The Indigo Spell b-3

by Richelle Mead

  I immediately stopped that train of thought. Even if I was keeping it to myself, thinking about magic in the middle of an Alchemist church service was pretty sacrilegious. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what all these people would think if they knew the truth about me: that I practiced magic and had kissed a vampire. . . .

  Alchemist priests were called hierophants. They performed blessings and offered moral advice, when needed. In day-to-day affairs, they wore suits, but for this occasion, the lead hierophant wore robes that reminded me uncomfortably of the robes some of the Warriors had donned. It was yet another reminder of our shared history—and maybe our shared future. Marcus had been right. This was a mystery I had to solve, regardless of where I stood on breaking the tattoo.

  I’d attended services like this off and on throughout my life and knew the Latin prayers by heart. I chanted along with the rest of the congregation and listened avidly as the hierophant reaffirmed our goals, his voice echoing through the sound system. Even though the Alchemists’ religion had loose connections to Christianity, there was very little mention of God or Jesus or even Christmas. Most of his sermon was about how we had to help protect humanity from the temptation of following Strigoi who offered unholy immortality. That warning, at least, wasn’t exaggerated.

  I’d heard stories and even seen for myself what happened when humans decided to serve Strigoi. Those Strigoi promised to turn their servants as a reward. Those humans helped Strigoi spread their evil and became monsters themselves, no turning needed. Keeping those dark vampires hidden was for the good of weak humans who couldn’t protect themselves. I paid especially close attention when the hierophant mentioned the Moroi offhandedly in his sermon, as a means to an end in defeating the Strigoi. He didn’t exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings about them, but at least he wasn’t calling for Moroi and dhampir destruction either.

  I agreed with a good part of the message, but it no longer filled me with the fire it once had. And when the hierophant started droning on and on about duty, obedience, and what was “natural,” I really began feeling disconnected. I almost wished there was more talk of the divine, like you’d find at a normal church service. With everything going on in my life, I wouldn’t have minded a connection to a higher power. Sometimes, when I listened to the hierophant, I wondered if everything he was saying had just been made up by a bunch of people sitting around in the Middle Ages. No holy mandate required.

  I felt like a traitor when the service ended. Maybe Adrian’s joke had been right: I didn’t even need Marcus to break my tattoo and connection to the group. Glancing at my companions—and even the other Alchemists in the room—it was clear I was alone. All of them looked captivated by the sermon, devoted to the cause.

  I was again eerily reminded of the Warriors and their fanatical devotion. No, no, whatever else the Alchemists are guilty of, we have nothing to do with that kind of unhinged behavior. And yet . . . it was more complicated than that, I realized. The Alchemists didn’t shoot first and ask questions later or make our members battle each other. We were civilized and logical, but we did have a tendency to just do what we were told. That was the similarity, one that could be dangerous.

  Zoe and my father walked out with Ian and me. “Isn’t it amazing?” she asked. “Hearing that . . . well, it just makes me so glad Dad decided to raise another Alchemist in the family. It’s good to boost our numbers.”

  Had that truly been his motivation? Or was it because he didn’t trust me after I’d helped Rose?

  It was infuriating that the only conversation I could have with Zoe centered around Alchemist rhetoric, but I’d take it over the silence of the last few months. In my heart, I longed to talk the way we used to. I wanted it back. Even though she’d warmed up a little, that old familiarity that had once existed between us was gone.

  “I wish we had more time,” I told her once our groups were ready to part in the parking lot. “There’s so much I want to talk to you about.”

  She smiled, and there was a genuineness in it that warmed me. Maybe the distance between us wasn’t irreparable. “Me too. I’m sorry about . . . well, the way things were. I hope we get some time together soon. I . . . I’ve missed you.”

  That nearly broke me down, as did her hug. “We’ll be together soon, I promise.”

  Ian—whom my father now seemed to regard as a future son-in-law—drove me back to my hotel and couldn’t stop gushing about how awesome it had been to meet Jared Sage. As for me, I could still feel where Zoe had hugged me.

  Ian promised he’d get in touch with me in the morning about a tour of the archives. Then, weirdly, he closed his eyes and leaned forward. It took me a moment to realize that he expected a good-night kiss. Seriously? That was how he went about it? Had he ever even kissed anyone before? Even Brayden had displayed a little more passion. And, of course, neither guy measured up to Adrian.

  When I did nothing, Ian finally opened his eyes. I gave him another hug—with the coat on—and told him how happy I was that he’d met my dad. That seemed to satisfy him.

  Adrian made his nightly check-in with me once I was asleep later on. Naturally, he wanted to know about my dress. He also kept trying to find out how exactly I’d won Ian over and seemed amused at the few details I decided to give him. But mostly I couldn’t stop talking about Zoe. Adrian soon gave up on the other topics and simply listened to me gush.

  “She spoke to me, Adrian!” I paced around the reception hall, clasping my hands in excitement. “And she wasn’t mad. By the end, she was happy to see me. Do you know what that’s like? I mean, I know you don’t have any brothers or sisters, but to have someone you haven’t seen in a while welcome you back?”

