Silver Shadows (11 page)

Duncan had been sitting with others at another table, but when we passed each other leaving the cafeteria, he murmured, “See? I told you you were making progress. Now don’t screw it up.”

I almost smiled but had learned my lesson earlier today about getting too comfortable. So I kept what I hoped was a solemn and diligent look on my face as we shuffled off to the library to select our boring reading choices for the night. I ended up over in the history section, hoping for something a little more interesting than what I’d checked out recently. Alchemist histories were still full of lessons on morals and good behaviors, but at least those lessons weren’t explicitly directed at the reader, as most of the other self-help books were. I was debating over a couple of different medieval accounts when someone knelt beside me.

“Why did you want to know about the gas?” asked a quiet voice. I did a double take. It was Emma.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said lightly. “Do you mean in art today? Duncan and I were discussing the ferns.”

“Uh-huh.” She pulled out a book of Renaissance-era diaries and flipped through the pages. “I’m not going to say a word to you in our room, you know. It’s under surveillance. But if you want my help now, you’ve got about sixty seconds.”

“Why would you help me?” I demanded. “Assuming I even want it? Are you trying to trap me into something so that you can make yourself look better?”

She snorted. “If I wanted to ‘trap you into something,’ I’d
have done it ages ago in our room, caught on video. Forty-five seconds. Why do you want to know about the gas?”

Anxiety crawled over me as I waffled on what to do. In my assessments of who might be an ally, Emma had never come up at all. And yet, here she was, offering the closest to sedition that anyone—even my friend Duncan—had presented so far. That made it all the more likely I was being set up, yet part of me just couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“The gas keeps us here as much as the guards and walls,” I said at last. “I just want to understand it.” Hopefully that wasn’t too incriminating.

Emma slipped the book back and selected another diary, this one with fancy embellishments. “The controls are in a workroom that’s on the same level as purging. Each bedroom also has a small pipe feeding in from that system. It’s right behind a ventilation panel near the ceiling.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I walked by some repair guys doing maintenance in an empty room once.”

“So it’d be easier to block it on a room-by-room basis than at the control level,” I murmured.

She shook her head. “Not when it’s right in line with the cameras in the bedrooms. The guards would be on you before you even had the panel off. Which you’d need a screwdriver for.”

She started to set her book back, and I took it from her. Glittering inks decorated the cover, and the corner of each chapter was covered with a flat piece of metal. I ran my fingers over one. “A flathead screwdriver?” I asked, sizing up the thickness of the metal corner. If I could pull it off, it’d make an okay tool to undo a screw.

A slow smile spread over Emma’s face. “As a matter of fact, yes. You get creativity points, I’ll give you that.” She studied me a few moments more. “Why do you want to block the gas? Seems like we’ve got a lot bigger problems—you know, the biggest one being that we’re stuck here.”

“You tell me something first,” I said, still not sure if Emma was part of some great sting operation that was going to get me in even worse trouble. “You’re pretty much the poster child for model Alchemist behavior. What did you do to get here?”

She hesitated before answering. “I sent away some guardians that had been assigned to help my Alchemist group in Kiev. There were some Moroi I knew that I thought needed the protection more than we did.”

“I can see where that would upset the powers-that-be,” I admitted. “But it seems like there are worse things, especially with how good you’ve been. Why are you still here?”

Her cocky smile shifted to something more bitter. “Because my sister isn’t. She went through all of this too, was discharged, and then went even more rogue than before. No one knows where she is, and now, no matter how many strides I make, they’re ensuring they don’t make the same mistake twice in letting me go too soon. Bad blood in our family, I guess.”

That would certainly explain things. She seemed sincere too, but she was also an Alchemist, and we were good at conning others. Another question popped into my head as my eyes darted across the room to where Duncan and a few others perused the sociology section. “Why has Duncan been here so long? He seems to be on good behavior. Bad blood in his family too?”

Emma followed my gaze. “My guess? Too good of behavior.”

“Is that even possible?” I asked, startled.

She shrugged. “He’s so docile, I think they’re worried he won’t be able to stand up to vampire influence, even if he wants to. So they’re afraid to let him out just yet. But they don’t want him to have too much of a spine because that kind of goes against the operating procedure here. I think he
wants
to be braver … but something holds him back—I mean, more than the usual stuff holding us all back.”

