Текст книги "The Fiery Heart"

Автор книги: Richelle Mead

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

And I had no argument or conciliatory words to offer. I didn’t know how to get around this, and no way would I pressure Sydney into something she was so uncomfortable with. The only thing I could hope for was that Jill and I could develop the self‑control to block each other out. My ex, Rose, had been bound to Lissa, and they’d eventually developed that ability . . . though it had taken a couple years. Was I willing to wait that long for Sydney? Studying her as I held her hand, I knew the answer immediately. Yes. Yes, I would.

I gave her what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “Then we’ll just have to see what happens. If it works, great. If not, you stop taking it. It’s a pill, not a lifelong commitment. Besides, there are lots of ways to keep busy in the meantime.”

That brought her smile back, and my heart lightened. “I’m guessing whatever ‘ways’ you have in mind aren’t Jill‑appropriate either.”

“Put your books away, and I’ll show you.”

Jill was still on my mind after Sydney left, largely because I had plans to have dinner with her that night. It was something I tried to do once in a while. Maybe Jill knew all about my life, but I wanted to keep in touch with hers. Besides, despite all our group dinners, it was nice just to have the two of us hang out. Well, almost two of us. Occasionally, Jill might leave the school with Sydney, but everyone preferred that a dhampir go along. I knew Jill found it oppressive sometimes, but this was one instance of stiff rules I could support. I’d been there when the assassins had attacked her. I’d seen the blood and her chest grow still. Those images woke me out of sleep all the time, and I’d be damned if there’d ever be a repeat of those events.

And so, Eddie tagged along for these dinners, which I didn’t mind that much. He was a good guy, one who’d seen his own fair share of trauma and heartache. It was a part of him, one he’d used to strengthen himself and carry on. He was real, and I appreciated that.

Except it wasn’t Eddie waiting at the curb with Jill.

“Damn it,” I muttered.

A wry look flashed across Jill’s face as she read my reaction. Although she was respectful of my thoughts and feelings, this was one matter that she stood firmly opposed to me in.

“Hi, Adrian,” she said cheerily, getting into the car. “Neil decided to come along with us tonight.”

“So I see.” He slid into the backseat, giving me a curt nod of greeting in the rearview mirror. “Does Castile have a hot date?”

“No, but we just thought it’d be fun for Neil to get out.” What she actually meant, of course, was that she thought it’d be fun for her to get out with Neil. I didn’t need a bond to know that.

“Plus, I’ve had one more year of experience than Eddie,” added Neil. “So really, I should be the one who always goes out in public with Her Highness.”

Jill normally chafed at her title, but whenever Neil used it, he seemed to act like some ye olde knight that set her heart aflutter.

“Castile’s faced a few tough situations,” I said. “How many Strigoi and assassins have you run up against?” I watched him in the rearview mirror, and although he had that tough‑guy look on his face, I saw him shift uneasily.

“I was once part of a large regiment of guardians protecting a royal family when two Strigoi decided to attack,” he said.

“Two Strigoi against a whole group of guardians, huh? Wow. That’s pretty hard core.”

I saw Jill shoot me an angry look in my periphery. “Neil’s done and seen a lot of things. His training is excellent.”

In a great act of generosity, I decided to give up on tormenting her fake crush . . . for now. My attention soon turned to fighting for a parking spot downtown amid all the other evening diners. One opened up just as I was driving in front of the Greek restaurant I’d picked for dinner. “Adrian Ivashkov wins again,” I declared.

There was only a short wait inside, and as the hostess led us to our table, we passed the dessert case. “Fresh baklava,” observed Jill, face perfectly innocent.

“Looks that way,” I said, just as sweetly. “Maybe we can get some to go.” Baklava was one of Sydney’s favorites. It may or may not have played a role in my decision to come here.

