Keith parked and got out, scanning around for me. Kristin gave a small sound of approval. “He’s not bad.”
“Believe me,” I said, walking forward. “You want nothing to do with him.”
Keith gave the girls what was probably supposed to be a charming smile and even winked at them. The instant they were gone, his smile dropped. Impatience radiated off of him, and it was a wonder he didn’t tap his foot.
“Let’s make this fast,” he said.
“If you’re in such a rush, you should have just let me come by when you had more time.” I took out a binder containing the letter and handed it over with a pen. Keith signed without even looking at it and handed it back.
“Need anything else?” he asked.
“No.”
“Don’t mess up again,” he said, opening the car door. “I don’t have time to keep covering for you.”
“Does it matter?” I challenged him. “You’ve already done your best to get rid of me.”
He gave me a cold smile. “You shouldn’t have crossed me. Not now, not back then.” With a wink, he turned around and began to leave. I stared, unable to believe the audacity. It was the first time he’d directly referenced what went down years ago.
“Well, that’s the thing,” I shouted at his retreating figure. “I didn’t cross you back then. You got off easy. It’s not going to happen again. You think I’m worried about you? I’m the one you need to be scared of.”
Keith came to a halt and then slowly turned around, his face awash with disbelief. I didn’t blame him. I was kind of surprised myself. I couldn’t ever remember a time I’d so openly countered someone in a higher position of authority, certainly not someone who had so much power to affect my situation.
“Watch it,” he said at last. “I can make your life miserable.”
I gave him an icy smile. “You already have, and that’s why I’ve got the advantage. You’ve done your worst—but you haven’t seen what I can do yet.”
It was a big bluff on my part, especially since I was pretty sure he could still do worse. For all I knew, he could get Zoe out here tomorrow. He could get me sent to a re-education center in a heartbeat.
But if I went down? So would he.
He stared at me for a few moments, at a loss. I don’t know if I actually scared him or if he decided not to dignify me with an answer, but he finally turned and left for good. Furious, I went inside to deliver the letter to the office. The front desk secretary, Mrs. Dawson, stamped it and then made a copy for me to give to Mrs. Weathers. As she handed it to me, I asked, “Who’s Kelly Hayes?”
Mrs. Dawson’s usually dimpled face grew sad. “That poor girl. She was a student here a few years ago.”
My memory clicked. “Is she the one Mrs. Weathers mentioned? Who went missing?”
Mrs. Dawson nodded. “It was terrible. She was such a sweet girl too. So young. She didn’t deserve to die like that. She didn’t deserve to die at all.”
I hated to ask but had to. “How did she die? I mean, I know she was murdered, but I never heard any details.”
“Probably just as well. It’s pretty gruesome.” Mrs. Dawson peered around, as though afraid she’d get in trouble for gossiping with a student. She leaned over the counter toward me, face grave. “The poor thing bled to death. She had her throat cut.”
CHAPTER 20
I ALMOST ASKED, “Are you serious?” But let’s face it: that probably wasn’t the kind of thing she would joke about, especially considering how grave her face looked. Other questions popped into my head, but I held back on those as well. They weren’t that weird, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by showing unusual interest in a grisly murder. Instead, I simply thanked Mrs. Dawson for her help with the letter and returned to East Campus.
Mrs. Weathers was at her desk when I entered the dorm. I brought her the letter, which she read over twice before tucking it away in her filing cabinet. “All right,” she said. “Just make sure your sister signs in and out each time.”
“I will, ma’am. Thank you.” I hesitated, torn over whether to go or ask the questions Mrs. Dawson’s information had triggered. I decided to stay. “Mrs. Weathers . . . ever since Jill disappeared, I just keep thinking about that girl you told me about. The one who died. I keep thinking that could’ve been Jill.”
Mrs. Dawson’s face softened. “Jill’s fine. I shouldn’t have told you that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“Is it true that girl’s throat was slit?”
