The Indigo Spell (15 page)

“How are you going to pull that off?”

“Actually,
you’re
going to pull it off.”

He spoke just as I was releasing another ball. My shot went wide, missed the rings
and even the machine entirely. The ball bounced off the wall and landed at the feet
of some startled girls. Marcus retrieved the ball and gave them an apologetic smile,
which made them gush about how it was no problem at all. As soon as they were gone,
I leaned toward Marcus.

“What did you say?”

“You heard me. You want to join our group? You want to break your tattoo?” He looked
annoyingly smug. “Then this is all part of the process.”

“I never said I wanted to do any of those things!” I hissed. “I just wanted to find
out more about them.”

“And I bet you’d really love to know if there are factions in the Alchemists working
with the Warriors.”

He was right. I did want to know that.

He caught hold of my hand. “Sydney, I know this is a lot to take in. I don’t blame
you for doubting, and that’s exactly why we need you. You’re smart. You’re observant.
You question. And just like me, those questions are going to get you in trouble—if
they haven’t already. Get out now while you can—on your own terms.”

“I just met you! I’m not breaking away from the group that raised me.” I pulled my
hand back. “I was willing to hear you guys out, but now you’ve gone too far.”

I turned and headed toward the door, unwilling to listen anymore. Yet as I walked
away, his words crawled over me. Even though I’d been forgiven for my involvement
with Rose, my record still probably had a black mark. And even though I hadn’t pushed
hard about Marcus Finch, had even bringing him up raised Stanton’s suspicions? How
long until little things added up?

I pushed open the doors and stepped out into bright sunlight. It chased away the darkness
of what I’d just heard. Marcus was right behind me and touched my shoulder.

“Sydney, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to scare you.” That cocky attitude was gone. He
was deadly earnest. “I just sense something about you . . . something that resonates
with me. I think we’re on the same side, that we want the same things. We’ve both
gotten close to the Moroi. We want to help them—without being lied to or used.”

I eyed him warily. “Go on.”

“Please, hear us out.”

“I thought I just did.”

“You heard
me
out,” he corrected. “I want you to meet the others and hear their stories. They’ll
tell you more about what they went through. They’ll tell you about this.” He tapped
his tattoo. “And when you hear more about that task . . . well, I think you’ll want
to do it.”

“Right. The big, mind-blowing thing that’s going to unveil an Alchemist-Warrior conspiracy.”
He remained serious, which bothered me more than if he’d suddenly revealed this to
be one big joke. “So, what? You’re going to get the others, and we’ll all have an
arcade day?”

He shook his head. “Too dangerous. I’ll gather them in some other place and then tell
you where to meet us, but it’s got to be last minute again. Can’t risk detection.”

“I can’t go on some epic road trip,” I warned. “No one cares much about LA trips,
but traipsing all over the state is going to get that unwanted attention you were
talking about.”

“I know, I know. It’ll be close. I just have to make sure it’s secure.” He was back
to his excited, cheery self. “Will you do it? Come join us?”

In spite of myself, I
was
curious. Even though I refused to believe in any connection between the Warriors
and the Alchemists, I wanted to find out what leads this group thought they had. I
also just wanted to see this mysterious group of his, period. What had Adrian called
them? Marcus’s Merry Men? And, of course, there was the tattoo. Marcus kept alluding
to its secrets but still hadn’t given me the details.

“I’ll do it,” I said at last. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“I want to bring someone with me,” I said. “You can trust him, I swear. But after
Sabrina pulled a gun on me, you have to understand why I’d be a little nervous about
walking into your clique.”

Marcus looked like he might almost consider it but then suddenly recoiled. “Not Adrian?”

“No, no. This guy’s a dhampir. No one who’d be interested in turning you over to the
Alchemists, especially if you really are working to protect Moroi. You say you’ve
got a good feeling about me? Then trust me that you have nothing to worry about with
him. He’d just be there to make me feel a little safer.”

“You have nothing to worry about with
us
,” Marcus said. “We won’t hurt you.”

“I want to believe you. But I don’t quite have that same good feeling you have yet.”

