THE BEGINNING 6 страница

Wesley Drozdov, asshole extraordinaire, came to a halt before me, flanked by his lackeys, Lars Zeklos and Brent Badica. I stayed seated and made a big show of looking around and behind me. “Are you talking to yourself? I don’t see a mirror anywhere. And really, your performance wasn’t that bad. You shouldn’t get so down over a little embarrassment like that.”

“Little?” asked Wesley. He took a step forward and clenched his fists, but I refused to move from where I was. He pitched his voice low. “Do you know how much trouble I got in? My dad had to hire a flock of lawyers to get me out of that! He was furious.”

I put on a look of mock sympathy and spoke loudly, making him wince. “I would be too, if a human girl kicked my son’s ass. Oh, wait. I was the one who kicked your ass.”

We’d gathered quite an audience, as these things often did, and Vanessa soon came hurrying over. “Hey, hey,” she demanded. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, the usual,” I said, giving her a lazy smile. “Catching up on old times, laughing at times past. And if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that Wesley just makes me laugh and laugh.”

“You know what makes me laugh?” snapped Wesley. He nodded toward Nina. “Your cheap date there. I’ve seen her before. She’s the receptionist at my dad’s office. You promise you’d get her a better job if she sleeps with you?”

I sensed Nina stiffening beside me, but I didn’t dare shift my gaze from the guys standing over me. They’d started off as a nuisance, but now they were kindling a dark, uncharacteristic anger in me. Looking into Wesley’s eyes brought back all the memories of that night with Sydney when he and his henchmen had planned on taking advantage of her. Thoughts of the harm they’d intended for her mingled with my fears of all the unknown danger she might be facing now. It became one and the same, making my chest clench in rage and fear.

Destroy them, Aunt Tatiana whispered in my mind. Make them pay.

I worked to ignore her and conceal my emotions as best I could. Still wearing a dumbass smile, I said, “Why, no. She’s here with me by choice. I know that’s probably a weird concept for you, considering your track record with girls. Vanessa, I think Wes was just about to tell that story when you walked up—about the ‘flock’ of lawyers his dad had to hire to cover up how he and his entourage here tried to dabble with a human that was a guest of the queen’s?” I gestured grandly. “Please, go on. Tell us how it all worked out. And if they let you keep the drugs you were going to use on her. Might come in handy with some of the ladies around here, eh?”

I broke eye contact with Wesley long enough to give an exaggerated wink to a group of horrified girls standing nearby. I was positive what Wesley had tried to do wasn’t public knowledge, nor had he intended it to become so when he’d come up to me posturing about his past and dad’s lawyers. Humans might be less in the eyes of many Moroi, but dabbling—the act of drugging a non-feeder human and drinking from them against their will—was a pretty ugly sin among our kind. Attractive humans were especially desirable to the lowlifes who tried that, and Sydney had caught Wesley’s eye on her last visit. He and the others had tried to assault her, thinking I’d help. I’d ended up attacking them with a tree branch until guardians showed up on the scene.

I didn’t need the gasps around us to confirm that story hadn’t made local news. Wesley’s angry face told me as much. “You son of a bitch—”

He charged me, but I’d been expecting it and had spirit at the ready. Telekinesis wasn’t a spirit ability I utilized that much, but it was well within my range.

Destroy him! Destroy him! Aunt Tatiana insisted.

I opted for something a little less savage. With a thought, I sent one of those fine china platters Nina had commented on flying toward Wesley’s face. It clipped him hard on the side of the head, showering him with prawns and achieving my dual goals of pain and humiliation.

“That’s a cheap air user’s trick!” he snarled, attempting to move toward me again. The attack lost some of its impact since he was still wiping prawns off.

“What about this?” I asked. With a flick of my hand, Wesley’s advance came to a halt. The muscles in his body and face strained as he ordered his limbs to move, but the energy of spirit blocked them. It would’ve been difficult for an air user to manage that kind of complete immobility, and it sure as hell wasn’t easy for me either, seeing as I was only barely sober and was using an ability unfamiliar to me. The effect it generated was worth the effort, judging from the looks of awe on everyone’s faces. I mustered what remaining spirit I could to make myself appear extra charismatic to those gathered. It was impossible to compel a crowd, but spirit used correctly could make you much more endearing to others.

“Last time, you guys asked if I was a big, bad spirit user,” I remarked. “The answer? Yes. And I really don’t like it when assholes like you demean any girl—human or Moroi. So, if you want to move again, you’ll first apologize to my beautiful friend here. Then you’ll apologize to Vanessa for ruining her party, which was actually pretty amazing until you showed your disgusting faces and wasted her prawns.”

