“Please, Lissa. Don’t do it anymore. Please.”
Through the fuzzy, alcoholic buzz, I felt a trickle of her emotions. They were strong enough to practically knock me over. Black. Angry. Merciless. Startling feelings to be coming from sweet and steady Lissa. I’d known her since kindergarten, but in that moment, I barely knew her.
And I was afraid.
“Please, Lissa,” I repeated. “He’s not worth it. Let him go.”
She didn’t look at me. Her stormy eyes were focused entirely on Wade. Slowly, carefully, he lifted up the bat, tilting it so that it lined up with his own skull.
“Liss,” I begged. Oh God. I was going to have to tackle her or something to make her stop. “Don’t do it.”
“He should have stopped,” Lissa said evenly. The bat quit moving. It was now at exactly the right distance to gain momentum and strike. “He shouldn’t have done that to her. People can’t treat other people like that—even feeders.”
“But you’re scaring her,” I said softly. “Look at her.”
Nothing happened at first, then Lissa let her gaze flick toward the feeder. The human girl still sat huddled in a corner, arms wrapped around herself protectively. Her blue eyes were enormous, and light reflected off her wet, tear-streaked face. She gave a choked, terrified sob.
Lissa’s face stayed impassive. Inside her, I could feel the battle she was waging for control. Some part of her didn’t want to hurt Wade, despite the blinding anger that otherwise filled her. Her face crumpled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her right hand reached out to her left wrist and clenched it, nails digging deep into the flesh. She flinched at the pain, but through the bond, I felt the shock of the pain distract her from Wade.
She let go of the compulsion, and he dropped the bat, suddenly looking confused. I let go of the breath I’d been holding. In the hallway, footsteps sounded. I’d left the door open, and the crash had attracted attention. A couple of dorm staff members burst into the room, freezing when they saw the destruction in front of them.
“What happened?”
The rest of us looked at each other. Wade looked completely lost. He stared at the room, at the bat, and then at Lissa and me. “I don’t know. . . . I can’t . . .” He turned his full attention to me and suddenly grew angry. “What the—it was you! You wouldn’t let the feeder thing go.”
The dorm workers looked at me questioningly, and in a few seconds, I made up my mind.
You have to protect her. The more she uses it, the worse it’ll get. Stop her, Rose. Stop her before they notice, before they notice and take her away too. Get her out of here.
I could see Ms. Karp’s face in my mind, pleading frantically. I gave Wade a haughty look, knowing full well no one would question a confession I made or even suspect Lissa.
“Yeah, well, if you’d let her go,” I told him, “I wouldn’t have had to do this.”
Save her. Save her from herself.
After that night, I never drank again. I refused to let my guard down around Lissa. And two days later, while I was supposed to be suspended for “destruction of property,” I took Lissa and broke out of the Academy.
Back in Lissa’s room, with Xander’s arm around me and her angry and upset eyes on us, I didn’t know if she’d do anything drastic again. But the situation reminded me too much of that one from two years ago, and I knew I had to defuse it.
“Just a little blood,” Xander was saying. “I won’t take much. I just want to see what dhampir tastes like. Nobody here cares.”
“Xander,” growled Lissa, “leave her alone.”
I slipped out from under his arm and smiled, looking for a funny retort rather than one that might start a fight. “Come on,” I teased. “I had to hit the last guy who asked me that, and you’re a hell of a lot prettier than Jesse. It’d be a waste.”
“Pretty?” he asked. “I’m stunningly sexy but not pretty.”
Carly laughed. “No, you’re pretty. Todd told me you buy some kind of French hair gel.”
Xander, distracted as so many drunk people easily are, turned around to defend his honor, forgetting me. The tension disappeared, and he took the teasing about his hair with a good attitude.
Across the room, Lissa met my eyes with relief. She smiled and gave me a small nod of thanks before she returned her attention to Aaron.
