“Well, because you put yourself in danger. After the library, you were on the verge of breaking into the pool. Swimming while intoxicated is definite cause for alarm.”
“Nobody drowned. Even if someone had started to, I’m sure that between all of us, we could have pulled them out.”
“It’s just alarming, considering some of the self-destructive behaviors you once exhibited, like the cutting. . . .”
So it went for the next hour, and Lissa did as good a job as I used to in dodging Deirdre’s questions. When the session ended, Deirdre said she wasn’t going to recommend disciplinary action. She wanted Lissa back for more counseling. Lissa would have actually preferred detention or cleaning boards.
As she stalked furiously across campus, she spotted Christian going in the opposite direction. Hope lit the blackness of her mind like sunshine. “Christian!” she yelled, running up to him.
He stopped, giving her a wary look. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean what do I want?” She wanted to throw herself in his arms and have him tell her everything would be okay. She was upset and overwhelmed and filled with darkness . . . but there was a piece of vulnerability there that desperately needed him. “I haven’t been able to find you.”
“I’ve just been . . .” His face darkened. “I don’t know. Thinking. Besides, from what I hear, you haven’t been too bored.” No surprise everyone knew about last night’s fiasco. That kind of thing spread like wildfire thanks to the Academy’s gossip mill.
“It was nothing,” she said. The way he regarded her made her heart ache.
“That’s the thing,” he said. “Everything’s nothing lately. All your partying. Making out with other guys. Lying.”
“I haven’t been lying!” she exclaimed. “And when are you going to get over Aaron?”
“You aren’t telling me the truth. It’s the same thing.” It was an echo of Jill’s sentiment. Lissa barely knew her and was really starting to hate her. “I just can’t handle this. I can’t be a part of you going back to your days of being a royal girl doing crazy stunts with your other royal friends.”
Here’s the thing. If Lissa had elaborated on her feelings more, on just how much her guilt and depression were eating her up and making her spin out of control . . . well, I think Christian would have been there for her in an instant. Despite his cynical exterior, he had a good heart—and Lissa owned most of it. Or used to. Now all he could see was her being silly and shallow and returning to a lifestyle he despised.
“I’m not!” she exclaimed. “I’m just . . . I don’t know. It just feels good to sort of let loose.”
“I can’t do it,” he said. “I can’t be with you if that’s your life now.”
Her eyes went wide. “Are you breaking up with me?”
“I’m . . . I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.” Lissa was so consumed by the shock and horror of this that she didn’t really see Christian the way I did, didn’t see the agony in his eyes. It destroyed him to have to do this. He was hurting too, and all he saw was the girl he loved changing and becoming someone he couldn’t be with. “Things aren’t the way they used to be.”
“You can’t do that,” she cried. She didn’t see his pain. She saw him as being cruel and unfair. “We need to talk about this—figure it out—”
“The time for talking’s past,” he argued. “You should have been ready to talk sooner—not now, not when things suddenly aren’t going your way.”
Lissa didn’t know whether she wanted to scream or cry. She just knew she couldn’t lose Christian—not after losing me, too. If she lost both of us, there was nothing left for her in the world.
“Please, don’t do this,” she begged. “I can change.”
“I’m sorry,” he snapped. “I just don’t see any evidence of that.”
He turned and abruptly walked away. To her, his departure was harsh and cold. But again, I’d seen the anguish in his eyes. I think he left because he knew if he stayed, he wasn’t going to be able to go through with this decision—this decision that hurt but that he felt was right. Lissa started to go after him when a hand suddenly pulled her back. She turned and saw Avery and Adrian standing there. From the looks on their faces, they’d overheard everything.
“Let him go,” said Adrian gravely. He’d been the one to grab her. He dropped his hand and laced his fingers through Avery’s. “Going after him now’s just going to make it worse. Give him his space.”
“He can’t do this,” said Lissa. “He can’t do this to me.”