I passed wistfully on the ouzo and asked Jill about her swimming team. All Amberwood students needed to participate in a sport outside of classes, and swimming was the perfect choice for her since most meets were indoors and because her elemental specialty was water. Personally, I wasn’t a huge sports fan, though I did like Super Bowl parties, especially if I didn’t have to watch the game. I had gone to a few of Jill’s swim meets and found it was worth enduring the overexcited parents to see her excel.

Even now, there was happiness on her face as she described achieving a new personal best, and it was a pleasant distraction from the storms continually brewing in my mind. She’d had a lot of difficulties adjusting to Amberwood, and I was glad to see something going her way. The interlude was ruined when she turned to Neil with shining eyes.

“Neil’s on the wrestling team. He’s really amazing. The best one. He wins all his matches.”

I leaned back in the chair, feeling no more qualms about going after him if she insisted on bringing him up. “Well, of course he does. Any dhampir is going to dominate over a human. It’s nature.”

Neil thought this over as he chewed his souvlaki. “I suppose so,” he said at last.

“Hardly seems fair,” I continued. “I mean, they make adjustments for weight class, but there’s no regulating something like that. You’re playing with people who can in no way keep up with you.”

Jill shot me a warning look. “Well, there’s nothing he can do, seeing as Amberwood doesn’t sort by human and dhampir teams.”

“You could always throw the matches,” I told Neil.

He blanched. “Throw a match? I couldn’t do that! It’d go against my personal code of ethics.”

“Where does taking out people who can in no way defeat you fit into your ethics?” I asked. “If you ask me, that’s the real moral transgression.” I wished Sydney were here because I think she would’ve appreciated my use of transgression. “But I mean, it’s your life. I don’t judge, and honestly . . .” I gave a light laugh. “I tend to always err a little too much on the side of morality. It’s one of my few flaws.”

Even Neil wasn’t oblivious enough to buy that. He narrowed his eyes. “I somehow must have missed that. Tell me more about your views on morality.”

I waved him off. “Oh, we don’t have that kind of time. But you know who you should talk it over with? Castile. There’s a guy who understands the right thing to do. He faked spraining his ankle to get out of most of the basketball season so he wouldn’t have to deal with the, uh, ethics of competing with humans. Now that’s someone who really walks the line.”

While I still couldn’t gauge Neil’s interest in Jill, I knew beyond a doubt he regarded Eddie as a rival in life. Eddie wasn’t quite as bad, but he had a competitive streak as well. I guess there could only be one alpha dhampir at Amberwood.

“Lying isn’t exactly honorable either,” said Neil hotly.

“No, but humility is.” I sighed as dreamily for Eddie as Jill often did for Neil. “He’d rather face the humiliation of being out of the game than reap glory he doesn’t deserve.”

That might have been going too far, judging from the anger flaring in Neil’s eyes. “Neil,” Jill said quickly. “Will you go up to the counter and order me some baklava to go? Walnut. And pistachio.”

Jill was truly becoming my pupil. Pistachio wasn’t one of this place’s common types, so they didn’t usually keep it on display. Making Neil wait while they hunted some down would buy us time.

“You’re so mean,” she told me once Neil was gone. He didn’t take his eyes off us as he waited, but at least he was out of earshot.

“You can do better, Princess Jailbait.” I enunciated each word with my fork. “Besides, Big Ben over there’s married to his duty. You’ll never get him. Find some Moroi prince and give up on dhampirs altogether. They’re nothing but trouble.” Didn’t I know it. “Besides, you may have everyone else fooled, but I know you’re not into him.”

“Yeah? You have a psychic bond now?”

“Don’t need one.” I tapped my head. “I have aura vision. That, and I just know you. What are you playing at? Why are you trying to pretend you’re interested in him?”

She sighed. “Because I hope I will  be interested in him.”

“Like, if you do a good enough act, you’ll convince yourself?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s nonsensical. And coming from me, that’s a serious accusation.”

She kicked me under the table. “If I can fall in love with Neil, then maybe I’ll stop . . .” Her voice faltered a moment. “Maybe I’ll stop thinking about Eddie.”

