The Fiery Heart (14 page)

“Sure.” She gave Olive a few soothing words and then left Neil to keep the younger girl company. Nina walked out of the room with me and looked up in concern. “What'd you want to talk about?”

“Nothing,” I said through gritted teeth. “I actually just need you to find me some place to lie down because I'll be damned if I faint in front of Rose and Belikov.”

Her eyes widened, but she wasted no time and took me to her room. Under other circumstances, I might have had the nobility to tell her I couldn't take her bed away from her. But exhaustion trumped chivalry. I collapsed onto the narrow bed, and for once in my life, I had no trouble falling asleep.

I awoke to morning sunlight pouring through the window. Jerking upright, I looked around, not sure where I was. Then, everything came back to me. Some of my strength had returned, but I still felt tired. Nearby, Rose sat with a human woman who bore the neck bites and telltale daze of a feeder.

“Breakfast,” said Rose.

I wasted no time on pleasantries and sank my teeth into the woman's neck. The rush it gave me caught me by surprise. I'd been so sated on Dorothy recently that I'd almost come to take blood in stride, the way I would a glass of milk. Now, burned out and weak, I was hit with the full impact of how much my body needed the blood of others. It was as essential as air and water for Moroi, and as I drank greedily, I was certain I'd never tasted anything so sweet and pure.

The feeder relaxed happily into her chair when I finished, lost in a world of endorphins. “Glad it was good for you too,” I told her, settling back against the pillows. I exhaled in satisfaction as the blood's energy continued working its way through me. “So what's the word, little dhampir?”

Rose's dark eyes regarded me with amusement. “You slept for ten hours. Dimitri left with Nina and Olive and the other guardians. Sonya's on her way back to Court, so hopefully they'll all meet up soon. It's just you, me, and Neil.”

“You think Nina and Olive are ready to travel?” I asked.

“They were a lot better this morning too. And we didn't want to waste any time getting them back, just in case Sonya's still able to see something.”

I swung my legs over the bed's edge and stood up, pleased to see the world was stable again. “I don't want to waste time either. I need to get back to Palm Springs.” Back to Sydney. “Thanks for sticking around.”

Rose nodded and stood as well. “Thanks for all you did. I don't understand a lot of it, but Nina did, and she was pretty impressed.”

“All in a day's work,” I said, hoping she believed me. I was fully aware that the spirit I'd used was off the charts. And I was also fully aware that there'd be a price.

A sly smile crossed Rose's lips. “I think Nina likes you. Maybe you could look her up the next time you're at Court. Would do you good to settle down.” It was a dangerous comment, considering our past, but it no longer bothered me.

“What, and disappoint all the women of the world? How cruel do you think I am?”

She caught hold of my arm as I was about to go into the living room and join Neil. “Adrian, in all seriousness . . . I mean it, thank you for this. I'm sorry for what I said last night. You have changed. And . . . it looks good on you.”

“Most things do,” I told her.

That broke her serious mien. “Always a joke with you. I guess I shouldn't expect that to go away.”

Then, astonishingly, she hugged me. Again, I was floored at how immune I was to it. That wasn't to say I felt nothing, but it wasn't the pain or longing for an ex. The hug was just a kind gesture from a friend.

We all went to the airport together; Rose was off to Pennsylvania, while Neil and I headed back to Palm Springs. A check of my cell phone at the gate found a number of messages from Sydney, excited that she'd made a breakthrough in her charm. Warmth flooded me as I imagined her face and that glint that shone in her eyes when she made some sort of intellectual discovery.

I wrote:
I never doubted. Would you believe I made a breakthrough with charms too?

Her response came fast.
Of course I believe it. When do you get back?

Early evening. Can you come over?

I'll try. We need to celebrate.

Should I get champagne and cake ready?

Get your bed ready.

Wear the black bra.

I didn't plan on wearing one.

“God help me,” I murmured, earning a surprised glance from Neil.