It was a bluff. Using telekinesis to restrain an entire person took a ridiculous amount of spirit, and I was running out. Wesley didn’t know that, however, and he was terrified at being immobilized.

Why stop there? demanded Aunt Tatiana. Think what he did to Sydney!

He didn’t succeed, I reminded her.

It doesn’t matter! He tried to hurt her. He has to pay! Don’t just freeze him with spirit! Use it to crush his skull! He needs to suffer! He tried to hurt her!

For a moment, her words and that storm of emotion building in my chest threatened to overcome me. He had tried to hurt Sydney, and maybe I couldn’t stop her current captors, but I could stop Wesley. I could make him pay, make him suffer for even thinking of hurting her, make sure he was never able to—

“I’m sorry,” Wesley blurted out to Nina. “And to you too, Vanessa.”

I hesitated a moment, torn between the desperate look on his face and Aunt Tatiana’s urgings—urgings that a dark part of me secretly wanted to give in to. Soon, the decision was made for me. I couldn’t have held out longer if I’d wanted to. My grasp on spirit vanished, and he collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap. He scurried to his feet and quickly backed away, with Brent and Lars shadowing him like the toadies they were. “This isn’t over,” Wesley warned, feeling brave once he’d put more distance between us. “You think you’re untouchable, but you aren’t.”

You showed him weakness, Aunt Tatiana told me.

“Get out,” ordered Vanessa. She gave a nod toward a couple of her larger male friends, who were more than happy to help Wesley to the door. “And don’t ever come back to any of my parties again.”

From the mutterings of others, Wesley and his cronies weren’t going to be welcome at any parties for a long, long time. But me? Suddenly, I was even more of a star than I had been. Not only was I shrouded in secrets, I’d also just used the still little-understood power of spirit to put a would-be womanizer in his place. The girls at the party loved that. Even the guys did. I had more invitations and friends than I’d ever had in my life—and that was saying something.

But I was also exhausted. The sun was threatening to come up over the horizon, and I was still on a human schedule. I took the well wishes with as much humility as I could and attempted to make my way to the door, promising each person I’d be sure to hang out with them later. Here, Nina jumped in to help me, steering me through the crowd, just as I’d guided her earlier, and dropping hints about official business I supposedly had to deal with.

“The only business I want to have now is with my pillow,” I told her with a yawn, once we’d broken free of the Szelsky home. “I’m nearly dead on my feet.”

“That was some hardcore magic you did,” she told me. “I didn’t even notice you’d stopped drinking. Pretty impressive restraint.”

“If I had my way, I’d live on a constant buzz of alcohol,” I admitted. “But I try to sober up a couple of times a day. It’s—it’s hard to explain, and I can’t really, but there’s something I have to do that I need my wits and spirit for. It timed out lucky tonight that Wesley made his appearance when he did. I wouldn’t have been so impressive if it had come down to a fist fight.”

Nina grinned. “I have faith in you. I bet you would’ve been awesome.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry for what he said to you.”

“It’s okay,” she said with a shrug. “I’m used to it.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to like it,” I said.

Something vulnerable in her eyes told me I’d hit the mark, that those comments stung her deeply. “Yeah … I mean, people don’t usually say things quite that explicitly, but I’ve seen that attitude in the people I deal with at work. You were right about the party, though. Some of them weren’t as bad as I thought.” Her voice suddenly turned shy. “And thank you … thank you for standing up for me.”

Her words and my small victory over Wesley gave me more self-determination than I’d had in weeks. My mood, which had been wallowing in darkness and self-loathing for so long, swung up dramatically. I wasn’t worthless after all. Maybe I hadn’t been able to find Sydney yet, but I was still capable of little things. I couldn’t give up the fight yet. Who knew? Maybe tonight my luck would change. I could barely wait to escort Nina back to her place so that I could get back to mine and search for Sydney.

When I did, though, it was clear my luck was staying the same on this front. No Sydney. That heady mood came crashing down, but at least I was so exhausted that I had little time to beat myself up over the failure. I fell asleep promptly thereafter and slept until almost the middle of the next vampiric day as my body continued figuring out what schedule I was on.

When I woke, my phone had a message from my mom, reminding me about dinner later on. When I checked the voice mail on the phone in my suite, I discovered about a million messages from my new “friends.” My cell phone number wasn’t widely known, but a bunch of the party goers had managed to find which guest building I was at and get messages through that way. I had social opportunities for months.

