because that’s not safe.”

I held up the amulet by the string. “But this isn’t real. This is nonsense. It’s a bunch of junk thrown together in a bag.”

She shrugged. “Who are we to question the ancients?”

I stared, trying to figure out if she was joking. I’d known she was eccentric from day one, but she’d still always come across as a serious scholar. “You can’t believe that. Magic like this . . . it’s not real.” Without thinking, I added, “Even if it was, ma’am, it’s not for humans to mess around with powers like that.”

Ms. Terwilliger was silent for several moments. “You truly believe that?”

I fingered the cross around my neck. “It’s how I was raised.”

“Understood. Well, then, you may do what you like with the amulet. Throw it away, donate it, experiment with it. Regardless, this report’s what I need for my book. Thank you for putting in the time—as always, you’ve done more than was required.”

I put the amulet in my purse when I left, not really sure what to do. It was useless . . . and yet, it had also cost me a lot of time. I was disappointed it wasn’t going to have a more meaningful purpose in her research. All that effort gone to waste.

The last of my projects showed development the next day, however. In AP Chemistry, Greg Slade and some of his friends scurried into class just as the bell rang. Our teacher gave them a warning look, but they didn’t even notice. Slade was preening over his eagle tattoo, baring it for everyone to see. The ink was gleaming silver again. Next to him, one of his friends was also proudly showing off another silver tattoo. It was a pair of stylized crossed daggers, which was only slightly less tacky than the eagle. This was the same friend who had been worrying earlier this week that he wouldn’t be able to get a tattoo. Apparently, things had worked out with the supplier. Interesting. Part of holding off on reporting to the Alchemists had been to see if Nevermore would replenish what I’d stolen.

“It’s amazing,” Slade’s friend said. “The rush.”

“I know.” Slade gave him a fist bump. “Just in time for tomorrow.”

Trey was watching them, his expression dark. “What’s tomorrow?” I whispered to him.

He eyed them contemptuously for a few more moments before turning back to me. “Do you live under a rock? It’s our first home game.”

“Of course,” I said. My high school experience wouldn’t be complete without the quintessential football hype.

“A lot of good it’ll do me,” he muttered.

“Your bandages are off,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but Coach is still making me take it easy. Plus, I’m kind of deadweight now.” He nodded toward Slade and his friend. “How come they don’t get in trouble for those? They’re not making any effort to hide them. This school has no discipline anymore. We’re practically in anarchy.”

I smiled. “Practically.”

“Your brother should be on the team, you know. I’ve seen him in PE. He could be a star athlete if he bothered trying out for anything.”

“He doesn’t like drawing attention to himself,” I explained. “But he’ll probably go watch the game.”

“Are you going to go to the game?”

“Probably not.”

Trey arched an eyebrow. “Hot date?”

“No! But I’m just . . . well, not into watching sports. And I feel like I should stay with Jill.”

“You won’t even go to cheer me on?”

“You don’t need my cheers.”

Trey gave me a disappointed look as a response. “Maybe it’s just as well,” he said. “Since you really wouldn’t get to see me performing to my full level of awesomeness.”

“That is a shame,” I agreed.

“Oh, stop with the sarcasm already.” He sighed. “My dad’s going to be the most upset. There are family expectations.”

Well, that was something I could relate to. “Is he a football player too?”

“Nah, it’s less about football itself than keeping yourself in peak physical shape. Excelling. Ready to be called upon in a moment’s notice. Being the best on the team’s been a way to keep him proud—until these tattoos started.”

“You’re good without any tattoo help. He should still be proud,” I said.

“You don’t know my father.”

“No, but I think I know someone just like him.” I smiled. “You know, maybe I do need to go to a football game after all.”

Trey simply smiled back, and class started.

The day passed calmly, but Jill ran up to me as soon as I entered the locker room for PE.

