And that was what I really needed.
I mustered all my strength, drew back, and swung.
The sword’s blade hit the side of her neck, hard and deep. She gave a horrible, sickening cry, a shriek that made my skin crawl. She tried to move toward me. I pulled back and hit again. Her hands clutched at her throat, and her knees gave way. I struck and struck, the sword digging deeper into her neck each time. Cutting off someone’s head was harder than I’d thought it would be. The old, dull sword probably wasn’t helping.
But finally, I gained enough sense to realize she wasn’t moving. Her head lay there, detached from her body, her dead eyes looking up at me as though she couldn’t believe what had happened. That made two of us.
Someone was screaming, and for a surreal second, I thought it was still Elena. Then I lifted my eyes and looked across the room. Mia stood in the doorway, eyes bugging out and skin tinged green like she might throw up. Distantly, in the back of my mind, I realized she was the one who’d made the aquarium explode. Water magic apparently wasn’t worthless after all.
Still a bit shaken, Isaiah tried to rise to his feet. But I was on him before he could fully manage it. The sword sang out, wreaking blood and pain with each blow. I felt like an old pro now. Isaiah fell back to the floor. In my mind, I kept seeing him break Mason’s neck, and I hacked and hacked as hard as I could, as though striking fiercely enough might somehow banish the memory.
“Rose! Rose!”
Through my hate-filled haze, I just barely detected Mia’s voice.
“Rose, he’s dead!”
Slowly, shakily, I held back the next blow and looked down at his body—and the head no longer attached to it. She was right. He was dead. Very, very dead.
I looked at the rest of the room. There was blood everywhere, but the horror of it didn’t really register with me. My world had slowed down, slowed down to two very simple tasks. Kill the Strigoi. Protect Mason. I couldn’t process anything else.
“Rose,” whispered Mia. She was trembling, her words filled with fear. She was afraid of me, not the Strigoi. “Rose, we have to go. Come on.”
I dragged my eyes away from her and looked down at Isaiah’s remains. After several moments, I crawled over to Mason’s body, still clutching the sword.
“No,” I croaked out. “I can’t leave him. Other Strigoi might come....”
My eyes burned like I desperately wanted to cry. I couldn’t say for sure. The bloodlust still pounded in me, violence and rage the only emotions I was capable of anymore.
“Rose, we’ll come back for him. If other Strigoi are coming, we have to get out.”
“No,” I repeated, not even looking at her. “I’m not leaving him. I won’t leave him alone.” With my free hand, I stroked Mason’s hair.
“Rose—”
I jerked my head up. “Get out!” I screamed at her. “Get out, and leave us alone.”
She took a few steps forward, and I lifted the sword. She froze.
“Get out,” I repeated. “Go find the others.”
Slowly, Mia backed up toward the door. She gave me one last, desperate look before running outside.
Silence fell, and I relaxed my hold on the sword but refused to let it go. My body sagged forward, and I rested my head on Mason’s chest. I became oblivious to everything: to the world around me, to time itself. Seconds could have passed. Hours could have passed. I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything except that I couldn’t leave Mason alone. I existed in an altered state, a state that just barely kept the terror and grief at bay. I couldn’t believe Mason was dead. I couldn’t believe I’d just summoned death. So long as I refused to acknowledge either, I could pretend they hadn’t happened.
Footsteps and voices eventually sounded, and I lifted my head up. People poured in through the door, lots of them. I couldn’t really make out any of them. I didn’t need to. They were threats, threats I had to keep Mason safe from. A couple of them approached me, and I leapt up, lifting the sword and holding it protectively over his body.
“Stay back,” I warned. “Stay away from him.”
They kept coming.
“Stay back!” I yelled. They stopped. Except for one.
“Rose,” came a soft voice. “Drop the sword.”
My hands shook. I swallowed. “Get away from us.”
“Rose.”