“He’s upset,” said Avery, her concern mirroring Adrian’s. “He isn’t thinking straight. Wait for him to cool off, and he’ll come around.”
Lissa stared off after Christian’s retreating figure, her heart breaking. “I don’t know. I don’t know if he will. Oh God. I can’t lose him.”
My own heart broke. I wanted so badly to go to her, to comfort her and be there for her. She felt so alone, and I felt horrible for leaving her. Something had pushed her into this downward spiral, and I should have been there to help her out of it. That was what best friends did. I needed to be there.
Lissa turned back and looked at Avery. “I’m so confused. . . . I don’t know what to do.”
Avery met her eyes, but when she did . . . the strangest thing happened. Avery wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at me.
Oh jeez. Not you again.
The voice rang in my head, and snap! I was out of Lissa.
There it was, the mental shove, the brush of my mind and waves of hot and cold. I stared around my room, shocked at how abrupt the transition had been. Yet I’d learned something. I knew then that Lissa hadn’t been the one to shove me out before or now. Lissa had been too distracted and too distraught. The voice? That hadn’t been hers either.
And then, I finally remembered where I’d felt that brushing touch in my head. Oksana. It was the same sensation I’d experienced when she had reached out to my mind, trying to get a feel for my moods and intentions, an action that both she and Mark admitted was invasive and wrong if you weren’t bonded to someone.
Carefully, I replayed what had just happened with Lissa. Once again, I saw those last few moments. Blue-gray eyes staring at me—me, not Lissa.
Lissa hadn’t pushed me out of her head.
Avery had.
TWENTY-FOUR
AVERY WAS A SPIRIT USER.
“Oh shit.”
I sat back down on the bed, my mind reeling. I’d never seen it coming. Hell, no one had. Avery had made a good show of being an air user. Each Moroi had a very low level of control in each element. She’d just barely done enough with air to make it seem like that was her specialization. No one had questioned her further because honestly, who would have ever expected another spirit user around? And since she was out of school, she had no reason to be tested anymore or forced to demonstrate her ability. No one was there to call her on it.
The more I thought about it, the more the little signs were there. The charming personality, the way she could talk people into anything. How many of her interactions were spirit controlled? And was it possible . . . was it possible that Adrian’s attraction had been compulsion on her part? I had no reason to feel happy about that, but . . . well, I did.
More to the point, what did Avery want with Lissa? Avery compelling Adrian into liking her wasn’t too out there. He was good-looking and came from an important family. He was the queen’s great-nephew, and although family members of the current monarch could never inherit the throne immediately afterward, he’d have a good future, one that would always keep him in the highest circles of society.
But Lissa? What was Avery’s game there? What did she have to gain? Lissa’s behavior all made sense now—the uncharacteristic partying, weird moods, jealousy, fights with Christian . . . Avery was pushing Lissa over the edge, causing her to make horrible choices. Avery was using some sort of compulsion to spin Lissa out of control, alienating her and putting her life in danger. Why? What
did Avery want?
It didn’t matter. The why wasn’t important. The how was, as in how I was going to get out of here and back to my best friend.
I looked down at myself, at the delicate silk dress I wore. Suddenly, I hated it. It was a sign of how I’d been, weak and useless. I hastily took it off and ransacked my closet. They’d taken away my jeans and T-shirt, but I’d at least been allowed to keep my hoodie. I put on the green sweaterdress, seeing as it was the sturdiest thing I had, feeling moderately more capable. I slipped the hoodie on over it. It hardly made me feel like a badass warrior, but I did feel more competent. Sufficiently dressed for action, I returned to the living room and started that pacing that tended to help me think better—not that I had any reason to believe I was going to come up with new ideas. I’d been trying to for days and days with no luck. Nothing was going to change.
“Damn it!” I yelled, feeling better with the outburst. Angry, I flounced into the desk chair, amazed that I hadn’t simply thrown it against the wall in my frustration.
The chair wobbled, ever so slightly.
