He began to quiet as I hunted for parking in his neighbor-hood. When we got inside, I saw that the full effect of what had happened was sinking into him. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or feel bad for him.
“Sydney, wait,” he said, when he realized I was about to turn right around and leave. “We need to talk.”
I sighed. “No. Not tonight. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed. And I don’t want to talk to you when you’re like this. There’ll be plenty of time tomorrow.”
“Will there?” he asked. “Or will you have to keep your distance and stay with Zoe?”
“Don’t start with that,” I warned. “You know we can’t help that. You knew it when this started, so don’t try blaming me for us tiptoeing around.”
“I’m not,” he said. “But why do we have to keep doing it? Let’s make a real escape plan. Let’s leave. We’ll go to the Keepers or something and be together without all this bullshit.”
“Adrian,” I said wearily.
“Don’t ‘Adrian’ me,” he snapped, a surprising glint of anger in his eyes. “I don’t know how you manage to do it, but just by saying my name like that, you make me feel like I’m five years old.”
I nearly said he was acting like it but managed to bite back the comment at the last minute. “Okay. We can’t go to the Keepers because the Alchemists visit there all the time. And you wouldn’t last one hour in those conditions. Besides, could you abandon Jill?”
The pained look on his face answered for him.
“Exactly. We’re stuck here and just have to manage as best we can until . . . I don’t know. Something changes. You know that. You’ve always known that.”
“I do,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair again, and by this time, it was beyond hope. “I do . . . and I hate it. And I don’t have to be drunk to feel this way. How long, Sydney? Where is this all going? At what point do we get out? When you and Marcus pull off your revolution against the Alchemists?”
“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.
I broke from Adrian and read the text, which was about what I expected. I told her I was fine and was on my way home. When I looked back up, Adrian was watching me with a longing and despair that made me want to rush back to him. But I knew I’d never leave then, and it was time to go. The rest of the world was marching on.
“We’ll talk later,” I whispered, not that I had any clue what else to say. I found my wallet and set some cash on the back of the couch. “To get you by.”
“Sydney . . .” He took a step forward and reached toward me.
“Later,” I reiterated. “Go get some sleep. And remember, I love you. No matter what else comes, I love you.”
It seemed like a paltry thing in the face of all that plagued him, but for now, it would have to be enough.
CHAPTER 11
ADRIAN
IT WAS THE TEARS THAT BROKE ME.
Maybe I could’ve stayed obstinate and argued against her, making excuses about why I was trapped by spirit. I could’ve probably done a decent job, even against her superior logic. But as I began sobering up after she left, the image of those tears haunted me. I’d always rejoiced in those rare moments of passion I saw in her eyes, that deeper emotional side she kept guarded. She wasn’t someone who showed her feelings easily to others, yet I alone was special enough to see the full wealth of her emotions when she was full of joy and desire. And tonight, I’d apparently been special enough to witness her sorrow too.
It ate me up, especially because the next time I saw her, she acted as though nothing had happened. She was good to her word. She wasn’t going to leave me. But despite her smiles and her cool countenance, I knew she must be frustrated. I had a problem—no, I was a problem. One she couldn’t solve. It had to be driving her crazy, and the more I thought about it, the more I realized she shouldn’t have to solve it. I needed to step up. No one had ever cried for me before. Honestly, I didn’t think I was worth anyone’s tears.
“But I have to be,” I told Jill one day. “If she cares that much and can hurt so much for me . . . how can I let her feelings go to waste? She thinks I’m important. I have to prove that I can be.”
“You are important,” Jill assured me.
We were sitting outside her dorm, enjoying a surge of winter warmth. The shadow of the sprawling stucco building kept the worst of the light away from us.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I can offer her or the world. I thought it was spirit. I thought the things I can do with it would be my contribution to the world. Like you and Olive.” I’d heard nothing about Olive since she’d gone to Court, and for all I knew, my efforts might have actually failed.
Jill squeezed my hand and smiled. “Well, it’s certainly a contribution as far as I’m concerned, but Sydney was right—you don’t know what else you might be capable of. Most people don’t leave their mark on the world through big miracles. Some do,” she added quickly. “But sometimes the biggest impact is made by a series of small, quiet things. You won’t be able to do anything like that if you’re—”
“—locked away or dead?” I finished, echoing Sydney’s words.
Jill winced. “Let’s not think about anything like that. No point stressing over what hasn’t happened. Just work on what you can control now.”
I slung an arm around her. “There you go again, Jailbait. Being all wise beyond your years.”
“Your wisdom must be rubbing off on me. You’re already doing great things without even trying.” She leaned into me. “But seriously, Adrian. Try it. Try to stop spirit and see what happens.”
“I haven’t used it since then. Not even to look at auras.” I also hadn’t had a single drink, not even my daily allotted one.
“It’s only been a few days. Not to say your sacrifice isn’t noble. But are you going to be able to resist using spirit if . . . I don’t know . . . if, say, Sydney cuts her leg shaving? Are you going to be able to resist, or are you going to think, ‘Oh, a little spirit healing on that cut won’t hurt’?”