“I heard from Lia! She asked if I could come by tonight. She’s had regular practices with the other models but thought I could use a special session of my own since I don’t have any experience. Of course, the thing is, I . . . you know, need a ride. Do you think . . . I mean, could you . . .”

“Sure,” I said. “It’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you, Sydney!” She threw her arms around me, much to my astonishment. “I know you don’t have any reason to help me after everything I’ve done, but—”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. I took a steadying breath. Think of it as Jill hugging me. Not as a vampire hugging me. “I’m glad to help.”

“Would you two like to be alone?” sneered Laurel, striding in with her entourage. “I always knew there was something weird about your family.”

Jill and I split apart, and she blushed, which only made them laugh more. “God, I hate them,” she said when they were out of earshot. “I really want to get them back.”

“Patience,” I murmured. “They’ll get what’s coming to them someday.” Eyeing Laurel’s locker, I thought that “someday” might come sooner rather than later.

Jill shook her head in amazement. “I don’t know how you can be so forgiving, Sydney. Everything just rolls right off of you.”

I smiled, wondering what Jill would think if she knew the truth—that I wasn’t quite as “forgiving” as I appeared. And not just when it came to Laurel. If Jill wanted to think of me that way, so be it. Of course, my facade as a kindly, turn-the-other-cheek person was shattered when Laurel’s shriek’s filled the locker room at the end of class an hour later.

It was almost a repeat of the ice incident. Laurel came tearing out of the shower, wrapped in a towel. She ran to the mirror in horror, holding her hair up to it.

“What’s wrong?” asked one of her friends.

“Can’t you see it?” cried Laurel. “There’s something wrong . . . it doesn’t feel right. It’s oil . . . or I don’t know!” She took out a blow dryer and dried a section while the rest of us watched with interest. After a few minutes, the long strands were dry, but it was hard to tell. It really was like her hair was coated in oil or grease, like she hadn’t washed it in weeks. That normally gleaming, bouncy hair now hung in lank, ugly coils. The color was also off a little. The bright, flaming red now had a sickly yellow hue.

“It smells weird too,” she exclaimed.

“Wash it again,” suggested another friend.

Laurel did that, but it wasn’t going to help. Even when she figured out that her shampoo was causing the problem, the stuff I’d made wasn’t going to come out of her hair easily. Water would continue fueling the reaction, and it was going to take many, many scrubbings before she fixed the problem.

Jill gave me astonished look. “Sydney?” she whispered, a million questions in my name.

“Patience,” I assured her. “This is just the first act.”

That evening, I drove Jill down to Lia DiStefano’s boutique. Eddie went with us, of course. Lia was only a few years older than me and nearly a foot shorter. Despite her tiny size, there was something big and forceful about her personality as she confronted us. The shop was filled with elegant gowns and dresses, though she herself was dressed ultra-casual, in ripped jeans and an oversized peasant blouse. She flipped on the closed sign on her door and then confronted us with hands on her hips.

“So, Jillian Melrose,” she began. “We have less than two weeks to turn you into a model.” Her eyes fell on me. “And you’re going to help.”

“Me?” I exclaimed. “I’m just the ride.”

“Not if you want your sister to shine in my show.” She stared back up at Jill, the difference in their heights almost comical. “You have to eat, drink, and breathe modeling if you’re going to pull this off. And you have to do it all—in these.”

With a flourish, Lia grabbed a nearby shoe box and produced a pair of glittery purple shoes with heels that had to be at least five inches high. Jill and I stared.

“Isn’t she tall enough already?” I asked at last.

Lia snorted and thrust the shoes at Jill. “These aren’t for the show. But once you master these, you’ll be ready for anything.”

Jill took them gingerly, holding them up to study them. The heels reminded me of the silver stakes Eddie and Rose used to kill Strigoi. If Jill really wanted to be prepared for any situation, she could just keep these around. Self-conscious of our scrutiny, she finally kicked off her brown flats and fastened the many elaborate straps of the purple shoes. Once they were on, she slowly straightened up—and nearly fell over. I hastily jumped to catch her.

