As soon as all that spirit had blasted into Simon, Avery had begun screaming. And screaming and screaming. She gripped the sides of her head, the sound of her voice horrible and grating. Lissa and Adrian exchanged glances, unsure how to handle this new development.
“For God’s sake,” gasped Adrian, exhausted. “How do we shut her up?”
Lissa didn’t know. She considered approaching Avery and trying to help her, in spite of all that had happened. But a few seconds later, Avery grew quiet. She didn’t pass out like her companions had. She just sat there, staring. Her expression no longer resembled the dazed look she’d had while wielding spirit. It was just . . . blank. Like there was nothing in her at all.
“Wh-what happened?” asked Lissa.
I had the answer.
The spirit flooded from Simon into her. It fried her.
Lissa was startled.
How could it go from Simon to her?
Because they’re bonded.
You said she was bonded to Reed!
She is. She’s bonded to both of them.
Lissa had been too distracted while fighting for her life, but I’d been able to notice everyone’s auras through her eyes. Avery—no longer masking hers—had possessed a gold one, just like Adrian and Lissa. Simon and Reed had had nearly identical ones, with ordinary colors—ringed in black. They were shadow-kissed, both having been brought back from the dead by Avery.
Lissa asked no more questions and simply collapsed into Adrian’s arms. There was nothing romantic about it, just a desperate need on both their parts to be close to a friend.
“Why did you come?” she asked him.
“Are you kidding? How could I not? You guys were like a bonfire with all the spirit you were wielding. I felt it all the way across campus.” He glanced around. “Man, I have a lot of questions.”
“You and me both,” she muttered.
I have to go,
I told Lissa. I felt a little wistful at having to leave them.
I miss you. When will you be back?
Soon.
Thank you. Thank you for being there for me.
Always.
I suspected I was smiling back in my own body.
Oh, and Lissa? Tell Adrian I’m proud of him.
The Academy room faded. I was once more sitting on a bed halfway around the world. Abe was looking at me with concern. Mark also was concerned, but he had eyes only for Oksana, who lay down beside me. She looked a little like Avery, pale and sweating. Mark clasped her hand frantically, fear all over him. “Are you okay?”
She smiled. “Just tired. I’ll be all right.”
I wanted to hug her. “Thank you,” I breathed. “Thank you so much.”
“I’m glad to have helped,” she said. “But I hope I don’t have to do it again. It was . . . strange. I’m not sure what role I played there.”
“Me either.” It had been weird. Sometimes it was like Oksana had actually been there, fighting right along with Lissa and the rest. Other times, I’d felt as though Oksana had merged with me. I shuddered. Too many minds linked together.
“Next time, you have to be by her side,” Oksana said. “In the real world.”
I looked down at my hands, confused and unsure what to think. The silver ring gleamed up at me. I took it off and handed it to her.
“This ring saved me. Can it heal you even though you made it?”
She held it in her hand for a moment and then gave it back. “No, but like I said, I’ll recover. I heal quickly on my own.”
It was true. I’d seen Lissa heal remarkably fast in the past. It was part of always having spirit in you. I stared at the ring, and something troubling came to mind. It was a thought that had struck me while riding with the old couple to Novosibirsk, when I’d moved in and out of consciousness.
“Oksana . . . a Strigoi touched this ring. And for a few moments—while he did—it was like . . . well, he was still Strigoi, no question. But while he held it, he was almost like his old self too.”
Oksana didn’t answer right away. She looked up at Mark, and they held each other’s gazes for a long time. He bit his lip and shook his head.
“Don’t,” he said. “It’s a fairy tale.”
“What?” I exclaimed. I looked back and forth between him. “If you know something about this—about Strigoi—you have to tell me!”
Mark spoke sharply in Russian, a warning in his voice. Oksana looked equally determined. “It’s not our place to withhold information,” she replied. She turned to me, face grave. “Mark told you about the Moroi we met long ago . . . the other spirit user?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“He used to tell a lot of stories—most of which I don’t think were true. But one of them . . . well, he claimed he restored a Strigoi to life.”
