No! She was about to take her lunch break. For my plan to work, that couldn’t happen. If she left, she would lock her computer. I needed it accessible for this plan to work. She was running late on her lunch, which meant I had to act now.
This room wasn’t exempt from surveillance. Even the watchers had watchers. Fortunately, there was only one camera. I selected an empty computer with a screen facing the camera and stood behind it. Wires and cords snaked out of the computer’s panel, and the fans whirred steadily inside. I rested my hand on the panel and did one more quick assessment. The computer’s back was out of the camera’s view, but it would do no good if it was in the middle of someone else’s line of vision. Everyone seemed preoccupied, though. It was time to act.
I created a fireball—a small one. I kept it in the palm of my hand and rested it right next to the panel. Despite its size, I summoned as much heat as I could. Not quite blue, but getting there. It took effect quickly, and within seconds, the cords and panel began to melt. The scent of burnt plastic rolled over me, and smoke drifted upward. It was enough. I let the fireball fade, and then I sprinted away from the computer just in time. Everyone had now noticed the burning computer. An alarm went off. There were cries of surprise, and someone yelled for a fire extinguisher. They all rose from their chairs to hurry over and look—including the woman who’d been at the computer I needed.
There was no time to waste. I sat immediately in her chair and plugged in the thumb drive. With gloved hands, I grabbed hold of the mouse and began clicking through directories. Wade hadn’t been able to help much at this point. We’d just hoped finding the files would be intuitive. All the while, I was conscious of the time—and that someone might notice a mouse moving by itself. Even after they put out the fire, the Alchemists hovered around the smoking computer, trying to figure out what had happened. Overheating wasn’t uncommon, but a fire happening that quickly definitely was. And these were computers that contained highly sensitive information.
I felt like there were a million directories. I checked a few likely candidates, only to hit a dead end. Each time I hit a dead end, I would silently swear at the wasted time. The other Alchemists weren’t going to stay away forever! Finally, after more stressful searching, I found a directory of old surveillance footage. It contained folders linked to every camera in the building—including one marked MAIN CHECKPOINT. I clicked it open and found files named by date. Wade had told me that eventually these files were cleared and moved to archives, but the day I needed was still here. The cameras recorded one frame every second. Multiplied by twenty-four hours, that made for a huge file—but not nearly the size continuous filming would create. The file would fit on my thumb drive, and I began copying it over.
The connection was fast, but it was still a big transfer. The screen told me it had ten seconds to go. Ten seconds. The computer’s owner could be back by then. I allowed myself another peek at the Alchemists. They were all still puzzling out the mystery. The thing about scientists like us was that a technological failure like this was fascinating. Also, it never occurred to any of them to look for a supernatural explanation. They tossed around theories with each other and started to take the melted computer apart. My file finished copying, and I sprang out of the chair, just as the woman began walking back toward it. I’d been fully prepared to risk another “ghost door” while they were distracted, but the fire alarm had summoned others in the hallway. People moved in and out with such frequency that I had no trouble holding the door open just long enough for me to sneak through.
I practically ran back to the archives level and had to calm myself when I reentered the restroom. I uncast the invisibility spell and waited for my breathing to slow. The thumb drive was back in my bra, the gloves back in my purse. Studying myself in the mirror, I decided that I looked innocent enough to return to the archives.
One of the scribes let me in. It was the engrossed girl, and she gave me a look that said opening the door was a waste of her time. Ian still appeared to be engulfed with work in the back, which was a relief. I’d been gone far longer than a bathroom trip would require and had worried he’d wonder where I was at. Things could’ve gone badly if he’d sent the girl to find me, both because I wasn’t in the restroom and because she’d be really annoyed at the interruption. Over in the history section, I sat on the floor with a book picked at random, which I only pretended to read. I was too anxious and keyed up to parse the words, no matter how many times I tried to reassure myself. There was no reason for the Alchemists to suspect me of causing the fire. There was no reason for them to think I’d stolen data. There was no reason for them to think I was connected to any of this.
Ian found me when the hour was up, and I feigned disappointment at having to leave. In reality, I couldn’t get out of this building fast enough. He drove me to the airport and chattered nonstop about the next time we’d get to see each other. I smiled and nodded appropriately but reminded him our work had to come first and that my post was particularly consuming. He was obviously disappointed but couldn’t deny the logic. The Alchemist greater good came first. Even better, he didn’t try one of those awful kisses again—though he did suggest we set up some times for video chatting. I told him to email me, secretly vowing I’d never open up any message from him.
I didn’t relax until the plane took off, when the potential for an Alchemist raid seemed pretty low. The most paranoid part of me worried there could be a party waiting for me at the Palm Springs airport, but for now I had a few hours of peace.
I’d just assumed I’d deliver the drive to Marcus and leave it at that. But now, with it in my possession, my curiosity got the better of me. I had to get to the bottom of this mystery. Was the Z. J. who’d visited the Alchemists really Master Jameson?
With fresh coffee in hand, I opened the file on my laptop and began to watch.