The voice spoke again, a voice that my soul would have known anywhere. Hesitantly, I let myself finally become aware of my surroundings, let the details sink in. I let my eyes focus on the features of the man standing there. Dimitri’s brown eyes, gentle and firm, looked down on me.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Everything’s going to be okay. You can let go of the sword.”
My hands shook even harder as I fought to hold on to the hilt. “I can’t.” The words hurt coming out. “I can’t leave him alone. I have to protect him.”
“You have,” said Dimitri.
The sword fell out of my hands, landing with a loud clatter on the wooden floor. I followed, collapsing on all fours, wanting to cry but still unable to.
Dimitri’s arms wrapped around me as he helped me up. Voices swarmed around us, and one by one, I recognized people I knew and trusted. He started to tug me toward the door, but I refused to move just yet. I couldn’t. My hands clutched his shirt, crumpling the fabric. Still keeping one arm around me, he smoothed my hair back away from my face. I leaned my head against him, and he continued stroking my hair, murmuring something in Russian. I didn’t understand a word of it, but the gentle tone soothed me.
Guardians were spreading throughout the house, examining it inch by inch. A couple of them approached us and knelt by the bodies I refused to look at.
“She did that? Both of them?”
“That sword hasn’t been sharpened in years!”
A funny sound caught in my throat. Dimitri squeezed my shoulder comfortingly.
“Get her out of here, Belikov,” I heard a woman say behind him, her voice familiar.
Dimitri squeezed my shoulder again. “Come on, Roza. It’s time to go.”
This time, I went. He guided me out of the house, holding onto me as I managed each agonizing step. My mind still refused to really process what had happened. I couldn’t do much more than follow simple directions from those around me.
I eventually ended up on one of the Academy’s jets. Engines roared around us as the plane lifted off. Dimitri murmured something about coming back shortly and left me alone in my seat. I stared straight ahead, studying the details of the seat in front of me.
Someone sat beside me and draped a blanket over my shoulders. I noticed then just how badly I was shivering. I tugged at the edges of the blanket.
“I’m cold,” I said. “How am I so cold?”
“You’re in shock,” Mia answered.
I turned and looked at her, studying her blond curls and big blue eyes. Something about seeing her unleashed my memories. It all tumbled back. I squeezed my eyes shut.
“Oh God,” I breathed. I opened my eyes and focused on her again. “You saved me—saved me when you blew up the fish tank. You shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have come back.”
She shrugged. “You shouldn’t have gone for the sword.” Fair point. “Thank you,” I told her. “What you did . . . I never would have thought of that. It was brilliant.”
“I don’t know about that,” she mused, smiling ruefully. “Water isn’t much of a weapon, remember?”
I choked on a laugh, even though I really didn’t find my old words that funny. Not anymore.
“Water’s a great weapon,” I said finally. “When we get back, we’ll have to practice ways to use it.”
Her face lit up. Fierceness shone out from her eyes. “I’d like that. More than anything.”
“I’m sorry . . . sorry about your mom.”
Mia simply nodded. “You’re lucky to still have yours. You don’t know how lucky.”
I turned and stared at the seat again. The ne
xt words out of my mouth startled me: “I wish she was here.”
“She is,” said Mia, sounding surprised. “She was with the group that raided the house. Didn’t you see her?”
I shook my head.
We lapsed into silence. Mia stood up and left. A minute later, someone else sat down beside me. I didn’t have to see her to know who she was. I just knew.
“Rose,” said my mother. For once in my life, she sounded unsure of herself. Scared, maybe. “Mia said you wanted to see me.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t look at her. “What . . . what do you need?”
I didn’t know what I needed. I didn’t know what to do. The stinging in my eyes grew unbearable, and before I knew it, I was crying. Big, painful sobs seized my body. The tears I’d held back so long poured down my face. The fear and grief I’d refused to let myself feel finally burst free, burning in my chest. I could scarcely breathe.
My mother put her arms around me, and I buried my face in her chest, sobbing even harder.
“I know,” she said softly, tightening her grip on me. “I understand.”
