He started to move again, but suddenly, I felt a surge of spirit burn through Lissa. Joe came to a halt, and she strode toward him.
"What did you need to talk to Lady Ivashkov about?" demanded Lissa.
"Easy, cousin," murmured Adrian. "You don't need that much spirit to get answers."
Lissa was using compulsion on Joe, so much that he might as well have been a puppet on strings.
"The money," Joe gasped, eyes wide. "The money's set."
"What money?" she asked.
Joe hesitated, as though he might resist, but soon gave in. He couldn't fight that much compulsion, not from a spirit user. "The money . . . the money to testify . . . about where
he
was." Joe jerked his head toward Adrian.
Adrian's cool expression faltered a little. "What do you mean where I was? The night my aunt died? Are you saying . . ."
Christian picked up where Adrian couldn't. "Is Lady Ivashkov paying you off to say you saw Adrian?"
"I
did
see him," cried Joe. He was visibly sweating. Adrian had been right: Lissa was using too much spirit. It was physically hurting Joe. "I just . . . I just . . . I don't remember the time . . . I don't remember any of the times. That's what I told the other guy, too. She paid me to put a time on when you were there."
Adrian didn't like that, not at all. To his credit, he remained calm. "What do you mean you told ‘the other guy'?"
"Who else?" repeated Lissa. "Who else was with her?"
"No one! Lady Ivashkov just wanted to make sure her son was clear. I fudged the details for her. It was the guy . . . the other guy who came later . . . who wanted to know when Hathaway was around."
There was a click from the foyer, the sound of the front door opening. Lissa leaned forward, cranking up the compulsion. "Who? Who was he? What did he want?"
Joe looked like he was in serious pain now. He swallowed. "I don't know who he was! No one I'd seen. Some Moroi. Just wanted me to testify about when I'd seen Hathaway. Paid me more than Lady Ivashkov. No harm . . ." He looked at Lissa desperately. "No harm in helping them both . . . especially since Hathaway did it . . ."
"Adrian?" Daniella's voice rang down the hall. "Are you here?"
"Back off," Adrian warned Lissa in a low voice. There was no joking in it.
Her voice was just as soft, her attention still on Joe. "What did he look like? The Moroi? Describe him."
The sound of high heels clicked on the hall's wooden floor.
"Like no one!" said Joe. "I swear! Plain. Ordinary. Except the hand . . . please let me go . . ."
Adrian shoved Lissa aside, breaking the contact between her and Joe. Joe nearly sagged to the ground and then went rigid as he locked gazes with Adrian. More compulsion—but much less than Lissa had used.
"Forget this," hissed Adrian. "We never had this conversation."
"Adrian, what are you—"
Daniella stopped in the living room's doorway, taking in the strange sights. Christian was still on the couch, but Adrian and Lissa were inches from Joe, whose shirt was soaked with sweat.
"What's going on?" Daniella exclaimed.
Adrian stepped back and gave his mother one of those charming smiles that captivated so many women. "This guy came by to see you, Mom. We told him we'd wait until you got back. We're going to head out now."
Daniella glanced between her son and Joe. She was clearly uneasy about the scenario and also confused. Lissa was surprised at the "heading out" comment but followed Adrian's lead. Christian did too.
"It was nice seeing you," said Lissa, attempting a smile to match Adrian's. Joe looked totally dazed. After Adrian's last command, the poor janitor had also probably forgotten how he'd ended up at the Ivashkov home.
Lissa and Christian hastily followed Adrian out before Daniella could say much more. "What the hell was that?" asked Christian, once they were outside. I wasn't sure if he meant Lissa's scary compulsion or what Joe had revealed.
"Not sure," said Adrian, expression dark. No more cheery smile. "But we should talk to Mikhail."
"Rose."
Dimitri's voice was gentle, bringing me back to him, Sydney, and the car. He'd undoubtedly recognized the expression on my face and knew where I'd been.
"Everything okay back there?" he asked.