He didn’t say anything right away and then burst into laughter. “Fair enough. Bring
your friend.” He shook my hand, as though we were sealing some great bargain. “I’ll
be in touch later with the details. You won’t regret it, Sydney. I swear it.”

MARCUS DISAPPEARED TO WHEREVER
it was he was hiding out, and I drove home. What he’d said to me still seemed outlandish.
I kept telling myself none of it could be true. It made things a lot easier to handle.

Back at Amberwood, I found the usual buzz of evening student activity. It felt comforting
after my shocking outing, far removed from fanatics and cryptic spells. My phone buzzed
with a text message the minute I stepped into my dorm room. It was from Jill:
Come see us when you’re back
. I sighed. No rest for the wicked, it would seem. I left my purse in my room and
then trudged down to the second floor, unsure of what I’d find.

Jill opened her door, looking immensely relieved to see me. “Thank God. We have a
situation.”

“We
always
have a situation,” I said. I stepped inside and saw Angeline sitting on the floor,
back against the wall and a miserable expression on her face. “What happened?”

She looked up quickly. “It wasn’t my fault.”

The sinking feeling in my stomach increased. “It never is, is it? I repeat: what happened?”

When Angeline refused to say, Jill spoke up. “She gave Trey a concussion with an algebra
book.”

Before I could even start to parse that, Angeline leapt to her feet. “The doctor said
it wasn’t a concussion!”

“Wait.” I glanced between them, half hoping they’d burst into laughter at the joke
they must be playing on me. “You did something to Trey that actually required medical
attention?”

“I barely touched him,” she insisted.

I sat down on Jill’s bed and resisted the urge to crawl under its covers. “No. You
can’t do this. Not again. What did the principal say? Oh, God. Where are we going
to send you?” After Angeline’s brawl with a motivational group, it had been made very
clear that further fighting would get her expelled.

“Eddie took the blame,” said Jill. A small smile crossed her face as she spoke. “There
weren’t really many witnesses, so Eddie said they were playing around in the library
and tossing the book back and forth. He claimed he got careless and threw the book
too hard . . . and that it accidentally hit Trey on the head.”

Angeline nodded. “That’s kind of what really happened with us.”

“No, it wasn’t,” protested Jill. “
I
saw it. You got mad when Trey told you it shouldn’t be that hard to understand that
x
always has a different value.”

“He implied that I was stupid!”

Variables didn’t seem like too hard a concept to me, but I could tell under Angeline’s
bravado that she really was flustered. I always had the impression that back among
the Keepers, Angeline had been a queen among her peers. Here she was constantly trying
to keep up academically and socially, adrift in a world very different from the one
she’d grown up in. That would make anyone insecure. And while I questioned if Trey
had ever said she was stupid, I could understand how some of his snarky commentary
could be perceived that way.

“Did Eddie get in any serious trouble?” I asked. I doubted he’d get expelled for something
like this, but it would be just my luck that he’d get the punishment he’d saved Angeline
from.

“Detention,” said Jill.

“He accepted it very bravely,” added Angeline.

“I’m sure he did,” I said, wondering if either girl knew they were wearing mirror
expressions of adoration. “Look, Angeline, I know the tutoring process must be frustrating,
but you
have
to watch your temper, okay? Trey’s just trying to help.”

She looked skeptical. “He’s got kind of an attitude sometimes.”

“I know, but people aren’t exactly lining up to fill his position. We need you here.
Jill needs you here. Eddie needs you here.” I saw some of her indignation fade at
the mention of her friends and duty. “Please try to work with Trey.”

She gave a weak nod, and I stood up to leave. Jill hurried after me into the hallway.
“Hey, Sydney? How was your outing with Marcus?”

“It was fine,” I said, certainly not about to dredge up Marcus’s alarming revelations.
“Informative. And I learned how to play Skee-Ball.”

Jill almost looked offended. “You played Skee-Ball? I thought you were supposed to
be learning about the Alchemists’ secret history.”

“We multitasked,” I said, not liking her tone.

I left before she could comment further and texted Eddie when I reached my room.
I heard what happened. Sorry. And thanks.
His response was quick:
At least it wasn’t a concussion.

I braced myself for snark when I went to meet Adrian the next day. Jill had probably
told him about my arcade trip, which would probably elicit a comment like, “Nice to
know you’re so dedicated to crack the Alchemists. Way to keep your eye on the ball.”