Even with one frame per second, the footage went on forever. Most of it was nothing but a quiet checkpoint, with the most exciting parts being when the guards changed position or took breaks. Plenty of Alchemists passed in and out, but relative to the overall time span, they were few and far between. Ian actually showed up once, off to start his shift.
I wasn’t even halfway through when the plane began its descent. Disheartened, I resigned myself to an evening of more of the same when I got back to the dorm. At least I’d be able to make some decent coffee to get me through. I was almost tempted just to push the file off on Marcus tomorrow and let him deal with reviewing it . . . but that nagging voice urging me to find out for myself won. It wasn’t just because of my curiosity either. I didn’t really think Marcus would fabricate anything, but if I could see for sure that—
There he was on the screen.
He wasn’t in those over-the-top robes, but there was no mistaking Master Jameson’s old-fashioned beard. He wore business casual clothing and seemed to be smiling at something a man beside him was saying. The man had a lily on his cheek but was no one I knew.
Master Jameson. With the Alchemists.
Marcus and his Merry Men’s conspiracy had panned out. A suspicious part of me wanted to believe this was a setup, that maybe they’d altered and planted this. But, no. I’d taken it myself, off an Alchemist server. It was possible Marcus had more insiders running errands for him, but this hadn’t been easy for me, even with magical assistance. Besides, why would Marcus go to so much trouble to make me believe this? If it was some twisted way to get me to join him, there were a million other ways he could have attempted it, with evidence much easier to fake.
Something in my gut told me this was real. I hadn’t forgotten the similarities in our rituals or how the Warriors had wanted our groups to merge. Maybe the Alchemists and the Warriors weren’t best friends yet, but someone had at least humored Master Jameson with a meeting. The question was, what had happened at that meeting? Had the Alchemist in the footage sent Jameson packing? Were the two of them together right now?
Regardless of the outcome, this was und
eniable proof that the Alchemists and Warriors were still in contact. Stanton had told me we merely kept an eye on them and had no interest in hearing them out.
Once again, I had been lied to.
CHAPTER 21
SOME PART OF ME BEGGED FOR there to be a mistake. I watched the footage three more times, tossing crazy theories around in my head. Maybe Master Jameson had a twin who wasn’t a fanatic who hated vampires. No. The video didn’t lie. Only the Alchemists did.
I couldn’t ignore this. I couldn’t wait. I needed to resolve this immediately. If not sooner.
I sent Marcus a text as soon as my plane was on the ground: We meet tonight. No games. No runaround. TONIGHT.
There was no response from him by the time I got back to my dorm. What was he doing? Reading Catcher in the Rye again? If I’d known what dive he was holed up in, I would’ve marched over there right then. There was nothing I could do but wait, so I called Ms. Terwilliger both as a distraction and to buy some freedom.
“Nothing to report,” she told me when she answered. “We’re still just watching and waiting—although, your extra charm is almost complete.”
“That’s not why I’m calling,” I said. “I need you to get me a curfew extension tonight.” I felt bad using her for something totally unrelated, but I had to do this.
“Oh? Are you paying me an unexpected visit?”
“Er—no. This is for something else.”
She clearly thought that was funny. “Now you use my assistance for personal matters?”
“Don’t you think I’ve earned it?” I countered.
She laughed, something I hadn’t heard from her in a while. She agreed to my request and promised to call the dorm’s front desk right away. As soon as we hung up, my phone chimed with the expected message from Marcus. All the text contained was an address that was a half hour away. Assuming he was ready for me now, I grabbed my messenger bag and got on the road.
In light of my past meetings with Marcus, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d led me to a department store or karaoke bar. Instead, I arrived at a vintage music shop, the kind that sold vinyl records. A large CLOSED sign hung on the door, emphasized by dark windows and an empty parking lot. I got out of my car and double-checked the address, wondering if my GPS had led me astray. My earlier zeal gave way to nervousness. How careless was this? One of Wolfe’s first lessons was to avoid sketchy situations, yet here I was, exposing myself.
Then, from the shadows, I heard my name whispered. I turned toward the sound and saw Sabrina materialize out of the darkness, carrying a gun as usual. Maybe if I showed her the one in my glove compartment, we could have a bonding moment.
“Go around back,” she said. “Knock on the door.” Without another word, she returned to the shadows.
The back of the building looked like the kind of place that screamed mugging, and I wondered if Sabrina would come to my aid if needed. I knocked on the door, half expecting some kind of speakeasy situation where I’d be asked for a password like “rusted iguana.” Instead, Marcus opened the door, ready with one of those smiles he kept hoping would win me over. Strangely, tonight it put me at ease.
“Hey, gorgeous, come on in.”
I stepped past him and found we were in the store’s back room, which was filled with tables, shelves, and boxes of records and cassette tapes. Wade and Amelia stood against a wall in mirrored stances, their arms crossed over their chests.
Marcus shut the door behind me and locked it. “Glad to see you back in one piece. Judging from your text—and your face—you found something.”
All the rage I’d been holding in since my discovery came bursting out. I retrieved my laptop from my bag and had to resist the urge to slam it against a table. “Yes! I can’t believe it. You were right. Your insane, far-fetched theory was right. The Alchemists have been lying! Or, well, some of them. I don’t know. Half of them don’t know what the other half’s doing.”
