The Fiery Heart

CHAPTER 8 SYDNEY

ADRIAN’S TRIP SHOULDN’T HAVE BOTHERED ME as much as it did. After all, it wasn’t like I would’ve gotten to spend much time with him anyway this weekend. But the thought of the physical distance between us hit me acutely. Even when we weren’t together, I always had a sense of him being nearby—even if “nearby” meant across town at Carlton. In Palm Springs, I felt in control, like I could measure the steps between us or imagine strands of light connecting us no matter where we were. But Texas was out of my reach, out of my control. Adrian had left our safe haven—such as it was—and was out in the world, adrift.

At least I hadn’t had to lie to Zoe about canceling our outing together. Neil had needed a ride to the airport, and figuring out how to prevent Strigoi turning was a huge priority among the Alchemists, one we certainly wanted to help the Moroi with. When Zoe asked why Neil couldn’t have just taken a taxi, I gave her the same excuse I’d given him and Adrian: that I needed to see them off in person. Since Zoe believed most Moroi and dhampirs were sketchy and unreliable, this story worked.

It also gave me a little free time to stop at a New Age store on the way back and procure a few potential rocks and crystals to attempt elemental binding in. Although I had a lot of theoretical ideas about what might replace the boleite, I wasn’t having much luck with anything yet. There was still time before Marcus surfaced, but I worried I wouldn’t be able to deliver on my promises to him if I couldn’t figure this out.

I stopped by Ms. Terwilliger’s classroom with my purchases and found her grading tests at her desk. She gave me a brief glance and returned to her paperwork, not even needing to ask why I was there. I shut the door—after first putting on the KNOCK, PLEASE sign she’d made—and set to work.

Earth and fire were my two best elements so far, but for these trials, I stuck to the former. It was easier to brush dirt off my hands if anyone showed up than it was to cover up the smell of smoke. I worked on my first stone, zircon, and although I felt the transfer of magic into it, something seemed a little off. I took it to Ms. Terwilliger for confirmation since she was more adept than I was at sensing magic within objects and people. She held up the zircon to the light and studied it for several long moments before shaking her head.

“There’s some in there, but not nearly as much as I sensed you summoning over there. It didn’t all make it in.” She handed the stone back. “It might be sufficient for your needs, but I’m guessing you’d probably want as much as you can get.”

I nodded. I hadn’t explained my purpose, and she hadn’t asked. She mostly seemed content that I was independently studying the arts. I returned to my workstation and continued on with the last two stones, achieving equally disappointing results. One didn’t absorb magic at all. The other held it briefly, and then the magic bled out. I slouched back in the desk, defeated.

“I’m running out of easily accessible options,” I said, more to myself than her. “A halide like boleite’s my best bet, but it isn’t really lying around. I’m going to have to start ordering from rock dealers on the internet.”

Ms. Terwilliger didn’t have a chance to respond to my geological ramblings because someone knocked on the door. I slipped the rocks into my pocket and tried to look studious as she called a welcome. I figured Zoe had tracked me down, but surprisingly, Angeline walked in.

“Did you know,” she said, “that it’s a lot harder to put organs back in the body than it is to get them out?”

I closed my eyes and silently counted to five before opening them again. “Please tell me you haven’t eviscerated someone.”

She shook her head. “No, no. I left my biology homework in Miss Wentworth’s room, but when I went back to get it, she’d already left and locked the door. But it’s due tomorrow, and I’m already in trouble in there, so I had to get it. So, I went around outside, and her window lock wasn’t that hard to open, and I—”

“Wait,” I interrupted. “You broke into a classroom?”

“Yeah, but that’s not the problem.”

Behind me, I heard a choking laugh from Ms. Terwilliger’s desk.

“Go on,” I said wearily.

“Well, when I climbed through, I didn’t realize there was a bunch of stuff in the way, and I crashed into those plastic models of the human body she has. You know, the life-size ones with all the parts inside? And bam!” Angeline held up her arms for effect. “Organs everywhere.” She paused and looked at me expectantly. “So what are we going to do? I can’t get in trouble with her.”