Lia nodded in approval. “See? This is what I was talking about. Sisterly teamwork. It’s up to you to make sure she doesn’t fall and break her neck before my show.”

Jill shot me a look of panic that I suspect was reflected on my own face. I started to suggest that Eddie be Jill’s spotter, but he had discreetly moved off to the side of the shop to watch and seemed to have escaped Lia’s notice. Apparently, his protective services had limits.

While Jill simply attempted not to topple over, I helped Lia clear space in the store’s center. Lia then spent the next hour or so demonstrating how to properly walk for fashion, with emphasis on posture and stride in order to display clothing to its best effect. Most of those fine details were lost on Jill, though, who struggled to simply walk across the room without falling. Grace and beauty weren’t concerns as much as staying upright.

Nonetheless, when I glanced over at Eddie, he was watching Jill with a rapt look on his face, as though every step she were taking was pure magic. Catching my eye, he immediately resumed his wary, protective guardian face.

I did my best to offer Jill words of encouragement—and yes, stop her from falling and breaking her neck. Halfway through the session, we heard a knock at the glass door. Lia started to scowl and then recognized the face on the other side of the door. She brightened and went to unlock it.

“Mr. Donahue,” she said, letting Lee in. “Come to see how your starlet’s doing?”

Lee smiled, his gray eyes instantly seeking out Jill. Jill met his gaze, grinning just as widely. Lee hadn’t been around at the last feeding, and although they talked constantly on the phone and IM, I knew she had been pining to see him. A glance at Eddie’s face showed me he wasn’t nearly as delighted by Lee’s presence.

“I already know how she’s doing,” said Lee. “She’s perfect.”

Lia snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Hey,” I said, inspiration striking me. “Lee, do you want to be in charge of keeping Jill from breaking her neck? I need to run an errand.” Unsurprisingly, Lee was more than willing, and I knew I didn’t need to fear for her safety with Eddie on watch.

I left them, hurrying two streets over to Nevermore. Ever since I’d heard Slade and his friends confirm the tattooists were in business again, I’d wanted to pay an in-person trip. Not a covert one, though. My stolen goods had already yielded their evidence. Except for the clear liquid, I had identified all the other substances in the vials. All the metallics were exact matches for Alchemist compounds, meaning these people either had an Alchemist connection or were stealing. Either way, my case got stronger and stronger. I just hoped it’d be enough to redeem me and keep Zoe out of here, particularly since the clock was ticking on her arrival. We were almost a week away from when my father had said she’d be replacing me.

My plan was to see how willing Nevermore was to give me a tattoo. I wanted to know what warnings (if any) they gave out and how easy it was in the first place. Adrian’s conversation hadn’t yielded much info, but probably his on-fire-biker-skelet-on-with-a-parrot tattoo request hadn’t done much to help his credibility. I was armed with cash today, which I hoped would get me somewhere.

As it was, I never needed to flash any. As soon as I walked in, the guy behind the counter—the same one Adrian had spoken to—looked relieved.

“Thank God,” he said. “Please tell me you have more. These kids are driving me crazy. When we got into this . . . I had no idea it was gonna get this big. The money’s good, but Christ. It’s crazy to keep up with.”

I kept my confusion off of my face, wondering what in the world he was talking about. He was acting as though I was in on his scheme here, which made no sense. But then his eyes flashed to my cheek, and suddenly, I understood.

My lily tattoo.

It was uncovered, since school was over. And I knew then, with absolute certainty, that whomever he was working with to get his supplies was also an Alchemist. He’d assumed my tattoo made me an ally.

“I don’t have anything with me,” I said.

His face fell. “But the demand—”

“You lost the other batch,” I said haughtily. “You let it get stolen right out from underneath you. Do you know how much trouble we go to in order to get that?”

