“I suppose so, though there’s only so much I can do. I can’t actually get you the job.” I ran down my mental list of what I knew about Adrian. “I don’t suppose you have any idea of what you’d actually like to do?”
“I want something entertaining,” he said. He thought some more. “And I want to make lots of money—but do as little work as possible.”
“Lovely,” I muttered. “That narrows it down.”
We reached downtown, and I managed a flawless parallel-parking job that didn’t impress him nearly as much as it should have. We were right in front of a convenience store, and I stood outside while he went in. Evening shadows were falling. I was off campus all the time, but so far, my trips had all been to Clarence’s, mini-golf courses, and fast-food joints. It turned out that the city of Palm Springs was really pretty. Boutiques and restaurants lined the streets, and I could’ve spent hours people-watching. Retirees in golfing getups strolled alongside young glamorous socialites. I knew a lot of celebrities came here too, but I wasn’t in tune enough with the entertainment world to know who was who.
“Man,” said Adrian, emerging from the store. “They raised the price on my normal brand. I had to buy some crappy one.”
“You know,” I said. “Quitting would also be a really great way to save some—”
I froze as I spotted something down the street. Three blocks away, through the leaves of some palm trees, I could just barely make out a sign that read Nevermore in ornate Gothic lettering. That was the place. The source of the tattoos running rampant through Amberwood. Ever since Kristin’s incident, I’d wanted to delve into this more but hadn’t been sure how. Now I had my chance.
For a moment, I remembered Keith telling me not to get involved with anything that might raise attention or cause trouble. Then I thought about the way Kristin had looked during her overdose. This was my opportunity to actually do something. I made a decision.
“Adrian,” I said. “I need your help.”
I pulled him toward the tattoo parlor, filling him in on the situation. For a moment, he seemed so interested in high-inducing tattoos that I thought he’d want one. When I told him about Kristin, though, his enthusiasm faded.
“Even if it’s not Alchemist technology, they’re still doing something dangerous,” I explained. “Not just to Kristin. What Slade and those guys are doing—using the steroids to be better at football—is just as bad. People are getting hurt.” I thought, suddenly, of Trey’s cuts and bruises.
A small alley separated the tattoo parlor from a neighboring restaurant, and we stopped just before it. A door opened inside the alley, on the parlor side, and a man stepped out and lit a cigarette. He’d taken only two steps when another man stuck his head out the side door and called, “How long are you going to be gone?” I could see shelves and tables behind him.
“Just running down to the store,” said the man with the cigarette. “I’ll be back in ten.”
The other guy went back inside, shutting the door. A few moments later, we saw him through the window at the front of the store, tidying up something on the counter.
“I have to get back there,” I said to Adrian. “Into that door.”
He arched an eyebrow. “What, like sneaking in? How very black ops of you. And oh, you know—dangerous and foolish.”
“I know,” I said, surprised at how calm I sounded as I admitted that. “But I have to know something, and this may be my only chance.”
“Then I’ll go with you in case that guy comes back,” he said with a sigh. “Never let it be said Adrian Ivashkov doesn’t help damsels in distress. Besides, did you see him? He looked like some insane biker. They both did.”
“I don’t want you to—wait.” Inspiration hit. “You talk to the guy inside.”
“Huh?”
“Go in the front. Distract him so that I can look around. Talk to him about . . . I don’t know. You’ll think of something.”
We quickly hashed out a plan. I sent Adrian on his way while I ducked into the alley and approached the door. I pulled the handle and found it—locked.
“Of course,” I muttered. What business would leave a remote door like this exposed and unlocked? My brilliant plan started to crumble until I remembered I had my Alchemist “essentials” in my purse.
My full kit was rarely needed, high school acne crises aside, so it was usually kept at home. But Alchemists were always on call, no matter where they were, to cover up vampire sightings. And so, we always kept a couple of things on us at all times. One was the substance that could dissolve a Strigoi body in under a minute. The other was almost equally efficient at dissolving metal.
