Текст книги "The Fiery Heart"
Автор книги: Richelle Mead
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Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 22 страниц)
Zoe’s cell phone rang. She looked at the display and jumped up in alarm. “It’s Dad.” Without a backward glance, she answered and scurried out of the room.
I wasn’t one for premonition, but a chill ran down my spine. The Sage dad wasn’t the kind of warm and friendly guy who’d call to say hello during business hours, when he knew Zoe was doing her Alchemist thing. If something was up with her, something was up with Sydney. And that worried me.
I barely paid any attention to the rest of the conversation as I counted the moments until Zoe’s return. When she did finally come back, her ashen face told me I was right. Something bad had happened.
“What is it?” I demanded. “Is Sydney okay?” Too late I realized I shouldn’t have showed any special concern for Sydney. Not even our friends knew about me and her. Fortunately, all attention was on Zoe.
She slowly shook her head, eyes wide and disbelieving. “I . . . I don’t know. It’s my parents. They’re getting divorced.”
CHAPTER 2
SYDNEY
I DIDN’T REALLY EXPECT A SECRET INITIATION into a witches’ coven to start off with a tea party.
“Would you pass the ladyfingers, dear?”
I quickly grabbed the china plate from the coffee table and handed it over to Maude, one of the senior witches in the group and our hostess for the night. We sat in a circle of folding chairs in her immaculate living room, and my history teacher, Ms. Terwilliger, was beside me munching on a cucumber sandwich. I was too nervous to say anything and simply drank my tea as the others chatted about light topics. Maude was serving herbal tea, so I didn’t have to worry about breaking my caffeine deal with Adrian. Not that I would’ve minded having an excuse if she had been serving black.
There were seven of us gathered, and although they would allow any number of worthy candidates into their group, they all seemed especially pleased to have a prime number. It was lucky, Maude insisted. Occasionally, Hopper would stick his head up and then go scurrying under furniture. Since witches didn’t blink an eye at callistanas, I’d let him come out tonight.
Someone brought up the pros and cons of winter versus summer initiations, and I found my mind wandering. I wondered how things were going over at Clarence’s. I’d been responsible for transporting Jill to her feedings since September, and it made me feel strange (and a little wistful) to be here while all of them were gathered and having a good time. With a pang, I suddenly realized I hadn’t made any arrangements for dinner. Adrian had simply been the driver, so I hadn’t thought to say anything. Would Zoe have taken charge? Probably not. I pushed down the motherly instincts within me that worried they’d all starve to death. Surely someone was capable of getting food.
Thinking of Adrian brought back the golden memories of our time together this afternoon. Even hours later, I could still feel where he’d kissed me. I took a deep breath to help me get a grip, fearful that my soon‑to‑be sisters would realize magic was the last thing on my mind right now. Actually, these days, it seemed like everything except getting half‑naked with Adrian was the last thing on my mind. After a lifetime of praising myself for stoically adhering to mind over matter, I was kind of astonished that someone as cerebral as me would take to physical activity as quickly as I had. Sometimes I tried to rationalize it as a natural animal response. But really, I just had to face the truth: My boyfriend was insanely sexy, vampire or not, and I couldn’t keep my hands off him.
I realized then that someone had asked me a question. Reluctantly, I blinked away thoughts of Adrian unbuttoning my shirt and tuned in to the speaker. It took me a moment to recall her name. Trina, that was it. She was in her mid‑twenties, the youngest person here, aside from me.
“I’m sorry?” I asked.
She smiled. “I said, you do something with vampires, right?”
Oh, I did a lot of things with one vampire in particular, but obviously, that wasn’t what she meant.
“More or less,” I said evasively.
Ms. Terwilliger chuckled. “The Alchemists are very protective of their secrets.”
A couple other witches nodded. Others simply looked on curiously. The magical world of witches didn’t cross with the vampiric one. Most of them, on both sides, didn’t even know about each other. Learning about Moroi and Strigoi had been a surprise to some here–meaning the Alchemists were doing their job. From what I’d gathered, these witches had encountered enough mystical and supernatural things to accept that blood‑drinking magical creatures walked the earth and that there were groups like the Alchemists keeping that knowledge under wraps.