“We?” I exclaimed.

“Here,” said Ms. Terwilliger. I turned around, and she tossed me a set of keys. From the look on her face, it was taking every ounce of self-control not to burst out laughing. “That square one’s a master. I know for a fact she has yoga and won’t be back for the rest of the day. I imagine you can repair the damage—and retrieve the homework—before anyone’s the wiser.”

I knew that the “you” in “you can repair” meant me. With a sigh, I stood up and packed up my things. “Thanks,” I said.

As Angeline and I walked down to the science wing, I told her, “You know, the next time you’ve got a problem, maybe come to me before it becomes an even bigger problem.”

“Oh no,” she said nobly. “I didn’t want to be an incon-venience.”

Her description of the scene was pretty accurate: organs everywhere. Miss Wentworth had two models, male and female, with carved out torsos that cleverly held removable parts of the body that could be examined in greater detail. I had a pretty good sense of anatomy but still opened up a textbook for reference as I began sorting the mess. Angeline, realizing her uselessness here, perched on a far counter and swung her legs as she watched me. I’d started reassembling the male when I heard a voice behind me.

“Melbourne, I always knew you’d need to learn about this kind of thing. I’d just kind of hoped you’d learn it from a real guy.”

I glanced back at Trey as he leaned in the doorway with a smug expression. “Ha, ha. If you were a real friend, you’d come help me.” I pointed at the female model. “Let’s see some of your alleged expertise in action.”

“Alleged?” He sounded indignant but strolled in anyway.

I hadn’t really thought much about asking him for help. Mostly I was thinking this was taking much longer than it should, and I had more important things to do with my time. It was only when he came to a sudden halt that I realized my mistake.

“Oh,” he said, seeing Angeline. “Hi.”

Her swinging feet stopped, and her eyes were as wide as his. “Um, hi.”

The tension ramped up from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds, and I tried not to groan. After all, their situation wasn’t all that different from mine. How would I feel if Adrian and I suddenly ended our relationship because of the taboos ingrained in our races? Trey and Angeline had split up because of outside pressures, not anything between them. And as I studied the longing in her eyes, I knew that the show she put on for Neil was exactly that: a show.

Everyone seemed at a loss for words. Angeline jerked her head toward the models and blurted out, “I had an accident.”

That seemed to snap Trey from his daze, and a smile curved his lips. Whereas Angeline’s antics made me want to pull out my hair sometimes, he found them endearing.

“That seems to happen a lot,” he said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” she insisted.

“It never is.”

“I just have bad luck.”

“Or you’re just trouble.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“No problem at all,” he said in a low voice.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. “Are you going to help or not?”

Somehow, the awkward tension had become sexual tension, and I was about ready to bolt. Trey, after one more long, heated look at her, turned away and threw himself into reassembling the female model. I hadn’t put much stock in his bragging, but to my surprise, he finished pretty quickly.

“Told you I’m an expert,” he said, with a sidelong glance at Angeline.

They both seemed to have forgotten me again and were going all dreamy-eyed. I cleared my throat. “Angeline, it’s almost time for dinner. Do you need to go change?”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” She had enough presence of mind to fetch the homework that had started all of this. “Thanks for helping,” she told Trey, as though I hadn’t even done anything.

He gave a nonchalant shrug, like he did this every day. “No problem.”

After he’d swaggered out the door, Angeline gave a mournful sigh. “Oh, Sydney. Why does he have to be one of those stupid Warriors?”

I locked up the classroom. “Well, he’s not technically one right now.”

“But he could be again,” she said, trudging beside me as we headed out to catch the shuttle to our dorm. “And if he does, he’ll never overcome all that stuff about mixing with dhampirs. One of these days, he’ll start dating a human again, and since we’re here, I won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“What exactly do you mean?” I asked cautiously.

She brightened a little. “Well, if we were back home, I could just keep challenging his new girlfriends to duels.”

“Well, let’s just hope he stays single, then.”