SIXTEEN
THE NEXT DAY, IT FULLY hit me how much things had changed since the Jesse-and-Ralf rumors first started. For some people, I remained a nonstop source of whispers and laughter. From Lissa’s converts, I received friendliness and occasional defense. Overall, I realized, our classmates actually gave me very little of their attention anymore. This became especially true when something new distracted everyone.
Lissa and Aaron.
Apparently, Mia had found about the party and had blown up when she learned that Aaron had been there without her. She’d bitched at him and told him that if he wanted to be with her, he couldn’t run around and hang out with Lissa. So Aaron had decided he didn’t want to be with her. He’d broken up with her that morning . . . and moved on.
Now he and Lissa were all over each other. They stood around in the hall and at lunch, arms wrapped around one another, laughing and talking. Lissa’s bond feelings showed only mild interest, despite her gazing at him as though he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. Most of this was for show, unbeknownst to him. He looked as though he could have built a shrine at her feet at any moment.
And me? I felt ill.
My feelings were nothing, however, compared to Mia’s. At lunch, she sat on the far side of the room from us, eyes fixed pointedly ahead, ignoring the consolations of the friends near her. She had blotchy pink patches on her pale, round cheeks, and her eyes were red-rimmed. She said nothing mean when I walked past. No smug jokes. No mocking glares. Lissa had destroyed her, just as Mia had vowed to do us.
The only person more miserable than Mia was Christian. Unlike her, he had no qualms about studying the happy couple while wearing an open look of hatred on his face. As usual, no one except me even noticed.
After watching Lissa and Aaron make out for the tenth time, I left lunch early and went to see Ms. Carmack, the teacher who taught elemental basics. I’d been wanting to ask her something for a while.
“Rose, right?” She seemed surprised to see me but not angry or annoyed like half the other teachers did lately.
“Yeah. I have a question about, um, magic.”
She raised an eyebrow. Novices didn’t take magic classes. “Sure. What do you want to know?”
“I was listening to the priest talk about St. Vladimir the other day. . . . Do you know what element he specialized in? Vladimir, I mean. Not the priest.”
She frowned. “Odd. As famous as he is around here, I’m surprised it never comes up. I’m no expert, but in all the stories I’ve heard, he never did anything that I’d say connects to any one of the elements. Either that or no one ever recorded it.”
“What about his healings?” I pushed further. “Is there an element that lets you perform those?”
“No, not that I know of.” Her lips quirked into a small smile. “People of faith would say he healed through the power of God, not any sort of elemental magic. After all, one thing the stories are certain about is that he was ‘full of spirit.’”
“Is it possible he didn’t specialize?”
Her smile faded. “Rose, is this really about St. Vladimir? Or is it about Lissa?”
“Not exactly . . .” I stammered.
“I know it’s hard on her—especially in front of all her classmates—but she has to be patient,” she explained gently. “It will happen. It always happens.”
“But sometimes it doesn’t.”
“Rarely. But I don’t think she’ll be one of those. She’s got a higher-than-average aptitude in all four, even if she hasn’t hit specialized levels. One of them will shoot up any day now.”
That gave me an idea. “Is it possible to specialize i
n more than one element?”
She laughed and shook her head. “No. Too much power. No one could handle all that magic, not without losing her mind.”
Oh. Great.
“Okay. Thanks.” I started to leave, then thought of something else. “Hey, do you remember Ms. Karp? What did she specialize in?”
Ms. Carmack got that uncomfortable look other teachers did whenever anyone mentioned Ms. Karp. “Actually—”
“What?”
“I almost forgot. I think she really was one of the rare ones who never specialized. She just always kept a very low control over all four.”
I spent the rest of my afternoon classes thinking about Ms. Carmack’s words, trying to work them into my unified Lissa-Karp-Vladimir theory. I also watched Lissa. So many people wanted to talk to her now that she barely noticed my silence. Every so often, though, I’d see her glance at me and smile, a tired look in her eyes. Laughing and gossiping all day with people she only sort of liked was taking its toll on her.
