Текст книги "The Fiery Heart"

Автор книги: Richelle Mead

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

A good chunk of our day was spent just getting the supplies. Rowena had borrowed a friend’s pickup truck, and we went to a building‑supply store in hopes of finding a large concrete rectangle for our monolith. We lucked out and even found some smaller blocks to put at the base of it.

“We can make a ring,” Rowena explained. She’d recently dyed her hair lavender and absentmindedly tucked wayward locks behind her ears as she spoke. “And then paint the various stages of evolution. Monkey, caveman, all the way up to some hipster texting on his cell phone.”

“We didn’t evolve from monkeys,” I told her as we wrestled the rectangle onto a pallet. “The earliest human ancestor is called Australopithecus.” I wasn’t entirely sure where vampire evolution fit in, but I certainly wasn’t bringing that up.

Rowena released the block and stared in amazement. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I mentioned the monkey thing the other day, and my girlfriend had a, uh, few things to say about that.” A “few” things had actually turned into a one‑hour lesson on anthropology.

Rowena laughed and lifted one of the smaller blocks. They were still pretty heavy but didn’t require both of us. “I’d really like to meet this mythical girlfriend of yours, if only to see who in the world could put up with you. I could get Cassie, and we could all go out for a drink together.”

“She doesn’t drink,” I said quickly. “And she’s eighteen anyway. Well, almost nineteen.” With a start, I realized Sydney’s birthday was fast approaching at the beginning of next month, February, and I didn’t have anything for her. In fact, after my investment in vinyl, I didn’t have much money at all until my dad’s next deposit came in mid‑month.

Rowena smirked. “Younger woman, huh?”

“Hey, it’s legal.”

“I don’t want to know about your sordid sex life.” She hoisted another block. “We’ll go to Denny’s or something. If you don’t bring her around soon, I’ll think you made her up.”

“I couldn’t make her up if I tried,” I declared grandly. But inside, I couldn’t help but feel a little wistful. I would’ve loved to go out on a double date with Rowena and her girlfriend. I was pretty sure Sydney would hit it off with her, if only to gang up and tease me mercilessly. But public appearances weren’t an option, not unless we went for a night on the town with the Keepers.

We took our concrete haul back to Carlton College’s campus and began the arduous task of transporting the blocks to a large quadrangle that our class had gotten permission to use. A few of our classmates were working as well, and they helped us carry the centerpiece, which made things a lot easier. Even if it wasn’t up to scale with the movie’s monolith, it was still a bitch to lift. That left us to bring in the small blocks, and our conversation quieted as we worked. We were both tired and glad to be nearly done for the afternoon. The actual painting would happen tomorrow. It was Rowena’s specialty too, and we wanted to be ready and fresh to make the most of our strengths in this project. It was cool out, but the sky was clear, leaving nothing between the sun and me. That was why I’d consented to the early time, sparing me from the worst of the light. I’d be able to rescue Hopper from that witch soon and then go home in the hopes that Sydney could get away.

Once all the blocks were on the quad, Rowena grew obsessed with arranging them perfectly. I didn’t care at this point and busied myself texting a message to Sydney on the Love Phone, letting her know that my art was a paltry thing compared to the brilliance of her beauty. She texted back: This is me rolling my eyes.  To which I replied: I love you too.

“We could do this,” said Rowena, setting three of the smaller blocks on top of one another. “Mini‑monoliths.”

“Whatever you want.”

She decided against it and started to lift the top one. I’m not entirely sure what happened after that. I think it was just a subtle shift in her hand gone wrong. Whatever it was, the block slipped from her grasp and fell hard–slamming her hand between it and the brick‑covered ground below.

Her scream rang through the diag, and I moved with a speed that would’ve impressed Eddie. I grabbed the block and lifted it, but as I did, I knew it was a little too late. A few tendrils of spirit told me she’d broken some bones in her hand. And in those split seconds of chaos, I acted. It was her right hand, and breaking it was going to put her out of commission with painting for the rest of the semester. She could do intricate, delicate things with watercolors that I could only dream of. No way could I endanger that. I sent a burst of spirit into her hand, drawing from my own life energy to mend the bones. Healing usually felt like a tingle to the recipient, and I could tell from the shock on her face that she had noticed.

“What did you do?” she gasped.

I fixed my eyes and sent out a burst of compulsion. “Nothing,” I said. “Except move the block. This is a pretty traumatic and confusing experience for you.”

Her eyes glazed over for a brief moment, and then she nodded. I let go of the magic, the sudden emptiness within me the only indication of just how much I’d pulled out for the healing and compulsion. With the tingling gone from her mind, Rowena cradled the afflicted hand as our classmates came running over.

“Holy shit,” said one of them. “Are you okay?”

Rowena winced. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel . . . I mean, it aches . . . but nothing like when it first hit.”

“You need to see a doctor,” the same guy insisted. “It might be broken.”

Rowena flinched, and I could guess that the same fears I’d felt were running through her head. I knew there was no permanent damage but had to play along because it was the reasonable thing to do.

“Give me your keys,” I told her. “The campus clinic’s open.”

