Vampire Academy: The Complete Collection: 1/6 (201 page)

She shook her head. “What happened at the ceremony is as much Adrian’s fault as it is yours. It’s done, and Tatiana let it go. This party’s a much more lighthearted event, and if he wants you there, then I want him to be happy.”

“I’ll go shower and change now and meet him at your place in an hour.”

She was tactful enough to ignore my earlier outburst. “Wonderful. I know he’ll be happy to hear that.”

I declined to tell her that I was actually happy about the thought of flaunting myself in front of some Ivashkovs in the hopes that it would get back to Tatiana. I no longer believed for an instant that she accepted what was going on with Adrian and me or that she would let my outburst blow over. And truthfully, I did want to see him. We hadn’t had much time to talk recently.

After Daniella and her friends left, I figured it was time to get to the bottom of things. I headed straight over to the Moroi who’d been lurking around, hands on my hips.

“Okay,” I demanded. “Who are you, and what do you want?”

He was only a few years older than me and didn’t seem at all fazed by my tough-girl attitude. He crooked me a smile, and I again pondered where I’d seen him.

“I’ve got a message for you,” he said. “And some gifts.”

He handed over a tote bag. I looked inside and found a laptop, some cords, and several pieces of paper. I stared up at him in disbelief.

“What’s this?”

“Something you need to get a move on—and not let anyone else know about. The note will explain everything.”

“Don’t play spy movie with me! I’m not doing anything until you—” His face clicked. I’d seen him back at St. Vladimir’s, around the time of my graduation—always hovering in the background. I groaned, suddenly understanding the secretive nature—and cocky attitude. “You work for Abe.”

T
HE MAN GRINNED. “YOU MAKE that sound like a bad thing.”

I made a face and looked back into the techno-bag with new appreciation. “What’s going on?”

“I’m the messenger. I just run errands for Mr. Mazur.”

“Is that a nice way of saying you spy for him? Find out everyone’s dirty secrets so that he can use them against people and keep playing his games?” Abe seemed to know everything about everyone—especially royal politics. How else could he manage it without having eyes and ears everywhere? Say, at Court? For all I knew, he had my room wired with microphones.

“Spying’s a harsh word.” I notice the guy didn’t deny it. “Besides, he pays well. And he’s a good boss.” He turned from me, job done, but gave one last warning. “Like I said—it’s time sensitive. Read the note as soon as you can.”

I had half a mind to throw it at the guy. I was getting used to the idea of being Abe’s daughter, but that didn’t mean I wanted to get tied up in some wacky scheme of his. A bag of hardware seemed foreboding.

Nonetheless, I hauled it back to my suite and emptied the contents onto my bed. There were a few sheets of paper, the top one being a typed cover letter.

There was no name at the bottom, but I didn’t need one. I set the letter down and stared at the jumble of cords. Seven was less than an hour away.

“Oh, come
on
, old man,” I exclaimed.

To Abe’s credit, the accompanying papers did have very basic directions that didn’t require a computer engineer’s insight. The only problem was, there were a lot of them, detailing where each cord went, what password to log in with, how to configure the modem, and so on. For a moment I considered ignoring it all. Yet when someone like Abe used the word
urgent
, it made me think maybe I shouldn’t be so hasty in my dismissal.

So, bracing myself for some technical acrobatics, I set to following his instructions. It took almost the entire time I had, but I managed to hook up the modem and camera and access the secure program that would allow me to video-conference with Abe’s mysterious contact. I finished with a few minutes to spare and waited the time out by staring at a black window in the middle of the screen, wondering what I’d gotten myself into.

At exactly seven, the window came to life, and a familiar—but unexpected—face appeared.

“Sydney?” I asked in surprise.

The video had that same, slightly jerky feel most Internet feeds had, but nonetheless, the face of my (kind of) friend Sydney Sage smiled back at me. Hers was a dry-humored smile, but that was typical of her.