I left her to her fantasies when we reached the dorm, each of us off to our own room. Zoe was waiting in mine, looking mournfully at a beat-up paperback. “Where have you been?” she asked. “Not at the airport the whole time?” She regarded me thoughtfully. “With Ms. Terwilliger?”

“Angeline, actually. I had to help her with a, um, problem in her biology class.”

“There you go again, doing things you don’t need to.”

Angeline and Trey’s plight had me thinking of my own, and I didn’t have much patience for Zoe’s Alchemist rhetoric. “I do need to do it. I need Angeline here at Amberwood, and that means making sure she stays in her teachers’ good graces.” I sat down backward in my desk chair, resting my chin on its back. “You want to be an Alchemist so badly? Don’t wait to react to the immediate problem. Plan ahead, look at the big picture, and you won’t ever have to deal with that problem. Better to save yourself from a major catastrophe than drag your feet over a bunch of little inconveniences.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, looking hurt at my chastisement. “I get it. You don’t have to lecture.”

“Sorry,” I said, feeling only slightly so. “You came here to learn. I’m just trying to help.”

She gave me a small smile. “I know. I’m here for professional reasons. It’s just hard to forget sometimes that you’re my sister. You’re pretty good at it, though . . . treating me like I’m just another Alchemist. I’ll have to try harder to be as good.”

I flinched. She meant it as a compliment, that I could put aside what was between us and wholeheartedly focus on Alchemist mandates. I didn’t feel so proud of that, though. In fact, it made me distinctly uncomfortable, and I nodded toward her book. “What are you reading?”

That got her out of business mode, though it also brought a scowl. “I don’t know. Some Shakespeare play for my English class. We have to pick one by tomorrow, and I thought this one would be good since it’s so short.” She held it up. Richard III. “But I’m not really getting it.”

“Yikes,” I said.

“Bad play?” she guessed.

“Great play, but maybe not the best match for you. See if you can hunt down a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Might be easier on you.” Thinking of my friends’ romantic woes, I couldn’t help a small, sad smile. “And you’re practically living in the middle of it.” I laughed when she didn’t get the reference. “I forget that wasn’t part of Dad’s standard curriculum. I did most of my literature research on my own.”

She nodded, and suddenly her eyes went wide. “Oh! I nearly forgot to tell you. He’s coming here. Dad.”

I sat bolt upright in the chair. “When?”

“Next week.” I tried to relax, knowing my shock was a bit beyond ordinary surprise. I certainly couldn’t let her know I was afraid. “He wants to talk to us about Mom and the hearing. They’ve set a date for next month.”

That was news to me, but then I shouldn’t have been surprised at being out of the loop. After all, Zoe had proved a much more eager daughter than I had. It was only natural he’d tell her first.

“He’s going to help prepare us,” she continued. “So that we can be ready to fight for him.”

“Ah,” I said.

Zoe flounced back on the bed and stared morosely at the ceiling. “I wish it were over already. No, I wish I was eighteen like you and could just be free.”

While I could think of many adjectives to describe myself, “free” wasn’t usually one that came to mind.

“Oh, Sydney,” Zoe lamented. “Why is she doing this?”

“Because she loves you,” I said quietly.

“That’s not love.”

I was glad Zoe didn’t elaborate because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to keep my cool in the face of whatever shallow definitions of love she would’ve undoubtedly come up with.

“Mom’s not going to be able to match all of Dad’s educational and cultural talk,” I observed. “All she’ll have is anecdotal stuff to go on. Like that time you broke your foot.”

“It was my whole leg,” Zoe said quietly. I didn’t say anything else. I didn’t have to, judging from the faraway look in her eyes. When Zoe was little, she’d wanted to take gymnastics, so our mom had made it happen. An accident at a meet had broken Zoe’s leg, and she’d had to spend the night in the hospital, which was devastating since it was the same night as her team’s victory party. Mom had made arrangements to bring the team and the party to the hospital room, much to the staff’s astonishment. Zoe, craving social contact back then, had loved it. Our dad had thought the incident was proof of how worthless the class was.