Triage got us in quickly, since having a thirty‑pound concrete block fall on you was pretty serious. But after an examination and X‑rays, the doctor simply shrugged. “Everything’s fine. Maybe it wasn’t as heavy as you thought.”

“It was pretty heavy,” Rowena said, but relief filled her face. I even thought I caught a glimmer of tears in her eyes as she looked at me. “I guess you just got the block off fast enough.” There was no sign that she remembered that burst of healing.

“Because I’m manly and brave,” I said solemnly.

They discharged her, and as we were leaving, her girlfriend, Cassie, showed up. Rowena was pretty, but Cassie was a knockout. She flung her arms around Rowena, and I shook my head ruefully.

“How in the world did you pull that off?” I asked.

Rowena grinned at me over Cassie’s shoulder. “I told you: My wit and charm are always on.”

We made arrangements to finish the project tomorrow, and I headed back to my apartment. I hadn’t used such an intense amount of spirit in a long time, and the rush was heady. The world was full of life and light, and I practically floated on air when I walked inside. How could spirit be a bad thing when it made me feel like this? I felt glorious. I felt more alive than I had in days.

I picked a random record from one of the boxes. Pink Floyd. Nope, not in my current mood. I swapped it out for the Beatles and then threw myself into my self‑portrait with a renewed vigor. Or rather, portraits. Because I couldn’t stop. My mind was abuzz with ideas, and it was impossible to pick just one. Color flew fast and furious onto the canvas as I experimented with different concepts. One was an abstract of my aura, the way Sonya and Lissa always said it looked. Another was more accurate, as realistic as I could manage from a picture on my cell phone, save that I painted myself in reds and blues. On it went.

And bit by bit, the energy began to fade. My brush slowed down, and at last, I sank onto the couch, feeling drained and exhausted. I stared around at my handiwork, five different paintings, all drying. My stomach rumbled, and I tried to remember when I’d last eaten. A muffin with Rowena? I was getting as bad as Sydney. I put a pizza in the microwave, and as I watched it cook, my mind began to spin with thoughts of a different nature.

Sydney’s birthday. How could I have forgotten it? Well, I hadn’t forgotten it. I had the date burned into my mind, February 5. It was the logistics of getting her a gift that had eluded me. Turning toward the haphazard boxes of records, I stared at them with dismay, suddenly hating them for the dent they’d made in my monthly funds. Sydney had been right about how foolish the purchase was. What could I have bought for her instead? I imagined a dozen roses showing up at her dorm anonymously. Maybe two dozen. Or even three. Equally appealing was the thought of a diamond tennis bracelet on her slim wrist. Something subtle and classy, of course. She’d never go for anything too outlandish.

Thinking of diamonds made me remember Aunt Tatiana’s cuff links. I ignored the microwave beeping that it was finished and trotted off to my bedroom. The cuff links were still sitting out, a dazzling array of red and white fire that glittered in the overhead light. Sell these and you’d have allowance for life, Sydney had joked. Not just allowance or my car payments. I could get her a present. Presents. The roses, the bracelet, a romantic dinner.

No. No dinner, nothing in public. The thought descended heavily on me as I contemplated our future together. Could we have one? What kind of relationship was this, grasping at these stolen moments? She was too reasonable to do this forever. Eventually she’d realize it was time to let it go. Let me go. I put the cuff links back in their box, knowing I could never sell them and that I was in the full throes of a spirit crash.

It happened with these bouts of magic. I’d barely been able to drag myself out of bed when I’d brought Jill back. The toll of wielding so much life was just too great, and the mind crashed from the high. Well, mine did. Lissa didn’t have these dramatic ups and downs. Hers was more of a steady darkness that lingered with her for a few days, keeping her moody and melancholy until it lifted. Sonya had a mix of both effects.

My little brooding artist, Aunt Tatiana used to say with a chuckle when I got in these moods. What’s gotten into your head today?  She’d speak fondly, like it was adorable. I could almost hear her voice now, almost see her standing there beside me. With a shaking breath, I closed my eyes and willed the image away. She wasn’t here. Shadow‑kissed people could actually see the dead. Crazy people only imagined them.

I ate my pizza standing at the counter, telling myself over and over that this mood would pass. I knew it would. It always did. But oh, how the waiting sucked.

When I finished, I returned to the living room and stared at the paintings. What had seemed wonderful and inspired now seemed shallow and stupid. They embarrassed me. I gathered them all up and tossed them into a corner on top of one another, not caring about the torn canvas or wet paint.

Then I hit the liquor cabinet.

I’d made good progress on a bottle of tequila, sprawled on my bed and listening to Pink Floyd, when the bedroom door opened a couple hours later. I smiled when I saw Sydney. I was adrift on the buzz of tequila, which had effectively muted spirit and taken the edge off that terrible, terrible low. That wasn’t to say I was bright and peppy either, but I no longer wanted to crawl into a hole. I’d defeated spirit, and seeing Sydney’s beautiful face lifted me up even more.

She smiled back and then, in one sharp glance, assessed the situation. The smile vanished. “Oh, Adrian” was all she said.

I held up the bottle. “It’s Cinco de Mayo somewhere, Sage.”