I knew "back there" meant Court and not the backseat. I nodded, though "okay" wasn't quite the right word for what I'd just witnessed. What
had
I just witnessed? An admission of false testimony. An admission that contradicted some of the evidence against me. I didn't care so much that Joe had lied to keep Adrian safe. Adrian hadn't been involved with Tatiana's murder. I wanted him free and clear. But what about the other part? Some "ordinary" Moroi who'd paid Joe to lie about when I'd been around, leaving me without an alibi during the murder window?
Before I could fully process the implications, I noticed the car had stopped. Forcing the Joe-info to the back of my mind, I tried to take stock of our new situation. Sydney's laptop glowed in the front seat as she scrolled through something.
"Where are we?" I peered out the window. In the headlights, I saw a sad, closed gas station.
"Altswood," said Dimitri.
By my estimation, there was nothing else but the gas station. "Makes our last town look like New York."
Sydney shut her laptop. She handed it back, and I set it on the seat beside me, near the backpacks she'd miraculously grabbed when leaving the motel. She shifted the car into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. Not too far away, I could see the highway and expected her to turn toward it. Instead, she drove past the gas station, deeper into darkness. Like the last place, we were surrounded by mountains and forests. We crept along at a snail's pace until Sydney spotted a tiny gravel road disappearing into the woods. It was only big enough for one car to go down, but somehow, I didn't expect we'd run into much traffic out here. A similar road took us in deeper and deeper, and although I couldn't see her face, Sydney's anxiety was palpable in the car.
Minutes felt like hours until our narrow path opened up into a large, dirt-packed clearing. Other vehicles—pretty old looking—were parked there. It was a strange place for a parking lot, considering all I could see around us was dark forest. Sydney shut off the car.
"Are we at a campground?" I asked.
She didn't answer. Instead, she looked at Dimitri. "Are you as good as they say you are?"
"What?" he asked, startled.
"Fighting. Everyone keeps talking about how dangerous you are. Is it true? Are you that good?"
Dimitri considered. "Pretty good."
I scoffed. "
Very
good."
"I hope it's enough," said Sydney, reaching for the door's handle.
I opened my door as well. "Aren't you going to ask about me?"
"I already know you're dangerous," she said. "I've seen it."
Her compliment offered little comfort as we walked out across the rural parking lot. "Why'd we stop?"
"Because we have to go on foot now." She turned on a flashlight and shone it along the lot's perimeter. At last, it flickered across a footpath snaking through the trees. The path was small and easy to miss because weeds and other plants were encroaching on it. "There." She began to move toward it.
"Wait," said Dimitri. He moved in front of her, leading the way, and I immediately took up the back position in our group. It was a standard guardian formation. We were flanking her the way we would a Moroi. All earlier thoughts of Lissa flitted from my mind. My attention was totally on the situation at hand, all my senses alert to the potential danger. I could see Dimitri was in the same mode, both of us holding our stakes.
"Where are we going?" I asked as we carefully avoided roots and holes along the path. Branches scraped along my arms.
"To people I guarantee won't turn you in," she said, voice grim.
More questions were on my lips when brilliant light suddenly blinded me. My eyes had grown attuned to the darkness, and the unexpected brightness was too abrupt a change. There was a rustling in the trees, a sense of many bodies around us, and as my vision returned, I saw vampire faces everywhere.
NINE
F
ORTUNATELY, THEY WERE MOROI FACES.
That didn't stop me from raising my stake and moving closer to Sydney. No one was attacking us, so I held my position—not that it probably mattered. As I took in more and more of the setting, I saw that we were completely surrounded by about ten people. We'd told Sydney we were good, and it was true: Dimitri and I could probably take out a group like this, though the poor fighting quarters would make it difficult. I also realized the group wasn't entirely Moroi. The ones closest to us were, but around them were dhampirs. And the light I'd thought had come from torches or flashlights was actually coming from a ball of flame held in one of the Moroi's hands.
One Moroi man stepped forward, about Abe's age, with a bushy brown beard and a silver stake in his hand. Some part of me noted the stake was crudely made compared to mine, but the point held the same threat. The man's gaze passed over me and Dimitri, and the stake lowered. Sydney became the object of the guy's scrutiny, and he suddenly reached out for her. Dimitri and I moved to stop him, but other hands reached out to stop
us
. I could have fought them but froze when Sydney let out a strangled, "Wait."