When I drove the gang to Clarence’s later that evening, I heard a text come in on the Love Phone in my purse. Strict principles against texting and driving kept me away from it, but it wasn’t easy. That, and I tried not to get the phone out when others were around. As soon as we were walking up Clarence’s driveway, however, I pulled it out and read Adrian’s message: Escape plan #5: Open an alpaca ranch in Texas, one that requires all blond-haired, brown-eyed, brainy girls to wear sexy cowgirl outfits. I reread the words and smiled before deleting it, just like I did all of his messages. Jill caught my eye as she passed and smiled back at me. Sometimes her inner knowledge was creepy. Sometimes, it was like a comforting diary, having someone who knew about my romance. I really didn’t like a life of secrets, even if I’d been raised to live one.

None of us were great company tonight. I was down over Adrian, Jill over her Neil/Eddie dilemma, Angeline over Trey, and Zoe over our parents. Only Eddie and Clarence seemed to be having a good time—well, and Dorothy, once she was swimming on the high of having given Jill her blood. Clarence was in one of his more coherent moments and was regaling us with some of his tales of traveling, back when he was younger and hadn’t withdrawn from the Moroi world. One of his stories mentioned visiting a small exclusively dhampir training academy in Italy that had an excellent reputation. Eddie hung on every detail that Clarence could muster up.

“Deadly on the inside, beautiful on the outside. The entire roof of the building was a viewing deck, and students often spent their evenings—after training, of course—sitting out with espresso and watching the views of Lake Garda.” He frowned. “Can’t recall its Italian name.”

“Lago di Garda,” I said automatically.

“Ah, yes. That was it. And it wasn’t too far from Verona, either. You could get a little Shakespearean insight.” He chuckled.

Zoe looked up from the remnants of her pizza and made a rare show of engaging Clarence. “Don’t mention him.”

“Why ever not? He’s a great writer. And I thought you were such a literature fan too.”

Zoe nodded toward me. “That’s her. I have to write about one of his plays and don’t have a book. I can’t believe she’s making us e-mail her our choice tomorrow. On a Saturday! I’ll have to hunt down an online version on my laptop when we get home.”

“I see.” Clarence smiled magnanimously. “Well, why don’t you just borrow one of mine?”

For a minute, I thought Clarence meant she could borrow a laptop, which would be mind-blowing since, last I checked, the microwave was the most high-tech item in the house. Then, thinking of how every room contained shelves of books, I understood. “You’ve got some of his plays?” I asked.

“All of them. They’re in the extra storage in the garage. You’re welcome to go browse.”

“Do you have . . .” Zoe glanced at me questioningly. “What was it, A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“Of course,” said Clarence. “A great piece on love.”

I scoffed. “I don’t know about that. It’s mostly a series of zany hijinks set against a magical backdrop.”

“Didn’t you say we were practically living it?” Zoe asked.

“Love, in my experience,” began Clarence, “generally is a series of zany hijinks.”

“Love is . . .” An old memory with Adrian came back to me, and some of the turbulent emotion I always carried within me these days welled up in my chest. It was stupid, feeling so lovesick when he’d been gone less than a day, but I couldn’t get him or the ways he described love out of my head. “. . . a flame in the dark. A breath of warmth on a winter’s night. A star that guides you home.” When I realized everyone was staring at me, I quickly tried to redirect. “I read those in a book. You should check out Clarence’s library, Zoe. If you don’t get Midsummer, there might still be something else you’ll like.”

As soon as I saw her go pale, I knew I’d succeeded in my distraction. Everyone turned from me to her, though Eddie took the longest. I could immediately guess what she was thinking. Exploring a vampire’s garage was akin to going into a crypt, in her eyes. She probably expected to find coffins. I smiled.

“Want me to go with you?” I was kind of curious to see what his “extra storage” contained.

“Would you?” she asked, her head bobbing up and down.

“Of course.” I felt a small surge of warmth at doing this seemingly miniscule thing for her. I hadn’t forgotten her earlier comments about whether we were sisters or colleagues, and comforting her in a scary place was something I used to do when she was little.