I sincerely doubted we would cross the line into sex during a furtive visit like this, but just the hint of her touch made everything else in the world fade to unimportance. I felt my pulse quicken as I thought of
that look
she got in her eyes sometimes, the animal one that had no interest in books and was usually followed by the urgency of her lips against mine and her hands tightening against my back. Everyone thought Sydney had passion only for intellectual pursuits. That was their loss.

Daydreams of Sydney kept me on a high for the flight home, even making Neil's conversation bearable. He'd become uncharacteristically chatty, wanting to talk about how to help with the “Strigoi vaccine.” He also kept going on and on about how brave the Sinclair sisters were—especially Olive. I could spot infatuation a mile away and put on my gravest look for him. “I've never seen courage like hers. I can't even begin to relate to it. You're probably the only one who understands that sort of awesome bravery. She can tell too. It was obvious from the way she was talking to you.”

Neil's breath caught. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. It was in her eyes. You should keep in touch. I'll get her contact info when we're back home. It'd probably help her, having someone else to talk to.”

That, at least, kept him dazed and happy. I was going to get in trouble with Jill for this, but I was still subscribing to the idea that she'd eventually thank me when she ran off with some Moroi prince. Or Eddie. I'd take either one.

When we landed in Palm Springs, I kind of hoped Sydney might be there to give us a ride from the airport, but we instead received messages to catch cabs to our respective homes. I also had a text from Jill waiting:
I know what you're doing with Neil. You're mean. How will I ever have a healthy relationship?

By being with someone else,
I wrote back.

Once I'd dropped off my suitcase and was in control of my own car, I headed out to a nearby grocery store. I felt like I was walking on air, buzzed with what I'd accomplished in Dallas and excited to see Sydney again. Being with her was about more than bras (or lack thereof). I also just wanted to be near her. I felt lonely inside my own head. Even with Jill or countless other friends, there was no one except Sydney that I truly felt comfortable with. She was the only one who truly saw me or heard me.

Inspiration hit, and I decided to make something for her tonight. Why wait for her birthday? Like she'd said, this was a special occasion. We were both celebrating our triumphs. Somehow, I became obsessed with the idea of making crème brûlée, even though I never had before. In fact, I'd never really made any sort of dessert, short of opening a carton of ice cream. But crème brûlée sounded classy, I was in love, and I felt unstoppable after doing what few others could do with spirit. How hard could one dessert be?

Before I could even answer that question, an internet search on my phone told me I needed a lot more equipment than my sparse kitchen had. By the time I hit the checkout line with my mini-blowtorch, ramekins, cream, egg separator, double boiler, and organic vanilla beans, I'd racked up a surprisingly high bill—more than my bank account held. Or my credit card permitted, for that matter.

“Sorry,” said the cashier, handing it back to me. “Declined.”

An uneasy feeling welled up in my stomach. “Can we try it again?”

She shrugged and ran it once more, only to get the same result. “Declined,” she repeated.

I nearly asked again but knew in my gut that nothing would change. Feeling like a total idiot, I abandoned my goods and left the store, unsure what I was going to do now. Panic began to rise up within me. I kept telling myself that neither my bank account nor my credit card were actually at zero. They just didn't have enough to cover a crème brûlée cooking kit. But just how much
was
left? That was something I needed to go find out. I only had to survive two weeks until my next payday, and as I made the agonizing drive home, I tried to add up what expenses I had to juggle. Gas. Groceries—unless I could get Dorothy to feed me. Had I paid electricity yet? I couldn't remember, but I knew cable was taken care of—not that it'd do me much good if they turned the power off.

Relax, Adrian,
I told myself.
You've still got money. And they won't cut the electricity if you're a little late on a bill.

But when I got home and checked my balances, I saw that even though I wasn't at empty yet, I was pretty damned close. What was I going to do? I could barely scrape by with my living expenses, let alone the ever-looming task of Sydney's birthday. I sank down on the floor near the still-packed boxes of records and glared at them.

“Stupid, stupid,” I muttered. “I am so stupid.”