I deleted the snarky comments I’d been mentally accruing. “I don’t think it works that way. Actually, I know for a fact it doesn’t.”

“I have to do something, Adrian. I wish I’d realized how I felt about Eddie sooner . . . I was so stupid and missed my chance. Now Sydney says he’s all caught up in honor and duty and thinks no princess could lower herself to him.”

“That sounds like something he’d say,” I agreed. I’d never actually heard the tale directly from Eddie, but Sydney had had a heart‑to‑heart with him and gotten the scoop. He’d once had a crush on Jill that he staunchly denied. Neither of us knew if it had survived his Angeline days, but something told me if it had, his views on chivalry hadn’t changed.

“Maybe instead of trying to trick yourself into falling for another guy, you should just go confront Eddie and get it all out,” I suggested.

“Like you did with Sydney?” asked Jill archly. “That didn’t go so well.”

“Not at the time.” To describe Sydney’s reaction to my initial declaration of love as “not going well” was a kindness. “But look at me now, lounging in the lap of love.”

Jill’s earlier grin returned. “You should make Sydney dinner. For her birthday.”

It was one of those times when it was nice having someone who was already up to speed on my life. It saved me a lot of explaining what had been weighing on me. I also realized this abrupt topic change was Jill’s subtle way of saying she didn’t want to talk about her own love life anymore. “That’s not a real gift. She deserves more.”

“Diamonds and roses?” Jill shook her head. “You should know her better than that. She’s not a material person, and you don’t need to make some big expensive gesture. A homemade dinner’s romantic.”

“Also disastrous. You know better than anyone else that I can’t cook.”

“And that’s why she’ll love it even more. She’s into personal effort–and learning. Figure out how to make a simple dish, and it’ll go a long way. Imperfection is endearing.”

Jill had a point, but it was a tough one for me to swallow. Most of my courtship with girls–even the one‑night stands–had involved those “big expensive gestures.” Flowers and more flowers. Seven‑course meals with wine pairings. Cooking boxed spaghetti didn’t measure up.

“I’ll think about it,” I conceded.

That perked Jill up. “Maybe if the atmosphere’s romantic enough, you guys can–”

“No, Jailbait.” I held up a hand. “Don’t go there.”

“But you want to,” Jill insisted. “And she does too, or she wouldn’t have made that chart.”

“I don’t know about that. That chart’s the kind of thing she’d do in her free time for fun. Anyway. She and I don’t agree on everything, but you not being involved with our sex life is one point we’re in perfect harmony on, so there’s no point in discussing this.”

She propped her elbow on the table and rested her chin in her hand, causing her wavy, light brown hair to fall forward and frame her face like a veil. It would’ve made a powerful pose for a painting.

“I feel terrible. It’s all my fault that your love life is ruined. If it wasn’t for the bond–”

“You’d be dead,” I said flatly. “And there’s no debate about that whatsoever. I say this with absolute seriousness: I’d rather be celibate for the rest of my life than not have you in this world.”

Jill swallowed, and I could tell she was fighting back tears.

“Careful,” I teased. “Start crying, and London Bridge’ll think I’ve been mean to you. He’ll rough me up outside.”

She sniffed but managed a smile. “No, he wouldn’t, but he’s finishing up over there. Maybe I could drink or something if you and Sydney–you know. It’d numb the bond on my end.”

“No,” I said firmly. Neil began walking toward us. “Absolutely not. One recovering alcoholic in this bond is bad enough. Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll figure it out.”

“How?” she asked.

“I have a plan.”

Jill knew me too well and gave me a knowing look. “Liar.”

CHAPTER 6

SYDNEY

I DIDN’T KNOW HOW LONG I’D BEEN ASLEEP when the spirit dream drew me in. The Getty Villa’s columned courtyard materialized around me, and sunshine sparkled on the enormous fountain. Here in these dreams, the sun didn’t affect Adrian. I scanned around and found him leaning against a pillar, hands in his pockets as he watched me with that roguish smile of his. For a moment, I was dazzled by him and the way the sunlight lit up his cheekbones and hair. He was breathtaking. He could’ve been one of the villa’s classic works of art.