The bearded Moroi gripped her chin and turned her head so that the light fell on her cheek, lighting up the golden tattoo. He released his hold and stepped back.
"Lily-girl," he grunted.
The others relaxed very slightly, though they kept their stakes poised and still looked ready to attack if provoked. The Moroi leader turned his attention from Sydney to Dimitri and me.
"You're here to join us?" he asked warily.
"We need shelter," said Sydney, lightly touching her throat. "They're being chased by—by the Tainted."
The woman holding the flame looked skeptical. "More like spies for the Tainted."
"The Tainted Queen is dead," said Sydney. She nodded toward me. "They think she did it."
The inquisitive part of me started to speak but promptly shut up, wise enough to know this bizarre turn of events was best left in Sydney's hands. I didn't understand what she was saying. When she'd said Tainted were pursuing us, I thought she was trying to make this group think we had Strigoi after us. Now, after she'd mentioned the queen, I wasn't so sure. I also wasn't so sure identifying me as a potential murderer was that smart. For all I knew, Brown Beard would turn me in and try to score a reward. From the looks of his clothes, he could have used one.
To my surprise, this brought a smile to his face. "And so, another usurper passes on. Is there a new one yet?"
"No," said Sydney. "They'll have elections soon and choose."
The group's smiles were replaced by looks of disdain and disapproving mutters about elections. I couldn't help myself. "How else would they choose a new king or queen?"
"In the true way," said a nearby dhampir. "The way it used to be, long ago. In a battle to the death."
I waited for the punch line, but the guy was clearly serious. I wanted to ask Sydney what she'd gotten us into, but by this point, we'd apparently passed inspection. Their leader turned and began walking down the path. The group followed, moving us along as they did. Listening to their conversation, I couldn't help a small frown—and not just because our lives might be on the line. I was intrigued by their accents. The motel's desk clerk had had a thick southern accent, exactly like you'd expect in this part of the country. These guys, while sounding similar, had a few other pronunciations mixed in. It almost reminded me a little of Dimitri's accent.
I was so tense and anxious that I could hardly focus on how long we walked. Eventually, the path led us to what seemed like a well-hidden campground. A huge bonfire blazed in a clearing with people sitting around. Yet, there were structures scattered off to one side, stretching into the woods along the now widened path. It wasn't quite a road yet, but it gave the illusion of a town, or at least a village. The buildings were small and shabby but appeared permanent. On the other side of the fire, the land rose sharply into the Appalachians, blocking out the stars. In the flickering light, I could see a mountain's face that was textured with rough stone and scattered trees, dotted here and there with dark holes.
My attention moved back to the living. The crowd gathered around the fire—a couple dozen or so—fell silent as our escort led us in. At first, all I saw were numbers. That was the warrior in me, counting opponents and planning for attack. Then, just like I had earlier, I truly took in the faces. More Moroi mixed with dhampirs. And—I was shocked to discover—humans.
These weren't feeders either. Well, not in the sense that I knew feeders. Even in the dark, I could see glimpses of bite marks along some of the humans' necks, but judging by their curious expressions, I could tell these people didn't give blood regularly. They weren't high. They were mixed in among the Moroi and dhampirs, sitting, standing, talking, engaging—the whole group clearly unified in some kind of community. I wondered if these humans were like the Alchemists. Maybe they had some sort of a business relationship with my kind.
The tight formation around us began to spread out, and I moved closer to Sydney. "What in God's name is all this?"
"The Keepers," she said in a low voice.
"Keepers? What does that mean?"
"It means," said the bearded Moroi, "that unlike your people, we still keep the old ways, the way we truly should."
I eyed these "Keepers" in their worn clothes and the dirty, barefoot children. Reflecting upon how far we were from civilization—and based on how dark it was away from the fire—I was willing to bet they didn't have electricity. I was on the verge of saying that I didn't think this was how anyone should truly be living. Then, remembering the casual way these people had spoken about fights to the death, I decided to keep my views to myself.