I could sense her smiling. “I’m fine. I’m staying with a friend of mine. And I took Cicero with me.”
Thinking of her spiriting our cat away made me laugh, in spite of the solemnity of the conversation. “At least you have company.”
She laughed as well, but there was a fragile quality to it. “And my friend needs some work done on her car, so we’re all happy.”
“Well, I’m glad, but if there’s anything you need, anything at all, money or–”
“Don’t worry about me. Just take care of yourself–and Zoe. That’s the most important thing right now.” She hesitated. “I haven’t spoken to her lately . . . is she okay?”
Was she? I supposed it depended on how you defined “okay.” Zoe was thrilled that she was out learning the Alchemist trade at so young an age but arrogant and cold toward my friends–just like anyone else in our organization. That, and she was a constant, looming shadow over my love life.
“She’s great,” I assured my mom.
“Good,” she said, her relief nearly palpable. “I’m glad you’re with her. I don’t know how she’ll take this.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand where you’re coming from.”
It was a lie, of course, but there was no way I could tell my mom the truth: Zoe was going to fight her, kicking and screaming, every step of the way.
CHAPTER 3
ADRIAN
WHETHER SHE GOT A PARENTAL PHONE CALL of her own or simply had to deal with Zoe’s shock, I knew Sydney would’ve found out about the divorce by the time I visited her in her sleep.
The few spirit users I knew could all heal pretty well, but none of them could walk dreams as adeptly as I could. It was nice to know I excelled at something, and surprisingly it involved a pretty low level of spirit–just a steady hum, rather than the burst that healing required. The downside was that unlike the person I visited, I wasn’t actually asleep–more in a meditative state–so I could end up pretty exhausted if the dream took a while. Seeing as I wasn’t that great a sleeper to begin with, I supposed it didn’t make much difference.
I pulled Sydney into a dream around midnight, making the two of us materialize in one of her favorite places: the courtyard of the Getty Villa, a museum of ancient history out in Malibu. Immediately, she ran up to me, a frantic look in her eyes.
“Adrian–”
“I know,” I said, catching hold of her hands. “I was there when Zoe got the call.”
“Did she tell you the ugly details?”
I raised an eyebrow. “There’s something uglier than a divorce?”
Sydney then proceeded to tell me about the bloodbath of a custody battle to come. While I could appreciate their mom wanting Zoe to have a semi‑normal life, I had to admit to myself that my reasons for hoping their mom would win were pretty selfish. Zoe disappearing from Palm Springs would make things a hell of a lot easier for Sydney and me. But I knew Sydney’s immediate concern was her family being torn apart, and my immediate concern was her happiness. One part of her story in particular caught my attention.
“You really think your dad might be able to work some Alchemist coercion with a judge?” I asked. I’d never thought of that, but it wasn’t that far‑fetched. The Alchemists could create new identities, get a group of dhampirs and Moroi into a private school on no notice, and cover up dead Strigoi in the press.
She shook her head and sat down on the fountain’s edge. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not needed if Zoe’s adamant about wanting to be with Dad. I don’t really know how these kinds of hearings work.”
“And what are you going to do?” I asked. “What will you say?”
She met my gaze levelly. “I’m not going to slander either of them, that’s for sure. But as for what I’ll advocate? It’s hard to say. I’ll have to think about it. I get my mom’s view, and I even believe in it. But if I lean that way, Zoe’ll hate me forever–not to mention the fallout with my dad and the Alchemists.” A small, bitter smile crossed her lips. “When I got back to our room tonight, Zoe didn’t even ask me about my thoughts. She just assumed it was a done deal–that I’d take Dad’s side.”
“When will it all go down?”
“Not right away. They haven’t set a date yet.”
She fell silent, and I picked up on the vibe that maybe it was time to switch topics. “How’d the initiation go? Was there any naked dancing or animal sacrifice?”
Her smile warmed up. “Tea and hugs.”
She gave me a brief recap, and I couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of Jackie loading up on wine. Sydney wouldn’t tell me her secret name, though, no matter how much I tried to wheedle it out of her.
“I don’t suppose it was Jetta?” I asked hopefully. Whenever I had to take on a fake name, I used Jet Steele because let’s face it, that was pretty much as badass as you could get.
“No,” she laughed. “Definitely not.”
She then wanted to hear about my night, naturally worrying that no one got fed in her absence. We talked for a long time, and although it was hard not to be distracted by her perfect lips and the edge of her shirt’s neckline, I found I liked having these dream conversations. I certainly didn’t mind our afternoon make‑out sessions, but I actually had originally fallen for Sydney because of her mind.
As usual, she was the responsible one who noticed the time. “Oh, Adrian. It’s time for bed.”
I leaned toward her. “Is that an invitation?”
She lightly pushed me away. “You know what I mean. You’re never in good shape when you’re exhausted.” It was a polite way of saying that being worn out made me susceptible to spirit’s attacks on my sanity, which I couldn’t argue with. I could also tell from the uneasy look in her eyes that she wasn’t thrilled about the use of spirit this dream involved either.
“Think you can get away tomorrow?” Weekends were always difficult because Zoe trailed her like a shadow.
“I don’t know. I’ll see what I can–oh, God.”
“What?”
She put a hand to her forehead and groaned. “Hopper. I left him at that witch’s house. He was running around during the party, and I was so out of it after Mom called that I just walked right out the door with Ms. Terwilliger.”
I took hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. Wild night on the town, staying out with an older woman. Warms my heart.”
“So glad you’re a proud dad. The problem is getting him home. I might be able to sneak out and see you later tomorrow, but I don’t think I’ve got enough time to get out there. And I think Ms. Terwilliger’s busy too.”
“Hey,” I said, feeling mildly indignant. “You just assume if you and Jackie can’t do it, it’s a lost cause? I’ll go rescue him. If he wants to leave.”
She brightened. “That’d be great. But I thought you had your art project.”
It was such a small thing I was offering, no effort at all, really, and it warmed my heart to see how much it meant to her. Sydney was so often forced to be the responsible one who had to handle every single detail that I think it was an almost shocking surprise that someone might run an errand for her. “I’ll have time afterward. She won’t be freaked out about a vampire coming by, will she?”
“No. Just don’t elaborate on your parental role.” She gave me a light kiss, but I craftily pulled her closer and made it a much, much longer one. When we finally broke away, we were both breathless.
“Good night, Adrian,” she said pointedly.
I took the hint, and the dream faded around us.
Back at my apartment, I indulged in my one daily drink, hoping it would send me to a quick slumber. No such luck. In the old days, it usually took at least three before I’d pass out in drunken oblivion. Now, my fingers lingered on the vodka bottle as I teetered on the edge of getting a refill. I missed it. Badly. Aside from the bliss of the buzz, alcohol could numb out spirit for a little while, and although the magic was a pleasant addiction, a reprieve from it was nice. Self‑medicating had fended off a lot of spirit’s negative effects for years, but this new deal was letting it start to gain ground.