Then, I remembered he wasn’t supposed to be here.

I strolled over and caught hold of the front of his shirt, tugging him toward me. “Hey! What’s going on? I thought we agreed to no more dreams.”

“You agreed to that. I never actually took you up on that surprise bargain.”

“But I–” I stopped and replayed our earlier conversation, when I’d delivered the bombshell about the birth control pills. He actually hadn’t  said he’d skip the dream if I surprised him. “You tricked me.”

“There was no trick involved. If anything, I’m the victim here, after you dropped that tantalizing pill info. How am I supposed to get anything done now?” He gave me a long kiss before going on. “Did Jailbait deliver the baklava?”

“Yes, but don’t think that’ll get you off the hook for this dream.”

He drew me into another kiss. “I already am.”

We finally managed to drag our lips away from each other, though Adrian kept his arm around my waist. The sunlight brought out the chestnut glints in his brown hair, and that fair skin that had once marked something frightening and otherworldly was now stunning in my eyes. His features hardened into resolve.

“Ready to summon Robin Hood?” he asked.

The mention of Marcus snapped me away from carnal thoughts and reminded me of the breakthrough I was teetering on the edge of–and the dangerous situation we were in. Adrian was a master at distracting me from those things.

“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I warned.

“I’m already doing it,” he said cheerfully. “So let’s get it over with.”

He released me and focused off in the distance, green eyes full of concentration as he tried to reach out to Marcus in the dream world. There was a very strong probability it wouldn’t work. Marcus could be awake. Or maybe Adrian didn’t know Marcus well enough. Adrian was the best dream walker of the spirit users we knew, but some things were beyond even him.

And yet, after almost a minute of tense silence, I saw a glimmer of something across the courtyard. Slowly, it expanded into a man’s figure, and Marcus suddenly stood before us. He looked the same as ever, with his shoulder‑length blond hair and the bright indigo tattoo latticed over his now‑fading Alchemist lily. There was a confusion written all over him that I could understand. I’d thought I was in a normal dream the first time Adrian had summoned me, and then, gradually, I’d gotten the sense that there was something off about it.

“Nice to see you again, Marcus,” I told him.

He frowned and examined his hands, touching them together as though he expected them to have no substance. “Is this real?”

“Real enough,” said Adrian.

“You’re in a spirit dream,” I explained.

Marcus looked disbelieving for a moment, and then wonder filled his eyes. “Wow.” He glanced around. “Where are we?”

“Malibu,” I said, earning more surprise. “Where are you? Mexico?”

He dragged his gaze from the buildings around us. “Yeah, but we’re heading back soon. Amelia and Wade got their tattoos, and I got a tip about some rebels who need me in Arizona. We’re just waiting on a guy who’s going to help us get over the border. Always a lot harder getting back in.”

Marcus was on the Alchemists’ most‑wanted list. Any Alchemist who slipped out of their grasp was bad enough, let alone one actively recruiting others. With their many connections, he had to be extra careful in his movements, especially at high‑security places like a border. It seemed to occur to him then that this wasn’t a social call.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” He almost seemed to expect that I wasn’t okay. For all his quirkiness, he’d been legitimately worried about me staying behind.

“Surprisingly, yes. I’ve got something that might help you.” I allowed a dramatic pause that was straight out of his playbook. “I might be able to make the ink that you use to seal the tattoos.”

He went slack jawed. “That . . . that’s impossible.”

Adrian scoffed. “Is it? She broke into a high‑security Alchemist stronghold and hunted you down. You think she can’t replicate what some random guy you dug up can do?”

Marcus had no counter for that and fixed his gaze back on me. “You’ve got indigo ink?”