Witches freely accepted the paranormal. The Alchemists were less open. The group that had raised me thought humans needed to stay free of magic for the sanctity of their souls. I had once believed that too, and that creatures like vampires had no business being friendly with us. That was back when I’d also believed the Alchemists were telling me the truth. Now I knew that there were people in the organization who lied to both humans and Moroi and who would go to great extremes to protect their own selfish interests, no matter who it hurt. With my eyes open to the truth, I could no longer answer blindly to the Alchemists, even though I still technically worked for them. That wasn’t to say I was in open rebellion against them either (like my friend Marcus), since some of their original tenets still held merit.
Really, what it all came down to was that I was working for myself now.
“You know who you should talk to–if she’d talk to you? Inez. She’s had all sorts of encounters with those beasts–not the living ones. The undead ones.” That was Maude again. She’d recognized the golden lily on my cheek right away that identified me (to those who knew what to look for) as an Alchemist. It was made of vampire blood and other components that gave us some of their healing abilities and hardiness, while also being charmed to stop us from discussing supernatural affairs with those not privy to the magical world. Or, well, my tattoo used to do that.
“Who’s Inez?” I asked.
That brought some chuckles from the others. “Probably the greatest of our order–at least on this side of the country,” said Maude.
“This side of the world,” insisted Ms. Terwilliger. “She’s almost ninety and has seen and done things most of us can’t imagine.”
“Why isn’t she here?” I asked.
“She’s not part of any formal coven,” explained another witch, named Alison. “I’m sure she used to be, but she’s practiced on her own for . . . well, as long as I’ve known about her. It’s hard for her to get around now, and she mostly just keeps to herself. Lives in this ancient house outside of Escondido and hardly ever leaves.”
Clarence popped into my head. “I think I know a guy she’d get along great with.”
“She fought a number of Strigoi back in the day,” mused Maude. “She’s probably got some spells that you’d find useful. And, oh, the stories she can tell about them. She was quite the warrior. I remember her talking about how one tried to drink her blood.” She shivered. “But apparently, he couldn’t do it, and she was able to take him out.”
My hand froze as I lifted my teacup. “What do you mean he couldn’t do it?”
Maude shrugged. “I don’t remember the details. Maybe she had some sort of protective spell.”
I felt my heart speed up as an old, dark memory sucked me in. Last year, I’d been trapped by a Strigoi who’d wanted to drink my blood too. She hadn’t been able to do it, allegedly because I “tasted bad.” The reason for that was still kind of a mystery, one the Alchemists and Moroi had let fade away when other pressing matters came up. But it hadn’t faded for me. It was something that constantly nagged at the back of my mind, the never‑ending question of what it was about me that had repelled her.
Ms. Terwilliger, accustomed to my expressions, studied me and guessed some of what I was thinking. “If you’d like to talk to her, I could arrange for you to meet her.” Her lips quirked into a smile. “Although, I can’t guarantee you’ll get anything useful out of her. She’s very . . . particular about what she reveals.”
Maude scoffed. “That’s not the word I’m thinking of, but yours is more polite.” She glanced at an ornate grandfather clock and set down her cup. “Well, then. Shall we get started?”
I forgot about Inez and even Adrian as fear settled over me. In less than a year, I’d traveled leagues away from the Alchemist doctrine that had governed my life. I didn’t give being close to vampires a second thought anymore, but every once in a while, warnings of the arcane would flit back to me. I had to steel myself and remember that magic was a path I’d firmly committed myself to and that it was only evil if you used it for evil. Members of the Stelle, as this group called itself, were sworn to do no harm with their powers–unless it was in defense of themselves or others.
We held the ritual in Maude’s backyard, a sprawling piece of property filled with palm trees and winter flowers. It was about fifty degrees out, balmy compared with late January in other parts of the country, but jacket weather in Palm Springs–or, rather, cloak weather. Ms. Terwilliger had told me it didn’t matter what I wore tonight, that I’d be supplied with what I needed. And what I needed turned out to be a cloak composed of six pieces of velvet in different colors. I felt like a peddler in a fairy tale as I flung it over my shoulders.
“This is our gift to you,” Ms. Terwilliger explained. “Each of us has sewn and contributed a piece. You’ll wear it whenever we have a formal ceremony.” The others donned similar cloaks composed of varying numbers of patches, depending on whatever the coven’s number had been during their respective initiations.
The sky was stark and clear with stars, the full moon shining like a brilliant pearl against the blackness. It was the best time to work good magic.
