Bloodlines

I hadn’t realized I had been. I tried to relax, but thinking of Vasilisa Dragomir made me think of Rose Hathaway. Uneasily, I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume I was out of trouble here. Mercifully, Barnes simply kept going with the story, not mentioning my indirect connection to the girl queen and her associates.

“Well, as shocking as that is to us, it’s been just as shocking to some of their own people. There’s been a lot of protests and dissidence. No one’s tried to attack the Dragomir girl, but that’s probably because she’s so well guarded. Her enemies, it seems, have therefore found a work-around: her sister.”

“Jill,” I said, speaking before I could stop myself. Horowitz tsked me for moving, and I immediately regretted drawing attention to myself and my knowledge of the Moroi. Nevertheless, an image of Jillian Mastrano flashed into my mind, tall and annoyingly slim like all Moroi, with big, pale green eyes that always seemed nervous. And she had good reason to be. At fifteen, Jill had discovered she was Vasilisa’s illegitimate sister, making her the only other member of their royal family’s line. She too was tied to the mess I’d gotten myself into this summer.

“You know their laws,” continued Stanton, after a moment of awkward silence. Her tone conveyed what we all thought of Moroi laws. An elected monarch? It made no sense, but what else could one expect from unnatural beings like vampires? “And Vasilisa must have one family member in order to hold her throne. Therefore, her enemies have decided if they can’t directly remove her, they’ll remove her family.”

A chill ran down my spine at the unspoken meaning, and I again commented without thinking. “Did something happen to Jill?” This time, I’d at least chosen a moment when Horowitz was refilling his needle, so there was no danger of messing up the tattoo.

I bit my lip to prevent myself from saying anything else, imagining the chastisement in my father’s eyes. Showing concern for a Moroi was the last thing I wanted to do, considering my uncertain status. I didn’t have any strong attachment to Jill, but the thought of someone trying to kill a fifteen-year-old girl—the same age as Zoe— was appalling, no matter what race she belonged to.

“That’s what’s unclear,” Stanton mused. “She was attacked, we know that much, but we can’t tell if she received any real injury. Regardless, she’s fine now, but the attempt happened at their own Court, indicating they have traitors at high levels.”

Barnes snorted in disgust. “What can you expect? How their ridiculous race has managed to survive as long as they have without turning on each other is beyond me.”

There were mutters of agreement.

“Ridiculous or not, though, we cannot have them in civil war,” said Stanton. “Some Moroi have acted out in protest, enough that they’ve caught the attention of human media. We can’t allow that. We need their government stable, and that means ensuring this girl’s safety. Maybe they can’t trust themselves, but they can trust us.”

There was no use in my pointing out that the Moroi didn’t really trust the Alchemists. But, since we had no interest in killing off the Moroi monarch or her family, I supposed that made us more trustworthy than some.

“We need to make the girl disappear,” said Michaelson. “At least until the Moroi can undo the law that makes Vasilisa’s throne so precarious. Hiding Mastrano with her own people isn’t safe at the moment, so we need to conceal her among humans.” Disdain dripped from his words. “But it’s imperative she also remains concealed from humans. Our race cannot know theirs exists.”

“After consultation with the guardians, we’ve chosen a location we all believe will be safe for her—both from Moroi and Strigoi,” said Stanton. “However, to make sure she—and those with her—remain undetected, we’re going to need Alchemists on hand, dedicated solely to her needs in case any complications come up.”

My father scoffed. “That’s a waste of our resources. Not to mention unbearable for whoever has to stay with her.”

I had a bad feeling about what was coming.

“This is where Sydney comes in,” said Stanton. “We’d like her to be one of the Alchemists that accompanies Jillian into hiding.”

“What?” exclaimed my father. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” Stanton’s tone was calm and level. “They’re close in age, so being together won’t raise suspicion. And Sydney already knows the girl. Surely spending time with her won’t be as ‘unbearable’ as it might be for other Alchemists.”

The subtext was loud and clear. I wasn’t free of my past, not yet. Horowitz paused and lifted the needle, allowing me the chance to speak. My mind raced. Some response was expected. I didn’t want to sound too upset by the plan. I needed to restore my good name among the Alchemists and show my willingness to follow orders. That being said, I also didn’t want to sound as though I were too comfortable with vampires or their half-human counterparts, the dhampirs.

“Spending time with any of them is never fun,” I said carefully, keeping my voice cool and haughty. “Doesn’t matter how much you do it. But I’ll do whatever’s necessary to keep us—and everyone else—safe.” I didn’t need to explain that “everyone” meant humans.

“There, you see, Jared?” Barnes sounded pleased with the answer. “The girl knows her duty. We’ve made a number of arrangements already that should make things run smoothly, and we certainly wouldn’t send her there alone—especially since the Moroi girl won’t be alone either.”

“What do you mean?” My father still didn’t sound happy about any of this, and I wondered what was upsetting him the most. Did he truly think I might be in danger? Or was he simply worried that spending more time with the Moroi would turn my loyalties even more? “How many of them are coming?”

“They’re sending a dhampir,” said Michaelson. “One of their guardians, which I really don’t have a problem with. The location we’ve chosen should be Strigoi free, but if it’s not, better they fight those monsters than us.” The guardians were specially trained dhampirs who served as bodyguards.

“There you are,” Horowitz told me, stepping back. “You can sit up.”

I obeyed and resisted the urge to touch my cheek. The only thing I felt from his work was the needle’s sting, but I knew powerful magic was working its way through me, magic that would give me a superhuman immune system and prevent me from speaking about vampire affairs to ordinary humans. I tried not to think about the other part, about where that magic came from. The tattoos were a necessary evil.

The others were still standing, not paying attention to me—well, except for Zoe. She still looked confused and afraid and kept glancing anxiously my way.

“There also may be another Moroi coming along,” continued Stanton. “Honestly, I’m not sure why, but they were very insistent he be with Mastrano. We told them the fewer of them we had to hide, the better, but . . . well, they seemed to think it was necessary and said they’d make arrangements for him there. I think he’s some Ivashkov. Irrelevant.”

“Where is there?” asked my father. “Where do you want to send her?”

Excellent question. I’d been wondering the same thing. My first full-time job with the Alchemists had sent me halfway around the world, to Russia. If the Alchemists were intent on hiding Jill, there was no telling what remote location they’d send her to. For a moment, I dared to hope we might end up in my dream city: Rome. Legendary works of art and Italian food seemed like a good way to offset paperwork and vampires.

“Palm Springs,” said Barnes.

“Palm Springs?” I echoed. That was not what I’d been expecting. When I thought of Palm Springs, I thought of movie stars and golf courses. Not exactly a Roman holiday, but not the Arctic either.

A small, wry smile tugged at Stanton’s lips. “It’s in the desert and receives a lot of sunlight. Completely undesirable for Strigoi.”

“Wouldn’t it be undesirable for Moroi too?” I asked, thinking ahead. Moroi didn’t incinerate in the sun like Strigoi, but excessive exposure to it still made Moroi weak and sick.

“Well, yes,” admitted Stanton. “But a little discomfort is worth the safety it provides. So long as the Moroi spend most of their time inside, it won’t be a problem. Plus, it’ll discourage other Moroi from coming and—”

The sound of a car door opening and slamming outside the window caught everyone’s attention. “Ah,” said Michaelson. “There are the others. I’ll let them in.”

He slipped out of the study and presumably headed toward the front door to admit whoever had arrived. Moments later, I heard a new voice speaking as Michaelson returned to us.

“Well, Dad couldn’t make it, so he just sent me,” the new voice was saying.