The Golden Lily (3 page)

Another message was from Angeline herself. I also didn’t read it. The subject was: READ THIS! SO FUNNY! Angeline had only recently discovered e-mail. She had not, so it seemed, discovered how to turn off the caps-lock key. She also had no discrimination when it came to forwarding jokes, financial scams, or virus warnings. And speaking of that last one … we’d had to finaly instal child protection software on her laptop, in order to block her from certain websites and ads.

That had come after she’d accidentaly downloaded four viruses.

It was the last e-mail in my inbox that gave me pause. It was from Adrian Ivashkov, the only person in our group who wasn’t posing as a student at Amberwood Preparatory School. Adrian was a twenty-one-year-old Moroi, so it would have been kind of a stretch passing him off in high school. Adrian was along because he and Jill had a psychic bond that had been inadvertently created when he’d used his magic to save her life.

All Moroi wielded some type of elemental magic, and his was spirit—a mysterious element tied to the mind and healing. The bond alowed Jill to see Adrian’s thoughts and emotions, which was troubling to both of them. His staying near her helped them work out some of the bond’s kinks. Also, Adrian had nothing better to do.

better to do.

His message’s subject was: SEND HELP IMMEDIATELY.

Unlike Angeline, Adrian knew the rules of capitalization and was simply going for dramatic effect. I also knew that if I had any doubts about which of my messages related to my job, this was hands-down the most nonprofessional one in the set. Adrian wasn’t my responsibility. Yet, I clicked the message anyway.

Day 24. Situation is growing worse. My captors continue to find new and horrific ways to torture me. When not working, Agent Scarlet spends her days examining fabric swatches for bridesmaid dresses and going on about how in love she is. This usually causes Agent Boring Borscht to regale us with stories of Russian weddings that are even more boring than his usual ones. My attempts at escape have been thwarted thus far. Also, I am out of cigarettes.

Any assistance or tobacco products you can send will be greatly appreciated.

—Prisoner 24601

I began smiling in spite of myself. Adrian sent me some kind of message like this nearly every day. This summer, we had learned that those who were forcibly turned Strigoi could be turned back with the use of spirit. It was still a tricky, complicated process … made more so by the fact that there were so few spirit users.

Even more recent events had suggested that those restored from being Strigoi could never be turned again. That had electrified Alchemists and Moroi alike. If there was some magical way to prevent Strigoi conversion, freaks like Liam would no longer be a problem.

would no longer be a problem.

That was where Sonya Karp and Dimitri Belikov came in—

or, as Adrian caled them in his angst-filed letters, “Agent Scarlet” and “Agent Boring Borscht.” Sonya was a Moroi; Dimitri was a dhampir. Both had once been Strigoi and had been saved by spirit magic. The two of them had come to Palm Springs last month to work with Adrian in a sort of think tank to figure out what might protect against Strigoi turning. It was an extremely important task, one that could have huge ramifications if successful. Sonya and Dimitri were some of the hardest working people I knew—which didn’t always mesh with Adrian’s style.

A lot of their work involved slow, painstaking experiments—

many involving Eddie Castile, a dhampir who was also undercover at Amberwood. He was serving as the control subject since, unlike Dimitri, Eddie was a dhampir untouched by spirit or a Strigoi history. There wasn’t much I could do to help Adrian with his frustration over his research group—and he knew it. He just liked playing up the drama and venting to me.

Mindful of what was essential and nonessential in the Alchemist world, I was on the verge of deleting the message, but …

One thing made me hesitate. Adrian had signed his e-mail with a reference to Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables. It was a book about the French Revolution that was so thick, it could easily double as a weapon. I had read it in both French and English.

Considering Adrian had once gotten bored while reading a particularly long menu, I had a hard time imagining he’d read the particularly long menu, I had a hard Considering Adrian had once gotten bored while reading a particularly long menu, I had a hard time imagining he’d read the particularly long menu, I had a hard time imagining he’d read the Hugo book in any language. So how did he know the reference?

It doesn’t matter, Sydney, a stern Alchemist voice said inside my head. Delete it. It’s irrelevant. Adrian’s literary knowledge (or lack thereof) is no concern of yours.

But I couldn’t do it. I had to know. This was the kind of detail that would drive me crazy. I wrote back with a quick message: How do you know about 24601? I refuse to believe you read the book. You saw the musical, right?