Frowning, I stood up and looked at it. Everything else in this place was state-of-the-art. Odd that I’d have a faulty chair. I knelt down and examined it more closely. There, on one of the legs, was a crack near where the leg joined with the seat. I stared. All of the furniture here was industrial strength, with no obvious joints. I should know, seeing how long I’d beat this chair against the wall when I first arrived. I hadn’t even dented it. Where had this crack come from? Slamming it over and over had done nothing.
But I hadn’t been the only one to hit it.
That very first day, I’d fought with Dimitri and come after him with the chair. He’d taken it from me and thrown it against the wall. I’d never paid attention to it again, having given up on breaking it. When I’d later tried cracking the window, I’d used an end table because it was heavier. My strength hadn’t been able to damage the chair—but his had.
I picked up the chair and immediately slammed it into that diamond-hard window, half-hoping I might kill two birds with one stone. Nope. Both remained intact. So I did it again. And again. I lost track of how many times I slammed that chair into the glass. My hands hurt, and I knew despite my recovery, I still wasn’t at full strength. It was infuriating.
Finally, on what felt like my gazillionth try, I looked at the chair and saw the crack had grown bigger. The progress renewed my will and strength. I hit and hit, ignoring the pain as the wood bit into my hands. At long last, I heard a crack, and the leg broke off. I picked it up and stared in amazement. The break hadn’t been clean. It was splintered and sharp. Sharp enough to be a stake? I wasn’t sure. But I knew for a fact that wood was hard, and if I used enough force, I might be able to hit a Strigoi’s heart. It wouldn’t kill one, but the blow would stun. I didn’t know if it’d be enough to get me out of here, but it was all I had now. And it was a hell of a lot more than I’d had one hour ago.
I sat back on the bed, recovering from my battle with the chair and tossing the makeshift stake back and forth. Okay. I had a weapon now. But what could I do with it? Dimitri’s face flashed in my mind’s eye. Damn it. There was no question about it. He was the obvious target, the one I’d have to deal with first.
The door suddenly clicked open, and I looked up with alarm. Quickly, I shoved the chair into a dark corner as panic raced through me. No, no. I wasn’t ready. I hadn’t fully convinced myself to stake him—
It was Inna. She carried a tray but didn’t wear her usual subservient expression. The brief look she gave me was filled with hate. I didn’t know what she had to be pissed off about. It wasn’t like I’d caused her any damage.
Yet.
I strode over like I was going to examine the tray. Lifting the lid, I saw a ham sandwich and french fries. It looked good—I hadn’t eaten in a while—but the adrenaline running through me had shoved any appetite I might have to the background. I glanced back up at her, smiling sweetly. She shot me daggers.
Don’t hesitate, Dimitri had always said.
I didn’t.
I jumped at Inna, throwing her so hard against the floor that her head slammed back. She looked dazed, but quickly recovered and tried to fight back. I wasn’t drugged up this time—well, not much—and my years of training and natural strength finally showed themselves again. I pressed my body against her, keeping her firmly in place. Then, I produced the stake I’d had concealed and pressed those sharp points against her neck.
It was like being back in the days of pinning Strigoi in alleys. She couldn’t see that my weapon was a chair leg, but the sharp points got her attention as I dug them into her throat.
“The code,” I said. “What is the code?”
Her only response was a string of obscenities in Russian. Okay, not a surprise, considering she probably didn’t understand me. I flipped through the meager Russian-English dictionary in my head. I’d been in the country long enough to pick up some vocabulary. Admittedly, it was equivalent to a two-year-old’s, but even they could communicate.
“Numbers,” I said in Russian. “Door.” At least, that’s what I hoped I said.
She said more impolite things to me, her expression defiant. It really was the Strigoi interrogation all over. My stake bit harder, drawing blood, and I forcibly restrained myself. I might question whether I had the strength to pierce a Strigoi heart with this, but severing a human’s vein? Cake. She faltered a little, apparently realizing the same thing.
