“What is that?” I asked. “I mean, aside from the obvious.”
She gently stroked it with her fingertips and didn’t bother hiding the sarcasm when she spoke. “My guardian angel. It’s actually gold and”—she grimaced and dropped her hand—“Moroi blood, charmed with water and earth.”
“What?” My voice came out too loud, and some people in the restaurant turned to look at me. Sydney continued speaking, her tone much lower—and very bitter.
“I’m not thrilled about it, but it’s our ‘reward’ for helping you guys. The water and earth bind it to our skin and give us the same traits Moroi have—well, a couple of them. I almost never get sick. I’ll live a long life.”
“I guess that sounds good,” I said uncertainly.
“Maybe for some. We don’t have a choice. This ‘career’ is a family thing—it gets passed down. We all have to learn about Moroi and dhampirs. We work connections among humans that let us cover up for you since we can move around more freely. We’ve got tricks and techniques to get rid of Strigoi bodies—like that potion you saw. In return, though, we want to stay apart from you as much as we can—which is why most dhampirs aren’t told about us until they graduate. And Moroi hardly ever.” She abruptly stopped. I guessed the lesson was over.
My head was reeling. I had never, never considered anything like this—wait. Had I? Most of my education had emphasized the physical aspects of being a guardian: watchfulness, combat, etc. Yet every so often I’d heard vague references to those out in the human world who would help hide Moroi or get them out of weird and dangerous situations. I’d never thought much about it or heard the term
Alchemist
. If I had stayed in school, maybe I would have.
This probably wasn’t an idea I should have suggested, but my nature couldn’t help it. “Why keep the charm to yourselves? Why not share it with the human world?”
“Because there’s an extra part to its power. It stops us from speaking about your kind in a way that would endanger or expose them.”
A charm that bound them from speaking . . . that sounded suspiciously like compulsion. All Moroi could use compulsion a little, and most could put some of their magic into objects to give them certain properties. Moroi magic had changed over the years, and compulsion was regarded as an immoral thing now. I was guessing this tattoo was an old, old spell that had come down through the centuries.
I replayed the rest of what Sydney had said, more questions spinning in my head. “Why . . . why do you want to stay away from us? I mean, not that I’m looking to become BFFs or anything . . . .”
“Because it’s our duty to God to protect the rest of humanity from evil creatures of the night.” Absentmindedly, her hand went to something at her neck. It was mostly covered by her jacket, but a parting of her collar briefly revealed a golden cross.
My initial reaction to that was unease, seeing as I wasn’t very religious. In fact, I was never entirely comfortable around those who were hard-core believers. Thirty seconds later, the full impact of the rest of her words sank in.
“Wait a minute,” I exclaimed indignantly. “Are you talking about all of us—dhampirs and Moroi? We’re
all
evil creatures of the night?”
Her hands dropped from the cross, and she didn’t respond.
“We’re not like Strigoi!” I snapped.
Her face stayed bland. “Moroi drink blood. Dhampirs are the unnatural offspring of them and humans.”
No one had ever called me unnatural before, except for the time I put ketchup on a taco. But seriously, we’d been out of salsa, so what else was I supposed to do? “Moroi and dhampirs are
not
evil,” I told Sydney. “Not like Strigoi.”
“That’s true,” she conceded. “Strigoi are
more
evil.”
“Hey, that’s not what I—”
The food arrived just then, and the fried chicken was almost enough to distract me from the outrage of being compared to a Strigoi. Mostly all it did was delay me from responding immediately to her claims, and I bit into the golden crust and nearly melted then and there. Sydney had ordered a cheeseburger and fries and nibbled her food delicately.
After taking down an entire chicken leg, I was finally able to resume the argument. “We’re not like Strigoi at all. Moroi don’t kill. You have no reason to be afraid of us.” Again, I wasn’t keen on cozying up to humans. None of my kind were, not with the way humans tended to be trigger-happy and ready to experiment on anything they didn’t understand.
“Any human who learns about you will inevitably learn about Strigoi,” she said. She was playing with her fries but not actually eating them.
