He would be indebted to you, Aunt Tatiana murmured. Since you’ve known him, you’ve always chased him, always been second to him. With Rose. With great deeds. But if you told him he could have a child with her, he would get down on his knees and weep at your feet.
The power was in my hands, and the temptation to tell him nearly overwhelming . . . but I bit my lip. I couldn’t. Not until Neil knew.
When my mom and Rose returned, I was astonished to see they’d become fast friends. I was also amazed at the quantity of merchandise they’d managed to buy in so short a time. A bassinet, a gazillion clothes, toys, and a whole bunch of products for babies I hadn’t even known existed. Sydney looked it over with a critical eye and immediately began double-checking product reviews on her phone.
“This will get him by for now,” my mother announced. “But of course he’ll eventually need a full-size crib, once he’s bigger. And although that car seat is adequate for now, we saw several that would be much more suitable.”
“We saw some with cup holders and sunshades,” added Rose.
Sydney nodded in agreement. “He’ll definitely need a sunshade.”
I knew it was pointless telling them Declan wouldn’t be in our care by the time he needed a cup holder. When it came to the strong-willed women in my life, I found it was sometimes easiest to nod and agree with whatever they dictated was best. That being said, Declan did seem much more comfortable sleeping in a real bed that night, and the rest of us stood around admiring him after he’d fallen asleep.
“Sweetest baby ever,” my mother said with a sigh.
“You mean second sweetest, right?” I corrected. I was a little surprised at how quickly she’d taken to him, but then again, perhaps I shouldn’t have been. Her whole life had been thrown into upheaval, between leaving my father and supporting my unorthodox marriage. Here, in Declan, she had a project that she could throw herself into—something far more meaningful and substantial than her cross-stitch and less weird than a dragon or a witch’s cat.
More importantly for us that night, my mother was more than willing to take on the responsibility of Declan’s overnight feedings. Part of this was because she was still on a nocturnal schedule from Court. But she could also tell that the rest of us were exhausted, and being woken every couple of hours probably wasn’t in our best interests if we wanted to be alert and ready for a possible encounter with Alicia tomorrow. After all, her whole point in that twisted scavenger hunt had been to wear Sydney down.
“I hope we find her,” said Sydney as she got into bed that night. “Can you even imagine? This could all be over by this time tomorrow. We find Alicia. We find Jill. Everything goes back to normal—well, whatever passes for normal with us.”
I slid into bed, enjoying the luxury of stretching out after having pulled my last nap in a cramped airplane seat. It was also heady to have Sydney in relative privacy for a change. Clarence’s home was so big that our guest room was isolated in this hallway, unlike the cramped quarters back in Court’s guest housing. Sydney, dressed simply in shorts and a tank top, curled up against me, and I sighed happily. At last, a moment of peace with her.
“Adrian,” she said, “we need to talk about what happened at the commune.”
My hold on her stiffened. “A lot happened.”
“I know, I know, and obviously we’re dealing with the most important part—Declan. But we need to talk about what you did—that healing.”
She blames you! hissed Aunt Tatiana. She blames you for Olive’s death!
“You think I’m responsible for Olive dying?” I demanded.
“What?” said Sydney. “No. No. Of course not. Adrian . . . you don’t blame yourself, do you? A Strigoi did that to her. There was nothing you could have done.”
“Then why are you giving me a hard time about the healing?” I asked.
She exhaled. “I’m worried about the way it wore you out. You said you’d tone down your spirit use. That it was for the best.”
“Actually,” I said, “I don’t know that I ever said that. I think you decided it and have been forcing it on me.”
Her kind tone suddenly became a lot frostier. “‘Forcing’ it? Adrian, I’m trying to help you. You heard what happened to Nina with all that spirit use. I don’t want you comatose like her!”
“I didn’t use as much as her,” I retorted.
“You drained yourself! That seems like a lot to me.”
“Yeah, well,” I said angrily, “there are a bunch of dhampirs back in Lana’s camp who’d disagree with you. They’re grateful for what I did.”
But not Olive, whispered Aunt Tatiana. She has nothing to say at all.
“Adrian,” said Sydney, obviously trying for calm, “I’m sure they are grateful, but we’ve been over this. You need to go back on your medication. You can’t save everybody. You can’t use spirit indiscriminately and ignore the cost to yourself. You’re putting your life in danger.”
“What kind of life would I have—what kind of person would I be—if I hoarded that magic and let others suffer? I can’t, Sydney. If I see someone, and I can help, I’m going to. I can’t sit by and abandon them!”
“And I can’t sit by and let you keep hurting yourself,” she cried, losing that calm again.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, rolling over to my side. “I guess I can’t change who I am.”
Long moments passed, and finally she rolled onto her side too so that our backs faced one another. Icy silence fell. So much for a peaceful or romantic night.
She doesn’t understand, Aunt Tatiana told me. She never will.
I need her to, I answered back in my head. I need her in my life to understand and support me. Without her, I’m lost.
You’ll always have me, came the phantom response.
I tugged the covers more tightly over me, thinking with dread about how one of these days, I was going to have to deal with the elephant in the room—or rather, the dead queen in my head. I was fairly certain that if I went back on my medication, Aunt Tatiana would go away . . . but then, so would spirit. Was I ready for that again? Without spirit, I never would’ve been able to heal those dhampirs. I wouldn’t be able to help in the upcoming rescue for Jill. Without spirit, what was I?
Spirit couldn’t save Olive, remarked Aunt Tatiana. It’s overrated.