“Good morning,” she said, stifling a yawn. From the state of her chin-length blond hair, it was likely she’d just gotten out of bed. Even in the poor resolution, the golden lily tattoo on her cheek gleamed. All Alchemists had that same tattoo. It consisted of ink and Moroi blood, imparting Moroi good health and longevity to the wearer. It also had a bit of compulsion mixed in to keep the Alchemists’ secret society from revealing anything they shouldn’t about vampires.

“Evening,” I said. “Not morning.”

“We can argue your messed-up unholy schedule some other time,” she said. “That’s not what I’m here for.”

“What
are
you here for?” I asked, still astonished to see her. The Alchemists did their jobs almost reluctantly, and while Sydney liked me better than most Moroi or dhampirs, she wasn’t the type to make friendly phone (or video) calls. “Wait . . . you can’t be in Russia. Not if it’s morning . . .” I tried to remember the time change. Yes, for humans over there, the sun would be down or about to be right now.

“I’m back in my native country,” she said with mock grandeur. “Got a new post in New Orleans.”

“Whoa, nice.” Sydney had hated being assigned to Russia, but my impression had been she was stuck there until finishing her Alchemist internship. “How’d you manage that?”

Her small smile turned to an expression of discomfort. “Oh, well. Abe, um, kind of did me a favor. He made it happen.”

“You made a deal with him?” Sydney must have
really
hated Russia. And Abe’s influence must have really been deep if he could affect a human organization. “What did you give him in return? Your soul?” Making a joke like that to someone as religious as her wasn’t very appropriate. Of course, I think she thought Moroi and dhampirs ate souls, so maybe my comment wasn’t too out there.

“That’s the thing,” she said. “It was kind of an ‘I’ll let you know when I need a favor in the future’ arrangement.”

“Sucker,” I said.

“Hey,” she snapped. “I don’t have to be doing this. I’m actually doing
you
a favor by talking to you.”

“Why
are
you talking to me exactly?” I wanted to question her more about her open-ended deal with the devil but figured that would get me disconnected.

She sighed and brushed some hair out of her face. “I need to ask you something. And I swear I won’t tell on you . . . I just need to know the truth so that we don’t waste our time on something.”

“Okay . . .”
Please don’t ask me about Victor
, I prayed.

“Have you broken into any place lately?”

Damn. I kept my face perfectly neutral. “What do you mean?”

“The Alchemists had some records stolen recently,” she explained. She was all business-serious now. “And everyone’s going crazy trying to figure out who did it—and why.”

Mentally, I breathed a sigh of relief. Okay. It wasn’t about Tarasov. Thank God there was one crime I wasn’t guilty of. Then the full meaning of her words hit me. I glared.

“Wait. You guys get robbed, and I’m the one you suspect? I thought I was off your list of evil creatures?”

“No dhampir is off my list of evil creatures,” she said. That half smile of hers had returned, but I couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. It faded quickly, showing what a big deal this was for her. “And believe me, if anyone could break into our records, you could. It’s not easy. Practically impossible.”

“Um, thank you?” I wasn’t sure if I should feel flattered or not.

“Of course,” she continued scornfully, “they only stole paper records, which was stupid. Everything’s backed up digitally nowadays, so I’m not sure why they’d go digging through dinosaur filing cabinets.”

I could give her a lot of reasons why someone would do that, but finding out why I was her number-one suspect was more important. “That is stupid. So why do you think I’d do it?”

“Because of what was stolen. It was information about a Moroi named Eric Dragomir.”

“I—what?”

“That’s your friend, right? His daughter, I mean.”

“Yeah . . .” I was almost speechless. Almost. “You have files on Moroi?”

“We have files on everything,” she said proudly. “But when I tried to think who could commit a crime like this
and
would be interested in a Dragomir . . . well, your name popped into my head.”

“I didn’t do it. I do a lot of things, but not that. I didn’t even know you had those kinds of records.”

Sydney regarded me suspiciously.

“It’s the truth!”