But today, I only had one that mattered. My parents’. I didn’t care so much about my dad, but my mom had gone out of her way to come get me. She’d gone out of her way for me on so many things, really, and I owed it to her to be respectable in front of her friends tonight. I stayed sober throughout the day and did boring things like laundry instead of following up on any of the invitations I had—including one that came in from Nina. As much as I liked her, and as much as I’d had fun with her, an inner voice told me it was wiser to keep my distance.

I showed up at my parents’ townhouse ten minutes before dinner started, wearing a freshly ironed suit and Aunt Tatiana’s cufflinks, and was greeted by my father in his usual gruff way. “Well, Adrian, I assume whatever business the queen has you on back here, it must be important.”

The comment took me aback until my mother rushed into the living room, looking glamorous in emerald green silk. “Now, Nathan, dear, don’t try to get state secrets out of him.” She rested a hand on my arm and gave a small, controlled laugh. “He’s been on me about that ever since the queen let me escort you back to your business here. I told him I just wanted to catch up, but he’s certain I know things he doesn’t.”

I finally caught on and shot her a grateful look when his attention was elsewhere. My mother hadn’t told him she’d found me in a drunken stupor in California and saved me from myself and a downward spiral. She’d let him think it was just an impulsive motherly gesture to travel with me and had even used it as an opportunity to pad my reputation. I didn’t necessarily feel the need to hide my shameful behaviors from my father, but I had to admit, life was certainly easier when he didn’t have them to rub in my face. Saying he was proud of me might have been a stretch, but he certainly seemed satisfied for the time being, and that was enough to make the night passable.

The dinner guests were other royals I’d met off and on throughout the years, people I knew little about, save that my parents were concerned with impressing them. My mother, who I was pretty sure had never personally cooked a meal in her life, oversaw every detail of their chef’s operation, making sure each course was perfect, be it in terms of wine pairing or simply how it was laid out on the plate. After a day of good behavior (and having checked for Sydney just before coming here), I let myself sample some of the wine, and even if I couldn’t correctly identify the region and soil type, I could tell my parents hadn’t been stingy.

I soon learned why: This was my parents’ first real leap into society since my mother’s return from incarceration. No one had invited them anywhere since she came back, so my parents were making the opening gesture, intent on showing the royal Moroi world that Nathan and Daniella Ivashkov were worthy company. That extended to me as well, since my parents went out of their way to keep bringing up the “important business” I was allegedly on. My relationship with Jill and her seclusion were top secret—not even my parents knew about those details—but Sonya’s work with the vaccine was known, and everyone was curious to learn more.

I explained it as best I could, using layman’s terms and avoiding state secrets. Everyone seemed impressed, particularly my parents, but I was glad when the attention shifted off me. Dinner wound down with some political talk, which I found mildly interesting, and society talk, which I didn’t find interesting at all. That had never been my thing, even before the life-changing events in Palm Springs. I didn’t care about golf scores or job promotions or upcoming formal gatherings. Still conscious of my role, I smiled politely through it all and contented myself by drinking more of the excellent wine. By the time the last of the guests left, I could tell that we’d successfully won them over and that Daniella Ivashkov would be welcomed back into that royal society she craved.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, sinking into one of the formal living room’s newly upholstered loveseats. “I daresay that was a success.”

“You did well, Adrian,” my father added. That was a big compliment, coming from him. “We have a few less problems to worry about now.”

I finished off the port that had been served with dessert. “I wouldn’t say not being invited to Charlene Badica’s annual summer tea really constitutes a ‘problem,’ but if I could help, I’m glad to.”

“You both helped repair damage you’ve caused to this family. Let’s hope that continues.” He stood up and stretched. “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

He’d been gone about thirty seconds when the full impact of his words penetrated my wine-soaked brain. “ His room? Isn’t that your room too?”

My mother, still looking beautiful after the long evening, elegantly crossed her hands in her lap. “Actually, dear, I’m sleeping in your old room now.”

“My …” I struggled to string sense together. “Wait. Is that why you sent me to guest housing? I thought you said I needed my own space.”

“Both, really. You do need your own space. And as for the other … well, since my return, your father and I have decided things run much more smoothly if we each live our own lives here … just under one roof.”

Her tone was so easy and pleasant that it made it difficult to grasp the severity of the situation. “What’s that mean? Are you getting divorced? Are you separated?”

She frowned. “Oh, Adrian, those are such ugly words. Besides, people like us don’t get divorced.”

“And married people don’t sleep in separate bedrooms,” I argued. “Whose idea was it?”

“It was mutual,” she said. “Your father disapproves of what I did—and the embarrassment it caused all of us. He’s decided he can’t forgive that, and honestly, I don’t mind sleeping on my own.”