  “I don’t know what it’s like,” he said quietly. “But I can imagine.”

  I was too caught up in my own joy at the time, but later, I wondered if he was talking about his incarcerated mother.

  “It’s nice to see you so happy,” he added. “Not that you’ve been miserable lately, but you’ve had a lot to worry about.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that and came to a halt. “Are you saying evil witches and espionage are stressful?”

  “Nah.” He walked over to me. “All in a day’s work for us. But I’m going to make my way to bed now. You seem like you can get by without me tonight.”

  He’d visited me every night since Veronica’s dream. Most of the trips were short now, but I still knew it was a lot of effort and spirit for him. “Thank you. I feel like I can’t say that to you enough.”

  “You don’t have to say it at all, Sage. Good luck tomorrow.”

  Right. Stealing top secret info from a highly secure facility.

  “Thanks,” I said again. A little of my mood dimmed, but not all of it. “No matter what happens, though, patching things up with Zoe makes me feel like this mission is already a success.”

  “That’s because you haven’t been caught.” He cupped my face in his hands and leaned close. “See that you aren’t. I don’t want to have to dream visit you in prison . . . or wherever it is bad Alchemists go.”

  “Hey, at least I’d have you for company, right?”

  He gave me a rueful headshake, and the dream vanished around me.

  CHAPTER 20

  IAN WOKE ME THE NEXT MORNING with a super-early phone call. At first, I thought maybe he hoped to sneak in before the other Alchemists woke up, but it turned out he just wanted to get breakfast beforehand. Seeing as he’d managed to get me access, I couldn’t very well refuse. He’d originally wanted to go to the facility in the late morning, but I talked him into going closer to noon. It meant lingering longer over breakfast, but it was worth the sacrifice. However, I was strictly back to khakis and a linen top. Espionage aside, cocktail dresses and breakfast buffets just didn’t mix. As a concession, however, I unbuttoned two buttons at the top of my shirt. Openly wearing that into the facility was practically R-rated, and Ian seemed thrilled by the “scandalous” act.

  Sunday at the facili
ty was much quieter than the previous night. Although Alchemists never really got a break from their duties, most of the center worked normal weekday business hours. I had no difficulties checking in through the main reception again, but as predicted, we had a small delay in getting to the secure area. The guy on duty wasn’t the friend who owed Ian a favor. We had to wait for him to come out from the back room, and even then, it took Ian a bit of cajoling to convince his colleague to let me in. I think it was obvious to both of them that Ian was just trying to impress me, and finally, the first guy relented to what seemed like a harmless errand. After all, I was a fellow Alchemist, and I was only going on a tour of a library. What could possibly go wrong?

  They searched my purse and made me walk through a metal detector. I had two spells in mind that I could perform without physical components, so at least I didn’t have to explain any crystals or herbs. The trickiest part was a thumb drive I’d hidden in my bra. They might not have questioned me carrying one in my purse, but I hadn’t wanted to risk it being called out. That being said, if the thumb drive did show up on the scan, I was going to have a much more difficult time explaining why I was hiding it. I tensed as I stepped under the scanner, bracing myself to either run or attempt a Wolfe move. But, as hoped, it was too small to find, and we were waved through. That was one obstacle down, though it didn’t make me any less tense.

  “Did you end up trading this for the money he owed you?” I asked once Ian and I were descending toward the archives.

  “Yeah.” He made a face. “I tried to just swap it out for half of what he owed, but it was all or nothing for him.”

  “So how much is this trip costing you?”

  “Fifty dollars. It’s worth it, though,” he added quickly.

  Dinner had cost about the same. This was turning into an expensive weekend for Ian, particularly since I was the only one truly reaping the rewards. I couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty and had to remind myself again and again that this was for an important cause. I would’ve offered to pay him back for it all, but something told me that would counteract everything I’d been working to achieve with my “womanly charms.”

  The archives were sealed with electronic locks that opened when Ian scanned his card key. As we stepped inside, I nearly forgot that coming in here was just a cover for the larger plan. Books and books and books surrounded me as well as scrolls and documents written on parchment. Old and delicate items were sealed under glass, with notes and signs against a far wall on how to access digital copies of them on computers. A couple of Alchemists, young like us, worked at tables and were transcribing old books into their laptops. One of them looked excited about her job; the other guy looked bored. He seemed to welcome the distraction of us entering.

  I must have worn an appropriately awed expression because when I turned to Ian, he was watching me with pride. “Pretty cool, huh?” Apparently being a glorified librarian had just become a much more exciting job for him. “Follow me.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. We began by exploring the full extent of the archives room, which stretched back much farther than I initially realized. The Alchemists prized knowledge, and it was obvious from this collection, which dated back centuries. I lingered at the shelves, wanting to read every title. They came in different languages and covered a full range of topics useful to our trade: chemistry, history, mythology, the supernatural . . . it was dizzying.

  “How do you organize it?” I asked. “How can you find anything?”

  Ian pointed to small placards on the shelves that I hadn’t noticed. They bore alphanumeric codes that were part of no filing system I recognized. “These catalog it all. And here’s the directory.”