I noticed then that the trees in the yard were oriented in a circle. The witches formed another ring within it, in front of a stone altar bedecked with incense and candles. Maude took up a position by the altar and indicated that I should kneel in the center, in front of her. A breeze stirred around us, and although I tended to think of overgrown, misty, deciduous forests when it came to arcane rituals, something felt right about the towering palms and crisp air.
It had taken me a while to come around to joining, and Ms. Terwilliger had had to assure me a hundred times that I wouldn’t be swearing allegiance to some primeval god. “You’re swearing yourself to the magic,” she had explained. “To the pursuit of its knowledge and using it for good in the world. It’s a scholar’s vow, really. Seems like something you should be on board with.”
It was. And so, I knelt before Maude as she conducted the ritual. She consecrated me to the elements, first walking around me with a candle for fire. Then she sprinkled water on my forehead. Crumbled violet petals spoke for the earth, and a wreath of incense smoke summoned the air. Some traditions used a blade for that element, and I was kind of glad theirs didn’t.
The elements were the heart of human magic, just as they were in vampire magic. But like with the Moroi, there was no nod to spirit. It was an only recently rediscovered magic among them, and only a handful of Moroi wielded it. When I’d asked Ms. Terwilliger about it, she hadn’t had a good answer. Her best explanation had been that human magic was drawn from the external world, where the physical elements resided. Spirit, tied to the essence of life, burned within us all, so it was already present. At least that had been her best guess. Spirit was a mystery to human and vampire magic users alike, its effects feared and unknown–which was why I often lay sleepless at night, worrying about Adrian’s inability to stay away from it.
When Maude finished with the elements, she said, “Swear your vows.”
The vows were in Italian, since this particular coven had its origins in the medieval Roman world. Most of what I swore to was in line with what Ms. Terwilliger had said, a promise to use magic wisely and support my coven sisters. I’d memorized them a while ago and spoke flawlessly. As I did, I felt an energy burn through me, a pleasant hum of magic and the life that radiated around us. It was sweet and exhilarating, and I wondered if it was what spirit felt like. When I finished, I looked up, and the world seemed brighter and clear, full of so much more wonder and beauty than ordinary people could understand. I believed then more than ever that there was no evil in magic, unless you brought it upon yourself.
“What is your name among us?” asked Maude.
“Iolanthe,” I said promptly. It meant “purple flower” in Greek and had come to me after all the times Adrian talked to me about the sparks of purple in my aura.
She held out her hands to me and helped me up. “Welcome, Iolanthe.” Then, to my surprise, she gave me a warm hug. The rest, breaking the circle now that the ritual was over, each gave me one as well, with Ms. Terwilliger being last. She held me longer than the others, and more astonishing than anything else I’d seen tonight were the tears in her eyes.
“You’re going to do great things,” she told me fiercely. “I’m so proud of you, prouder than I could be of any daughter.”
“Even after I burned your house down?” I asked.
Her typical amused expression returned. “Maybe because of that.”
I laughed, and the serious mood transformed to one of celebration. We returned to the living room, where Maude traded tea for spiced wine, now that we were done with the magic. I didn’t indulge, but my nervousness had long since disappeared. I felt happy and light . . . and more importantly, as I sat and listened to their stories, I felt like I belonged there–more so than I ever had with the Alchemists.
My phone buzzed in my purse, just as Ms. Terwilliger and I were finally preparing to leave. It was my mom. “I’m sorry,” I told them. “I need to take this.”
Ms. Terwilliger, who’d drank more wine than anyone else, waved me off and poured another glass. I was her ride, so it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go. I answered the phone as I retreated to the kitchen, only a little surprised that my mom would call. We kept in touch, and she knew evenings were a good time to get a hold of me to chat. But when she spoke, there was an urgency in her voice that told me this wasn’t a casual call.
“Sydney? Have you talked to Zoe?”
My mental alarms went off. “Not since this afternoon. Is something wrong?”
My mom took a deep breath. “Sydney . . . your father and I are splitting up. We’re getting a divorce.”
For a moment, the world spun, and I leaned against the kitchen counter for support. I swallowed. “I see.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I know how hard this will be on you.”
I thought about it. “No . . . not exactly. I mean, I guess . . . well, I can’t say that I’m surprised.”