“I already explained that to your friend!” he exclaimed. “He said he understood. He said he’d taken care of the problem and that we didn’t have to worry anymore.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah, well, he doesn’t speak for all of us, and we’re not sure we want to continue. You were compromised.”

“We’re careful,” he argued. “That theft wasn’t our fault! Now, come on. You have to help us. Didn’t he tell you? There’s a huge demand for tomorrow because those private school kids have a game. If we can deliver, we’ll make double the money.”

I gave him my best icy smile. “We’ll discuss it among ourselves and get back to you.”

With that, I turned around and began to leave. “Wait,” he called. I spared him a haughty glance. “Can you make that person stop calling?”

“What person?” I asked, wondering if he meant some persistent Amberwood student.

“The one with the weird voice who keeps asking if any tall, pale people are showing up around here. Ones that look like vampires. I figured it was someone you knew.”

Tall, pale people? I didn’t like the sound of that but kept my face blank. “Sorry. Don’t know what you’re talking about. Must have been a prank.”

I left, making a mental note to investigate that further. If someone was inquiring about people who looked like vampires, that was a problem. It wasn’t, however, the immediate problem. My mind raced as I processed what else the tattooist had told me. There was an Alchemist supplying Nevermore. In some ways, that shouldn’t be a surprise. How else were they going to get ahold of vampire blood and all the metals necessary for their tattoos? And apparently, this rogue Alchemist had “taken care of the problem” that led to the theft of their supplies. When had my father called saying I was being pulled because of Keith’s reports?

Right after I’d broken into Nevermore.

I knew who the rogue Alchemist was.

And I knew that I had been “the problem.” Keith had taken care of me, making moves to get me out of Palm Springs and bring in someone new and inexperienced who wouldn’t interfere with his illicit tattoo operation. It was why he’d wanted Zoe in the first place.

I was aghast. I didn’t have a great opinion of Keith Darnell, not by any means. But never, never had I thought he’d stoop to this level. He was an immoral person, but he’d still been raised with the same principles I had about humans and vampires. For him to abandon those beliefs and expose innocents to the dire side effects of vampire blood for his own material gain . . . well, it was more than a betrayal of the Alchemists. It was a betrayal of the whole human race.

My hand was on my cell phone, ready to call Stanton. That’s all it would take. One call with the kind of news I had, and Alchemists would swoop in on Palm Springs—and on Keith. But what if there was no hard evidence to connect Keith? It was possible another Alchemist might go in and play the same game I had, getting the tattooist to think that they were part of Keith’s team. Keith was the one I wanted to bust, however. I wanted to ensure that there was no way he could slip out of this.

I made my decision, and rather than the Alchemists, I called Adrian.

When I arrived back at Lia’s shop, I found the training session winding down. Lia was giving Jill some last-minute instructions while Eddie and Lee lingered nearby. Eddie took one look at my face and instantly knew something was wrong.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” I said blandly. “Just a problem I’m going to fix soon. Lee, would you mind taking Jill and Eddie back to the school? I have a couple errands I need to run.”

Eddie frowned. “Are you okay? Do you need someone to protect you?”

“I’ll have someone.” I reconsidered, seeing as I was about to meet up with Adrian. “Well, kind of. Anyway, I’m not in trouble. Your job’s to keep an eye on Jill, remember? Thanks, Lee,” I added, seeing him nod. A thought suddenly struck me. “Wait . . . I thought this was one of the days you had a night class. Are we keeping you . . . or . . . well, what days do you have class?”

I hadn’t thought much about it, only noticing that some days Lee was around and other days he was in Los Angeles. But in looking back, there was no real pattern. I saw realization light Eddie’s face as well.

“That’s true,” he said, eyeing Lee suspiciously. “What kind of schedule are you on?”

Lee opened his mouth, and I sensed a ready story coming. Then he stopped and cast an anxious look at Jill, who was still talking to Lia. His face fell. “Please don’t tell her,” he whispered.

“Tell her what?” I asked, keeping my voice low as well.