“The mission’s accomplished,” I told her after school. “We can stop Project Brainwash.”
We sat on benches in the courtyard, and she swung her legs back and forth. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve done it. You stopped people from making my life horrible. You destroyed Mia. You stole Aaron. Play with him for another couple weeks, then drop him and the other royals. You’ll be happier.”
“You don’t think I’m happy now?”
“I know you aren’t. Some of the parties are fun, but you hate pretending to be friends with people you don’t like—and you don’t like most of them. I know how much Xander pissed you off the other night.”
“He’s a jerk, but I can deal with that. If I stop hanging out with them, everything’ll go back to the way it was. Mia will just start up again. This way, she can’t bother us.”
“It’s not worth it if everything else is bothering you.”
“Nothing’s bothering me.” She sounded a little defensive.
“Yeah?” I asked meanly. “Because you’re so in love with Aaron? Because you can’t wait to have sex with him again?”
She glared at me. “Have I mentioned you can be a huge bitch sometimes?”
I ignored that. “I’m just saying you’ve got enough shit to worry about without all this. You’re burning yourself out with all the compulsion you’re using.”
“Rose!” She glanced anxiously around. “Be quiet!”
“But it’s true. Using it all the time is going to screw with your head. For real.”
“Don’t you think you’re getting carried away?”
“What about Ms. Karp?”
Lissa’s expression went very still. “What about her?”
“You. You’re just like her.”
“No, I’m not!” Outrage flashed in those green eyes.
“She healed too.”
Hearing me talk about this shocked her. This topic had weighed us down for so long, but we’d almost never spoken about it.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t think it does? Do you know anyone else who can do that? Or can use compulsion on dhampirs and Moroi?”
“She never used compulsion like that,” she argued.
“She did. She tried to use it on me the night she left. It started to work, but then they took her away before she finished.” Or had they? After all, it was only a month later that Lissa and I had run away from the Academy. I’d always thought that was my own idea, but maybe Ms. Karp’s suggestion had been the true force behind it.
Lissa crossed her arms. Her face looked defiant, but her emotions felt uneasy. “Fine. So what? So she’s a freak like me. That doesn’t mean anything. She went crazy because . . . well, that was just the way she was. That’s got nothing to do with anything else.”
“But it’s not just her,” I said slowly. “There’s someone else like you guys, too. Someone I found.” I hesitated. “You know St. Vladimir. . . .”
And that’s when I finally let it all out. I told her everything. I told her about how she, Ms. Karp, and St. Vladimir could all heal and use super-compulsion. Although it made her squirm, I told her how they too grew easily upset and had tried to hurt themselves.
“He tried to kill himself,” I said, not meeting her eyes. “And I used to notice marks on Ms. Karp’s skin—like she’d claw at her own face. She tried to hide it with her hair, but I could see the old scratches and tell when she made new ones.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” insisted Lissa. “It—it’s all a coincidence.”
She sounded like she wanted to believe that, and inside, some part of her really did. But there was another part of her, a desperate part of her that had wanted for so long to know that she wasn’t a freak, that she wasn’t alone. Even if the news was bad, at least now she knew there were others like her.
“Is it a coincidence that neither of them seems to have specialized?”
I recounted my conversation with Ms. Carmack and explained my theory about specializing in all four elements. I also repeated Ms. Carmack’s comment about how that would burn someone out.
Lissa rubbed her eyes when I finished, smudging a little of her makeup. She gave me a weak smile. “I don’t know what’s crazier: what you’re actually telling me or the fact that you actually read something to find all this out.”
I grinned, relieved that she’d actually mustered a joke. “Hey, I know how to read too.”
“I know you do. I also know it took you a year to read The Da Vinci Code.” She laughed.
“That wasn’t my fault! And don’t try to change the subject.”
“I’m not.” She smiled, then sighed. “I just don’t know what to think about all this.”
