She nodded. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
I walked her to the front door. She did a double take at the ruined paintings but didn’t say anything and kept her expression neutral.
“I mean it,” I told her. “I’ll try.”
“I know,” she said. That earlier look of disappointment in her eyes still haunted me.
“I can be strong,” I added.
She smiled and stood on her tiptoes to kiss me goodbye. “You already are,” she murmured just before she disappeared into the night.
Chapter 4
SYDNEY
THE TEARS DIDN’T START UNTIL I WAS WELL AWAY from Adrian and back in my car. I drove to Amberwood with blurred vision and wet cheeks, feeling more useless than I had in a long time. Forgetting about Hopper wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but what about next time? Spirit made its users do crazy things. They hurt themselves. They killed themselves. That was what scared me, and I wanted to control the situation before it controlled us. And that, as Adrian had astutely pointed out, was what really ate at me: my helplessness to come up with an immediate solution. It wasn’t a feeling I had very often.
I couldn’t stop spirit from ravaging Adrian, and I couldn’t condemn him for that gut instinct to help others. It made my heart ache, thinking of that burning kindness within him that so few ever saw. The only thing I could do was be there for him and encourage him to draw upon the strength I knew he possessed. Maybe he couldn’t defeat spirit permanently, but I knew he could put up better resistance against falling back on his old habits to cope. There had to be healthier ways to survive, and I believed without a doubt that he had the self-control and willpower to enact them. I just wished he believed that as well.
I parked in Amberwood’s garage after diligently seeking a spot between two other properly parked cars. Honestly, how hard was it for people to park between the lines? My Mazda was still shiny and new, and I feared dents and dings. My last car, a brown Subaru named Latte, had been spectacularly blown up by foam, courtesy of an evil witch who’d been after Ms. Terwilliger. After Neil and Zoe had increased our numbers, the Alchemists had ordered that Latte’s replacement be a seven seater. This CX-9, dubbed Quicksilver for its paint, was the sexiest SUV crossover I could find. Adrian told me I was one step away from being a suburban mom in a minivan.
I’d calmed down by the time I reached my dorm room but couldn’t help a few sniffles in my pillow. Zoe, who I’d thought was asleep, spoke through the darkness.
“Are you upset about Mom and Dad?”
“Yeah,” I lied.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “They won’t take me away from him.”
I pretended to fall asleep.
I felt back in control when I woke the next morning, particularly because I had a task at hand. Ms. Terwilliger, good to her word as usual, had made midday arrangements for me to visit Inez, the witch that the other Stelle had regarded with a mix of both amusement and nervousness. As far as Zoe was concerned, I was going off on a research trip to a university library in San Diego.
“Why are you always off doing stuff with her?” Zoe asked. She stood in front of our mirror, brushing her long brown hair into a ponytail.
“She’s my teacher, and it’s part of my independent study with her.” I was sifting through my drawers for something to wear, and my hand lingered on a purple T-shirt that had a silvery Celtic-style heart with flames trailing from it. Adrian had made it for me, sort of as a joke, but it had become one of my most prized possessions. “Besides, I’ve pretty much already taken every other subject with Dad. This is my only interesting class.”
“I suppose.” She sounded unconvinced and then abruptly brightened. “You’ll tell them that, right? In court? About how thorough Dad’s education was? That’ll go a long way.”
“I’m sure it will.” I smiled stiffly as I shut the T-shirt drawer and moved to my closet for something more formal. I didn’t know much about Inez, but if she was some venerable elder, maybe I should show extra respect. I opted for a black pencil skirt and long-sleeved white shirt covered in black dots. A small wooden cross with morning glories painted on it, courtesy of Adrian, was my only accessory.
Zoe frowned. “You’re wearing that to a library?”
“It’s a prestigious one,” I said evasively. “I should be back in time to go with you guys to Clarence’s, but if not, Eddie will take you. Ms. Terwilliger’s driving me, so you can have Quicksilver.”
“Thank God,” she said with a shudder. “You can’t imagine what it was like in Adrian’s car. I had to sit right next to Jill.”
After rooming with Zoe for a month, I’d grown surprisingly immune to her commentary and found it was easier on everyone if I just didn’t react, even when her comments were extreme by Alchemist standards. “And don’t forget to stop and pick up dinner this time.”
“It’s not our job to remind them,” she protested.
“Our job is to make sure Jill gets to Clarence’s and that life runs smoothly for everyone. Those ‘family dinners’ are a nice way for everyone to destress and get along. It’s not a big deal to grab something to go. You should do Chinese,” I added decisively. “They haven’t had it in a while.” Also, Adrian had mentioned a craving for kung pao chicken the other day.
“Do you ever wish we had a cooler car?” Zoe asked unexpectedly.
I started laughing. “Yes, but the mission trumps our car choices right now. I didn’t know you thought about that kind of stuff.”
She sat down on her bed, and a mischievous smile played at her lips. “Hey, I grew up in the same place as you. Do you remember when Mom worked on that Jaguar at our house? That was a cool car.”
“Of course I do.” A surge of affection welled up in me as I regarded her. “But you were . . . what? Eight? Nine?”
“Old enough to wish I could drive it. I used to sneak into the garage at night and sit in it. I thought I was being stealthy, but I think Mom knew the whole time.” That fledgling smile bloomed on her face, and I caught my breath. My dad didn’t have complete control over her. Was there a chance she hadn’t tossed our mom aside? Was there a chance the custody hearing might work out amicably?