It was a type of acid, and I kept it in a protected vial in my purse. Quickly, I fished it out and unscrewed the top. A bitter scent hit me and made me wrinkle my nose. With the bottle’s glass dropper, I very carefully leaned down and placed a few drops right in the center of the lock. I immediately stepped back as a white mist rose up from the contact. Within thirty seconds, it had all dissipated, and there was a hole in the middle of the door’s handle. One of the nice things about this stuff, which we called quickfire, was that its reaction occurred extremely fast. It was now inert and posed no danger to my skin. I pushed down on the handle, and it released.
I only opened the door a crack, just to ascertain that there was no one else around. Nope. Empty. I crept inside and quietly shut the door behind me, fastening an inside bolt to make sure it stayed locked. As I’d seen from the outside, the place was a storage room, filled with all sorts of tools of the tattoo trade. Three doorways surrounded me. One led to a bathroom, one to a darkened room, and another to the store’s front and main counter. Light spilled in from that doorway, and I could hear Adrian’s voice.
“My friend’s got one,” he was saying. “I’ve seen it, and he said this is the place he got it. Come on, don’t play me.”
“Sorry,” came the gruff response. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
I slowly began scanning the cupboards and drawers, reading labels and looking for anything suspicious. There were a lot of supplies and not much time.
“Is it a money thing?” asked Adrian. “Because I’ve got enough. Just tell me how much it costs.”
There was a long pause, and I hoped Adrian wouldn’t be asked to show any cash since the last of his money had gone to promoting cancer.
“I don’t know,” the guy said at last. “If I was able to do this copper tattoo you’re talking about—and I’m not saying I can—you probably couldn’t afford it.”
“I’m telling you,” said Adrian. “Just name your price.”
“What is it you’re interested in exactly?” the man asked slowly. “Just the color?”
“I think we both know,” said Adrian cunningly. “I want the color. I want the ‘bonus effects.’ And I want it to look badass. You probably can’t even do the design I want.”
“That’s the least of your worries,” said the guy. “I’ve been doing this for years. I can draw anything you want.”
“Yeah? Can you draw a skeleton riding a motorcycle with flames coming out of it? And I want a pirate hat on the skeleton. And a parrot on his shoulder. A skeleton parrot. Or maybe a ninja skeleton parrot? No, that would be overkill. But it’d be cool if the biker skeleton could be shooting some ninja throwing stars. That are on fire.”
Meanwhile, I’d still seen no sign of what I needed, but there were a million nooks and crannies left to explore. Panic began to rise in me. I was going to run out of time. Then, seeing the darkened room, I hurried over to it. With a quick glance toward the store’s front, I flipped on the light and held my breath. No one must have noticed anything because the conversation continued where it had left off.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” said the tattooist.
“That’s not what the ladies are going to say,” said Adrian.
“Look, kid,” said the guy. “It’s not even about money. It’s about availability. That’s a lot of ink you�
�re talking about, and I don’t have that much in stock.”
“Well, when will your supplier deliver next?” asked Adrian.
I stared in awe at what I had found: I was in the room where the tattooing took place. There was a lounging chair—much more comfortable than the table I’d received my tattoo on—and a small side table covered with what appeared to be freshly used implements.
“I’ve already got some people wait-listed ahead of you. I don’t know when there’ll be more.”
“Can you call me when you know?” Adrian asked. “I’ll give you my info. My name’s Jet Steele.”
If not for my own tense situation, I would’ve groaned. Jet Steele? Really? Before I could think much more about it, I finally found what I’d been looking for. The tattoo gun on the table had its own ink container, but sitting nearby were several smaller vials. All of them were empty, but some still had enough metallic residue of their former ingredients to tip me off. Without even thinking twice, I quickly began recapping them and putting them in my purse. Nearby, I noticed some sealed vials full of dark liquid. I froze for a moment. Carefully, I picked one up, opened it, and took a sniff.