TWENTY-THREE
THE WEATHER WARMED UP ON the day of my molnija ceremony. In fact, it was so warm that a lot of the snow on campus began melting, running down the sides of the Academy’s stone buildings in slim, silvery streams. Winter was far from being over, so I knew everything would just freeze up again in a few days. For now, though, it felt as though the entire world was weeping.
I had walked away from the Spokane incident with minor bruises and cuts. The burns from the melting flex-cuffs were the worst of my injuries. But I was still having a hard time dealing with the death I’d caused and the death I’d seen. I’d wanted little more than to go curl up in a ball somewhere and not talk to anyone, except maybe Lissa. But on my fourth day back at the Academy, my mother had found me and told me it was time to receive my marks.
It had taken me several moments to grasp what she was talking about. Then it occurred to me that in decapitating two Strigoi, I’d earned two molnija tattoos. My first ones. The realization had stunned me. All my life, in considering my future career as a guardian, I’d looked forward to the marks. I’d seen them as badges of honor. But now? Mainly they were going to be reminders of something I wanted to forget.
The ceremony took place in the guardians’ building, in a large room they used for meetings and banquets. It was nothing at all like the great dining room at the resort. It was efficient and practical, like the guardians were. The carpet was a bluish gray shade, low and tightly woven. The bare white walls held framed black-and-white photos of St. Vladimir’s through the years. There were no other decorations or fanfare, yet the solemnity and power of the moment were palpable. All the guardians on campus—but no novices—attended. They milled around in the building’s main meeting room, hanging out in clusters but not talking. When the ceremony started, they fell into orderly ranks without being told and watched me.
I sat on a stool in the corner of the room, leaning forward with my hair hanging over the front of my face. Behind me, a guardian named Lionel held a tattooist’s needle to the back of my neck. I’d known him the whole time I’d been at the Academy, but I’d never realized he was trained to draw molnija marks.
Before he started, he had a murmured conversation with my mother and Alberta.
“She won’t have a promise mark,” he said. “She hasn’t graduated.”
“It happens,” said Alberta. “She made the kills. Do the molnijas , and she’ll get the promise mark later.”
Considering the pain I regularly put myself through, I didn’t expect the tattoos to hurt as much as they did. But I bit my lip and stayed silent as Lionel made the marks. The process seemed to go on forever. When he finished, he produced a couple of mirrors, and with some maneuvering, I was able to see the back of my neck. Two tiny black marks sat there, side by side, against my reddened and sensitive skin. Molnija meant “lightning” in Russian, and that’s what the jagged shape was meant to symbolize. Two marks. One for Isaiah, one for Elena.
Once I’d seen them, he bandaged them up and gave me some instructions about caring for them while they healed. Most of it I missed, but I figured I could ask again later. I was still kind of shocked by it all.
After that, all the gathered guardians came up to me one by one. They each gave me some sort of sign of affection—a hug, a kiss on the cheek—and kind words.
“Welcome to the ranks,” said Alberta, her weathered face gentle as she pulled me into a tight embrace.
Dimitri didn’t say anything when his turn came, but as always, his eyes spoke legions. Pride and tenderness filled his expression, and I swallowed back tears. He rested one hand gently on my cheek, nodded, and walked away.
When Stan—the instructor I’d fought with the most since my first day—hugged me and said, “Now you’re one of us. I always knew you’d be one of the best,” I thought I’d pass out.
And then when my mother came up to me, I couldn’t help the tear that ran down my cheek. She wiped it away and then brushed her fingers against the back of my neck. “Don’t ever forget,” she told me.
Nobody said, “Congratulations,” and I was glad. Death wasn’t anything to get excited about.
When that was done, drinks and food were served. I walked to the buffet table and made a plate for myself of miniature feta quiches and a slice of mango cheesecake. I ate without really tasting the food and answered questions from others without even knowing what I said half the time. It was like I was a Rose robot, going through the motions of what was expected. On the back of my neck, my skin stung from the tattoos, and in my mind, I kept seeing Mason’s blue eyes and Isaiah’s red ones.
