Lissa and her group had returned from the Royal Court a bit more grimly than they arrived. The cold light of morning had made Lissa feel incredibly idiotic about the party’s events. Dancing on a table wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but looking back over other parties she’d been to that weekend and her social life with Avery made her wonder what had gotten into her. Sometimes, she didn’t even feel like herself. And the kiss with Aaron . . . well, that was an entirely different guilt-inducing matter altogether.
“Don’t worry about it,” Avery told her on the plane. “We all do stupid stuff when we’re drunk.”
“Not me,” groaned Lissa. “This isn’t like me.” Despite this claim, Lissa had nonetheless agreed to drink mimosas—champagne mixed with orange juice—on the ride back.
Avery smiled. “I don’t have anything to compare it to. You seem okay to me. But then, you aren’t trying to run off with a human or some non-royal guy.”
Lissa smiled back, and her eyes went to Jill, sitting a little ahead of them on the plane. Adrian had spoken to the younger girl earlier, but she was busy with a book now, her biggest concern seeming to be to stay away from Reed. He sat with Simon again, and Lissa was a little surprised to see the guardian eyeing Jill suspiciously. Maybe Reed had told Simon that the younger girl was some kind of threat.
“You’re worried about her?” asked Avery, following Lissa’s gaze.
“It’s not that. . . . I just can’t shake the way she looked at me last night.”
“She’s young. I think she’s easily shocked.”
Lissa supposed that was true. Yet young or not, there had been something refreshingly clear and honest in the way Jill had called Lissa out. It reminded Lissa of something I might do. And Lissa couldn’t rest easy knowing someone like that thought badly of her. Lissa stood up.
“I’ll be right back,” she told Avery. “I’m going to talk to her.”
Jill was obviously astonished when Lissa sat beside her. The younger girl put a bookmark in what she was reading, and whatever she might be feeling, her smile for Lissa was genuine. “Hey.”
“Hey,” said Lissa. She hadn’t had much of the mimosa yet and still controlled enough spirit to see Jill’s aura. It was a rich teal blue, interspersed with purple and darker blue. Good, strong colors. “Look, I wanted to apologize for what happened last night . . . what I said . . .”
“Oh,” said Jill flushing. “It’s okay, really. I mean, things were kind of crazy, and I know you weren’t thinking straight. At least, I don’t think you were. I don’t really know. I’ve never actually had a drink, so I can’t say.” Jill’s nervousness always seemed to make her oscillate between rambling and silence.
“Yeah, well, I should have been thinking straight
before
I got in that situation. And I’m really sorry for what happened with Reed.” Lissa lowered her voice. “No clue what happened there . . . but that wasn’t right, what he did and said to you.”
Both girls found themselves studying him. He was deep in a book, but suddenly, as though he could sense them watching, his gaze turned toward Jill and Lissa. He glared, and they immediately looked away.
“That definitely wasn’t your fault,” said Jill. “And, you know, Adrian was there and everything. So it turned out okay.”
Lissa worked to keep a straight face. Adrian was sitting out of their view, but if he hadn’t been, Lissa had a feeling Jill would have been gazing at him dreamily. Adrian was doing a good deal of gazing of his own at Avery lately, and Lissa could see Jill was never going to leave that little-sister role for him. Yet it seemed clear that Jill was developing a little bit of a crush. It was cute, and even though Lissa knew it was stupid on her part, she couldn’t help feeling a bit of relief that Adrian was the object of Jill’s affections and not Christian.
“Well, here’s hoping for better choices,” said Lissa. “And hoping no one thinks too badly of me.”
“I don’t,” said Jill. “And I’m sure Christian won’t either.”
Lissa frowned, confused for a moment. “Well . . . there’s no point in stressing him out over it. It was my stupid mistake; I’ll deal with it.”
Now Jill frowned. She hesitated before speaking, that old nervousness returning. “But you have to. You have to tell him the truth, right?”
“It’s no big deal,” said Lissa, surprised at how defensive she suddenly felt. That unpredictable anger started to raise its head.
“But . . . you guys are in a serious relationship. . . . You have to always be honest, don’t you? I mean, you can’t lie to him.”
