The only part of that I understood was “perfect cleavage,” but I had a feeling we weren’t thinking of the same thing. “So, uh, what’s the summary?”

She leaned back, eyes enraptured. “It’s not the mineral alone. Marcus thinks he goes to Mexico to get some material that fights the gold ink in and of itself. But it’s more than that. I’ll bet you anything his tattooist is a magic user who charms the boleite before mixing it into the ink. The rebel Alchemists are using human magic and don’t even realize it.”

That was a little more on my level. I set down my paintbrush and picked up a nearby glass of water. “So can you do the same thing? Charm that mineral and make ink out of it to seal your tattoo?”

“I’m not sure. I’d need help from Ms. Terwilliger to figure out that kind of spell. There’s no recorded one that I can use, and we’d have to create our own. I’ve never done anything like that.” She frowned. “Even bigger than that is getting enough boleite to work with. Pretty sure it’s not something lying around in Palm Springs. I could probably order some off the Web . . . or maybe find a more common substitute. Something else in the halide family might have similar properties.”

“And you’d be doubly protected.” That was the most important part here to me, not all the geological jargon.

“If I can do it, yeah. And if Inez’s right that I’m already protected.” Inspiration lit her features. “ And  I could save Marcus a lot of trouble. He loses time on his Mexico trips. If I could replicate the ink, he’d have a domestic supply and could help more people. Let’s just hope he surfaces someday so that I can actually share this with him.”

I shrugged. “Why wait? We’ll find him in a dream. Not that I really enjoy spending nights with him, but it’ll be passable if you’re there.”

Her features instantly hardened. “No. No unnecessary dreams.”

“It’s necessary. You just said what a huge breakthrough this could be, and no matter how much I hate his hair, Robin Hood Finch is your contact in the underground. You need to run this by him.”

“And I will,” she said obstinately. “The next time I see him. He always comes back. You don’t need to waste spirit on this.”

“It’s not a waste. A dream is cake, Sage.”

“And it’s exactly what I was saying before. You can’t help yourself from doing this kind of stuff–and it’s why I love you. But it’s a risk.”

“Yeah? Some people–not me, of course–might argue that you taking on this whole ink‑making mission is an incredible risk. You think insubordination pisses the Alchemists off? What if they found out it was being fueled by magic? And that’s not even considering what they’d do if they found out about me.” I waved the water glass at her for emphasis. “You’re risking a lot, my love. If the Alchemists found out about even one of these things . . .”

“Then what?” she asked warily. “You think I should stop?”

“No, of course not,” I said with more confidence than I felt. Part of me wished there was a way she’d never be in any danger, but that wasn’t reality. At least not our reality. “Because I know you can’t. It’s what you do. And spirit dreams? Those are what I do.” I nodded to her laptop and books. “I can’t do all that sleuthing and magical spell work, but let me do something little like this. Let me feel like I’m contributing something to us.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh, Adrian. You contribute plenty. You . . . you have no idea what you do. You’re the greatest joy in my life. The greatest joy I’ve ever had.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said. “We’ll do a dream conference call.”

That love and rapture faltered. “Wait. How is it settled? How did we go from me declaring my love for you to me being okay with a dream?”

“It’s Adrian Ivashkov logic. Don’t try to understand it. Just roll with it.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

I nodded solemnly. “That’s just because you aren’t used to living the kind of spontaneous and unpredictable life I do. The unexpected is par for the course with me. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

A sly look appeared in her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. I bet I could totally tell you something you never saw coming.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

“If I surprise you, will you not do the dream?”

“Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

She hesitated a few seconds, and although there was still a mischievous glint in her eyes, I detected a little nervousness too. “Well . . . I’m on birth control.”

I was drinking the water again and choked on it. It took several moments of coughing before I could gasp out, “ What?”

She shrugged, unbelievably casual, as though the suggestion of having sex wasn’t a big deal. And yeah, there was no question about it. I was surprised. Very surprised. I should’ve known better than to doubt her abilities. “It takes a while for it to start working, so I figured I should be prepared, just in case.”

“Just in case,” I repeated, still dumbfounded.

Whatever nervousness she’d had was turning to delight at my discomfort. “Come on, are you saying you don’t think about it?”

“Oh, believe me, I think about it all the time. I just never knew you did. I mean, I figured when it came to sex, the Alchemists had all these principles about purity and marriage and sin . . . and stuff.”

“Most do,” she agreed. “Me? My principles are about love and doing it because there’s meaning and commitment. A piece of paper doesn’t always signal that. If there’s any sin involved, it’s doing it in a . . . I don’t know. Cheap way. With people you don’t care about. When it’s meaningless.”

I couldn’t muster a comment on that because the majority of sex in my life had pretty much been the cheap kind. I couldn’t remember the names of half the girls I’d been with. Sydney was fully aware of this, but she made no condemnation and shifted to a topic that was more expected of her personality.

“And, of course, doing it responsibly is huge too. There are a million pills on the market, so I had to compile all the data.” Then, incredibly, she pulled out a chart from her messenger bag entitled Oral‑Contraceptive Comparison.  It was hand drawn, but you’d never guess it from the perfect lines and neat writing. There was lots of color coding, as well as columns filled with unintelligible terms like estradiol  and androgenicity.

I stared, slack jawed, even though this was completely in line with the Sydney I knew and loved. “You’ve been working on this?”

“I actually made it a while ago. Didn’t take that long.” She regarded it with a sigh. “There are lots of side effects for all of them. I mean, plenty of people have no problems at all, but there are things that sometimes happen that you have to take into consideration. Tons of these are linked to weight gain.”

I studied her very carefully, realizing what a big concession that was. No matter her new healthy habits, I knew her figure was a constant source of worry, which was ridiculous considering how great she looked. “I’m surprised you’d take the chance. There are plenty of other safe sex options, you know. Ones that don’t involve pills.”

“I know.” She set the chart down. “But we don’t have to worry about disease, and this is one of the most effective methods–and it lets me control it. My doctor gave me the one with the lowest incidence of weight gain, so we’ll see.”

I stood up and sat beside her on the bed. “Promise me if you notice anything happening, you just stop taking it. I don’t want you trying to compensate with some crazy diet.”

She met my eyes. “You think I’d do that?”

“I’d rather not risk it and find out.”

“And risk not having sex?”

“I’m not having sex right now and am doing just fine,” I said nobly. “Although . . . uh, just out of academic curiosity, at what point are you thinking about . . .”

Sydney laughed and brushed a kiss against my lips. “I don’t know. Whenever I’m ready.” Abruptly, she sobered. “And there’s Jill . . .”