I felt guilty for not enjoying my big day more, but I was relieved when the group finally started dispersing. My mother walked up to me as others murmured their good-byes. Aside from her words here at the ceremony, we hadn’t talked much since my breakdown on the plane. I still felt a little funny about that—and a little embarrassed as well. She’d never mentioned it, but something very small had shifted in the nature of our relationship. We weren’t anywhere near being friends . . . but we weren’t exactly enemies anymore either.
“Lord Szelsky is leaving soon,” she told me as we stood near the building’s doorway, not far from where I’d yelled for her on that first day we’d talked. “I’ll be going with him.”
“I know,” I said. There was no question she’d leave. That was how it was. Guardians followed Moroi. They came first.
She regarded me for a few moments, her brown eyes thoughtful. For the first time in a long time, I felt like we were actually looking eye to eye, as opposed to her looking down on me. It was about time, too, seeing as I had half a foot of height on her.
“You did well,” she said at last. “Considering the circumstances. ”
It was only half a compliment, but I deserved no more. I understood now the mistakes and lapses of judgment that had led to the events at Isaiah’s house. Some had been my fault; some hadn’t. I wished I could have changed some of my actions, but I knew she was right. I’d done the best I could in the end with the mess before me.
“Killing Strigoi wasn’t as glamorous as I thought it’d be,” I told her.
She gave me a sad smile. “No. It never is.”
I thought then about all the marks on her neck, all the kills. I shuddered.
“Oh, hey.” Eager to change the subject, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little blue eye pendant she’d given me. “This thing you gave me. It’s a n-nazar?” I stumbled over the word. She looked surprised.
“Yes. How’d you know?”
I didn’t want to explain my dreams with Adrian. “Someone told me. It’s a protection thing, right?”
A pensive look crossed her face, and then she exhaled and nodded. “Yes. It comes from an old superstition in the Middle East. . . . Some people believe that those who want to hurt you can curse you or give you ‘the evil eye.’ The nazar is meant to counteract the e
vil eye . . . and just bring protection in general to those who wear it.”
I ran my fingers over the piece of glass. “Middle East . . . so, places sort of like, um, Turkey?”
My mother’s lips quirked. “Places exactly like Turkey.” She hesitated. “It was . . . a gift. A gift I received a long time ago . . .” Her gaze turned inward, lost in memory. “I got a lot of . . . attention from men when I was your age. Attention that seemed flattering at first but wasn’t in the end. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes, between what’s real affection and what’s someone wanting to take advantage of you. But when you feel the real thing . . . well, you’ll know.”
I understood then why she was so overprotective about my reputation—she’d endangered her own when she was younger. Maybe more than that had been damaged.
I also knew why she’d given the nazar to me. My father had given it to her. I didn’t think she wanted to talk anymore about it, so I didn’t ask. It was enough to know that maybe, just maybe, their relationship hadn’t been all about business and genes after all.
We said goodbye, and I returned to my classes. Everyone knew where I’d been that morning, and my fellow novices wanted to see my molnija marks. I didn’t blame them. If our roles had been reversed, I would have been harassing me too.
“Come on, Rose,” begged Shane Reyes. We were walking out of our morning practice, and he kept swatting my ponytail. I made a mental note to wear my hair down tomorrow. Several others followed us and echoed his requests.
“Yeah, come on. Let’s see what you got for your swordsmanship! ”
Their eyes shone with eagerness and excitement. I was a hero, their classmate who’d dispatched the leaders of the roving band of Strigoi that had so terrorized us over the holidays. But I met the eyes of someone standing at the back of the group, someone who looked neither eager nor excited. Eddie. Meeting my gaze, he gave me a small, sad smile. He understood.
“Sorry, guys,” I said, turning back to the others. “They have to stay bandaged. Doctor’s orders.”
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