When I pulled up in front of Adrian’s apartment building, he was already waiting out
front for me. As soon as I saw his grim face, my heart stopped. I jumped out of the
car, just barely pausing to grab the keys as I went.

“What’s wrong?” I exclaimed, jogging up to him.

He rested a hand on my shoulder, but I was too worried to care about the touch. “Sydney,
I don’t want you to freak out. There’s no lasting damage.”

I looked him over. “Are you okay? Were you hurt?”

For a moment, his somber expression turned puzzled. Then, he understood. “Oh, you
think it’s me? No, I’m fine. Come on.”

He led me around the back of his building, to the private parking lot used by residents.
I came to a halt, my jaw dropping as I took in the terrible, ghastly scene. A couple
other residents were milling around, and a police officer stood nearby taking notes.
Around us, seven parked cars had their tires slashed.

Including the Mustang.

“No!”

I ran over to its side, kneeling and examining the damage. I felt like I was in the
middle of a war, kneeling by a fallen comrade on the battlefield. I was practically
on the verge of shouting, “Don’t you die on me!”

Adrian crouched beside me. “The tires can be replaced. I think my insurance will even
cover it.”

I was still horrified. “Who did this?”

He shrugged. “Some kids, I guess. They hit a few cars one block over yesterday.”

“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning to me?”

“Well, I didn’t know they were going to come here too. Besides, I knew you’d flip
out and want to set up twenty-four-hour surveillance on this place.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” I glanced up at his building. “You should talk to the landlord
about it.”

Adrian didn’t seem nearly as concerned as he should have been. “I don’t know that
he’d go for it. I mean, this isn’t really a dangerous neighborhood.”

I pointed at the Mustang. “Then how come this happened?”

Even though we could take Latte to Los Angeles, we still had to wait around to finish
up with the police and then get a tow truck. I made sure the tow truck driver knew
that he better not get a scratch on the car, and then I watched mournfully as it was
hauled away. Once that sunny splash of yellow disappeared around a corner, I turned
to Adrian.

“Ready to go?”

“Do we have enough time?”

I looked at my cell phone and groaned. We’d burned up a lot of time handling the vandalism
aftermath. And yet, I hated to wait until tomorrow, seeing as I’d already lost time
yesterday while dealing with Marcus. I called Ms. Terwilliger and asked if she’d cover
for me if I came in after curfew.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, in a tone that suggested she couldn’t understand
why I’d even bothered calling her. “Just talk to more of those girls.”

Ms. Terwilliger had given me six names. We’d already taken care of Wendy Stone. Three
of the girls lived relatively close together, and they were our goal tonight. The
last two were closer to the coast, and we hoped to reach them tomorrow. Adrian tried
making conversation with me throughout the drive, but my mind was still on the Mustang.

“God, I’m an idiot,” I said, once we’d almost reached our destination.

“That’s never a term I’d use to describe you,” he said promptly. “Articulate. Well
dressed. Smart. Organized. Beautiful. I’d use those terms, but never ‘idiot.’”

I nearly asked why “beautiful” had come after “organized” and then remembered the
actual concern. “I’m obsessing about that car when girls’ lives are on the line. It’s
stupid. My priorities are messed up.”

My eyes were on the road, but I could tell he was smiling. “If your priorities were
really messed up, you would’ve followed that tow truck. Yet here you are, off to help
perfect strangers. That’s a noble thing, Sage.”

“Don’t rule yourself out,” I said. “You’re pretty noble too, going on all these outings
with me.”

“Well, it’s not the same as Skee-Ball, but it’ll have to do. How was that anyway?
Did you really learn anything?”

“I learned a lot—some pretty unbelievable stuff, actually. I’m still waiting to get
some proof, though.”

Luck was with us initially. The first two girls were home, though their reactions
were similar to Wendy Stone’s. This time, I’d had the foresight to bring the newspaper
article, in the hopes it would make a stronger impression. That ghastly picture at
least gave them pause, but I left not knowing if they’d really take me seriously or
use the agate charms.