I hit send and received a response back from him almost immediately: SparkNotes.

Typical. I laughed out loud and immediately felt guilty. I shouldn’t have responded. This was my personal e-mail account, but if the Alchemists ever felt the need to investigate me, they’d have no qualms about accessing it. This kind of thing was damning, and I deleted the e-mail exchange—not that it mattered. No data was ever truly lost.

By the time I landed in Palm Springs at seven the next morning, it was painfuly obvious that I had surpassed my body’s limits to subsist on caffeine. I was too exhausted. No amount of coffee would help anymore. I nearly fell asleep at the airport’s curb, waiting for my ride. When it arrived, I didn’t notice until I heard my name caled.

Dimitri Belikov jumped out of a blue rental car and strode toward me, grabbing hold of my suitcase before I could utter a word. A few nearby women stopped talking to stare at him admiringly. I got to my feet. “You don’t have to do that,” I said, even though he was already loading my suitcase into the trunk.

even though he was already loading my suitcase into the trunk.

“Of course I do,” he said, his words lightly touched with a Russian accent. He gave me a small smile. “You looked like you were asleep.”

“I should be so lucky,” I said, getting into the passenger side.

Even if I’d been wide awake, I knew Dimitri would’ve taken my suitcase anyway. That’s how he was, a lost remnant of chivalry in the modern world, ever-ready to help others.

That was only one of the many striking things about Dimitri.

His looks alone were certainly enough to make many halt in their tracks. He had dark brown hair puled back into a short ponytail, with matching brown eyes that seemed mysterious and aluring.

He was tal, too—about 6’7”—rivaling some Moroi. Dhampirs were indistinguishable from humans to me, so even I could admit that he scored pretty high on the attractiveness scale.

There was also an energy around him that you couldn’t help but be affected by. He was always on alert, always ready for the unexpected. I’d never seen his guard down. He was constantly ready to strike. He was dangerous, no question, and I was comforted that he was on our side. I always felt safe around him

—and a little wary.

“Thanks for the ride,” I added. “I could’ve caled a taxi.” Even as I spoke, I knew my words were as useless as when I’d told him he didn’t need to help me with my bag.

“It’s no problem,” he assured me, driving toward suburban Palm Springs. He wiped sweat off his brow and somehow made that look attractive. Even this early in the morning, the heat was beginning to build. “Sonya insisted. Besides, no experiments beginning to build. “Sonya insisted. Besides, no experiments today.” I frowned at that. Those experiments and the amazing potential they represented to prevent the creation of more Strigoi were vastly important. Dimitri and Sonya knew that and were dedicated to the cause—especialy on weekends, when Adrian and Eddie didn’t have classes—which made this news so puzzling. My own work ethic had a hard time understanding why there’d be no research happening on a Sunday.

“Adrian?” I guessed. Maybe he wasn’t “in the mood” for research today.

“Partialy,” said Dimitri. “We’re also missing our control subject. Eddie said he had some conflict and couldn’t make it.” My frown deepened. “What conflict could Eddie have?” Eddie was intensely dedicated too. Adrian sometimes caled him mini-Dimitri. Although Eddie was going to high school and completing assignments just like me, I knew he’d drop any homework in an instant to help out with the greater good. I could think of only one thing that would take precedence over helping find a “cure” for being Strigoi. My heart suddenly raced.

“Is Jill okay?” She had to be. Someone would have told me, right? Eddie’s main purpose in Palm Springs—and mine—was to keep her safe. If she was in danger, it would trump everything else.

“She’s fine,” said Dimitri. “I talked to her this morning. I’m not sure what’s going on, but Eddie wouldn’t be away without good reason.” reason.”

“I suppose not,” I murmured, still concerned.

“You worry as much as me,” teased Dimitri. “I didn’t think that was possible.”

“It’s my job to worry. I always have to make sure everyone’s okay.”

“Sometimes it’s not a bad thing to make sure you’re okay too.

“Sometimes it’s not a bad thing to make sure you’re okay too.

You might find it actualy helps others.” I scoffed. “Rose always joked about your ‘Zen Master Wisdom.’ Am I getting a taste of it? If so, I can see why she was helpless against your charms.”