I expected some smug remark from Marcus or at least an “I told you so.” But that handsome face was drawn and sad, reminding me of the picture I’d seen of him and Clarence. “Damn,” he said softly. “I was kind of hoping you’d come back with a bunch of boring video. Amelia, go swap with Sabrina. I want her to see this.”
Amelia looked disappointed to be sent away, but she didn’t hesitate to obey his order. By the time Sabrina came back in, I had the video cued up to the correct time. They gathered around me. “Ready?” I asked. They nodded, and I could see a mix of emotions in all of them. Here it was, the conspiracy theory they’d all been waiting to prove. At the same time, the implications were staggering, and the three of them were well aware of how dangerous what they were about to see could be.
I played the video. It was only a few seconds long, but they were powerful ones as that bearded figure appeared on the screen. I heard an intake of breath from Sabrina.
“It’s him. Master Jameson.” She looked between all our faces. “That’s really the Alchemist place? He’s really there?”
“Yes,” said Wade. “And that’s Dale Hawthorne with him, one of the directors.”
That triggered a memory. “I know that name. He’s one of Stanton’s peers, right?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is it possible she wouldn’t know about a visit like this?” I asked. “Even at her level?”
It was Marcus who answered. “Maybe. Although, walking him right in there—even to the secure level—is pretty ballsy. Even if she doesn’t know about the meeting, it’s a safe bet others do. If it were completely shady, Hawthorne would’ve met him off-site. Of course, the secure list means this wasn’t out in the open either.”
So, it was possible Stanton hadn’t lied to me—well, at least not about the Alchemists being in contact with the Warriors. She’d certainly lied about the Alchemists knowing about Marcus since he’d said he was a notorious figure to most higher-ups. Even if she was ignorant about Master Jameson, it didn’t change the fact that other Alchemists—important ones—were keeping some dangerous company. Maybe I didn’t always like their procedures, but I’d desperately wanted to believe they were doing good in the world. Maybe they were. Maybe they weren’t. I just didn’t know anymore.
When I dragged my eyes from the frozen frame of Master Jameson, I found Marcus watching me. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ready for what?”
He walked over to another table and returned with a small case. When he opened it, I saw a small vial of silver liquid and a syringe.
“What is—oh.” Realization hit me. “That’s the blood that’ll break the tattoo.”
He nodded. “Pulling the elements out creates a reaction that turns it silver. It takes a few years, but eventually, the gold in your skin will fade to silver too.”
All of them were looking at me expectantly, and I took a step back. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”
“Why wait?” asked Marcus. He pointed at the laptop. “You’ve seen this. You know what they’re capable of. Can you keep lying to yourself? Don’t you want to go forward with your eyes open?”
“Well . . . yes, but I don’t know if I’m ready to have some strange substance injected into me.”
Marcus filled the syringe with the silver liquid. “I can demonstrate on my tattoo if it’ll make you feel better. It won’t hurt me, and you can see that there aren’t any dire side effects.”
“We don’t know for sure that they’ve done anything to me,” I protested. He had a logical argument, but I was still terrified of taking this step. I could feel my hands shaking. “This could be a waste. There may be no group loyalty compulsion in me.”
“But you also don’t know for sure,” he countered. “And there’s always a little loyalty put in the initial tattoo. I mean, not enough to make you some slave robot, but still. Wouldn’t you feel better knowing everything’s gone?”
I couldn’t take my eyes off the needle. “Will I feel any different?”
“No. Although you could
walk up to someone on the street and start telling them about vampires.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. “Then you’d just get thrown into a psych ward.”
Was I ready for this? Was I really going to take the next step into becoming part of Marcus’s Merry Men? I’d passed his test—which he’d been right about. Clearly, this group wasn’t useless. They had eyes on the Alchemists and the Warriors. They also seemingly had the Moroi’s best interests at heart.
The Moroi—or, more specifically, Jill. I hadn’t forgotten Sabrina’s offhand remark about the Warriors being interested in a missing girl. Who else could it be but Jill? And did this Hawthorne guy have access to her location? Had he passed it on to Master Jameson? And would this information put those around her at risk, like Adrian?
They were questions I didn’t have the answers to, but I had to uncover them.
“Okay,” I said. “Do it.”
Marcus didn’t waste any time. I think he was afraid I’d change my mind—which, perhaps, was not an unfounded fear. I sat down in one of the chairs and tipped my head to the side so that he’d have access to my cheek. Wade gently held my head with his hands. “Just to make sure you stay still,” he told me apologetically.
Before Marcus started, I asked, “Where’d you learn to do this?”
His face had been solemn with the task ahead, but my question made him smile again. “I’m not technically tattooing you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said. I was actually worried about a lot of things. “These are just some small injections, just like being re-inked.”
“What about the process itself? How’d you find out about it?” It was probably a question I should have asked before I sat down in this chair. But I hadn’t expected to be doing this so soon—or suddenly.
“A Moroi friend of mine theorized about it. I volunteered to be a guinea pig, and it worked.” He switched to business mode again and held up the needle. “Ready?”
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