Our good fortune ran out when we reached the last name. She too was a college student,
meaning we had another campus visit. Her name was Lynne Titus, and she lived in a
sorority house. I admit, as I knocked on the door, I was fully prepared to find a
group of girls dressed in pink, having a pillow fight in their living room. But when
we were shown in, we discovered an orderly home not all that different from Wendy’s
building. Some girls were coming and going, while others sat around with textbooks
and papers.

“Lynne?” asked the girl who’d let us inside. “You just missed her.”

I knew this shouldn’t be a surprise. These girls had lives. They wouldn’t all be waiting
around for me to come by and talk to them. I glanced uneasily at a window, taking
note of the purpling sky. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

The girl shook her head. “No, sorry. I don’t know where she went.”

Adrian and I exchanged looks. “You’re free from your curfew,” he reminded me.

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend all night waiting for Lynne.” I did
some mental calculations. “I suppose we could wait a couple of hours. Three at most.”

Adrian seemed supremely delighted by this, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was
more excited at hanging out on a college campus . . . or at spending time with me.
“What’s fun to do around here?” he asked our hostess. He glanced around at the quiet
academic environment. “No raging parties here, huh?”

The girl put on a disapproving expression. “We’re a very serious sorority. If you’re
looking for parties, I guarantee there’s one going on just down the street. Those
girls have one every night.” Adrian shot me a hopeful look.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Can’t we find some nice museum?”

“We want to stay close, in case Lynne comes back,” Adrian said. Something told me
if the party had been all the way across campus, he still would’ve pushed for it.
“Besides, if you want to go to college so badly, you should see the full scope of
what it has to offer. And aren’t you a fan of Greek stuff?”

That was hardly what I had in mind, and he knew it. I reluctantly agreed but warned
him he couldn’t drink. I was sporting the brown wig and presumed he was using spirit
to mask us further. Alcohol would diminish his ability to pull it all off. Plus, I
just didn’t want to see him drunk.

It was easy to find the party house because we could hear the music blasting from
it. A guy and a girl openly drinking beer from plastic cups challenged us at the door.
“This is Greek only,” the girl said. She looked as though she might fall off her stool.
“Who are you with?”

I pointed vaguely toward Lynne’s sorority. “Um, them.”

“Alpha Yam Ergo,” said Adrian, without hesitation. I expected the door squad to point
out that most of those weren’t even Greek letters. Maybe it was because Adrian spoke
so confidently—or because they’d had too much beer—but the guy waved us inside.

It was almost like being back at the arcade, an overwhelming flood of stimuli. The
house was crowded and loud, with smoke hanging in the air and alcohol flowing freely.
Several people offered us drinks, and some girl invited us—three times—to play beer
pong, forgetting that she’d already spoken to us. I regarded it all in amazement,
trying to keep the disgust off my face.

“What a waste of tuition. This is ruining all my collegiate dreams,” I shouted to
Adrian. “Isn’t there anything to do that’s not drinking or being stupid?”

He scanned around, able to see more of the room from his greater height. He brightened.
“That looks promising.” He caught hold of my hand. “Come on.”

In a surprisingly nice and spacious kitchen, we found several girls sitting on the
floor painting blank T-shirts. Judging from the sloppy job and paint spills, they
too had been indulging in alcohol. One girl had a cup of beer next to an identical
cup of paint, and I hoped she wouldn’t mix them up.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

One of the girls glanced up and grinned. “Making shirts for the winter carnival. You
want to help?”

Before I could say no, Adrian was already on the ground with them. “Do I ever.” He
helped himself to a white T-shirt and a brush with blue paint on it. “What are we
putting on these?” The girls’ shoddy work made that a valid question.

“Our names,” said one girl.

“Winter stuff,” said another.

That was good enough for Adrian. He set to work painting snowflakes on the shirt.
Unable to help myself, I knelt down to get a better look. Whatever his faults, Adrian
was
a decent artist. He mixed in a few other colors, making the snowflakes intricate
and stylized. At one point, he paused to light a clove cigarette, sharing one of the
girls’ ashtrays. It was a habit I didn’t really like, but at least the rest of the
smoke in this place masked his. As he was finishing up the shirt and writing out the
sorority’s name, I noticed that all the other girls had stopped to stare.