“I’m not in college. I mean—I was. But not this semester. I wanted some time off but . . . didn’t want to disappoint my dad. So, I told him I was just going part-time, which is why I was around more.”

“What do you do in LA during all that time, then?” asked Eddie. That was an excellent question, I realized.

“I still have friends there, and I need to keep my cover.” Lee sighed. “It’s stupid, I know. Please—let me be the one to tell her. I wanted so badly to impress her and to prove myself to her. She’s wonderful. She just caught me at a bad time.”

Eddie and I exchanged glances. “I won’t tell,” I said. “But you really should let her know. I mean, I guess there’s no harm done . . . but you shouldn’t have that kind of lie between you.”

Lee looked miserable. “I know. Thank you.”

When he stepped aside, Eddie shook his head at me. “I don’t like him lying. Not at all.”

“Lee trying to save face is the least weird thing going on here,” I said.

I found out then that Jill could walk from one side of the store to the other and back without falling over. It wasn’t pretty, but it was a start. She was still a long ways from looking anything like the runway models I saw on TV, but considering she hadn’t been able to stand in the shoes at first, I supposed she’d made considerable progress. She started to take off the heels, but Lia stopped her.

“No. I told you. You have to wear these shoes all the time. Practice, practice, practice. Wear them home. Wear them everywhere.” She turned to me. “And you—”

“I know. Make sure she doesn’t break her neck,” I said. “She’s not going to be able to wear those all the time, though. Our school has a dress code.”

“What if they were in a different color?” asked Lia.

“I don’t think it’s just the color,” Jill said apologetically. “I think it’s the stiletto part. But I promise to wear them outside of class and practice in our room.”

That was good enough for Lia, and after a few more words of advice, she sent us on our way. We promised to practice and come back in two days. I told Jill I’d meet up with her later, but I don’t know if she heard. She was so caught up in the idea of Lee driving her home that pretty much everything else went past her.

I drove over to Clarence’s and was met at the door by Adrian. “Wow,” I said, impressed at his initiative. “I didn’t expect you to be ready so quickly.”

“I’m not,” he said. “I need you to see something right now.”

I frowned. “Okay.” Adrian led me deeper into the house, beyond where I normally went, which made me nervous. “Are you sure this can’t wait? This thing we’ve got to do is kind of urgent . . .”

“So is this. How did Clarence seem the last time you saw him?”

“Weird.”

“But health-wise?”

I thought about it. “Well, I know he’s been tired. But usually he seemed okay.”

“Yeah, well, he’s not ‘okay’ now. It’s gone beyond just tired. He’s weak, dizzy, and confined to his bed.” We reached a closed wooden door, and Adrian stopped.

“Do you know what caused it?” I asked, alarmed. I’d been worried about the complications of a sick Moroi but hadn’t expected to deal with it so soon.

“I have a pretty good idea,” said Adrian, with surprising fierceness. “Your boy Keith.”

“Stop saying stuff like that. He’s not ‘my boy,’” I exclaimed. “He’s ruining my life!”

Adrian opened the door, revealing a large, ornate canopied bed. Walking into a Moroi bedroom wasn’t something I was comfortable with, but Adrian’s commanding look was too powerful. I followed him in and gasped when I saw Clarence lying on the bed.

“Not just yours,” said Adrian, pointing at the old man.

Clarence’s eyes fluttered at the sound of our voices and then closed again as he shifted into sleep. It wasn’t his eyes that held my attention, though. It was the pale, sickly pallor of his skin—that, and the bloody wound on Clarence’s neck. It was small, made with just one prick, like it had come from a surgical instrument. Adrian looked at me expectantly.

“Well, Sage? Do you have any idea why Keith would be draining Clarence’s blood?”

I swallowed, scarcely able to believe what I was seeing. Here was the last piece. I knew that Keith had been supplying the tattooists, and now I knew where Keith was getting his “supplies.”

“Yes,” I said at last, my voice small. “I have a very good idea.”