Chantal
, I thought. That was what held him back. He’d had enough of a spine to befriend me, but Emma’s words explained why he was so cautious in even that. Losing Chantal had left its mark and made him too fearful to do anything else. Hoping I wasn’t making a terrible mistake, I took a deep breath and turned back to Emma.

“If the gas is off, I can get a message to the outside. That’s all I can tell you.”

Her eyebrows rose at that. “Are you certain? Tonight?”

“Absolutely,” I said. Adrian would be searching for me in dreams. He just needed a window of natural sleep.

“Hang on a minute,” Emma said after a little more thought.

She stood up and walked across the room, over to where Amelia was browsing. They conversed until the chimes rang, signaling it was time to return to our rooms. Emma hurried back to me. “Check out that book,” she said, nodding to the embellished diary. “I won’t say another word to you once we walk out that door. Go back to our room, count to sixty, and then go to town on whatever you need to do with the vent.”

“But what about the camera—”

“You’re on your own now,” she said, and walked off without another word.

I gaped for a few moments and then scurried to join the others who were signing out books with the librarian. As I filed out with them, I tried to look natural and not like my heart might pound out of my chest. Was Emma serious? Or was this the ultimate setup? What could she have possibly done in one conversation that would suddenly make it okay to tamper with the ventilation system? Because when we got back to our room, I could see the small black camera that watched us was pointing straight in the direction of the vent in question. Anyone opening it would be easily spotted.

It had to be a setup, but Emma made it clear from her body language that she was going to have no further interaction with me as we got ready for bed. I silently counted and knew she must have as well because when I reached sixty, she spared me one sharp, meaningful look.

There are easier ways to set me up
, I thought.
Easier ways with worse consequences.

With a gulp, I pushed my bed over to the wall and used it to stand on, so that I had easy access to the vent panel. I’d pulled off a metal page corner from the book, and Emma’s assessment had been correct. Its thickness was right on par with a flathead screwdriver. Of course, it was nowhere near as ergonomically easy to use as a screwdriver, but after a little fiddling, I finally got all four corners of the panel loosened enough to pull it off. My nerves and shaking hands weren’t helping speed along the process, and I had no clue how long I might have to do this—or if Emma would warn me when time was up.

Inside, I found an ordinary ventilation shaft. It was too small to crawl through, so there’d be no movie-worthy escapes that way. As she’d told me, a small pipe was attached to the
vent’s side, opening just behind the panel’s grates to feed its fumes into our room when the lights went out. Now I needed to block the pipe. I reached down to the bed, where I’d put an old sock retrieved from our room’s laundry hamper earlier. I didn’t put it past the Alchemists to take inventory of our clothing regularly, but I also knew when this was picked up, it was promptly dumped into a larger bin of clothes. If they noticed a missing sock, they wouldn’t know whose room it had come from. And surely even Alchemist dryers ate socks sometimes.

I crammed the sock into the pipe as best I could, hoping it was enough to keep the worst of the gas out. Behind me, under her breath, I heard Emma mutter, “Hurry.” My hands slick with sweat, I screwed the panel back into place and just barely remembered to move my bed before flouncing onto it with my book. The whole endeavor had taken less than five minutes, but was that enough?

Emma was fixated on her book and never so much as looked my way, but I caught the glimmer of a smile on her lips. Was that one of triumph over helping me achieve my goal? Or was she gloating at having tricked me into committing serious insubordination on camera?

If I had been busted, no one came for me that night. Our reading-time hour wound down, and before long, the lights went out and I heard the familiar click of the doors automatically locking. I snuggled into my sparsely made bed and waited for something else that had become familiar this last week: the artificially induced drowsiness brought on by the gas. It didn’t come.

It didn’t come
.

I could hardly believe it. We’d pulled it off! I’d stopped the
gas from getting into my room. The ironic part was, I could have used a little help in getting to sleep because I was so excited to talk to Adrian that I couldn’t calm down. It was like Christmas Eve. I lay in the dark for what had to be two hours before natural exhaustion won out and put me to sleep. My body was in a perpetual state of fatigue around here, both from the mental stress and the fact that the sleep we were given was just barely adequate. I slept soundly until the morning wakeup chimes, and that was when I realized the awful truth.