It was what I’d feared.
I screwed the lid back on and added those vials to my purse.
Just then, I heard a rattling behind me. Someone was trying to open the back door. I’d bolted it behind me, however, and it didn’t give. Still, it meant my time for snooping was up. I was just zipping up my purse when I heard the store’s front door open.
“Joey, why’s the back door locked?” an angry voice demanded.
“It’s always locked.”
“No, the bolt was on. From the inside. It wasn’t when I left.”
Cue my exit. I flipped off the light and began hurrying back through the storage room.
“Wait!” exclaimed Adrian. There was an anxious note to his voice, like he was trying to get someone’s attention. I had the uneasy feeling that the two guys who worked here were headed back behind the counter to investigate. “I need to know something else about the tattoo. Can the parrot also be wearing a pirate’s hat? Like a miniature one?”
“In a minute. We have to check something.” The voice was louder than before. Closer.
My hands fumbled as I unlatched the bolt. I managed it and opened the door, hurrying out just as I heard voices behind me. Without pausing to glance back, I shut the door and ran out the alley and up the street, back toward where I’d parked. I was pretty sure the guys hadn’t gotten a good look at me. I think I’d just been a figure darting out the door. Still, I was grateful for the crowds of people on the street. I was able to blend in as I turned my attention to my car and unlocked the door. My hands were sweaty and shaking as I fumbled with the keys.
I wanted badly to look behind me but was afraid of attracting the attention of the two men, if they were out searching the street. As long as they had no reason to suspect me—
A hand suddenly grabbed my arm and jerked me away. I gasped.
“It’s me,” said a voice.
Adrian. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Don’t look back,” he said calmly. “Just get in the car.”
I obeyed. Once we were both safely inside, I took a deep breath, overwhelmed by the pounding of my heart. Fear-born adrenaline surged in my chest, so strongly it hurt. I closed my eyes and leaned back.
“That was too close,” I said. “And you did good, by the way.”
“I know,” he said proudly. “And actually, I kind of want that tattoo now. Did you find what you were looking for?”
I opened my eyes and sighed. “I did. And a whole lot more.”
“So, what is it? They’re putting drugs in tattoos?”
“Worse,” I said. “They’re using vampire blood.”
CHAPTER 17
MY DISCOVERY KICKED the tattoo problem up to a whole new level. Before, I’d just thought I was fighting against people using techniques similar to Alchemist methods to expose Amberwood to drugs. It had been a moral issue. Now, with blood on the line—it was an Alchemist issue. Our whole purpose was to protect humans from the existence of vampires. If someone was illicitly putting vampire blood into humans, they’d crossed the line we worked hard, every day, to maintain.
I knew I should immediately report this. If someone had gotten their hands on vampire blood, the Alchemists needed to send a force here and investigate. If I followed the normal chain of command, I supposed the thing would be to tell Keith and let him tell our superiors. If he did, however, I had no doubt he’d claim all the credit for uncovering this. I couldn’t let that happen—and not because I wanted the glory for myself. Too many Alchemists erroneously believed Keith was an upstanding person. I didn’t want to fuel that.
But before I did anything, I needed to figure out the rest of the vials’ contents. I could make guesses at the metallic residues but wasn’t sure if, like the blood, they came straight from the Alchemist catalog or were just knockoffs. And if they were our formulas, it wasn’t obvious at a glance which were which. The silver powder in one vial, for example, could have been a few different Alchemist compounds. I had the means to do some experiments and figure it out, but one substance eluded me. It was clear, slightly thick liquid that had no discernable odor. My guess was that it was the narcotic used in the celestial tattoos. Vampire blood wouldn’t cause that high, though it would absolutely explain the crazy athleticism of the so-called steel tattoos. So, I began running what experiments I could, while going on with the normal routines of school.