“There’s nothing to think about. Just don’t do stuff that’ll upset you. Remember coasting through the middle? Go back to that. It’s a lot easier on you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do that. Not yet.”
“Why not? I already told you—” I stopped, wondering why I hadn’t caught on before. “It’s not just Mia. You’re doing all this because you feel like you’re supposed to. You’re still trying to be Andre.”
“My parents would have wanted me to—”
“Your parents would have wanted you to be happy.”
“It’s not that easy, Rose. I can’t ignore these people forever. I’m royal too.”
“Most of them suck.”
“And a lot of them are going to help rule the Moroi. Andre knew that. He wasn’t like the others, but he did what he had to do because he knew how important they were.”
I leaned back against the bench. “Well, maybe that’s the problem. We’re deciding who’s ‘important’ based on family alone, so we end up with these screwed-up people making decisions. That’s why Moroi numbers are dropping and bitches like Tatiana are queen. Maybe there needs to be a new royal system.”
“Come on, Rose. This is the way it is; that’s the way it’s been for centuries. We have to live with that.” I glared. “Okay, how about this?” she continued. “You’re worried about me becoming like them—like Ms. Karp and St. Vladimir—right? Well, she said I shouldn’t use the powers, that it would make things get worse if I did. What if I just stop? Compulsion, healing, everything.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You could do that?” The convenient compulsion aside, that was what I’d wanted her to do the whole time. Her depression had started at the same time the powers emerged, just after the accident. I had to believe they were connected, particularly in light of the evidence and Ms. Karp’s warnings.
“Yes.”
Her face was perfectly composed, her expression serious and steady. With her pale hair woven into a neat French braid and a suede blazer over her dress, she looked like she could have taken her family’s place on the council right now.
“You’d have to give up everything,” I warned. “No healing, no matter how cute and cuddly the animal. And no more compulsion to dazzle the royals.”
She nodded seriously. “I can do it. Will that make you feel better?”
“Yeah, but I’d feel even better if you stopped magic and went back to hanging out with Natalie.”
“I know, I know. But I can’t stop, not now at least.”
I couldn’t get her to budge on that—yet—but knowing that she would avoid using her powers relieved me.
“All right,” I said, picking up my backpack. I was late for practice. Again. “You can keep playing with the brat pack, so long as you keep the ‘other stuff’ in check.” I hesitated. “And you know, you really have made your point with Aaron and Mia. You don’t have to keep him around to keep hanging out with the royals.”
“Why do I keep getting the feeling you don’t like him anymore?”
“I like him okay—which is about as much as you like him. And I don’t think you should get hot and sweaty with people you only like ‘okay.’”
Lissa widened her eyes in pretend astonishment. “Is this Rose Hathaway talking? Have you reformed? Or do you have someone you like ‘more than okay’?”
“Hey,” I said uncomfortably, “I’m just looking out for you. That, and I never noticed how boring Aaron is before.”
She scoffed. “You think everyone’s boring.”
“Christian isn’t.”
It slipped out before I could stop it. She quit smiling. “He’s a jerk. He just stopped talking to me for no reason one day.” She crossed her arms. “And don’t you hate him anyway?”
“I can still hate him and think he’s interesting.”
But I was also starting to think that I might have made a big mistake about Christian. He was creepy and dark and liked to set people on fire, true. On the other hand, he was smart and funny—in a twisted way—and somehow had a calming effect on Lissa.
But I’d messed it all up. I’d let my anger and jealousy get the best of me and ended up separating them. If I’d let him go to her in the garden that night, maybe she wouldn’t have gotten upset and cut herself. Maybe they’d be together now, away from all the school politics.
Fate must have been thinking the same thing, because five minutes after I left Lissa, I passed Christian walking across the quad. Our eyes locked for a moment before we passed each other. I nearly kept walking. Nearly. Taking a deep breath, I came to a stop.
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