There’d been no dreams. Adrian hadn’t come.

I
DIDN’T MEAN FOR THINGS
to get so out of hand.

My intentions had been good when I came to Court, but after failing with Lissa and then learning about my parents, something snapped inside me. I threw myself back into my old life with a vengeance, losing all semblance of responsibility. I tried to tell myself that I was just having a little fun and finding a way to unwind while I was at Court. Sometimes I even told myself it was for Nina. Maybe that excuse would’ve worked in the first few days I was back, but after a week of almost nonstop revelry and parties, even she timidly offered a protest when I picked her up one night.

“Let’s stay in,” she said. “We’ll take it easy and watch a movie. Or play cards. Anything you want.”

Despite her words, she was still dressed to go out and live it up, looking very pretty in a periwinkle dress that made her gray eyes luminous. I gestured to it. “And waste this? Come on, I thought you wanted to meet new people.”

“I do,” she said. “I have. In fact, we’re starting to see the same ones over and over. They’ve all seen me in this dress already.”

“Is that the problem?” I asked. “I’ll lend you money for another one.”

She shook her head. “I can’t even pay you back for this one.”

After finding out about the lie my parents were living, I’d been tempted to make a statement and refuse the ample allowance my dad had regularly wired into my account. I didn’t have the same bills here that I had in Palm Springs, and I’d liked the idea of showing Nathan Ivashkov that he couldn’t buy off everyone in his family. But when Nina had casually remarked she felt underdressed at some of the royal parties we went to, I’d decided using my father’s money to fund a secretary’s wardrobe would be just as irritating. Admittedly, he didn’t know about it yet, but I took a lot of personal satisfaction from it. Nina had only agreed to the arrangement if it was treated as a loan, not a gift, but even she’d been taken aback when she saw the amounts I was throwing around. A small voice of reason warned me I was in danger of falling into some of the bad spending habits I’d had in my low moments in Palm Springs, but I shushed it. After all, I’d get more from my dad soon, and most everyone was pouring my drinks for free these days anyway.

“Well, it looks great,” I said. “It’d be a shame to hide such beauty away. Unless there’s some other problem?”

“No,” she said, flushing at my words. She looked me over, and I had the feeling she was reading my aura, which would have revealed—if other signs hadn’t already—that I’d done a little pre-party imbibing already. She sighed. “Let’s go.”

She can’t keep up with you
, said Aunt Tatiana as we trekked
across the Court’s grounds. Sunset was causing shadows to lengthen around us.
But then, what girl can?

Sydney could keep up with me
, I thought.
Not in the partying sense. I mean … in life.

Her words brought that terrible ache that no amount of revelry could ever chase away. Sydney. Without her, I simply felt like I was going through the motions of life, creating a dreary existence made worse by my inability to find her. All I could do was my fruitless and increasingly sporadic dream searching. I hadn’t yet searched for her tonight and wondered if maybe I should heed Nina’s suggestion, if only to buy some brief sobriety.

It’s too early
, warned Aunt Tatiana.
Check later. No human would be asleep yet in the United States. Besides, do you want
it
to come back?

She had a point about the time. The thing was, I’d missed good times to check for Sydney all week, and it was starting to bother me. But she was also right about
it
coming back: that terrible, plunging darkness that threatened to consume my whole world. My depression had been bad in Palm Springs after Sydney’s disappearance and had only worsened here after my failure to get Lissa’s help. I knew my former psychiatrist and even Sydney would probably tell me that was a sign to go back on medication, but how could I, when I might be able to use spirit to help her? Admittedly, I wasn’t of much use right now, but I still refused to let the magic go. And so, an increase in the self-soothing wonders of alcohol helped mute some of it, as did relying on phantom Aunt Tatiana’s advice and presence—a presence that had become disconcertingly more frequent in the last week. I knew she wasn’t real and that my
psychiatrist would’ve had plenty to say about her too, but her delusion seemed to be creating a wall between the worst of my depression and me. At least she got me out of bed each morning.

