It would be easy, whispered Aunt Tatiana, fickle as usual. She’s here. Use her. Make the pain disappear. Your other girl is far away, but this one’s right in front of you. Give in. Just say yes. Yes, yes, yes . . .
“No,” I said.
I broke the kiss with Nina and actually stood up this time, making sure she was out of reach. I’d been a fool. A weak, lazy fool. I’d let my depression over my parents and not having any leads on Sydney get the best of me. I hadn’t just given up on Sydney. I’d given up on myself, getting lost in this decadent life of Court parties and pleasure because it was easy—much easier than both trying to find Sydney and staying strong when the options seemed hopeless.
“Nina, I’m sorry, but I can’t do this,” I said, putting as much strength into my words as I could. “I’m sorry if I led you on, but this isn’t going to happen. I like hanging out with you, but I’m never going to feel any more for you than I do right now. And if I don’t, then that’s not acceptable for either of us. I’m sorry. We’ll never, ever have a future together.”
It was a bit excessive, largely because I was lecturing myself as well as her. She flinched, and I realized too late that maybe I should’ve found a gentler way to express my feelings—especially, knowing as I did, how sensitive spirit users were. Her earlier smile disappeared, and she actually recoiled as though I’d struck her. Blinking back tears, she stood up from the bed with as much dignity as she could muster.
“I see,” she said. There was a tremor in her voice, and she was doing that hand-wringing thing, to the extent that her own nails were digging into her flesh. “Well, I’m sorry for wasting your time these last couple of weeks. I should’ve known clerical help wasn’t good enough for Lord Adrian Ivashkov.”
Now I winced. “Nina, it’s not like that at all. And I really like having you as a friend. If you’d just let me explain—”
“Don’t bother.” She turned her back on me and headed for the bedroom door. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time, and besides, I need to find something to eat before my lunch break’s over. Sorry I woke you. I’m glad you’re okay.”
“Nina—” I tried. But she was gone before I could say anything more, her exit punctuated with a loud slamming of the front door.
I sank down on my bed, feeling like crap both physically and mentally. I hadn’t meant to end things like that with her. I hadn’t meant for a lot of things to happen. And as the overwhelming state of my life threatened to swallow me, I had to fight the urge to go make a drink.
“No,” I said aloud. “I’m done with that.”
Then and there, I was stopping cold turkey. I’d been deluding myself (even more than usual) thinking that I could drink sporadically throughout the day if I checked for Sydney every once in a while. Speaking of which . . . when was the last time I’d actually checked for her at night—the human night? When she’d first been taken, I’d searched for her nonstop. But recently . . . well, it was usually some half-hearted attempt after I woke up hungover. By the time darkness rolled around—the most likely time she’d be asleep, if she truly was still in the United States—I was usually a few drinks into my first party. I’d let myself get sloppy, disheartened by my earlier failure and real-life distractions. I wouldn’t make that mistake again, though. I needed to keep myself sober and full of spirit, so that I could regularly check throughout the day. It didn’t matter how many times I’d failed. One day, one time, I’d catch her.
Despite my pounding headache, I shifted into the trance needed to embrace spirit and reach out to her. Nothing. That was okay, though. I slipped back to myself, vowing to try again later. I hopped in the shower and washed away last night’s party. When I got out, I found I could stomach food a little better than earlier and ate a leftover donut I’d brought home the previous day. Or maybe the day before that. It was stale, but it did the trick.
As I munched on it, I made a mental to-do list of things that didn’t include going to parties tonight. Apologies were first on my list. Along with Nina, I needed to fix things with Dimitri, after the ass**le way I’d walked out on him. I also needed to talk to my mother. Just because she’d given up on herself was no reason for me to. I’d start with her first, seeing as she was the one I hadn’t spoken to in the longest time. Before I did, though, I should probably stop by a feeder since I couldn’t recall my last blood. It would help clear my head.
I was almost at my front door when I decided to search for Sydney. Maybe hourly searching was excessive, but it would keep me in practice and sober. It was important that I get in the habit of these new patterns if I was going to change my life. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Tendrils of spirit shot out from me across the world of dreams, reaching for Sydney as they so often did . . .
. . . and this time, they connected.
I was dumbfounded. It’d been so long since I’d formed a successful dream connection that I almost didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t even gone in with a preplanned setting because I’d simply been running on autopilot, making the effort without expecting results. As the world shimmered around us and I felt her materialize in the dream, I quickly summoned up our old meeting place: the Getty Villa in Malibu. Columns and gardens appeared around us, surrounding the museum’s focal point: an enormous pool and fountain. Sydney appeared on the other side of it. For several moments, I could only stare across the water at her, certain I was imagining this. Could I hallucinate in a dream I’d created? Surely this was too soon for any crazy alcohol-withdrawal symptoms.