We were playing basketball inside in PE this week, so Jill was participating—and being subjected to Laurel’s biting comments. I kept hearing her say things like, “You’d think she’d be a lot better since she’s so tall. She can practically touch the basket without jumping. Or maybe she should turn into a bat and fly up there.”
I winced. I had to keep telling myself not to make a big deal of the jokes, but every time I heard one, panic seized me. I had to hide it, though. If I wanted to help Jill, I needed the teasing stopped as a whole—not just the vampire stuff. Drawing more attention to those comments wouldn’t help.
Micah tried to comfort Jill after each attack, which clearly infuriated Laurel more. Laurel’s weren’t the only comments reaching my ears. Since my raid of the tattoo parlor, I’d been hearing a fair amount of interesting information from Slade and his friends.
“Well, did he say when?” Miss Carson was taking attendance, and Slade was interrogating a guy named Tim about a recent trip to the parlor.
Tim shook his head. “No. They’re having some trouble with their shipment. It sounds like the supplier’s got it but doesn’t want to give it up for the same price.”
“Damn it,” growled Slade. “I need a touch-up.”
“Hey,” said Tim. “What about me? I don’t even have my first one.”
It wasn’t the first comment I’d overheard from someone who already had a celestial and needed a touch-up. Addiction in action.
Jill’s face was hard when PE ended, and I had the feeling she was trying not to cry. I tried talking to her in the locker room, but she simply shook her head and headed off for the showers. I was about to go there myself when I heard a shriek. Those of us who were still by the lockers raced to the shower room to see what was happening.
Laurel jerked the curtain back from her stall and came running out, oblivious to the fact that she was naked. I gaped. Her skin was covered in a fine sheen of ice. Water droplets from the shower had frozen solid on her skin and in her hair, though in the steamy heat of the rest of the room, they were already starting to melt. I glanced over to the shower itself and noticed that the water coming out of the faucet was also frozen solid.
Laurel’s screams brought Miss Carson running in—shocked as the rest of us at the seemingly impossible thing we’d just witnessed. She finally declared it was some kind of freak problem with the pipes and the water heater. That was typical of my fellow humans. They’d always reach for far-fetched sc
ientific explanations before delving into fantastic ones.
But I had no problem with that. It made my job easier.
Miss Carson tried to get Laurel to go into a different shower to get the ice off, but she refused. She waited for it all to melt and then toweled herself off. Her hair was atrocious when she finally left for her next class, and I smirked. I guessed there’d be no hair-tossing today.
“Jill,” I called, catching sight of her trying to blend in to the group of girls leaving the locker room. She glanced guiltily over her shoulder but didn’t otherwise acknowledge that she’d heard me. I followed close behind her. “Jill!” I called out again. She was definitely avoiding me.
In the hall, Jill spotted Micah and hurried over to him. Smart. She knew I wouldn’t ask any dangerous questions with him around.
She managed to avoid me for the rest of the day, but I staked out our room until she finally came home, just before curfew.
“Jill,” I exclaimed as soon as she walked through the door. “What were you thinking?”
She threw her books down and turned toward me. I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one who’d been preparing a speech today.
“I was thinking I’m sick of listening to Laurel and her friends talk about me.”
“So you froze her shower?” I asked. “How is that going to stop her? It’s not like you can claim credit for it.”
Jill shrugged. “It made me feel better.”
“That’s your excuse?” I could hardly believe it. Jill had always seemed so reasonable. She’d survived becoming a princess and dying with a clear head. This was what broke her. “Do you know what you risked? We’re trying to not attract attention here!”
“Miss Carson didn’t think it was weird.”
“Miss Carson came up with a flimsy excuse to reassure herself! That’s what people do. All it’s going to take is some janitor investigating and saying pipes don’t randomly freeze—especially in Palm Springs!”
“So what?” Jill demanded. “What then? Is their next leap going to be that it was vampire magic?”
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