Marcus Finch had been a mystery to me since the moment I’d discovered he was an ex-Alchemist. Realizing that I might actually get some answers today made my heart pound in overtime. It was one thing to suspect the Alchemists had been holding out on me. It was an entirely different matter to accept that I might be on the verge of having those suspicions confirmed. It was actually kind of terrifying.
As the day progressed, I became more and more resolved to make the drive. I had to face this sooner or later, and I might as well get it over with. For all I knew, Marcus had simply been sightseeing in Santa Barbara and could be gone already. I didn’t want to repeat the scrying spell if I could help it.
Sure enough, when I showed up for what would normally be my independent study at the end of the day, the sub (looking extremely worn out after a day of following in Ms. Terwilliger’s footsteps) told me I was free to go. I thanked her and hurried off to my dorm room, conscious of the clock that was now ticking. I didn’t know exactly what I’d be facing in Santa Barbara, but I planned to be prepared for anything.
I changed out of my Amberwood uniform, opting for jeans and a plain black blouse. Kneeling by my bed, I pulled out a large metal box from underneath it. At first glance, the box looked like a makeup kit. However, it had an intricate lock that required both a key and combination. Inside was my Alchemist chemistry set, a collection of chemicals that would probably get me kicked out of school if found since it looked like it was capable of manufacturing illegal drugs. And really, some of the compounds probably were pretty questionable.
I selected some basics. One was a formula that was usually used to dissolve Strigoi bodies. I didn’t expect to encounter any Strigoi in Santa Barbara, but the compound could also be used to disintegrate metal pretty handily. I chose a couple other mixtures—like one that could create a spy-worthy smoke screen—and carefully wrapped them all up before slipping them into my messenger bag. Then I locked the box again and slid it back under the bed.
After a little consideration, I took a deep breath and produced another hidden box. This was a new one in my collection. It contained various charms and potions I’d made under Ms. Terwilliger’s instruction. Staring at its contents, I felt my stomach twist. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I’d have such a kit. When we’d first met, I’d only created charms under duress. Now I had several that I’d willingly made, and if what she’d said about her sister was true, I’d need to start making more. With great reluctance, I picked a variety of these as well and packed them up with the Alchemist chemicals. After a moment’s consideration, I put a couple in my pocket for quick access.
The drive to Santa Barbara was easy this time of day. December had cooled off some of southern California’s weather, but the sun was still out, making it seem warmer than it really was. And, as I drove up the coast, the desert gave way to more temperate conditions. Rain increased in the middle and northern parts of the state this time of year, making the landscape lush and green. I really did love Palm Springs and Amberwood, but there were times I wouldn’t have minded if Jill’s assignment had taken us up here.
Finding the Old Mission Santa Barbara wasn’t difficult. It was a well-known tourist attraction and pretty easy to spot once you were nearby. The sprawling church looked exactly as it had in my vision save that it was lit by mid-afternoon sunshine rather than twilight. I pulled off to the side of the road in a residential neighborhood and gazed up at the beautiful stucco and terra-cotta masterpiece. I wished I had the time to go on a tour, but, as they so often did, my personal desires had to take a backseat to a larger goal.
Now came the more difficult part—having to figure out where the studio I’d seen might be. The neighborhood I parked in provided a view that was similar to the one I’d observed in the spell. The angles weren’t exact, however, and this street only contained houses. I was almost certain the studio I’d seen had been in an apartment building. Keeping the mission in view, I drove a few more streets over and found what I’d hoped for: several blocks containing apartment complexes.
One looked too nice to have what I’d seen. The studio had seemed pretty bare bones and run down. The other two buildings on the street looked like more likely candidates. I drove to each one and walked around their grounds, trying to imagine what the angle might be when viewed from a higher window. I wished I’d had a chance to actually look down to the parking lot in the vision. It would have given me a better idea of the floor. After much thought, I finally deduced the studio had been on the third or fourth floor. Since one of the buildings only had two floors, that gave me a pretty positive hit on the correct place.
Stepping inside the building made me glad I’d packed hand sanitizer in my bag. The halls looked like they hadn’t been swept in over a year. The walls were dirty, their paint chipped. Bits of trash sat on the floor. Cobwebs hung in some of the corners, and I prayed spiders were the only creepy-crawly inhabitants. If I saw a roach, I was probably going to bolt. The building had no front desk I could make inquiries at, so I flagged down a middle-aged woman as she was leaving. She paused, regarding me warily.
“Hi,” I said, hoping I looked non-threatening. “I’m trying to find a friend of mine, but I don’t know which apartment he lives in. Maybe you know him? His name is Marcus. He has a blue tattoo on his face.” Seeing her blank look, I repeated the question in Spanish. Comprehension showed in her expression, but once she’d heard my entire question, her only response was a brief headshake. I didn’t even have time to show her Marcus’s picture.
I spent the next half hour doing the same thing whenever I saw residents going in or out. I stayed outside this time, preferring a brightly lit public area to the dingy interior. Some of the people I talked to were a little sketchy, and a couple of guys looked me over in a way I definitely didn’t like. I was about to give up when a younger boy approached me. He appeared to be about ten and had been playing in the parking lot.
“I know the guy you’re looking for,” he told me in English. “But his name’s not Marcus. It’s Dave.”
Considering how difficult Marcus had been to find, I wasn’t entirely surprised he’d been using another name. “You’re sure?” I asked the boy. I showed him the picture. “This is the guy?”
He nodded eagerly. “That’s the one. He’s real quiet. My mom says he’s probably doing bad things.”
Great. Just what I needed. “Do you know where he lives?”
The boy pointed upward. “At the top. 407.”
I thanked him and went back inside, heading up to the fourth floor on stairs that creaked the entire way. The apartment was near the end of the hall, next to one that was blasting obnoxious music. I knocked on 407 and didn’t get a response. Not sure if the occupant had heard me, I knocked more loudly and received the same result.
I eyed the doorknob, considering melting it with my Alchemist chemicals. Immediately, I dismissed the thought. Even in a disreputable building like this, a neighbor might be concerned to see me breaking into an apartment. I didn’t want to attract any attention. This situation was getting increasingly frustrating, and I couldn’t spend all day here.
I ran through my choices. Everyone said I was so smart. Surely there was some solution here that would work? Waiting around in the hall wasn’t an option. There was no telling how long it could take for Marcus or “Dave” to show up. And honestly, the less time spent in the dirty hall, the better. If only there was some way to get inside that didn’t involve actually destroying—