She’d once told me that my dad had been more easygoing in his youth. It was hard for me to imagine, but obviously, she’d married him for some reason. Over the years, my dad had grown cold and intractable, throwing himself into the Alchemist cause with a devotion that took precedence over all other things in his life, including his daughters. He’d become harsh and single‑minded, and I’d long since realized I was more of a tool for the greater good in his eyes than his daughter.
My mom, on the other hand, was warm and funny, always willing to show affection and listen to us when we needed her. She was quick with a smile . . . though she didn’t seem to smile so much these days.
“I know it’ll be emotionally difficult for you and Carly,” she said. “But it won’t affect your daily lives that much.”
I pondered her word choice. Me and Carly. “But Zoe . . .”
“Zoe’s a minor, and even if she’s off doing your Alchemist work, she’s still legally under the care of her parents. Or parent. Your father intends to file for sole custody so that he can keep her where she is.” There was a long pause. “I plan to fight him. And if I win, I’ll bring her back to live with me and see if she can live a normal life.”
I was stunned, unable to imagine the sort of battle she was proposing. “Does it have to be all or nothing? Can you guys share custody?”
“Sharing might as well be giving it to him. He’ll wield the control, and I can’t let him have her–mentally, that is. You’re an adult. You can make your choices, and even if you’re established on your path, you’re different from her in the way you go about it. You’re you, but she’s more like . . .”
She didn’t finish, but I already knew. She’s more like him.
“If I can get custody and bring her home, I’ll send her to a regular school and maybe salvage some sort of ordinary teenage existence for her. If it’s not too late. You probably hate me for that–for pulling her from your cause.”
“No,” I said swiftly. “I think . . . I think it’s a great idea.” If it’s not too late.
I could hear her choke up a little and wondered if she was fighting tears. “We’ll have to go to court. No one’s going to bring up the Alchemists, not even me, but there’s going to be a lot of discussion of suitability and character analysis. Zoe will testify . . . and so will you and Carly.”
And that’s when I knew why she said this would be so difficult. “You guys will want us to choose one of you.”
“I’ll want you to tell the truth,” she had said firmly. “I don’t know what your father will want.”
I did. He would want me to slander my mom, to say she was unfit, just some homemaker who fixed cars on the side and couldn’t possibly compare with a serious academic like him, who provided Zoe with all sorts of education and cultural experiences. He’d want me to do it for the good of the Alchemists. He’d want me to do it because he always got his way.
“I love and support whatever you feel is right.” The bravery in my mom’s voice broke my heart. She was going to have more than family complications to deal with. Alchemist connections extended far and wide. Into the legal system? Very possibly. “I just wanted you to be prepared. I’m sure your father will want to speak to you too.”
“Yes,” I said grimly. “I’m sure he will. But what about right now? Are you okay?” Stepping away from Zoe, I had to acknowledge how life‑altering this was for my mom. Maybe their marriage had become painful, but they’d been together for almost twenty‑five years. Leaving something like that was a big adjustment, no matter the circumstances.
I could sense her smiling. “I’m fine. I’m staying with a friend of mine. And I took Cicero with me.”
Thinking of her spiriting our cat away made me laugh, in spite of the solemnity of the conversation. “At least you have company.”
She laughed as well, but there was a fragile quality to it. “And my friend needs some work done on her car, so we’re all happy.”
“Well, I’m glad, but if there’s anything you need, anything at all, money or–”
“Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself–and Zoe. That’s the most important thing right now.” She hesitated. “I haven’t spoken to her lately . . . is she okay?”
Was she? I supposed it depended on how you defined “okay.” Zoe was thrilled that she was out learning the Alchemist trade at so young an age but arrogant and cold toward my friends–just like anyone else in our organization. That, and she was a constant, looming shadow over my love life.
“She’s great,” I assured my mom.
“Good,” she said, her relief nearly palpable. “I’m glad you’re with her. I don’t know how she’ll take this.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”
It was a lie, of course, but there was no way I could tell my mom the truth: Zoe was going to fight her, kicking and screaming, every step of the way.
CHAPTER 3
ADRIAN
WHETHER SHE GOT A PARENTAL PHONE CALL of her own or simply had to deal with Zoe’s shock, I knew Sydney would’ve found out about the divorce by the time I visited her in her sleep.