Lissa rolled her eyes. “Jill, you haven’t been in a serious relationship either, have you? Have you even gone on one date? I’m not lying to him. I’m just not telling him stuff that’s going to freak him out for no reason. It’s not the same.”
“It is,” argued Jill. I could tell how much it killed her to talk back to Lissa, but I admired her boldness. “He has a right to know.”
Lissa sighed irritably and stood up. “Forget it. I thought we could have an adult conversation, but apparently not.” The withering look she gave Jill made the girl flinch.
Still, back at the Academy, guilt plagued Lissa. Christian greeted her return happily, showering her with kisses and hugs. She firmly believed Jill had overreacted, yet each time Lissa looked at Christian, she kept thinking about that kiss with Aaron. Was it as wrong as Jill had implied? It had been casual and under the influence of alcohol. Lissa knew telling Christian would upset him, though, and she hated to bring that on. Avery, listening as Lissa deliberated, agreed that there was no need to worry about it. Yet, as I looked at her through Lissa’s eyes, my impression was that Avery was more worried about what Lissa’s emotional reaction would be if she and Christian had a blowout. The morals seemed beside the point; Avery wanted to protect Lissa.
It seemed like it was all going to blow over . . . until later in the day, when Lissa met up with Christian to walk to dinner. His face was a storm cloud as he approached Lissa in her dorm’s lobby, his pale blue eyes looking like they could shoot lightning bolts.
“When were you going to tell me?” he demanded. His voice was loud, and several passing people turned in surprise.
Lissa hurried him to a corner, pitching her voice low. “What are you talking about?”
“You
know
what I’m talking about. You using your weekend getaway as a chance to hook up with other guys.”
She stared at him for several heavy seconds. Then the truth hit. “Jill told you!”
“Yes. I had to drag it out of her. She showed up to practice with me and was on the verge of tears.”
Uncharacteristic anger suddenly burned through Lissa. “She had no right!”
“
You
had no right. Do you honestly think you could do something like that—without ever letting me know?”
“Christian, it was a stupid drunk kiss, for God’s sake. A joke because he saved me from falling off a table. It meant nothing.”
Christian’s face grew pensive, and Lissa thought for sure he was about to agree with her. “It would have been nothing,” he said at last, “if you’d told me yourself. I shouldn’t have had to hear it from someone else.”
“Jill—”
“—isn’t the problem. You are.”
Shock stunned Lissa for a moment. “What are you saying?”
“I . . .” Christian suddenly looked weary. He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. It’s just . . . things have been rough lately. I just . . . I’m just not sure if I can deal with all this. You were picking fights with me before you left, and now this?”
“Why won’t you listen? It was nothing! Even Avery agreed.”
“Oh,” said Christian sarcastically, “if Avery agreed, then it must be okay.”
Lissa’s temper raised its ugly head. “What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you liked her.”
“I do. But I don’t like how you’re confiding in her more than me lately.”
“You didn’t have a problem with me confiding in Rose.”
“Avery’s not Rose.”
“Christian . . .”
He shook his head. “Look, I don’t really want to go to dinner anymore. I just need to think.”
“When am I going to see you again?” she asked frantically. Her anger had been supplanted by fear.
“I don’t know. Later.”
He left without another word. Lissa stared after him, aghast as he walked out of the lobby. She wanted to go throw herself at him, beg him to come back and forgive her. There were too many people around, however, and she refused to make a scene—or intrude on his space. Instead, she took off to the only resource she had left: Avery.
“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Avery said, opening the door to her room. “What are you—Jesus Christ. What’s the matter?”
She ushered Lissa in and demanded the story. With a lot of tears and near-hysteric rambling, Lissa related what had happened with Christian. “And I don’t know what he meant. Does he want to break up? Will he come talk to me later? Should I go to him?” Lissa buried her face in her hands. “Oh God. You don’t think there’s anything going on with him and Jill, do you?”
“Jailbait? No,” exclaimed Avery. “Of course not. Look, you need to calm down. You’re freaking me out. This is going to be okay.” Anxiety lined Avery’s face, and she went to get Lissa a glass of water. Then, reconsidering, she poured a glass of wine instead.