Abe, silent thus far, scoffed. “That
is
a fairy tale.”
“What?” My whole world reeled. “How?”
“I don’t know. He never elaborated much, and the details often changed. His mind was going, and I think half of what he said was imaginary,” she explained.
“He’s crazy,” said Mark. “It wasn’t true. Don’t get caught up in an insane man’s fantasy. Don’t fixate on this. Don’t let it become your next vigilante quest. You need to go back to your bondmate.”
I swallowed, every emotion in the world churning in my stomach. Was it true? Had a spirit user restored a Strigoi to life? Theoretically . . . well, if spirit users could heal and bring back the dead, why not the undead? And Dimitri . . . Dimitri had definitely seemed altered while holding the ring. Had spirit affected him and touched some piece of his old self? At the time, I’d just assumed it was fond memories of his family affecting him. . . .
“I need to talk to this guy,” I murmured.
Not that I knew why. Fairy tale or not, it was too late. I’d done it. I’d killed Dimitri. Nothing would bring him back now, no miracle of spirit. My heart rate increased, and I could hardly breathe. In my mind’s eye, I saw him falling, falling . . . falling forever with the stake in his chest. Would he have said he loved me? I would ask myself that for the rest of my life.
Agony and grief flooded me, though at the same time, relief was there too. I had freed Dimitri from a state of evil. I had brought him peace, sending him on to happiness. Maybe he and Mason were together in heaven somewhere, practicing some guardian moves. I had done the right thing. There should be no regret here.
Oblivious to my emotions, Oksana addressed my last statement. “Mark wasn’t kidding. This man is crazy—if he’s even still alive. The last time we saw him, he could barely hold up a conversation or even use his magic. He ran off into hiding. No one knows where he is—except maybe his brother.”
“Enough,” warned Mark.
Abe’s attention was piqued, however. He leaned forward, shrewd as ever. “What’s this man’s name?”
“Robert Doru,” said Mark after a few hesitant moments.
It was no one I knew, and I realized how pointless this all was. This guy was a lost cause and had likely imagined the whole idea of saving a Strigoi in a fit of insanity. Dimitri was gone. This part of my life was over. I needed to get back to Lissa.
Then I noticed that Abe had gone very still.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
“No. Do
you
?”
“No.” I scrutinized Abe’s face. “You sure look like you know something, Zmey.”
“I know
of
him,” Abe clarified. “He’s an illegitimate royal. His father had an affair, and Robert was the result. His father actually included him as part of the family. Robert and his half-brother grew quite close, though few knew about it.” Of course Abe would know about it, though. “Doru is Robert’s mother’s last name.”
No surprise. Doru wasn’t a royal name. “What’s his father’s last name?”
“Dashkov. Trenton Dashkov.”
“That,” I told him, “is a name I know.”
I had met Trenton Dashkov years ago while accompanying Lissa and her family to a royal holiday party. Trenton had been an old, stooped man then, kind but on the brink of death. Moroi often lived to be over a hundred, but he’d been pushing a hundred and twenty—which was ancient even by their standards. There had been no sign or whisper of him having an illegitimate son, but Trenton’s legitimate son had been there. That son had even danced with me, showing a great courtesy to a lowly dhampir girl.
“Trenton is Victor Dashkov’s father,” I said. “You’re saying Robert Doru is Victor Dashkov’s half-brother.”
Abe nodded, still watching me closely. Abe, as I’d noted, knew everything. He likely knew my history with Victor.
Oksana frowned. “Victor Dashkov is someone important, isn’t he?” Out in their Siberian cottage, she was removed from the turmoil of Moroi politics, unaware that the man who would have been king had been locked away in prison.
I started laughing—but not because I found any humor in the situation. This whole thing was unbelievable, and my hysteria was the only way to let out all the crazy feelings within me. Exasperation. Resignation. Irony.
“What’s so funny?” asked Mark, startled.
“Nothing,” I said, knowing if I didn’t stop laughing, I’d probably start crying. “That’s the thing. It’s not funny at all.”