The high I'd been riding from my triumph in Texas crashed to the ground. Despair settled around me, its dark tendrils slowly creeping under my skin. After what I'd done yesterday, it was expected that I'd be susceptible to the magic's ups and downs. I'd had the up earlier today . . . now the down would try to come, seizing on annoyances like this and making them bigger than they were. And then, on cue, I heard
her
voice.

Why are you so sad? You aren't stupid. You're my brilliant, beautiful boy. You'll figure a way out of this.

I could hear Aunt Tatiana's voice as clearly as if she stood beside me. I buried my face in my hands. “Go away, Aunt Tatiana. I don't need to add hallucinations to my growing list of problems.”

Since when was I problem?

“Since you died and I started imagining I could hear you.”

Are you saying you can't, sweetling?

“Yes! I mean, no. This is a trick. This is all in my head.” It was another secret I'd kept from Sydney, how in my darkest moments lately, I imagined conversations with my dead aunt. It was one of the most terrifying things that had ever happened to me because while certain actions might be jokingly called crazy, there was no question that ghostly imaginings actually were crazy. “I don't want to talk to you.”

Why? Haven't I always been there for you? Didn't I always look after you?

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. “But you're dead now, and I have to help my—”

I suddenly jerked my head up as an idea hit me. I sprang to my feet and hurried over to my dresser, where Aunt Tatiana's cuff links glittered up at me. Sydney had said I'd have a fortune if I sold them—but I didn't need to sell them. Not technically. I could take them to a pawnshop and get a loan. In two weeks, I'd go buy them out. Thrilled at my revelation, I scooped them up and started to turn away—then halted. Some inner voice of wisdom made me reconsider the logistics. After a moment's thought, I set one of them down and sought out a pair of tweezers in the jumble of various other items piled nearby. After a little maneuvering, I plucked out one of the rubies and held it up to the light. No need to risk the others. This was all I needed. More than enough to get me through the next two weeks. Inside my head, Aunt Tatiana's laughter echoed.

See? I always look after you.

“You aren't real,” I said, striding toward the front door. “You're just part of spirit messing with my head. All of this is a mental rebound after everything I did with Olive.”

If I'm not real, then how come you answer me out loud?

I'd known it would happen, that I couldn't walk away unscathed from all that spirit. I just hadn't expected it to bounce around these highs and lows or to escalate to this long of a conversation with my dead aunt. I had to nix this right now. I didn't want Aunt Tatiana talking to me while I was negotiating with a pawnbroker, and I certainly didn't want her around while Sydney was here. A check of the time told me I had a while before she showed up, giving me ample opportunity to fix my finances and blot out my aunt.

I hadn't had my daily drink and decided it was worth doing it early in order to get a grip. The agreement's terms referred only to “a drink,” with no qualifiers on strength. So, when I found an old bottle of Bacardi 151—the strongest stuff I owned—I didn't really feel like I was cheating, even though it had enough kick for two drinks. After a shot of that, I was out the door. And once again, a bolt of wisdom struck me. The shot hadn't hit me yet, but I prudently chose to walk downtown rather than drive. It was less than fifteen minutes, and by the time I reached the pawnshop I'd passed a dozen times in the past, I was happily buzzed from the rum. The store owner's assessment soon put a damper on that, though.

“Two hundred,” he said.

“That's bullshit,” I said, taking the ruby back. “It's worth at least twice that.” It occurred to me then that if I hadn't had the rum, I'd have full spirit to try to compel a higher price. Immediately, I regretted the thought. Even I had some morals. There was a reason the Moroi forbade the use of compulsion.

The guy shrugged. “Then run an ad. Sell it on the internet. You want fast cash? This is what you get.”

I nearly walked out the door, but desperation made me stay. Two hundred was less to pay back, and really, did I need much more than that to get by in the next two weeks?

“You won't sell it?” I asked.

“Not if you can keep paying interest or come pay off the loan.” There was a look in his eyes that told me most people never came back to pay those loans. In some of my darker moments, I would wallow in self-pity over how hard my life was. But just then, I couldn't help but think it must be pretty depressing to see the desperate dregs of the world coming in to sell off their prized possessions.