This earned me one of Dimitri’s rare, genuine laughs. “I think so. If you ask her, she’ll claim it was the staking and decapitation. But I’m sure it was the Zen wisdom that won her in the end.”

My answering smile immediately melted into a yawn. It was amazing that I could joke with a dhampir. I used to have panic attacks being in the same room with them or Moroi. Slowly, over the last six months, my anxiety had begun to ease up. I’d never shake the feeling of “otherness” I got from all of them, but I’d come a long way. Part of me knew it was a good thing that I still drew that line between them and humans, but it was also good to be flexible in order to make my job smoother. Not too flexible, that inner Alchemist voice warned.

“Here we are,” said Dimitri, puling up in front of my dorm at Amberwood Prep. If he’d noticed my shift in mood, he didn’t say so. “You should get some rest.”

“I’ll try,” I said. “But I need to find out what’s going on with

“I’ll try,” I said. “But I need to find out what’s going on with Eddie first.”

Dimitri’s face turned al-business. “If you can find him, you should bring him over tonight, and we can see about getting a little work done. Sonya would love it. She has some new ideas.” I nodded, reminding myself that that was the kind of standard we needed to adhere to. Work, work, work. We had to remember our higher goals. “I’ll see what I can do.” I thanked him again and then headed inside, filed with resolve to carry out my mission. So, it was a bit disappointing when my lofty goals were shattered so quickly.

“Miss Melrose?”

I turned immediately at the sound of the last name I’d assumed here at Amberwood. Mrs. Weathers, our plump, elderly dorm matron, was hurrying over to me. Her face was lined with worry, which couldn’t bode wel.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she said. “I trust you had a good family visit?”

“Yes, ma’am.” If by “good,” she meant “terrifying and unsettling.”

Mrs. Weathers beckoned me over to her desk. “I need to talk to you about your cousin.” I held back a grimace as I recaled Jil’s e-mail. Cousin Angeline. All of us attending Amberwood were doing so under fake family connections. Jill and Eddie were my siblings.

Angeline was our cousin. It helped explain why we were always together and getting involved with each other’s business.

I sat down with Mrs. Weathers and thought longingly of my I sat down with Mrs. Weathers and thought longingly of my bed. “What’s happened?” I asked.

Mrs. Weathers sighed. “Your cousin is having trouble with our dress code.”

That was a surprise. “But we have uniforms, ma’am.”

“Of course,” she said. “But not outside of classes.” That was true. I was in khaki dress pants and a green short-sleeved blouse, along with a small gold cross I always wore. I did a mental rundown of Angeline’s wardrobe, trying to recall if I’d ever seen anything concerning about it. Probably the most appaling part was its quality.

Angeline had come from the Keepers, a mixed community of humans, Moroi, and dhampirs who lived in the Appalachian Mountains. Along with a lack of electricity and plumbing, the Keepers chose to make a lot of their clothing or at least wear it into threads.

“Friday night, I saw her wearing the most appalingly short jean shorts,” continued Mrs. Weathers with a shudder. “I immediately chastised her, and she told me they were the only way she could be comfortable in the heat outside. I gave her a warning and advised she find more appropriate attire. Saturday, she appeared in the same shorts and a tank top that was totaly indecent. That was when I suspended her to the dorm for the rest of the weekend.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said. Realy, I had no idea what else to say. I’d spent the weekend caught up in the epic battle to save humanity, and now … jean shorts?

Mrs. Weathers grew hesitant. “I know … wel, I know this isn’t realy anything you should be involved in. It’s a parental matter. But, seeing as how you’re so responsible and look out for the rest of your family …”

I sighed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll take care of it. Thank you for not taking more severe action against her.” I went upstairs, my small suitcase growing heavier with each step. When I reached the second floor, I stopped, unsure what to do. One more floor would take me to my room. This floor would take me to “Cousin Angeline.” Reluctantly, I turned into the second floor hal, knowing the sooner this was dealt with, the better.

“Sydney!” Jill Mastrano opened the dorm room’s door, her light green eyes shining with joy. “You’re back.”

“So it seems,” I said, folowing her inside. Angeline was there as wel, lounging on her bed with a textbook. I was pretty sure that was the first time I’d ever seen her study, but the house arrest probably limited her recreational options.