“Not exactly. I can’t get the mineral I’m pretty sure your guy uses, but I think I know a couple others that’ll do the trick.”

“You ‘think,’” he repeated.

“The mineral’s not what matters. Well, it does a little. It’s the process of creating the ink that matters, and I know how to do that.” That wasn’t entirely true. I understood the principles but had yet to test them out. I hoped Marcus wouldn’t push me for details, because while he was on board with a lot of far‑out stuff, I wasn’t sure where me being involved with magic would fall.

He mulled things over for several long moments and then gave a rueful smile. “If anyone could pull off something like that, it’d be you.”

“Think what it means,” I said, excited that I’d made progress. “If we could mass‑produce the ink, you could reach more people. You also wouldn’t have to travel. You’d save a lot of time and be able to do more.”

Adrian, careful to keep his distance from me, laughed. “I don’t think Marcus minds the traveling. Beaches and margaritas, right?”

Marcus glared. “It’s not all about that. And you’re one to talk.”

Hostile tension suddenly filled the space between them. They’d actually gotten in a physical fight once, following a mis‑understanding when Marcus had accidentally hit me. Adrian hadn’t taken that very well, and although he’d eventually accepted that it was a mistake, I knew the incident weighed heavily upon him.

“Focus, you guys,” I snapped. “There’s no time for this.”

Their eyes stayed locked for several more agonizing seconds, and then Marcus turned back to me, unclenching hands I hadn’t realized were in fists. “So when will you know if you can pull this off?”

Excellent question. I’d learned a lot in my brief research but still needed to figure out a few more things. That, and I’d need a long stretch of time away from Zoe to work on it. Although I could still keep claiming I had to go off on projects with Ms. Terwilliger, I knew Zoe was starting to think the outings were too frequent. Maybe she didn’t have arcane suspicions, but there was always the chance she might tell my dad I was more focused on my fake education than the task at hand.

“A week. Maybe two.” I spoke more confidently than I felt.

Marcus frowned and then gave a slow nod. “I think we’ll be back near then. I need to get more information from my contact. Can you check in next week and let me know how it’s going?”

I hesitated. “It’d be better if you could manage a phone call–”

“No problem,” said Adrian, ignoring my sharp look. “As long as you’re asleep around this time and not too busy with ocean villa parties.”

He knew as well as I did that Marcus was usually forced to stay in hovels. “Great,” I said. “We’ll be in touch.”

Adrian took that as a dismissal and sent Marcus away. “Always a delight.”

“You shouldn’t have done that . . . but, well, thank you. It helps a lot,” I admitted.

Alone again, Adrian wrapped me in his arms. “Anything for you, Sage. Come over tomorrow, and I’ll consider it a debt well paid.”

Thrills ran through me, both at the suggestion and the way his hand slid up my hip and played with the edge of my shirt. Things felt real in these dreams. Very real.

“I can’t,” I admitted. “I’ve got to use that time to get some help from Ms. Terwilliger.”

The disappointment in his eyes was so fleeting, I could almost believe I’d imagined it. The smug smile he put on made it seem as though nothing in the world was wrong. That was how he operated and why so few knew of the inner turmoil that raged within him.

“Well, then, I suppose that’ll just give you more time to fantasize about me,” he declared. “Because of course that’s what you’ll secretly be doing instead of working.”

“Of course,” I laughed. After long kisses goodbye, I faded off to true sleep.

When I showed up for Ms. Terwilliger’s independent study the next day, she was waiting with her coat and keys. “Spencer’s first,” she said curtly. “It’s been one of those days.”

“We don’t have that much time,” I protested. That, and going to my favorite coffee shop was pretty torturous these days.

“We can talk along the way,” she said.

She was true to her word as we drove over, explaining some of the more pragmatic aspects both of charm making and manipulating the elements. “It’s a tricky art, working with them in their purest form,” she mused. “Simultaneously simple yet infinitely complex.” It sounded like my relationship with Adrian.