“Knowing about Strigoi might enable humans to protect themselves, though.” Why the hell was I playing devil’s advocate here?
She finished toying with a fry and dropped it back on her plate. “Perhaps. But there are a lot of people who would be tempted by the thought of immortality—even at the cost of serving Strigoi in exchange for being turned into a creature from hell. You’d be surprised at how a lot of humans respond when they learn about vampires. Immortality’s a big draw—despite the evil that goes with it. A lot of humans who learn about Strigoi will try to serve them, in the hopes of eventually being turned.”
“That’s insane—” I stopped. Last year, we’d discovered evidence of humans helping Strigoi. Strigoi couldn’t touch silver stakes, but humans could, and some had used those stakes to shatter Moroi wards. Had those humans been promised immortality?
“And so,” said Sydney, “that’s why it’s best if we just make sure no one knows about any of you. You’re out there—all of you—and there’s nothing to be done about it. You do your thing to get rid of Strigoi, and we’ll do ours and save the rest of my kind.”
I chewed on a chicken wing and restrained myself from the implied meaning that she was saving her kind from people like me, too. In some ways, what she was saying made sense. It wasn’t possible that we could always move through the world invisibly, and yes, I could admit, it was necessary for someone to dispose of Strigoi bodies. Humans working with Moroi were an ideal choice. Such humans would be able to move around the world freely, particularly if they had the kinds of contacts and connections she kept implying.
I froze mid-chew, remembering my earlier thoughts when I’d first come along with Sydney. I forced myself to swallow and then took a long drink of water. “Here’s a question. Do you have contacts all over Russia?”
“Unfortunately,” she said. “When Alchemists turn eighteen, we’re sent on an internship to get firsthand experience in the trade and make all sorts of connections. I would have rather stayed in Utah.”
That was almost crazier than everything else she’d told me, but I didn’t push it. “What kind of connections exactly?”
She shrugged. “We track the movements of a lot of Moroi and dhampirs. We also know a lot of high-ranking government officials—among humans and Moroi. If there’s been a vampire sighting among humans, we can usually find someone important who can pay someone off or whatever. . . . It all gets swept under the rug.”
Track the movements of a lot of Moroi and dhampirs
. Jackpot. I leaned in close and lowered my voice. Everything seemed to hinge on this moment.
“I’m looking for a village . . . a village of dhampirs out in Siberia. I don’t know its name.” Dimitri had only ever mentioned its name once, and I’d forgotten. “It’s kind of near . . . Om?”
“Omsk,” she corrected.
I straightened up. “Do you know it?”
She didn’t answer right away, but her eyes betrayed her. “Maybe.”
“You do!” I exclaimed. “You have to tell me where it is. I have to get there.”
She made a face. “Are you going to be . . . one of
those
?”
So Alchemists knew about blood whores. No surprise. If Sydney and her associates knew everything else about the vampire world, they’d know this too.
“No,” I said haughtily. “I just have to find someone.”
“Who?”
“Someone.”
That almost made her smile. Her brown eyes were thoughtful as she munched on another fry. She’d only taken two bites out of her cheeseburger, and it was rapidly growing cold. I kind of wanted to eat it myself on principle.
“I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly. She stood up and strode across to a quiet corner of the café. Producing a cell phone from that magic purse of hers, she turned her back to the room and made a call.
I’d polished off my chicken by then and helped myself to some of her fries since it was looking less and less like she was going to do anything with them. As I ate, I pondered the possibilities before me, wondering if finding Dimitri’s town would really be this simple. And once I was there . . . would it be simple then? Would he be there, living in the shadows and hunting prey? And when faced with him, could I really drive my stake into his heart? That unwanted image came to me again, Dimitri with red eyes and—
“Rose?”
I blinked. I’d totally spaced out, and Sydney was back. She slid back into her spot across from me. “So, it looks like—” She paused and looked down. “Did you eat some of my fries?”
I had no clue how she knew, seeing as it was such a huge stack. I’d barely made a dent. Figuring me stealing fries would count as further evidence of being an evil creature of the night, I said glibly, “No.”