What a wonderful twist to my life. The only person alive who might know something about saving Strigoi was the half-brother of my greatest living enemy, Victor Dashkov. And the only person who might know where Robert was was Victor himself. Victor had known a lot about spirit, and now I had a good idea where he’d first learned about it.
Not that it mattered. None of this mattered anymore. Victor himself could have been able to convert Strigoi for all the good it would have done me. Dimitri was dead by my hand. He was gone, saved in the only way I knew how. I’d had to choose between him and Lissa once before, and I’d chosen him. Now there could be no question. I’d chosen her. She was real. She was alive. Dimitri was the past.
I’d been staring absentmindedly at the wall, and now I looked up and met Abe squarely in the eyes. “All right, old man,” I said. “Pack me up and send me home.”
TWENTY-NINE
T
HE FLIGHT WAS MORE LIKE THIRTY HOURS.
Getting from the middle of Siberia to the middle of Montana wasn’t easy. I flew from Novosibirsk to Moscow to Amsterdam to Seattle to Missoula. Four different flights. Five different airports. A lot of running around. It was exhausting, yet when I handed over my passport to get back into the U.S. in Seattle, I felt a strange surge of emotion in me . . . joy and relief.
Before leaving Russia, I had thought Abe might come back with me and finish his task himself, hand-delivering me to whomever had hired him.
“You really are going back now, aren’t you?” he asked at the airport. “To the school? You aren’t going to get off at one of your stops and disappear?”
I smiled. “No. I’m going back to St. Vladimir’s.”
“And you’ll stay there?” he pressed. He didn’t
quite
look as dangerous as he had in Baia, but I could see a glint of hardness in his eyes.
My smile slipped. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t have a place there anymore.”
“Rose—”
I held up a hand to stop him, surprised at my own determination. “Enough. No after-school specials. You said you were hired to get me back there. It isn’t your job to say what I do after that.” At least, I hoped not. Whoever wanted me back had to be someone at the Academy. I’d be there soon. They had won. Abe’s services were no longer required.
Despite his victory, he didn’t look happy about relinquishing me. Glancing up at one of the departure boards, he sighed. “You need to go through security, or you’ll miss your flight.”
I nodded. “Thanks for . . .” What exactly? His help? “ . . . For everything.”
I started to turn away, but he touched my shoulder. “Is that all you’re wearing?”
Most of my clothing had been scattered around Russia. One of the other Alchemists had located shoes, jeans, and a sweater, but otherwise, I was winging it until I got back to the U.S. “I don’t really need anything else,” I told him.
Abe arched an eyebrow. Turning to one of his guardians, he made a small gesture toward me. Immediately, the guardian took off his coat and handed it over. The guy was lanky, but the coat was still too big for me.
“No, I don’t need—”
“Take it,” ordered Abe.
I took it, and then to my further shock, Abe began unwinding the scarf from around his neck. It was one of his nicer ones, too: cashmere, woven with an array of brilliant colors, more suited to the Caribbean than here or Montana. I started to protest this as well, but the look on his face silenced me. I put the scarf around my neck and thanked him, wondering if I’d ever see him again. I didn’t bother asking because I had a feeling he wouldn’t tell me anyway.
When I finally landed in Missoula thirty hours later, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to fly in a plane anytime soon—as in, like, the next five years. Maybe ten. Without any luggage, getting out of the airport was easy. Abe had sent word ahead of my arrival, but I had no idea who they’d send to get me. Alberta, who ran the guardians at St. Vladimir’s, seemed a likely choice. Or maybe it would be my mother. I never knew where she was at any given moment, and suddenly, I really, really wanted to see her. She would be a logical choice too.
So it was with some surprise that I saw that the person waiting for me at the airport’s exit was Adrian.
A grin spread over my face, and I picked up the pace. I threw my arms around him, astonishing both of us. “I have never been happier to see you in my life,” I said.
He squeezed me tightly and then let me go, regarding me admiringly. “The dreams never do justice to real life, little dhampir. You look amazing.” I’d cleaned up after the ordeal with the Strigoi, and Oksana had continued healing me in spite of my protests—even the bruises on my neck, which she had never asked about. I didn’t want anyone else to know about those.