As it turned out, though, Clarence’s garage was a complete and total contrast to the Gothic stateliness of the rest of his home. His little-used Porsche was parked inside it, making Zoe gape. There were gardening tools and home-improvement tools, a water heater, a workbench, and a whole area dedicated to boxed books. I cringed a little at that last one. Palm Springs might not be as damp as other places, but it was still an unnecessary risk to the books. I helped Zoe find the box of Shakespeare and then left her to make her own choice, warning her to read the backs and not go by length. Glancing at some of Clarence’s other books, I saw a collection of poetry that I pulled out and tucked under my arm for Adrian.

As Zoe continued searching, I found a seat on a stool and made a comfortable footrest out of a bag of gravel. Certain Zoe was engrossed in her task, I covertly took out my cell phone in case I’d missed any messages from Adrian. I hadn’t. I jotted out: Got you a book of poetry. Maybe shorter pieces will be easier than Gatsby. Clinging to hope, I stared at the screen and willed a response to come. Nothing came, and I had to remind myself he was away on business and probably enmeshed in the spirit case.

I shifted my feet, and a few small rocks fell out of the gravel bag. Except, when I took a closer look, I realized it was a bag of rock salt used for de-icing. Judging from the dirt and grime covering the bag, it didn’t see much use around here. Clarence still got points for preparedness, though. I jumped down and knelt to pick up the pieces that had fallen out. As I held some of the crystals in my hand, revelation hit me like a slap in the face.

Rock salt. Sodium chloride. The most common halide out there, with a cubic crystal system—just like boleite. It was so common, in fact, that it had never even crossed my mind as a candidate for the renegade ink experiments. I’d been focusing on the more exotic. I held up a piece of the salt, watching the way the light sparkled off it. My mind ran down which of its properties I could recall, conducting more comparisons to boleite. Could the answer really be right in front of me? Could my search have such an easy answer?

My heart began to pound as I dared a look at Zoe. She was engrossed in her task and appeared to be leafing through As You Like It. It was stupid and foolhardy to experiment here, but suddenly, I had to know. Retreating to the far side of the garage, I took up a position that gave me a good vantage of Zoe but kept her back to me. Getting dirt on my hands from the grungy floor was easy, and after one more nervous look in her direction, I summoned up earth’s essence.

I’d done it so much by now, it was almost second nature. A glow filled my hand, and I quickly covered my other hand, which held a salt crystal, transferring the light. The salt gleamed briefly, then all light faded. Had it worked? Was this crystal infused? Everything had felt right, but I couldn’t say for sure. Ms. Terwilliger could tell me tomorrow, but once again, my urgency got the best of me.

I returned to my stool, like nothing had happened, and texted my teacher: Any chance you could swing by my dorm tonight to collect an assignment? If she couldn’t, I could find an excuse to leave and go to her, but that would elicit questions from Zoe. Fortunately, the response I received was: Yes, I’ll stop by after my date with MW. It took me a minute to remember MW was Malachi Wolfe. Ugh.

Zoe stood up and stretched, then waved a copy of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. “I think I’m set. I hope this works.”

“Me too,” I said, pocketing the crystal.

It was easy stepping out of my dorm room later, when Ms. Terwilliger got in touch to say she was in the lobby. I met her near the door and tried not to let my jaw drop when I saw her. Not only was she wearing makeup, she was also in an amazingly cute shift dress that didn’t look like a Woodstock leftover.

“Wow . . . you look great, ma’am.”

She beamed as she smoothed the skirt. “You think so? I haven’t worn this in years. Malachi said this shade of pink makes me look like a Botticelli angel.”

“He said what?”

“It’s not important. Just pillow talk.” My jaw did drop then. “Now. What was it you needed?”

I swallowed and tried to remember. “Oh, I just wanted to give this back.”

I handed her a history book I’d grabbed at random and slipped the salt into her hand at the same time. All trace of lovesickness vanished. Her features grew sharp as she carefully rested the salt on the book. I clenched my hands so tightly my fingers hurt.

“Well, well, well,” she said, voice soft. “Look at that.”

“Yes?”

She lifted her eyes and smiled at me. “Congratulations, Sydney. You’ve made a flawless elemental charm.”