She frowned a moment, considering, and then said, “I do know where this town is. I’ve been there before.”
I straightened up. Holy crap. This was actually going to happen, after all these weeks of searching. Sydney would tell me where this place was, and I could go and try to close this horrible chapter in my life.
“Thank you, thank you so much—”
She held up a hand to silence me, and I noticed then how miserable she looked.
“But I’m not going to tell you where it is.”
My mouth gaped. “What?”
“I’m going to take you there myself.”
THREE
W
AIT—WHAT?” I EXCLAIMED.
That wasn’t in the plan. That wasn’t in the plan at all. I was trying to move through Russia in as incognito a way as possible. Plus, I didn’t really relish the thought of having a tagalong—particularly one who appeared to hate me. I didn’t know how long it would take to get to Siberia—a couple days, I thought—and I couldn’t imagine spending them listening to Sydney talk about what an unnatural, evil being I was.
Swallowing my outrage, I attempted reason. After all, I was asking a favor here. “That’s not necessary,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s nice of you to offer, but I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
“Well,” she replied dryly, “there’s no getting around
that
. And it’s not me being nice. It’s not even my choice. It’s an order from my superiors.”
“It still sounds like a pain in the ass for you. Why don’t you just tell me where it is and blow them off?”
“You obviously don’t know the people I work for.”
“Don’t need to. I ignore authority all the time. It’s not hard once you get used to it.”
“Yeah? How’s that working out for you with finding this village?” she asked mockingly. “Look, if you want to get there, this is the only way.”
Well—it was the only way I could get there if I used Sydney for information. I could always go back to staking out the Nightingale . . . but it had taken me this long to get a lead from there. Meanwhile, she was here right in front of me with the information I needed.
“Why?” I asked. “Why do you have to go too?”
“I can’t tell you that. Bottom line: They told me to.”
Lovely. I eyed her, trying to figure out what was going on here. Why on earth would anyone—let alone humans with their hands in the Moroi world—care where one teenage dhampir went? I didn’t think Sydney had any ulterior motives—unless she was a very, very good actress. Yet, clearly the people she answered to had an agenda, and I didn’t like playing into anyone’s plan. At the same time, I was anxious to get on with this. Each day that passed was another in which I didn’t find Dimitri.
“How soon can we leave?” I asked at last. Sydney, I decided, was a paper-pusher. She’d shown no real skill in tracking me earlier. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to ditch her once we were near enough to Dimitri’s town.
She looked kind of disappointed at my response, almost as though she’d hoped I would decline and then she’d be off the hook. She didn’t want to come with me any more than I wanted her to. Opening her purse, she took out her cell phone again, fiddled with it a couple of minutes, and finally produced some train times. She showed me the schedule for the next day.
“Does that work for you?”
I studied the screen and nodded. “I know where that station is. I can be there.”
“Okay.” She stood up and tossed some cash on the table. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She started to walk away and then glanced back at me. “Oh, and you can have the rest of my fries.”
When I first came to Russia, I stayed in youth hostels. I’d certainly had the money to stay elsewhere, but I wanted to remain under the radar. Besides, luxury hadn’t really been the first thing on my mind. When I began going to the Nightingale, however, I found I could hardly return to a boarding house of backpacking students while wearing a designer dress.
So I was now staying at a posh hotel, complete with guys who always held the doors open and a marble-floored lobby. That lobby was so big that I think an entire hostel could have fit in it. Maybe two hostels. My room was large and overdone too, and I was grateful to reach it and change out of the heels and dress. I realized with only a small pang of regret that I’d have to leave the dresses I’d bought in Saint Petersburg behind. I wanted to keep my luggage light while jaunting around the country, and even if my backpack was large, there was only so much I could carry. Oh well. Those dresses would make some cleaning woman’s day, no doubt. The only bit of ornamentation I really needed was my
nazar
, a pendant that looked like a blue eye. It had been a gift from my mother, which had in turn been a gift from my father. I always wore it around my neck.