That night’s party was being hosted by a Conta guy I didn’t know very well, but he seemed pleased that we’d shown up and welcomed us with a friendly wave across the room. Nina had become my accepted shadow at these events, and a lot of people who wanted to get in good with me thought cozying up to her was the way to do it. I could tell it flustered her, but I rather enjoyed the show of royals who’d normally treat her like furniture in the palace offices now sucking up as they tried to get on her good side.

Almost every party this time of year was held outdoors, weather permitting. We were schooled from such an early age to stay inside and hide from Strigoi that if an outdoor opportunity presented itself in a safe location—like Court—we could hardly refuse the opportunity. Young Lord Conta had gone out of his way to make this party particularly memorable, with all sorts of novelties to amuse and entertain. One of my favorites was a giant fountain sitting on a table, shooting up champagne in high arcs. Within the depths of the glass base, an array of colored lights shone through the sparkling liquid.

I filled glasses for Nina and me, admiring the lights as they went through a turn of colors. “Adrian,” she said softly. “Look over there, on the other side of the pool.”

I followed her gaze and saw Wesley Drozdov sipping from a martini glass and glaring daggers at me. I was kind of surprised to see him. He’d made himself noticeably scarce since our last run-in, and I wondered if he’d shown up tonight thinking I wouldn’t be at a party where I didn’t know the host well.
Trash
,
Aunt Tatiana murmured in my head.
He doesn’t deserve a royal name.

“What an aura,” added Nina. “He
hates
you.”

I’d already accepted a shot from a passing server on our way in and wasn’t in the best position to read auras. I had no reason to doubt Nina and chuckled at the concern in her voice. “Don’t worry. He’s not going to start anything. See?”

Sure enough, Wesley set down his empty glass and slinked off into the shadows, much to my relief. I didn’t want Aunt Tatiana to start ranting about him again. Nina still looked uneasy. “Don’t ever let him get you alone.”

I handed her a glass. “When would that ever happen, with you by my side?” I asked gallantly. “I’ve always got you to watch my back.”

Her face lit up, far more than I would’ve expected from such an over-the-top comment. But if it made her happy, I was happy. Maybe I couldn’t fix everything in my own life, but Nina was a nice girl who deserved good things after all she’d been through. That, and having her around at these parties made me feel a little less pathetic. Drinking alone was sad. Drinking with a companion could technically be justified as social interaction.

We went through our usual routine of drinking and mingling. I’d arrived with ideas about setting limits for myself but soon lost track. I can only assume that was what drove me to answer my cell phone when it rang. Usually, I checked the display before even considering answering, but tonight it didn’t even occur to me.

“Hello?”

“Adrian?”

I winced. “Hi, Mom.”

Nina stepped discreetly away, and I tried to move to a quieter spot. My mother was one of the main reasons I made sure to check my display these days, since she’d been calling me almost nonstop since our post-dinner altercation. Now there was no easy escape.

“Where are you, darling? I can hardly hear you.”

“I’m at a party,” I told her. “I can’t talk long.” That wasn’t exactly true, since few in the crowd were paying attention to me just then, and Nina had found a group to talk with near the pool.

“This won’t take long.” Unless I was mistaken, there was an edge of nervousness in her voice. “I don’t know if you received my messages. …” She trailed off meaningfully, perhaps hoping I’d provide a reassuring reason for ignoring her all week. I didn’t.

“I got them,” I said.

“Ah,” she said. “Well, then, as you know, I’m not happy with the way we left things. I miss you, Adrian. I spent a lot of time thinking about you while I was away, and one of the things I most looked forward to was being with you when I was back.”

I felt a spark of anger at that, recalling how she hadn’t wanted to talk to me in prison when I’d visited her in dreams. I kept that sentiment to myself and let her continue.

“I’d like for us to try again, just you and me. Perhaps a quiet lunch, so I can explain things better. I’d like for you to understand—”

“Are you still living with him?” I interrupted. “Are you still taking his money?”

“Adrian …”

“Are you?” I pushed.

“Yes, but as I said—”

“Then I understand perfectly. You don’t need to explain anything.”