  He led me to a touch screen panel embedded in the wall. I pressed it and was presented with a menu of options: AUTHOR, TIME PERIOD, SUBJECT, LANGUAGE. I touched SUBJECT and was led through a series of more and more specific topics until I finally realized I’d been searching for “Magic” in the supernatural section. It gave me a list of titles, each with its own code in the organizational system.

  To my surprise, there were actually a number of books on magic, and I burned with curiosity. Did the Alchemists have records of witches? Or was it all speculation? Most likely these were moral books preaching the wrongness of humans even considering such feats.

  “Can I browse some of the books?” I asked him. “I mean, I know I can’t sit and read all afternoon, but there’s so much history . . . I just kind of want to be a part of it. I’d be so, so grateful.”

  I really didn’t think that would work twice, but it did.

  “Okay.” He pointed toward a small office in the back. “I need to catch up on a few things. Do you want to meet back here in an hour?”

  I thanked him profusely and then returned to the touch screen. I yearned to investigate the magic books but had to remind myself why I was here. As long as I was in the archives, I might as well do some research that would help our cause. I flipped through the menus until I located the section on the Alchemists’ early history. I’d hoped to find a reference to vampire hunters in general or the Warriors specifically. No luck. The best I could do was follow the codes to shelves and shelves detailing our group’s formation. Most of the books were dense and written in an antiquated style. The really old ones weren’t even in English.

  I skimmed a few and soon realized a task like this would take longer than an hour. The newer books had no mention of the Warriors, which didn’t surprise me, seeing as that information was now covered up. If I was going to locate any references to vampire hunters, it would be in the oldest books. They didn’t have much in the way of tables of contents or indices, and there was no way I could do a full read. Remembering my real mission here, I put the books away after about ten minutes and sought out Ian. That earlier tension returned, and I began to sweat.

  “Hey, is there a restroom in here?”

  I prayed there wasn’t. I’d seen one down the hall when we’d come to this level. Part of my plan depended on getting out of the archives.

  “Down the hall, by the stairs,” he said. Some work issue had required his attention, and if my luck held, it would keep his eyes off the clock. “Knock on the door when you get back. I’ll tell the scribes to let you in.”

  I’d had a knot of anxiety in my stomach all day that I’d been trying to ignore. Now there was no getting around it. It was time for the unthinkable.

  Subtlety had no role in Alchemist security. The hallway contained cameras at each end. They faced each other, providing a long, continuous shot of the corridor. The restrooms were located at one end of the hall, almost directly under a camera. I went inside the ladies’ room and verified there were no other people—or cameras—within. At least the Alchemists allowed some privacy.

  Casting the invisibility spell was easy. Getting out was a little more difficult. The cameras’ position made me think the restroom door was too flush with the wall for either camera to really get a good look at it. The door opened inward, so I was able to slip out and feel confident no camera had picked up a ghostly door opening. The door to the stairs was the real beast. It was in the range of one of the cameras. Ms. Terwilliger had told me the invisibility spell would protect me from video and film. So, I had no fear of being spotted. I simply had to take the risk of the camera recording the door opening by itself.

  Although I knew security guards watched live feeds of the cameras, there were too many for them to scrutinize every second. If no sudden movement appeared on this one, I doubted any guard would notice. And if things stayed tame on this level, no one would have any reason to review the footage. But the operations level . . . well, if everything went according to plan, this sleepy Sunday was about to get a lot more exciting there.

  I slipped in and out of the stairwell, opening the door with absolutely as little space as possible. The operations level was even more secure than the archives, with heavy, industrial-looking doors that required both key cards and codes. I had no illusions abo
ut cracking any of it. Entry into the security office, much like the rest of this task, relied on an odd mix of logic and luck. The one thing you could count on with Alchemists was reliability. I knew how schedules tended to work. Lunch breaks were taken on the hour at typical lunch times: eleven, twelve, and one. This was why I’d asked Ian to schedule our visit to this time, when I could be relatively certain workers would be moving in and out of the room. Noon was five minutes away, and I crossed my fingers someone would exit soon.

  As it turned out, someone entered. A man came whistling down the hall. When he reached the door, the smell of fast-food hamburgers gave away his lunch choice. I held my breath as he scanned his card and punched in the numbers. The lock clicked, and he pushed the door open. I scurried in behind him and cleared the door without having to catch it or open it farther. Unfortunately, he came to a halt sooner than I expected, and I brushed against him. I immediately shrank away, and he scanned around, startled.

  Please don’t think there’s an invisible person here. How terrible would that be to have made it this far, only to be detected now? Fortunately, magical subterfuge wasn’t the first thing Alchemists turned to as a reason for anything. After a few more puzzled moments, he shrugged and called a greeting to one of his coworkers.

  Wade had described the room perfectly. Monitors covered one wall, flipping back and forth between different camera views. A couple of guards kept an eye on the footage, while others worked away at computers. Wade had also told me which workstation contained the files I needed. I approached it—careful to avoid any other contact mishaps. A woman was already seated at the station.

  “I was thinking of Thai carryout,” she told one of her coworkers. “I’ve just got to finish this report.”