When we walked into Spencer’s, I half hoped to see my friend Trey Juarez working the counter. I remembered moments later that we were still technically in school hours and not everyone got to take off early like I did. Between Adrian and Zoe, I hadn’t had much time to talk to Trey. The new semester had rearranged our schedules, so we no longer shared any classes. I didn’t know if avoiding him was a good or bad thing. He had a lot of complex issues going on in his life, issues that overlapped with my own life–because Trey had been born into a group of vampire hunters.

Calling themselves the Warriors of Light, they claimed their focus was on destroying Strigoi, but much like the Alchemists, the Warriors didn’t have that high of an opinion of Moroi and dhampirs either. Trey was currently on the outs with the Warriors, after inadvertently helping me disband a crazy killing ritual of theirs. For a while, being ostracized had tormented him, especially because of his dad’s pressure. Then, something had changed.

Trey had fallen for Angeline.

Out of all the outlandish things she was involved in, that one had caught me by surprise more than anything. The drama had grown increasingly complex because she had technically been dating Eddie at the time, who had rebounded to her after deciding his love for Jill was futile, since he’d never be worthy of her. Eddie and Angeline’s relationship had ended abruptly when we’d discovered that her tutoring sessions with Trey had become make‑out sessions.

Hooking up with a human wasn’t such an odd concept for Angeline, having grown up with the Keepers. Trey had taken it harder when he realized how many of the Warriors’ tenets he was violating; plus he’d felt guilty over Eddie. I was pretty sure Trey still harbored feelings for her. As for Angeline, it was hard to say. Like Jill, she seemed to have joined Neil’s fan club. Adrian claimed both girls were faking their feelings for him, and I couldn’t even begin to sort that out.

To say my friends were living a soap opera was an understatement. They almost made my dangerous relationship with Adrian look boring.

The only bright side was that everyone seemed to be in a holding pattern. Trey’s conflicted principles kept him away from Angeline. Eddie’s resolve kept him away from everyone, as did Neil’s. And so long as Neil held true to that stance, Jill and Angeline would have nothing to act on. Maybe it would have been nice for everyone to have some sort of happy ending, but I selfishly had to admit that my life was a lot easier when the drama dial was kept on low.

Trey might not have been behind the counter today, but another barista I knew well was. His name was Brayden, and he and I had briefly dated. Even at the time, it had seemed a little cool and unreal, and now, alive with the thrill of Adrian, I couldn’t even fathom how I’d thought what Brayden and I had was a relationship. There’d been no passion with Brayden, no moments that took my breath away, and certainly no touches that could set me ablaze. In retrospect, the highlight of dating him had been free coffee and a particularly compelling discussion on the fall of the Roman Empire.

“Hi, Sydney,” he said. We’d encountered each other here before, and things were pretty civil, especially since Trey told me Brayden had a new girlfriend. “Almost as smart as you,” Trey had said. “But not nearly as cute.”

I smiled back. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good. Just got out of class and found out my essay on the psychosocial implications of Pavlov’s associative experiments won me a scholarship.” He picked up a cup. “Skinny vanilla latte?”

I looked at the cup mournfully. “Mint tea.”

“There, there,” said Ms. Terwilliger, after she’d cruelly ordered her triple cappuccino. “You couldn’t have had any caffeine anyway.” It was true, seeing as I’d likely be experimenting with magic later. “Stay strong.”

“That’s right,” a voice behind me said. “Nothing builds character like a test of self‑control.”

I spun around, thoroughly unprepared for who had joined us in line. “Wolfe?” I gasped. “You . . . you leave your house?”

Malachi Wolfe, instructor and proprietor of the Wolfe School of Defense, gave me a withering look from his one eye. “Of course I do. How else do you think I get supplies?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I figured you ordered them in.”

“I do for some stuff,” he agreed. “But I’ve got to come here in person to get whole‑bean French roast. The dogs love it.”