Her eyes made a quick sweep of the room. “Is Hopper celebrating with you?”

“Hopper? Why would–” My mouth snapped shut for a few moments. “Oh. I, uh, kind of forgot about him.”

“I know. Maude sent a message by way of Ms. Terwilliger asking if someone was going to come for him.”

“Crap.” After everything that had happened with Rowena, my dragon fosterling had been the last thing on my mind. “I’m sorry, Sage. Totally slipped my mind. I’m sure he’s fine, though. It’s not like he’s a real kid. And like I said, he’s probably loving it.”

But her expression didn’t change, except to grow graver. She walked over and took the tequila from me, then carried it to the window. Too late, I realized what she was doing. She opened the window and dumped the rest of the bottle outside. I sat up with a jolt.

“That’s expensive stuff!”

She shut the window and turned to face me. That look drew me up short. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was . . . disappointed.

“You promised me, Adrian. A social drink isn’t a problem. Self‑medicating is.”

“How do you know it was self‑medicating?” I asked, though I didn’t contradict her.

“Because I know you, and I know the signs. Also, I sometimes check up on your bottles. You made a big dent in this one tonight–much more than a social drink.” I nearly pointed out that technically, she was the one who’d made a big dent in it.

“I couldn’t help it,” I said, knowing how lame that sounded. It was as bad as Angeline’s “it’s not my fault” mantra. “Not after what happened.”

Sydney put the empty bottle on the dresser and then sat beside me on the bed. “Tell me.”

I explained about Rowena and her hand and how the rest of the day’s events had unfolded. It was difficult staying on track with the story because I kept wanting to meander and make excuses. I left out the part about despairing over birthday gifts. When I finally finished, Sydney gently rested her hand on my cheek.

“Oh, Adrian,” she said again, and this time, her voice was sad.

I rested my hand over hers. “What was I supposed to do?” I whispered. “It was like Jill all over again. Well–not quite as bad. But there she was. She needed me, and I could help–then when she noticed, I had to make sure she forgot. What else was I supposed to do? Should I have let her break her hand?”

Sydney drew me into her arms and was silent for a long time. “I don’t know. I mean, I know you couldn’t not  help. It’s who you are. But I wish you hadn’t. No . . . that’s not right. I’m glad you did. Really. I just wish it wasn’t so . . . complicated.” She shook her head. “I’m not explaining it correctly. I’m no good at this.”

“You hate that, don’t you? Not knowing what to do.” I rested my head against her shoulder, catching the faint scent of her perfume. “And you hate me like this.”

“I love you,” she said. “But I worry about you. Have you ever thought about . . . I mean, didn’t Lissa take antidepressants for a while? Didn’t that help her?”

I lifted my head swiftly. “No. I can’t do that. I can’t cut myself off from the magic like that.”

“But she felt better, right?” Sydney pushed.

“She . . . yes. Kind of.” I had no problems with “liquid healing,” but pills made me squeamish. “She did  feel better. She didn’t get depressed. She didn’t cut herself anymore. But she missed the magic, and so she stopped the pills. You don’t know what it’s like, that rush of spirit. Feeling like you’re in tune with every living thing in the world.”

“I might understand it better than you think,” she said.

“It’s more than that, though. She also stopped because she needed the magic back to help Rose. What if I needed it back? What if it was you who was hurt or dying?” I gripped Sydney’s shoulders, needing her to understand my desperation and how much she meant to me. “What if you needed me, and I couldn’t help you?”

She removed my hands and held them between hers, her face tranquil. “Then we deal. That’s what most people do in the world. You take your chances. I’d rather have you stable and happy than risk your sanity on the slim chance a concrete block will fall on me.”

“Could you sit by if you had the ability to help someone?”

“No. Which is why I’m trying to help you.” But I could see the conflict in her, and I understood her anxiety.

“No pills,” I said firmly. “This won’t happen again. I’ll try harder. I’ll be stronger. Have faith that I can do this on my own.”

Hesitating, she looked as though she might keep arguing the matter, but at last, she nodded in resignation. She drew me down to the bed and kissed me, even though I knew she didn’t like the taste of tequila. The kiss managed to be both tender and intense, and it reinforced that connection between us, that burning sense I always had that she was made for me, and I was made for her. I showered her with kisses, wishing I could do a lot more than that. Surely if I could just drown myself in her, I’d never need alcohol or pills of any kind.

But despite her quickened pulse and the heat in her eyes, things didn’t progress much more than they normally did. And as usual, I didn’t pressure her. She might not agree with Alchemist policies, but she’d still held on to a lot of their personal habits. Conservative clothing. No drinking. I didn’t actually know where premarital sex fell in there, but since a lot of them tended to be religious, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she adhered to that too. It had never come up between us. I figured if she was ready, she’d let me know.

“I have to go,” she said at last. “I’m only supposed to be out buying toothpaste. It was a boring enough errand that Zoe wouldn’t want to come.”

I brushed wayward golden strands away from her face. “Clarence’s tomorrow night?”

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.”

Ms. Terwilliger gulped and pushed me forward. “Inez, this is Sydney Melrose. Look what she’s brought for you.”