sad. He had loved Jill, in his insane way, and from the pain on her face, it was clear she’d loved him too. The spirit bond hadn’t shown her his death or role in our capture. Right now, she simply thought he was a victim of Strigoi. Soon enough, she’d learn the truth about his motives. I didn’t know if that would ease her pain or not. I was guessing not.
Weirdly, an image of Adrian’s
CHAPTER 26
IT TOOK DAYS for me to finally get the whole story, both about Lee and about how Eddie and Jill had come to the rescue that night.
Once I had Lee as the missing piece, it was easy to connect the murders of Tamara, Kelly, Melody, and Dina, the human girl he’d mentioned. All of them had been killed within the last five years, in either Los Angeles or Palm Springs, and many had documented evidence of knowing him. They weren’t random victims. What little we could find out about Lee’s history came from Clarence, though even that was muddled. By our best guesses, Lee had been turned forcibly into a Strigoi about fifteen years ago. He’d spent ten years that way until a spirit user restored him, much to Lee’s dismay. Clarence hadn’t had all his wits about him even then and hadn’t questioned how his son had returned home after ten years without aging. He evaded answering our questions about Lee being a Strigoi, and we didn’t know if Clarence simply hadn’t known or was in denial. Likewise, it was unclear if Clarence knew his own son was behind Tamara’s death. The far-fetched vampire hunter theory was probably easier for him to stomach than the murderous truth about his son.
Investigations into Lee’s college in Los Angeles showed he hadn’t actually been enrolled there since before he became Strigoi. When he’d become Moroi again, he’d used college as an excuse to stay in Los Angeles, where he could more easily pursue victims—and we suspected there were more of them than we had records for. From what we’d observed, he’d apparently tried to drink from a few of each race, in the hopes that one of them would be “the one” to make him a Strigoi again.
Further research into Kelly Hayes had uncovered something I should have thought of right away. She was a dhampir. She’d looked human, but that stellar sports record was the tip-off. Lee had stumbled onto her when visiting his father five years ago. Getting the drop on a dhampir wasn’t easy, which was why Lee seemed to have gone to the effort of dating her and luring her in.
None of us knew anything about the “bastard spirit user” who’d converted him, though that was of interest to both the Alchemists and the Moroi. There were very few spirit users on record, and with there still being so much unknown about their powers, everyone wanted to learn more. Clarence was adamant that he knew nothing about this mystery spirit user, and I believed him.
Alchemists were in and out of Palm Springs all week, cleaning up the mess and interviewing everyone who’d been involved. I met with a number of them, telling my story over and over, and finally had my last debriefing with Stanton over lunch one Saturday. I’d kind of had a perverse interest in knowing what had happened to Keith but decided not to bring it up in light of everything else going on. He wasn’t here, which was all I cared about.
“Lee’s autopsy revealed nothing that wasn’t ordinary Moroi, according to their doctors,” Stanton told me between bites of linguine carbonara. Eating and discussing dead bodies weren’t mutually exclusive, apparently. “But then, something . . . magical likely wouldn’t show up anyway.”
“But there must be something special about him,” I said. I was simply moving my own food around the plate. “The fact that his aging slowed was proof enough—but the rest? I mean, he drank from so many victims. And then I saw what Jacqueline did to him.
It amazed me that I could speak so clinically about this, that I could sound so detached. Really, though, it was just that second-nature Alchemist mode taking over. Inside me, the events of that night had left a permanent mark. When I closed my eyes at bedtime, I kept seeing Lee’s death and Jacqueline feeding him the blood. Lee, who’d brought Jill flowers and taken us all mini-golfing.
Stanton nodded thoughtfully. “Which suggests that those who are restored from being Strigoi are immune to ever being turned again.”
We sat in silence for a moment, letting the weight of those words settle over us.
“That’s huge,” I said at last. Talk about an understatement. Lee presented a number of mysteries. He had begun aging once he became a Moroi again, but at a much slower rate. Why? We weren’t sure, but that alone was a monumental discovery, as was my suspicion that he could no longer use Moroi magic. I’d been too freaked out to notice anything strange about Lee’s behavior when Jill had asked him to create fog while we were golfing, but looking back, it occurred to me he’d actually looked nervous about her requests. And the rest . . . the fact that something had changed in him, protected him, however unwillingly, from becoming Strigoi? Yeah. “Huge” was an understatement.
“Very,” Stanton agreed. “Half our mission is to stop humans from choosing to sacrifice their souls for immortality. If there was a way to harness this magic, figure out what protected Lee . . . well. The effects would be far-reaching.”
“To the Moroi as well,” I pointed out. I knew that among them and the dhampirs, being forcefully turned Strigoi was often considered a fate worse than death. If there was some magical way to protect themselves, it would mean a lot since they encountered Strigoi far more than we did. We could be talking about some kind of magical vaccine.
“Of course,” said Stanton, though her tone implied she wasn’t nearly as concerned about that race’s benefits. “It might even be possible to prevent the future creation of all Strigoi. There’s also the mystery of
I shivered at the memory. “Maybe. It all happened so fast . . . it’s hard to say. And it was certainly no protection from the Strigoi wanting to snap my neck.”
Stanton nodded. “It’s certainly something to look into eventually. But first we have to figure out what exactly happened to Lee.”
“Well,” I said, “spirit has to be a key player, right? Lee was restored by a spirit user.”
A waiter came by, and Stanton waved her plate away. “Exactly. Unfortunately, we have a very limited quantity of spirit users to work with. Vasilisa Dragomir hardly has the time to experiment with her powers. Sonya Karp has volunteered to help, which is excellent news, especially since she’s a former Strigoi herself. At the very least, we can observe the slowed aging firsthand. She’s only available for a short while, and the Moroi haven’t answered my request yet for some other useful individuals. But if we had another spirit user on hand, one with no other obligations to distract him from helping us full-time . . .”
She looked at me meaningfully.
“Adrian?” I asked.
“Do you think he’d help research this? Some magical way to protect against Strigoi conversion? Like I said, between Sonya and the others, he’d have help,” she added quickly. “I’ve spoken to the Moroi, and they’re putting together a small group with expertise on Strigoi. They plan on sending them out soon. We just need Adrian to help.”
“Wow. You guys move fast,” I murmured.
At the words “Adrian” and “research,” my mind had put together images of him in a lab, wearing a white coat, bent over test tubes and beakers. I knew that the actual research wouldn’t look anything like that, but it was a hard picture to shake. It was also hard to imagine Adrian seriously focused on anything. Except, I kept having that nagging thought that Adrian would focus if he only had something worth caring about. Was this important enough?
I really wasn’t sure. It was too hard to guess what purpose might be noble enough to get Adrian’s attention. But I was pretty sure I knew some less-than-noble perks that might get him on board.
“If you can get him his own place, I bet he’d do it,” I said finally. “He wants out of Clarence Donahue’s pretty badly.”