Again, I attempted my broken Russian. “Kill you. No Nathan. Never . . .” What was the word? The church service came back to me, and I hoped I had it right. “Never eternal life.”
It got her attention. Nathan and eternal life. The things most important to her. She bit her lip, still angry, but her tirade had stopped.
“Numbers. Door,” I repeated. I pushed the stake in harder, and she cried out in pain.
At last she spoke, rattling off a series of digits. Russian numbers were something I had memorized pretty solidly, at least. They were essential for addresses and phone numbers. She cited seven numbers.
“Again,” I said. I made her say it three times and hoped I had it. But there was more. I was pretty sure the outer door had a different code. “Numbers. Door. Two.” I felt like a caveman.
Inna stared, not quite getting it.
“Door. Two.”
Understanding glinted in her eyes, and she looked mad. I think she’d hoped I wouldn’t realize the other door had its own code. More cutting with the stake made her scream seven more numbers. Again, I made her repeat them, realizing I had no way to know if she was telling me the truth—at least until I tried the numbers. For that reason, I decided to keep her around.
I felt guilty about what I did next, but these were desperate times. In guardian training, I’d been taught both to kill and to incapacitate. I did the latter this time, slamming her head back against the floor and rendering her unconscious. Her expression went slack, her eyelids drooping. Damn. I was reduced to hurting teenage humans.
Standing up, I moved to the door and punched in the first set of numbers, hoping I had them right. To my complete and utter astonishment, I did. The electronic lock clicked, but before I could open the door, I just barely made out another click. Someone had unlocked the outer door.
“Shit,” I muttered.
I pulled away from the door immediately, picked up Inna’s unconscious body, and hurried to the bathroom. I set her in the tub as gently as possible and had just shut the bathroom door when I heard the main door open. I felt the telltale nausea that signaled a Strigoi was nearby. I knew one of the Strigoi could smell a human, and I hoped shutting her away would be enough to mute Inna’s scent. I emerged from the hall and found Dimitri in the living room. I grinned at him and ran into his arms.
“You’re back,” I said happily.
He held me briefly and then stepped back. “Yes.” He seemed slightly pleased at the greeting, but soon his face was all business. “Have
you made your decision?”
No hello. No how are you feeling? My heart sank. This wasn’t Dimitri.
“I have more questions.”
I went over to the bed and lay down in a casual way, just like we always did. He followed a few moments later and sat on the edge, looking down at me.
“How long will it take?” I asked. “When you awaken me? Is it instantaneous?”
Once more, I launched into an interrogation session. Honestly, I was running out of questions, and at this point, I didn’t really want to know the intricacies of becoming Strigoi. I was becoming more and more agitated with each passing moment. I had to act. I had to make use of my fleeting opportunity here.
And yet . . . before I could act, I had to reassure myself that this really wasn’t Dimitri. It was stupid. I should know by now. I could see the physical changes. I’d seen his coldness, the brutality. I’d seen him come fresh from a kill. This wasn’t the man I’d loved. And yet . . . for that one fleeting moment earlier . . .
With a sigh, Dimitri stretched out beside me. “Rose,” he interrupted, “if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were stalling for time.” Yeah, even as a Strigoi, Dimitri knew how I thought and schemed. I realized if I was going to be convincing, I had to stop playing dumb and remember to be Rose Hathaway.
I put on a look of outrage. “Of course I am! This is a big deal. I came here to kill you, and now you’re asking me to join you. You think this is easy for me to do?”
“Do you think it’s been easy for me to wait this long?” he asked. “The only ones who get choices are Moroi who willingly kill, like the Ozeras. No one else gets a choice. I didn’t get a choice.”
“And don’t you regret that?”
“No, not now. Now that I’m who I was meant to be.” He frowned. “The only thing hurt is my pride—that Nathan forced me and that he acts as though I’m indebted to him. Which is why I’m being kind enough to give you the choice now, for the sake of your pride.”
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