The few spirit users I knew could all heal pretty well, but none of them could walk dreams as adeptly as I could. It was nice to know I excelled at something, and surprisingly it involved a pretty low level of spirit–just a steady hum, rather than the burst that healing required. The downside was that unlike the person I visited, I wasn’t actually asleep–more in a meditative state–so I could end up pretty exhausted if the dream took a while. Seeing as I wasn’t that great a sleeper to begin with, I supposed it didn’t make much difference.
I pulled Sydney into a dream around midnight, making the two of us materialize in one of her favorite places: the courtyard of the Getty Villa, a museum of ancient history out in Malibu. Immediately, she ran up to me, a frantic look in her eyes.
“Adrian–”
“I know,” I said, catching hold of her hands. “I was there when Zoe got the call.”
“Did she tell you the ugly details?”
I raised an eyebrow. “There’s something uglier than a divorce?”
Sydney then proceeded to tell me about the bloodbath of a custody battle to come. While I could appreciate their mom wanting Zoe to have a semi‑normal life, I had to admit to myself that my reasons for hoping their mom would win were pretty selfish. Zoe disappearing from Palm Springs would make things a hell of a lot easier for Sydney and me. But I knew Sydney’s immediate concern was her family being torn apart, and my immediate concern was her happiness. One part of her story in particular caught my attention.
“You really think your dad might be able to work some Alchemist coercion with a judge?” I asked. I’d never thought of that, but it wasn’t that far‑fetched. The Alchemists could create new identities, get a group of dhampirs and Moroi into a private school on no notice, and cover up dead Strigoi in the press.
She shook her head and sat down on the fountain’s edge. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not needed if Zoe’s adamant about wanting to be with Dad. I don’t really know how these kinds of hearings work.”
“And what are you going to do?” I asked. “What will you say?”
She met my gaze levelly. “I’m not going to slander either of them, that’s for sure. But as for what I’ll advocate? It’s hard to say. I’ll have to think about it. I get my mom’s view, and I even believe in it. But if I lean that way, Zoe’ll hate me forever–not to mention the fallout with my dad and the Alchemists.” A small, bitter smile crossed her lips. “When I got back to our room tonight, Zoe didn’t even ask me about my thoughts. She just assumed it was a done deal–that I’d take Dad’s side.”
“When will it all go down?”
“Not right away. They haven’t set a date yet.”
She fell silent, and I picked up on the vibe that maybe it was time to switch topics. “How’d the initiation go? Was there any naked dancing or animal sacrifice?”
Her smile warmed up. “Tea and hugs.”
She gave me a brief recap, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Jackie loading up on wine. Sydney wouldn’t tell me her secret name, though, no matter how much I tried to wheedle it out of her.
“I don’t suppose it was Jetta?” I asked hopefully. Whenever I had to take on a fake name, I used Jet Steele because let’s face it, that was pretty much as badass as you could get.
“No,” she laughed. “Definitely not.”
She then wanted to hear about my night, naturally worrying that no one got fed in her absence. We talked for a long time, and although it was hard not to be distracted by her perfect lips and the edge of her shirt’s neckline, I found I liked having these dream conversations. I certainly didn’t mind our afternoon make‑out sessions, but I actually had originally fallen for Sydney because of her mind.
As usual, she was the responsible one who noticed the time. “Oh, Adrian. It’s time for bed.”
I leaned toward her. “Is that an invitation?”
She lightly pushed me away. “You know what I mean. You’re never in good shape when you’re exhausted.” It was a polite way of saying that being worn out made me susceptible to spirit’s attacks on my sanity, which I couldn’t argue with. I could also tell from the uneasy look in her eyes that she wasn’t thrilled about the use of spirit this dream involved either.
“Think you can get away tomorrow?” Weekends were always difficult because Zoe trailed her like a shadow.
“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can–oh, God.”
“What?”
She put a hand to her forehead and groaned. “Hopper. I left him at that witch’s house. He was running around during the party, and I was so out of it after Mom called that I just walked right out the door with Ms. Terwilliger.”
I took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Wild night on the town, staying out with an older woman. Warms my heart.”
“So glad you’re a proud dad. The problem is getting him home. I might be able to sneak out and see you later tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ve got enough time to get out there. And I think Ms. Terwilliger’s busy too.”
“Hey,” I said, feeling mildly indignant. “You just assume if you and Jackie can’t do it, it’s a lost cause? I’ll go rescue him. If he wants to leave.”
She brightened. “That’d be great. But I thought you had your art project.”