And was there a chance that Zoe might ever come around to thinking of Moroi and dhampirs as real people? Until this moment, seeing these glimmers of the sister I remembered and loved, it had never occurred to me that it might be possible to sway her thinking—on a lot of issues. Since her arrival, I’d been tiptoeing around her, nodding and reciting party lines. Was there a way that I might actually be able to influence her? It was more than I dared hope, and I knew better than to tip my hand too soon, lest it ruin this unguarded moment. I simply filed it away for later and put on my poker face.
Ms. Terwilliger picked me up in her red Volkswagen Beetle soon thereafter, wearing sunglasses with leopard-print frames. After five minutes on the road, she pulled off at a coffee shop. “Are you still doing your ridiculous abstaining?” she asked.
“Yes, but I haven’t had my cup today.” I’d held off for this very reason, knowing she’d make a stop. Holding out this long was making my hands twitch.
She shifted the car into park and nodded toward the shop’s door. “Good thing.”
I follow her gaze and gaped as Adrian straightened up from where he was leaning against the outside of the building, a cup in each hand. He grinned at us and sauntered toward the car. “That’s Adrian,” I said stupidly.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Ms. Terwilliger said. “He called this morning and asked if he could join us. Inez is no stranger to Moroi, so I didn’t see it being a problem. In fact, it might throw her off a little, which would be to our advantage. Thank you, dear.” That was to Adrian, as she accepted her coffee through the driver’s side window.
He slid into the backseat and handed me my cup. A flutter of emotions stirred inside my chest. Last night’s encounter had left me unsettled, but seeing him now in the light of day, clear-eyed with that devil-may-care smile, I dared to hope that he really would make good on all that he’d said. How could he not? He radiated confidence, full of the charm and good looks that had drawn me in before I’d even known it was happening. There was no drunkenness or despair. He looked like he could do anything, and just then, I needed to believe he could. There were so many things weighing me down, so many things—including our future together—that seemed impossible. Having this invincible Adrian by my side filled me with a joy I rarely allowed myself. Our fingertips brushed as I took the cup, sending a jolt of electricity through me. I held his gaze for several long moments, and as his cocky smile softened into something more serious, I knew he could hear all the things I couldn’t give voice to.
“Weren’t you supposed to be painting your monolith?” I asked once we were back on the road.
“Rowena rescheduled. It gave me time to go get you a present,” he told me.
“I know. I’m drinking it right—ah!”
A glittering, scaly form scurried up my leg and curled into a ball on my lap. Carefully holding the coffee in one hand, I used the other to give Hopper a pat on the head as I ran a few mental calculations.
“You must have been up at the crack of dawn to get him and be back,” I said. “How much sleep did you get?” My shiny vision of Adrian began to falter a little. Lack of sleep was his enemy.
“More than enough for this escapade. Isn’t there a giant Muffler Man statue in Escondido? Do we have time for a photo op?”
“We’ve barely got enough time for this,” I said, thinking back on Zoe’s disappointment. But Adrian’s chatter and enthusiasm cast a cheer on the drive, and I could tell that even Ms. Terwilliger liked having him along, though worry lines appeared on her face the closer we got to our destination.
“Like I said before, I don’t know how helpful Inez will be,” she explained. “She’s very eccentric and controlled by her whims. If she likes you, she might tell you something. If she doesn’t, well . . .” Ms. Terwilliger shrugged. “Then maybe we’ll have time for photo ops.”
“Score,” said Adrian. When I shot him a look, he added quickly, “But of course she’ll like you.”
When we reached the outskirts of the city, Ms. Terwilliger made a stop not for coffee, but for a bouquet of burgundy roses that she thrust into my lap when she returned to the car, much to Hopper’s dismay. “Hang on to these,” she told me. I did without question and used the opportunity to transform Hopper back into his statue form. He’d had more than enough out time these past few days.
A recluse witch made me think of Clarence, so I was surprised when we pulled up at a very modern Spanish-style house that was pretty much the opposite of an old Gothic manor. It was made weirder still by an El Camino with a flat tire sitting out on the driveway. I’d expected something outlandish and eccentric from what the other witches had said, so this nod to normality was almost a disappointment.
Then we stepped inside the door.
It was like being in a shrine . . . to roses and doilies. Every surface in the place was covered. In that way it wasn’t unlike Ms. Terwilliger’s house; despite having her former home and possessions recently destroyed, she had somehow managed to fill up a new house with junk in less than a month. But whereas her items were tossed haphazardly around because she didn’t feel like putting them away, all the clutter here seemed to be by design. There were vases of silk roses carefully centered on crocheted doilies, figurines of puppies carrying roses in their mouths on lace doilies, and delicate rose-covered tea sets placed on paper doilies. And that was just the start of it. It all had a really old feel to it as well, like I’d been transported back to the 1890s.
Adrian stood behind us, just outside the door, and I was pretty sure I heard him mutter, “Needs more rabbits.”
“Well, hello, Inez,” Ms. Terwilliger said to our hostess. With a start, I realized I couldn’t ever recall my teacher acting so nervous around anyone. “You look as lovely as ever.”
Inez Garcia was a tiny waif of a woman, like some fairy from the hollow hills. Her white hair was pulled into a long braid down her back, and she wore her glasses around her neck on a long blue-beaded chain. Her jeans had an impossibly high waist and were paired with, unsurprisingly, a rose-printed shirt. The lines of her ninety years showed on her face, but there was a sharpness in her dark eyes that explained Ms. Terwilliger’s unease.
“Don’t you start up with me, Jaclyn Terwilliger! I know why you’re here. You want something. It’s the only reason anyone comes by these days. There’s no pleasantries, no tea. Just want, want, want.”