I was flabbergasted. “Then get a divorce, and truly be on your own! Because if he can’t forgive you for acting impulsively to save your own son … well, I’ve never been married, but that just doesn’t seem like good husband protocol. That’s not how you treat someone you love. And I don’t know how you can love someone who treats you like that.”

“Darling,” she said with a small laugh, “love doesn’t have anything to do with this.”

“It has everything to do with it!” I exclaimed. I promptly dropped my voice, fearing I’d inadvertently bring my dad back, and I wasn’t quite ready for that. “Why else get married—or stay married—if not for love?”

“It’s very complicated,” she said in the kind of tone she had used on me as a child. “There’s status to consider. It wouldn’t look right if we split up. That, and … well, all of my finances are tied up with your father. We had paperwork drawn up when we married, and let’s put it this way: If he and I divorced, I’d have no way to support myself.”

I jumped to my feet. “ I’ll support you then.”

She met my gaze levelly. “With what, dear? Your art classes? I know the queen doesn’t pay you for your help—though goodness knows she should.”

“I’ll get some job. Any job. We might not have much to start with, but you’d at least have your self-respect! You don’t have to stay here, tied to his money and his judgment, pretending this is love!”

“There’s no pretending about it. This is as close to love as you get in marriage.”

“I don’t believe that,” I told her. “I know what love is, Mom. I’ve had love that burns in every fiber of my being, that drives me to be a better person and empowers me through each moment of the day. If you’d ever had something like that, you’d hold on to it with every bit of strength you had.”

“You only think that because you’re young, and you don’t know any better.” She was so damnably calm, it almost made me more upset. “You think love is a reckless relationship with a dhampir, just because it’s exciting. Or are you referring to the girl you were pining for on the plane? Where is she? If your love is so all-consuming and can triumph over everything, why aren’t you together?”

Good question, said Aunt Tatiana.

“Because … it’s not that easy,” I told my mother through clenched teeth.

“It’s not that easy because it’s not real,” she replied. “Young people mistake infatuation for ‘true love’ when there’s no such thing. Love between a mother and child? Yes, that’s real. But some romantic delusion that conquers all? Don’t fool yourself. Your friends, who have such grand romances, will eventually see the truth. This girl of yours, wherever she is, isn’t coming back. Stop chasing a dream and focus on someone you can build a stable life with. That’s what your father and I have done. That’s what we’ve always done … and I daresay it’s served us well.”

“Always?” I asked in a small voice. “You’ve always lived this sham?”

“Well,” she admitted. “Some parts of our marriage have been more … amicable than others. But we’ve always been pragmatic about it.”

“You’ve been cold and shallow about it,” I said. “You told me when you got out of prison, you understood the things that matter. Apparently not, if you’re willing to put up with this act—with a man who doesn’t respect you—for image and money! No security is worth that. And I refuse to believe this is the best anyone can hope for in love. There’s more to it than this. I will have more than this.”

My mother’s eyes almost appeared sad as she met mine. “Then where is she, dear? Where is your girl?”

I had no good answer for her. All I knew was that I could no longer stand being there. I stormed out of the townhouse, surprised to feel the sting of tears in my eyes. I had never thought of my parents as flowery, romantic types, but I’d believed that there’d still been some sort of strong affection in spite of—or perhaps because of—their prickly personalities. To be told that was a sham, that all love was a sham, couldn’t have come at a worse time. I didn’t believe it, of course. I knew there was real love out there. I’d experienced it firsthand … but my mother’s words stung because I was vulnerable right now, because no matter how popular I was at Court or how good my intentions were, I was still no closer to finding Sydney. My brain didn’t believe my mother, but my heart, so full of fear and doubt, worried there was truth to her words, and that dark, dreary pull of spirit only made things worse. It made me second-guess myself. Maybe I’d never find Sydney. Maybe I’d never find love at all. Maybe wanting something badly enough wasn’t enough to make it happen.

The weather had cooled outside, and a brisk wind promised rain. I paused in my walk and tried to reach out to Sydney, but the wine from dinner clouded my powers. I gave up and took out my cell phone instead, opting for simpler means of communication. Nina answered on the second ring.

“Hey,” she said. “When I didn’t hear from you, I thought … well, never mind. How’s it going?”

“It’s been better. You want to do something tonight?”

“Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You can pick. I’ve got a million invites. We can have parties all night.”

“Don’t you need to take a break at some point?” she teased, not knowing how close she was to hitting a nerve. “I thought you said you try to sober up every once in a while.”

I thought about my mom, trapped in a loveless marriage. I thought about me, trapped without options. And I thought about Sydney, who was simply trapped. It was all too much, too much for me to do anything about.

“Not tonight,” I told Nina. “Not tonight.”