It was such a small thing I was offering, no effort at all, really, and it warmed my heart to see how much it meant to her. Sydney was so often forced to be the responsible one who had to handle every single detail that I think it was an almost shocking surprise that someone might run an errand for her. “I’ll have time afterward. She won’t be freaked out about a vampire coming by, will she?”
“No. Just don’t elaborate on your parental role.” She gave me a light kiss, but I craftily pulled her closer and made it a much, much longer one. When we finally broke away, we were both breathless.
“Good night, Adrian,” she said pointedly.
I took the hint, and the dream faded around us.
Back at my apartment, I indulged in my one daily drink, hoping it would send me to a quick slumber. No such luck. In the old days, it usually took at least three before I’d pass out in drunken oblivion. Now, my fingers lingered on the vodka bottle as I teetered on the edge of getting a refill. I missed it. Badly. Aside from the bliss of the buzz, alcohol could numb out spirit for a little while, and although the magic was a pleasant addiction, a reprieve from it was nice. Self‑medicating had fended off a lot of spirit’s negative effects for years, but this new deal was letting it start to gain ground.
A few more moments passed, and I pulled my hand back, clenching it into a fist. I retired to my bed, throwing myself onto it and burying my face in the pillow. It smelled faintly of jasmine and carnation from a perfume oil I’d recently gotten Sydney. She wasn’t a perfume fan in general, claiming the chemicals and alcohol weren’t healthy. But she couldn’t argue against the pure, all‑natural blend I’d found, especially when she’d heard the price. She was too pragmatic to let something like that go to waste.
I closed my eyes and wished she was with me–not even for sex, but just for the comfort of her presence. Considering the danger in our brief afternoons, a night together probably wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, which was a damned shame. Surely I’d sleep better if I had her with me. It was frustrating because I really was exhausted in body, but my spinning mind refused to settle down.
I finally fell asleep an hour and a half later, only to be awakened by my alarm four hours after that. I stayed in bed, staring bleary‑eyed at the ceiling, wondering if I could possibly cancel the meeting I’d set up with a classmate to work on a project. Seriously, what had I been thinking? Eight on a Saturday? Maybe I was closer to madness than I feared.
At least we were meeting in a coffee shop. Unlike my lovely soul mate, I had no restrictions on caffeine and ordered the biggest cup of drip they could manage. The barista assured me there was more where that came from. Across the room, my partner watched with amusement as I approached her table.
“Well, hey there, sunshine. Nice to see you all bright eyed and ready to start the day.”
I held up a warning hand as I sat down. “Stop right there. It’s going to take at least another cup of this before you become charming and witty.”
She grinned. “Nah, I always am, day or night.”
Rowena Clark and I had met on the first day of our mixed media class. I’d sat down at her table and said, “Mind if I join you? Figure the best way to learn about art is to sit with a masterpiece.” Maybe I was in love, but I was still Adrian Ivashkov.
Rowena had fixed me with a flat look. “Let’s get one thing straight. I can see through bullshit a mile away, and I like girls, not guys, so if you can’t handle me telling you what’s what, then you’d better take your one‑liners and hair gel somewhere else. I don’t go to this school to put up with pretty boys like you. I’m here to face dubious employment options with a painting degree and then go get a Guinness after class.”
I’d scooted my chair closer to the table. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”
And we had, enough so that we’d partnered up for a project on outdoor sculpture. We’d have to head over to campus to work on it soon but first needed to finalize the sketch we’d started in a pub after class earlier this week. I’d given up my bedtime drink to have a beer with her, and while it hadn’t had much effect on me, Rowena had proven to be a total lightweight. Our sketch hadn’t gotten very far.
“Up late partying?” she asked me now.
I took a long drink of the coffee, feeling only slightly guilty that Sydney would be salivating if she could see me. “Just up late.” I yawned. “Where are we at?”
She pulled out our sketch, which was on a bar napkin and read, Insert sketch here.
“Hmm,” I said. “Promising start.”
After an hour of hashing out ideas, we decided to do a model of the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey and then cover it with advertising slogans and internet lingo. I’d actually gotten bored during that movie, but Rowena was going off about how it was a symbol of advanced evolution and how our designs would be an ironic statement of where our society had ended up. Mostly I was on board because I thought it wouldn’t involve too much effort. I was serious about my painting, but this was just a general required class.