Sitting alone, Lissa felt her wild emotions torment her. She hated what she’d done. She felt like there was something wrong with her. First she’d alienated me, and now Christian. Why couldn’t she keep her friends? What did it take? Was she really going crazy? She felt out of control and desperate. And she—
Bam!
Suddenly, and without warning, I was
shoved
out of Lissa’s head.
Her thoughts disappeared completely. I’d neither left of my own choice, nor had I been snapped back because of something in my own body. I stood in the room alone, having come to a standstill while pacing and thinking. Never, never had anything like that happened to me. This had been like . . . well, like a physical force. Like a glass wall or force field slamming down in front of me and pushing me back. It had been an outside power. It hadn’t come from me.
But what was it? Had it been Lissa? To my knowledge, she’d never been able to feel me in her head. Had that changed? Had she kicked me out? Had her spinning feelings grown so strong that there was no room for me?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t like any of it. When it had happened, aside from the sensation of being pushed, I’d experienced another strange feeling. It was like a fluttering, as if someone had reached in and tickled my mind. I’d had brief warm and cold flashes, and then it had all stopped once I was out of her head. It had felt invasive.
And it had also felt . . . familiar.
TWENTY-THREE
U
NFORTUNATELY, I COULDN’T REMEMBER where I’d felt it before.
Considering everything else that had been happening to me, the fact that I’d even recalled it at all was remarkable. My memories were a little scattered, but I did my best to sift through them, wondering where I had experienced that tickling in my brain. I received no answers, and pondering it all soon became as frustrating as coming up with an escape plan.
And as more time passed, I realized I really did need an escape plan. The endorphin withdrawal was killing me, but I was thinking more and more clearly as the effects left my system. I was astonished at how out of it I’d let myself become. As soon as I’d allowed Dimitri to bite me . . . I’d fallen apart. I’d lost my higher reasoning. I’d lost my strength and skills. I’d become soft and silly and stupid. Well, not entirely. If I’d completely lost it, I’d be a Strigoi now. There was some comfort, at least, in knowing that even while high on bites, some part of me had still fought through and refused to succumb.
Knowing I wasn’t as entirely weak as I’d believed helped keep me going. It made it easier to ignore the yearning in my body, to distract myself with bad TV and eating all the food in the little refrigerator. I even stayed awake for a long time in the hopes of exhausting myself. It worked, and I crashed as soon as I hit the pillow, drifting into a dreamless sleep with no withdrawal effects.
I was awakened later when a body slid into bed beside me. I opened my eyes and stared right into Dimitri’s red ones. For the first time in days, I looked at him with fear, not love. I kept that off my face, though, and smiled at him. I reached out and touched his face.
“You’re back. I missed you.”
He caught my hand and kissed my palm. “I had things to do.”
The shadows shifted on his face, and I caught the tiniest glimpse of dried blood near his mouth. Grimacing, I rubbed it off with my finger. “So I see.”
“It’s the natural order, Rose. How are you feeling?”
“Better. Except . . .”
“What?”
I looked away, conflicted again. The look in his eyes just then was more than simple curiosity. There was concern there—only a little—but it was there. Concern for me. And yet only a moment ago, I’d wiped blood from his face—blood from some poor person whose life had been snuffed out within the last few hours, most likely.
“I was in Lissa’s head,” I said at last. There was no harm in telling him this. Like Nathan, he knew she was at the Academy. “And . . . I got pushed out.”
“Pushed out?”
“Yeah . . . I was seeing through her eyes like I usually do, and then some force . . . I don’t know, an invisible hand shoved me out. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“Maybe it’s a new spirit ability.”
“Maybe. Except, I’ve been watching her regularly, and I’ve never seen her practice or even consider anything like that.”
He shrugged slightly and put an arm around me. “Being awakened gives you better senses and accessibility to the world. But it doesn’t make you omniscient. I don’t know why that happened to you.”
“Clearly not omniscient, or else Nathan wouldn’t want information about her so badly. Why is that? Why are the Strigoi fixated on killing the royal lines? We know they’ve—you’ve—been doing it, but why? What does it matter? Isn’t a victim a victim—especially when plenty of Strigoi used to be royal Moroi?”