“Yes.” She shook her head sadly. “Terrible. Simply terrible. I don’t know who does that kind of thing.”
“Did they ever find out why it happened? I mean, was there anything unusual about her?”
“Unusual? No, not really. I mean, she was a lovely girl. Smart, pretty, popular. A good—no, great—athlete. Had friends, a boyfriend. But nothing that would especially make her stand out as a target. Of course, people who do awful things like that probably don’t need a reason.”
“True,” I murmured.
I walked up to my room, wishing Mrs. Weathers had elaborated a little more on how pretty Kelly was. What I really wanted to know was if Kelly had been Moroi. If she had, I’d hoped Mrs. Weathers might comment on how tall or pale she was. By both Clarence’s and the Alchemists’ accounts, no Moroi on record had lived in the Palm Springs area. That didn’t mean someone couldn’t slip through the cracks, however. I’d have to find the answer myself. If Kelly had been Moroi, then we had three young Moroi women killed in the same way in southern California within a relatively short time span. Clarence might argue for his vampire hunter theory, but to me, this pattern screamed Strigoi.
Jill was in our room, serving out her house arrest. The more time passed, the less angry I felt toward her. Having the feeding issue fixed helped. I would’ve been a lot more upset if we’d been unable to get her off campus.
“What’s wrong?” she asked me, looking up from her laptop.
“Why do you think anything’s wrong?”
She smiled. “You’ve got that look. It’s this tiny frown you get between your eyebrows when you’re trying to figure something out.”
I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“You know,” she said, “maybe all these responsibilities you have wouldn’t be as bad if you talked them out and got help from other people.”
“It’s not quite like that. It’s just something I’m trying to puzzle out.”
“Tell me,” she entreated. “You can trust me.”
It wasn’t a matter of trust. It was a matter of unnecessarily worrying Jill. Mrs. Weathers had feared she would scare me, but if someone was killing Moroi girls, I wasn’t in danger. Looking at Jill and her unwavering gaze, I decided if she could handle living with the knowledge that her own people were trying to kill her, she could handle this. I gave her a brief summary of what I knew.
“You don’t know if Kelly was Moroi, though,” she said, once I’d finished.
“No. That’s the crucial piece here.” I sat cross-legged on my bed with my own laptop. “I’m going to check our records and local newspapers to see if I can find a picture of her. All I learned from Mrs. Weathers is that Kelly was a star athlete.”
“Which may mean she’s not Moroi,” said Jill. “I mean, look at how terrible I perform in this sun. What happens if she’s not? You’ve got a lot of theories hinging on her being Moroi. But what if she was human? What then? Can we ignore it? It could still be the same person . . . but what would it mean if the murderer had killed two Moroi and one human?”
Jill had a point. “I don’t know,” I said.
My search didn’t take long. The Alchemists had no record of the murder, but then, they wouldn’t if Kelly had been human. Lots of newspapers had stories about her, but I couldn’t find any pictures.
“What about a yearbook?” asked Jill. “Someone must keep them around.”
“That’s actually pretty brilliant,” I said.
“See? I told you
I’m useful.”
I smiled at her and then remembered something. “Oh, I’ve got good news for you. Maybe.” I briefly recapped Kristin and Julia’s “plan” about Jill joining the sewing club.
Jill brightened but was still cautious. “You really think that would work?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“I’ve never touched a sewing machine in my life,” she said.
“I guess this is your chance to learn,” I told her. “Or maybe the other girls will be happy to just keep you around as their in-class model.”
Jill smirked. “How do you know only girls sign up for that?”
“I don’t,” I admitted. “Just playing off gender stereotypes, I guess.”
My cell phone rang, and Ms. Terwilliger’s number flashed on the display. I answered, bracing for a coffee run.
“Miss Melbourne?” she said. “If you and your brother can be at Carlton within an hour, you can speak to someone in the registrar’s office before they close. Can you manage that?”