“Like I said before,” she told me, “I won’t turn you in. Seriously. I just want to know so that I can get people to stop wasting time on certain leads.” Her smugness sobered. “And, well, if you did do it . . . I need to keep the attention off you. I promised Abe.”

“Whatever it takes for you to believe me, I didn’t do it! But now
I
want to know who did. What did they steal? Everything on him?”

She bit her lip. Owing Abe a favor might mean she’d go behind her own people’s backs, but she apparently had limits on how much she’d betray.

“Come on! If you’ve got digital backup, you have to know what was taken. This is Lissa we’re talking about.” An idea came to me. “Could you send me copies?”

“No,” she said swiftly. “Absolutely not.”

“Then please . . . just a hint of what they were about! Lissa’s my best friend. I can’t let anything happen to her.”

I fully braced myself for rejection. Sydney didn’t seem very personable. Did she have friends? Could she understand what I felt?

“Mostly bio stuff,” she said at last. “Some of his history and observations we’d made.”

“Observ—” I let it go, deciding I really didn’t want to know more than I had to about Alchemists spying on us. “Anything else?”

“Financial records.” She frowned. “Particularly about some large deposits he made to a bank account in Las Vegas. Deposits he went out of his way to cover up.”

“Las Vegas? I was just there. . . .” Not that it was relevant.

“I know,” she said. “I saw some Witching Hour security tapes of your adventure. The fact that you’d run off like that is part of why I suspected you. It seemed in character.” She hesitated. “The guy with you . . . the tall Moroi with dark hair . . . is that your boyfriend?”

“Er, yeah.”

It took a long time and great effort for her to concede the next statement. “He’s cute.”

“For an evil creature of the night?”

“Of course.” She hesitated again. “Is it true you guys went there to elope?”

“What? No! These stories get to you guys too?” I shook my head, almost laughing at how ridiculous this all was, but knowing I needed to get back to the facts. “So, Eric had an account in Vegas he was moving money into?”

“It wasn’t his. It was some woman’s.”

“What woman?”

“No one—well, no one we can track. She was just down as ‘Jane Doe.’”

“Original,” I muttered. “Why would he be doing that?”

“That we don’t know. Or really care about. We just want to know who broke in and stole our stuff.”

“The only thing I know about that is that it wasn’t me.” Seeing her scrutinizing look, I threw up my hands. “Come on! If I wanted to know about him, I’d just ask Lissa. Or steal our own records.”

Several moments of silence passed.

“Okay. I believe you,” she said.

“Really?”

“Do you want me to not believe you?”

“No, it was just easier than I thought convincing you.”

She sighed.

“I want to know more about these records,” I said fiercely. “I want to know who Jane Doe is. If you could get me other files—”

Sydney shook her head. “Nope. This is where I cut you off. You know too much already. Abe wanted me to keep you out of trouble, and I’ve done that. I’ve done my part.”

“I don’t think Abe’s going to let you go so easily. Not if you made an open-ended deal.”

She didn’t acknowledge that, but the look in her brown eyes made me think she agreed. “Good night, Rose. Morning. Whatever.”

“Wait, I—”

The screen went black.

“Damn,” I growled, shutting the laptop more forcefully than I should have.

Every part of that conversation had been a shock, starting with Sydney and ending with someone stealing Alchemist records about Lissa’s father. Why would anyone care about a dead man? And why steal the records at all? To learn something? Or to try to hide information? If that last one was true, then Sydney was right that it had been a failed effort.

I replayed it all in my head as I got ready for bed, staring at my reflection while brushing my teeth. Why, why, why? Why do it? And who? I needed no more intrigue in my life, but anything involving Lissa had to be treated seriously. Unfortunately, it soon became clear I wouldn’t figure out anything tonight, and I fell asleep with all those questions spinning around in my head.

 

 

I woke up the next morning feeling a little less overwhelmed—but still short on answers. I debated whether or not to tell Lissa about what I’d learned and finally decided I should. If someone was gathering information on her father, she had a right to know, and besides, this was hardly the same as rumors about his—