“It’s not that easy.” I averted my eyes for a moment. “We’re also pulling off a revolution against the taboos both our races enforce.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” He leaned against the back of his kitchen and stared off at the dark window, lost in his own thoughts. “What is our escape plan?”
Silence fell. I had no answer, and I did the cowardly thing by shifting the topic back to him. “Is that why you did this tonight? Because of us? Or was it because of spirit? Jill mentioned that you used a lot of it.”
“No, Sydney.” It was a little disconcerting that he kept using my first name. It made it hard to stay angry. He walked back to me and caught hold of my hands, a haunted look in his eyes. “I didn’t just use spirit. It was like . . . I was spirit. It filled me up. I had to look into that girl—Olive—to find out what had happened to her. Spirit infused every part of her, and I had to summon so much to see it. Then I had to confine it. Do you know what that’s like? Do you have any idea? The only thing I’ve ever done that required more was saving Jill.”
“Hence your backlash,” I said.
He shook his head. “I tried. I tried to hold out. But when I swing up like that . . . well, eventually the pendulum swings back. It’s hard to explain.”
“I’ve been down before.”
“Not like this,” he said. “And I’m not saying that to be a smart-ass. The way I feel . . . it’s like the world starts crumbling around me. Every doubt, every fear . . . it eats me. It weighs me down until I’m swallowed in darkness and can’t tell what’s real or not. And even when I know something’s not real . . . like Aunt Tatiana . . . well, it’s still hard . . .”
I went cold all over, recalling his words from the shop. “How often do you hear her?”
His voice was barely whisper. “Not often. Although, once is too much. It’s so weird. I know she’s not there. I know she’s gone. But I can imagine what she’d say, and it’s just so real . . . it’s like I can practically see her. I haven’t yet, though, but someday . . . someday, I’m afraid I really will, and then I know I’ll really be lost . . .”
I was so floored, I didn’t know what to say. There’d been lots of talk about madness and spirit, but I’d rarely thought it was more than his moodiness. I drew him to me and finally found words.
“Adrian, you have to get help.”
His laugh was harsh. “What help is there? This is my life. Jäger shots are about as good as it gets. At least they take the edge off.”
“That’s not a solution. You need real help. Get a prescription like Lissa did.”
He abruptly pulled away from me. “What, and kill it altogether?”
“Stop spirit, you stop the depression and . . . other things. Like needing to drink until you’re yelling at a pawn dealer.”
“But then I don’t have spirit.”
“Yes, that’s the point.”
“I can’t. I can’t cut myself off from it.” Lines of pain were etched on his face.
“You can do anything you want,” I said firmly. There was a pain welling up inside of me, and I summoned as much steel as I could to keep it hidden. A concerned Hopper was sitting nearby, and I picked him up as a distraction, stroking the golden scales. “Do it, and you’ll save yourself. And Jill. You know the darkness can bleed into her.”
“I did save her!” he exclaimed. A bit of that desperate, frantic gleam returned to his eyes. “She was dead, and I saved her. With spirit. I saved Rowena’s hand. I saved Olive’s blood. Do you know how much effort that was? It wasn’t just the amount—the magic was so intricate, Sydney. I don’t know if anyone else could’ve done it. But I did. With spirit. With spirit, I can actually do great things for a change!”
“You can do plenty of other great things.”
“Yeah? Like that?” He pointed at his latest self-portrait attempt, which even I had to admit was pretty bad.
“You’re more than the magic,” I insisted. “I don’t love you because of the magic.”
He faltered a moment at that. “But how can I just let go of the ability to help others? I asked you this before. Should I have let Jill die? Let Rowena ruin her career? Lose our chance at saving people from becoming Strigoi?”
My control finally snapped, and I set Hopper back down. “There’s a line! At some point, there’s a line you can’t cross! Yes, you’ve done amazing things, but you’re reaching a point where you’ll have to pay a big price. Are you ready to pay it? Because I’m not! There comes a time when you have to step back and balance yourself with the needs of others. What happens if you do some major feat of spirit that pushes you over the edge? That gets you locked away? Or dead? Then what? How much else will you accomplish? Nothing. You don’t know what the future holds. You don’t know what you can do if you break free of spirit’s influence.”
He moved forward and clasped my hands again. “But I’m not going to be able to. You think I can stand aside the next time I have to heal someone? Let them suffer? That’s a temptation I can’t fight.”
“Then remove it. Talk to a doctor. Take the decision away, and see what wondrous things you can do when you’re in control of yourself again.”
Those green, green eyes held me for what felt like an eternity. At last he swallowed and shook his head again. “I can’t, Sydney. I can’t give it up.”
And at that point, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. The tears started as just a few trickles and before I knew it, I was consumed by full-fledged sobbing. I buried my face in my hands, and all the grief, all the fear I’d held inside me for him came bursting out. I almost never cried. I certainly didn’t do it in front of others. And although I considered most of my dad’s lessons completely useless these days, I’d still clung to the idea that breaking down like this and showing so much emotion was a sign of weakness. But I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop.
I was scared. So, so scared for him. I dealt with logic and reason, and this was too hard for me, having to manage the unreasonable. And I’d meant what I said. I was afraid that one day, he’d go past frenetic painting and drunken antics. What if the pawnbroker had called the police before I got there? What if his aunt told him to walk off a building?
I felt Adrian’s arms go around me, and although they were strong, his voice wavered. “Sydney . . . are you . . . are we . . . are we breaking up?”
It took me almost a minute to speak without choking. I looked up at him in shock, unable to believe he’d think I would leave him because he was suffering. “What? No! Why would you think that?”
The alcohol was wearing off, and his earlier frustration and sadness were now completely trumped by fear and confusion. “Then why are you crying?”
“Because of you!” I beat my fists on his chest. “Because I love you, and I don’t know what to do! I can solve almost any problem, but I can’t solve this. I don’t know how to deal with that. And I’m afraid! Afraid for you! Do you know what it’d do to me if something happens to you?” I stopped hitting him and clasped my hands over my own chest, as though there was a danger my heart might fall out. “This! This would break. Shatter. Crumble. Crumble until it was dust.” I dropped my hands. “Blown away on the wind until there was nothing left.”
Silence fell between us, broken occasionally by my gasps as I tried to get over my sobs. It was so quiet that I heard my cell phone buzz in my purse. Zoe, I realized. In the wake of what had happened with Adrian, she seemed like something from another life. Slowly, reality seeped into me. She was very much a part of this life, and she was probably afraid that Jill was going to turn me into a snack.