I expected apologies or cajoling, which I’d been getting a fair amount of in her many voice mail messages and could nearly recite myself. So it was a bit of a surprise when she shot back with more bite than usual. “Are
you
, Adrian? I see the accounts. I see he’s still sending you money.”

She’s calling you a hypocrite
, Aunt Tatiana whispered to me, venom in her voice.
Are you going to let her get away with that?

“It’s not the same,” I said, feeling both angry and embarrassed. “I’m giving mine away.”

“Are you really?” My mother’s tone implied she didn’t believe that for a second.

“Yes, I—”

My angry retort was interrupted by a scream and a splash. I looked over to where I’d last seen Nina. Some horseplay had broken out in the group she’d been standing with, and she and a couple others were now surfacing in the pool, coughing and wiping water out of their eyes.

“I’ve got to go, Mom,” I said. “Thanks for calling, but until you get some self-respect, I’m just not interested.” I knew it was mean, and I didn’t give her a chance to respond before I disconnected and hurried over to the pool. I held out a hand to Nina as she dodged a tray of floating shot glasses and attempted to climb out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” The curls that had been so cute and springy earlier now hung around her face in dark, dripping clumps. “Wish I could say the same for this dress.”

Waiters hurried forward with towels, and I took one for Nina. “It’ll dry.”

She gave me a wry smile as she wrapped the towel around herself. “You don’t do much laundry, do you? This is silk. It’s not going to mix well with the chlorine and God knows what else was in that pool.”

My mom’s words were still fresh in my mind. “Then I’ll make good on what I said earlier: We’ll get you some new clothes.”

“Adrian, I can’t keep accepting your money. It’s sweet, and I’m grateful, really. But I have to earn my own way.”

A mix of feelings flooded through me. The first was pride. Here she was, embodying exactly what I’d just been chastising my mom about. On the other hand, there was no denying that while Nina was admirably trying to do things on her own, I was very much the hypocrite my mother had insinuated. That humiliation burned through me, compounded by the frustration I already felt over being unable to help Sydney.

“You will earn your own way,” I said decisively. “We both will. Come on.”

I took Nina’s hand and led her out of the crowded yard, sparing little thought to the consequences of my impulse decision. We walked to nearly the opposite side of Court, far from the royal residences we spent so much time at. Here, among much more modest townhomes, I marched up the steps to an address I was proud to have remembered and knocked loudly on the door. Nina, still wrapped in her towel, shifted uncomfortably beside me.

“Adrian, where are we?” she asked. “Don’t you realize—”

Her words were cut off as the door opened, revealing a very surprised Sonya Karp. She’d once been a high school biology teacher and a Strigoi (though not at the same time). Now, she was Moroi once more and a spirit user like Nina and me. Her
red hair was tousled from sleep, and it wasn’t until I noticed her pajamas that I had a moment of hesitation. The sun wasn’t up quite yet, but the eastern sky was definitely more purple than black. Still prime Moroi time.

“Adrian, Nina,” said Sonya, by way of greeting. She was remarkably calm, considering the unusual circumstances. “Are you two okay?”

“I … yeah.” I suddenly felt kind of stupid but then pushed such feelings aside. We were already here. I might as well make my stand. “We need to talk to you about something. But if it’s too late …” I frowned, trying to parse the time through my drink-addled brain. There was no reason she should be in bed. “Are you on a human schedule?”

“I’m on Mikhail’s schedule,” she replied, referring to her dhampir husband. “He’s been working some odd shifts, so I’ve adjusted my sleep accordingly.” She took in Nina’s towel and stepped aside from the doorway. “No point stressing about it now. Come in, both of you.”

Although the apartment had a kitchen and my suite didn’t, the overall living space was much smaller than what I currently enjoyed over in guest housing. Sonya and Mikhail had decorated things nicely and certainly given the place a warm feel, but it still struck me as wrong that a visiting royal like me received more luxurious accommodations than a hard-working guardian who was constantly risking his life. Even worse, I knew this was one of the larger guardian homes since Mikhail was married. Single guardians lived in little more than dorms.

“Do you want anything to drink?” asked Sonya, gesturing to us to sit at her kitchen table.

“Water,” said Nina quickly.

Sonya brought over two glasses and then sat down opposite us. “Now,” she said. “What’s so important?”