I looked at the time and took it on faith Adrian wasn’t doing anything important. “Um, yes. Yes, of course, ma’am. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
“The man you’ll want to talk to is named Wes Regan.” She paused. “And could you bring me a cappuccino on your way back?”
I assured her I could and then called Adrian with instructions to be ready for me. Quickly, I changed out of my uniform and into a blouse and twill skirt. Glancing at my reflection, I realized he was right. There really wasn’t a lot of difference between Amberwood attire and my normal wardrobe.
“I wish I could go,” said Jill wistfully. “I’d like to see Adrian again.”
“Don’t you kind of see him every day in a way?”
“True,” she said. “Although I can’t always get into his head when I want to yet. It just happens randomly. And anyway, it’s not the same. He can’t talk back to me through the bond.”
I nearly replied that it sounded better than being around him in person but figured that wouldn’t be helpful.
Adrian was ready to go when I reached Clarence’s, excited and eager for action. “You just missed your friend,” he said as he got into Latte.
“Who?”
“Keith.”
I made a face. “He’s not really my friend.”
“Oh, you think? Most of us figured that out on day one, Sage.”
I felt a little bad about that. Some part of me knew that I shouldn’t let my personal feelings for Keith mix with business. We were co-workers of sorts and should’ve been presenting a united, professional front. At the same time, I was kind of glad these people—even if they were vampires and dhampirs—didn’t think I was friendly with Keith. I didn’t want them thinking he and I had much in common. I certainly didn’t want to have a lot in common with him.
The full meaning of Adrian’s words suddenly hit me. “Wait. He was just here?”
“A half hour ago.”
He must have come straight from the school. I was lucky to have missed him. Something told me he wouldn’t approve of me furthering Adrian’s education.
“What was he here for?”
“Dunno. I think he was checking on Clarence. The old guy hasn’t been feeling well.” Adrian pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. “Do you mind?”
“Yes,” I replied. “What’s wrong with Clarence?”
“I don’t know, but he’s been resting a lot, which makes things even more boring. I mean, he wasn’t the greatest conversationalist, but some of his crazy stories were interesting.” Adrian turned wistful. “Especially with scotch.”
“Keep me updated on how he’s doing,” I murmured. I wondered if perhaps that was why Keith had been in such a hurry earlier. If Clarence was seriously ill, we were going to have to make arrangements with a Moroi doctor. That would complicate our setup here in Palm Springs because we’d either have to move Clarence or bring in someone. If Keith was working on it, then I shouldn’t have concerned myself . . . but I just didn’t trust him to do a good job with anything.
“I don’t know how you put up with him,” said Adrian. “I used to think you were weak and just didn’t fight back . . . but now, honestly, I think you’re actually pretty tough. It takes a hell of a lot of strength to not complain and lash out. I don’t have that self-control.”
“You’ve got more than you think,” I said, a little flustered by the compliment. I was down on myself so much for what I saw as not pushing back sometimes that it had never occurred to me that took its own strength. I was even more surprised that it would take Adrian to point this out to me. “I’m always walking a line. My dad—and the Alchemists—are really big on obedience and following the directions of your superiors. I’m kind of in a double bind because I’m on shaky ground with them, so it’s extra important for me to not make a fuss.”
“Because of Rose?” His tone was carefully controlled.
I nodded. “Yup. What I did was tantamount to treason in their eyes.”
“I don’t know what ‘tantamount’ means, but it sounds pretty serious.” I could see him studying me out of the corner of his eye. “Was it worth it?”
“So far.” It was easy to say that since Zoe had no tattoo yet and I hadn’t seen a re-education center. If those things changed, so might my answers. “It was the right thing to do. I guess that justified dramatic action.”
“I broke a lot of rules to help Rose too,” he said, a troubled tone in his voice. “I did it out of love. Misguided love, but love nonetheless. I don’t know if that’s as noble as your reasons, particularly since she was in love with someone else. Most of my ‘dramatic actions’ haven’t been for any cause. Most of them have been to annoy my parents.”