While I supposed it was reasonable that he’d get out of the compound he called a home, showing up at a hip coffee shop just wasn’t what I’d imagined. Adrian and I had taken a self‑defense course with Wolfe a couple months ago, and despite how bizarre it had all been, we’d picked up some useful tips. Wolfe himself was quite a sight to behold, with his long grizzled hair and eye patch.

“Ahem,” said Ms. Terwilliger. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Sydney?”

“Huh?” I was still floored by the fact that Wolfe was in jeans rather than his usual Bermuda shorts. “Oh. This is Malachi Wolfe. He’s the man Adrian and I took a self‑defense class with. Wolfe, this is my history teacher, Ms.–er, Jaclyn Terwilliger.”

“It’s a pleasure,” she said.

Ms. Terwilliger extended her hand to shake his, and instead, he bowed grandly and kissed the top of hers. “No, no, believe me. The pleasure is all mine.”

To my complete and utter horror, she didn’t withdraw her hand when he continued to hold it. “You’re a teacher too, eh?” she asked. “I thought I sensed a kindred spirit when I first saw you.”

He nodded solemnly. “There’s no loftier goal than educating and shaping young minds for greatness.”

I thought that was a stretch, considering at least fifty percent of his teaching methods involved regaling us with stories of how he’d escaped from pirates in New Zealand or fought off a pack of hook‑fanged ravens. (When I’d pointed out no such bird existed, he insisted the government was covering them up). Adrian and I were currently trying to put together a time line of Wolfe’s alleged adventures because we were pretty sure there was no way they could’ve happened the way he claimed.

“What brings you ladies out today?” asked Wolfe. He glanced around. “And where’s your boy?”

“Who? Oh, you mean Adrian?” I asked casually. “He’s probably still in class. He’s an art student at Carlton.”

Wolfe’s eyebrows rose. “Art? I always thought he was a little flighty, but I had no idea he was that far gone.”

“Hey, he’s very talented! He just got a lot of acclaim for a mixed‑media project he worked on.”

“What was it?” Wolfe didn’t sound convinced.

“A piece using the monolith from 2001  as a symbol of mankind’s evolution to a world of advertising and social media.”

Wolfe’s contemptuous snort told me what he thought of that. “Goddamned idealistic college kids.”

“It’s brilliant,” I insisted.

“Sydney,” said Ms. Terwilliger. “It is  a little over the top.”

I couldn’t even formulate a response to her traitorous words. Wolfe, however, wasted no opportunity. “You want to see art? You should go see this exhibit down by the San Diego shipyard. They re‑created a Civil War battle scene completely out of Bowie knives.”

I opened my mouth to respond, couldn’t think of anything to say, and shut it.

Ms. Terwilliger’s eyes lit up. “That sounds fascinating.”

“You want to come see it with me?” he asked. “I’m going again this weekend. Fifth time.”

As they exchanged phone numbers, I glanced over at Brayden, who was staring openmouthed, holding our drinks. At least I wasn’t alone in my reaction. I took out the Love Phone and texted Adrian.

Ran into Wolfe. He asked Ms. T out.

Adrian’s response was about what I expected: . . .

I then delivered the coup de grâce: SHE ACCEPTED.

Adrian was still unable to get past symbols: ?!?

I was at a loss for words on the way back to Amberwood, made worse by Ms. Terwilliger’s dreamy expression. “Ma’am,” I said at last. “Do you think going out with someone like him is a good idea? At last count, he had eleven Chihuahuas.”

“Miss Melbourne,” she said, reverting to her old nickname for me, “I offer no critique on your dubiously sound romantic choices. Don’t question mine.”

Flirting with Wolfe had eaten into more of our time today, but to her credit, she didn’t delay in making use of our remaining twenty minutes. We pulled some desks together and huddled over one of Inez’s books, along with a small bowl of dirt. She pointed to a diagram in the book that depicted a palm with four small clumps of dirt arranged in a diamond.