CHAPTER 7

Sydney

IT TOOK ALMOST A WEEK for the other detainees to stop moving their desks away from me or cringing if we happened to touch. They were still nowhere near being friendly to me, but Duncan swore I was making remarkable progress.

“I’ve seen it take weeks or even months to reach this point,” he told me in art class one day. “Before long, you’ll get asked to sit with the cool kids at lunch.”

“ You could ask me,” I pointed out.

He grinned as he touched up a leaf on today’s still-life project: replicating the potted fern that lived on Addison’s desk. “You know the rules, kiddo. Someone else besides me has to reach out to you. Hang in there. Someone’ll get in trouble soon, and then your time will come. Jonah’s in trouble a lot. So is Hope. You’ll see.”

Since that first day, Duncan had pretty much restricted our social interaction to this class, aside from the occasional wisecrack in the halls if no one was close enough to hear. Consequently, I found myself craving art time. It was the only time anyone spoke to me like I was a real person. The other detainees ignored me throughout the day, and my instructors, whether it was in class or in purging, never failed to remind me of what a sinner I was. Duncan’s friendship centered me, reminding me that there was hope beyond this place. He was still cautious—even in this class—with his conversation. Although he rarely mentioned Chantal, the friend—who I secretly believed had been more than a friend—that the Alchemists had taken away, I could tell that her loss haunted him. He’d chat and smile with the others during meals but made a point of not talking to any one person excessively there or in classes. I think he was too afraid of risking anyone to the Alchemists’ wrath, even a casual acquaintance.

“You’re pretty good at this,” I said, noting the detail on his leaves. “Does that come from being here so long?”

“Nah, I used to paint as a hobby before coming here. I hate this still-life crap, though.” He paused to stare at his fern. “I’d kill just to free paint something abstract. I’d love to paint the sky. Who am I kidding? I’d love to see the sky. I never painted many outdoor scenes when I was assigned in Manhattan. Thought I was too good for it and would save myself for some Arizona sunset.”

“Manhattan? Wow. That’s pretty intense.”

“Intense,” he agreed. “And busy and loud and noisy. I hated it … and now I’d do anything to be back there. That’s where you and your broody boyfriend should end up.”

“We always talked about going somewhere like Rome,” I said.

Duncan scoffed. “Rome. Why deal with the language barrier when you can get everything you want stateside? You guys can get some sketchy apartment that you work two jobs to afford while you take classes on anything imaginable and he hangs out with his unemployed artist friends in Bushwick. Come home at night to eat Korean food with your kooky neighbors, then make love on your shabby mattress on the floor. The next day, start all over again.” He resumed painting. “Not a bad way of life.”

“Not bad at all,” I said, smiling in spite of myself. I could feel that smile fade as a pain lurched in my heart at the thought of any future with Adrian. What Duncan had described was as good as any of the “escape plans” Adrian and I used to concoct … and, at this moment, just as impossible. “Duncan … what did you mean when you said you’d do anything to be back there?”

“Don’t,” he warned.

“Don’t what?”

“You know what. I was just using an expression.”

“Yeah,” I began, “but if there was a way you could get out of here and—”

“There’s not,” he said bluntly. “You’re not the first to suggest it. You won’t be the last. And if I can help it, you won’t be thrown back into solitary for doing something stupid. I’ve told you, there’s no way out.”

I thought very carefully how to proceed. In the last year, he probably had seen others attempt to get out of here and, judging from his reaction, had watched them all fail. I’d asked him about exits a number of times, and like me, he’d never discovered where they were. I needed to find a different approach and gather other information that might lead to our freedom.

“Will you answer just two things for me?” I asked at last. “Not about exits?”

“If I can,” he said warily, still not making eye contact.

“Do you know where we are?”

“No,” he said promptly. “No one does, which is part of their plan. The only thing I’m sure of is that every level we ever go on is underground. That’s why there are no windows or obvious exits out.”

“Do you know how they get the gas in here? Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean,” I added, seeing him start to scowl. “You had to notice it when you were in solitary confinement. And they’re using it now to knock us out at night and keep us agitated and paranoid when we’re awake.”

“They don’t need any drugs for that,” he remarked. “Groupthink does a fine job of spreading that paranoia on its own.”

“Don’t dodge. Do you or do you not know where the gas comes from?”

“Come on, just because a fern’s a vascular plant doesn’t mean it’s producing carbon dioxide any differently,” he interrupted. I was taken aback, both by the weird subject change and the slight raising of his voice. “All the chemical reactions in basic photosynthesis are still there. It’s just a question of using spores instead of seeds.”

Дата добавления: 2015-10-30