I actually found myself a little jealous of that. I couldn’t fathom purposely trying to get a reaction from my dad—though I’d certainly wanted to. “I think love’s a noble reason,” I told him. I was speaking objectively, of course. I’d never been in love and had no point of reference to really judge. Based on what I’d observed in others, I assumed it was an amazing thing . . . but for now, I was too busy with my job to notice its absence. I wondered if I should be disappointed by that. “And I think you have plenty of time to do other noble things.”
He chuckled. “Never thought my biggest cheerleader would be someone who thought I was evil and unnatural.”
That made two of us.
Hesitantly, I managed to ask a question that had been burning inside me. “Do you still love her? Rose?” Along with not knowing what it felt like to be in love, I also didn’t know how long it took to recover from love.
Adrian’s smile faded. His gaze turned inward. “Yes. No. It’s hard to get over someone like that. She had a huge effect on me, both good and bad. That’s hard to move past. I try not to think about her much in terms of love and hate. Mostly I’m trying to get on with my life. With mixed results, unfortunately.”
We soon reached the college. Wes Regan was a big man with a salt-and-pepper beard who worked in Carlton’s registration office. Ms. Terwilliger had tutored Wes’s niece for free one summer, and Wes felt he owed her a favor.
“Here’s the deal,” he said once we were seated across from him. Adrian was wearing khaki pants and a sage-colored button-down shirt that would’ve been great for job interviews. A little too late. “I can’t just enroll you. College applications are long and require transcripts, and there’s no way you can swing one in two days. What I can do is get you in as an auditor.”
“Like with the IRS?” asked Adrian.
“No. Auditing means you’re attending the class and doing the work but not getting a grade for it.”
Adrian opened his mouth to speak, and I could only imagine what comment he had about doing work for no credit. I quickly interrupted him.
“And then what?”
“Then, if you can throw together an application in, oh, a week or two—and are accepted—I can retroactively change you to student status.”
“What about financial aid?” asked Adrian, leaning forward. “Can I get some money for this?”
“If you qualify,” said Wes. “But you can’t really file for it until you’ve been accepted.”
Adrian slumped back, and I was able to guess his thoughts. If getting enrolled would take a couple of weeks, there’d undoubtedly be a delay with the financial aid filing too. Adrian was looking at a month or more of living with Clarence, and that was probably optimistic. I half-expected Adrian to get up and nix everything. Instead, a resolute expression crossed his face. He nodded.
“Okay. Let’s get started with this auditing thing.”
I was impressed.
I was also jealous when Wes brought out the course catalog. I’d been able to lull myself into contentment with Amberwood’s classes, but looking at real college offerings showed me the two schools were worlds away. The history classes were more focused and in depth than anything I could have imagined. Adrian had no interest in those, however. He immediately honed in on the art department.
He ended up signing up for two introductory courses in oil painting and in watercolors. They met three times a week and were conveniently back-to-back.
“That’ll make it easier if I’m busing in,” he explained as we were leaving.
I gave him a startled look. “You’re taking the bus?”
He seemed amused by my astonishment. “What else? Classes are in the daytime. You can’t take me.”
I thought about Clarence’s remote house. “Where on earth would you catch the bus?”
“There’s a stop about a half mile away. It transfers to another bus that goes to Carlton. The whole trip takes about an hour.”
I confess, it left me speechless. I was amazed that Adrian had researched that much, let alone was willing to go to all that trouble. Yet on the ride back, he never uttered one word of complaint about how inconvenient it would be or how long he’d have to wait to move out of Clarence’s.
When I arrived back at Amberwood, I was excited to tell Jill the news about Adrian’s collegiate success—not that she needed me to tell her. With the bond, she would probably know more than I did. Still, she always worried about him and would undoubtedly be pleased to see something go well for him.
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