“Well,” I said delicately. “I may not be able to always practice with you–I’m still tied up with things at school. But we can find someone else.”

“Who?”

Moment of truth. I had two licensed drivers at my disposal: Eddie and Neil. Girls seemed to find Neil’s accent charming, but I wasn’t looking for someone to charm Zoe. I was looking for someone approachable and friendly who’d show her not all dhampirs were evil creatures of the night.

“Eddie,” I said.

Her eyes bugged out. “Eddie? But he’s . . .”

“I know, but he’s a good driver. I mean, if you just want to wait until I have time . . .” I let a meaningful pause settle between us. “I understand. You won’t get as much practice that way, but it’s not like we’re going anywhere for a while.”

Silence fell, and I finished off my cone. My performance had been flawless; I knew that. She had no clue my offer was anything but sisterly concern. Now it was time to see if I was as clever as I thought I was.

I’d been thinking about this for a while, how I might get her to start seeing dhampirs and Moroi in a different light. Her walls were strong, and I knew I couldn’t force her into doing–or rather, believing–something she didn’t want to. But driving? That was something she wanted, and if she could enter into this thinking it had been her own decision, then maybe  there was a chance of cracking those rigid rules she’d been instilled with. It was a small, fleeting hope, but I had to try. After all, that was how it happened to me: a series of events that forced me to work with Moroi and dhampirs and truly get to understand them. That, and I liked to think my ability to think for myself played a role.

“Okay,” Zoe said at last. “I’ll do it. But you will  try to be there most of the time?”

I nodded solemnly. “You bet.”

She relaxed a little and twirled the remains of the cone in her hand. “I guess it’s a good thing he’s dhampir. They look human, at least.”

“Yes,” I said, trying to hide a smile. I’d told myself the same thing when I’d been forced to travel with Rose Hathaway in Russia. Maybe this plan was crazy enough to work. “They certainly do.”

CHAPTER 7

ADRIAN

I WAS WORKING ON THAT STUPID SELF‑PORTRAIT AGAIN.

My latest attempt was about to be discarded, not because of any spirit‑induced pessimism, but because it just wasn’t any good. I mean, it was passable, and I probably could’ve come up with some plausible crap story about symbolism for my teacher. She would’ve bought it, and I could’ve gotten a decent grade. But I’d know the truth. This one was no good.

My mood was  a little touchy today, mostly because I hadn’t slept well. I’d tossed and turned, unable to find deep sleep. Things had been made worse because Sydney wasn’t coming over today. She’d decided to stick around so that she and Zoe could do something immediately after classes ended. I understood the logic of keeping Sage Junior pacified, but that didn’t ease the ache of missing Sydney. At least we were scheduled for Friday dinner at Clarence’s tonight, but it was never the same when others were around.

The phone rang, jolting me out of my maudlin moment. I had to go on a mad search to find where it had slipped between the couch cushions and just barely managed to catch it before voice mail picked up. The caller was a total surprise.

“Your Majesty,” I said grandly.

“Hello, Adrian.” I could tell Lissa was already smiling. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know. The glam life of southern California. Palm trees and movie stars.” I slipped into my flippant mask easily, concealing what was really going on. Lissa wouldn’t have bought it if she were here in person, but over the phone, I was protected.

“Well, I hope you can drag yourself away from it because I have a . . . task for you.”

“Task?” Her word choice and change in tone tipped me off that something big was coming.

“There was another Strigoi restoration.”

Wow, the surprises just kept rolling in. “Who was it? And who the hell did it? You?”

“No–a different spirit user. One we didn’t know about. Her name is Nina Sinclair, and she just restored her sister. Olive.”

“Nina. Olive. Got it. Go on.”

Even I knew this was serious. The only thing even remotely as incredible as bringing someone back from the dead with spirit was restoring them from being a Strigoi. It was pretty difficult to do because it wasn’t just a matter of wielding a lot of spirit. You actually had to make sure the Strigoi was subdued. Then, the spirit user had to stake the Strigoi while working the magic. We directly knew of only three people this had happened to. We also didn’t know very many spirit users, so the discovery of a new one was a big deal.

“I need you to drop everything and go to them,” Lissa said. It wasn’t exactly her throne‑room voice, but it was definitely the kind that didn’t expect an argument. “We need to find out if we can see anything in a newly saved person that might help us understand why they can’t be turned again. Sonya’s in Europe, and I can’t leave Court. You’re the only spirit user who can go and investigate on short notice.”

Now I understood the importance. Strigoi were made by two methods. One was if a Strigoi drained a victim and then gave blood back to him or her. Moroi could also turn by choice if they drained the person they were feeding from. We’d recently discovered that Strigoi who had been restored couldn’t be turned again. No one knew for sure if it was unique to them or if there was some way to use spirit to spread that ability to others. We couldn’t stop a Strigoi from killing someone through other means, but if there was a way to create magical protection to save others from being forced into that undead state, it could revolutionize our world. Sonya and I had worked for almost two months, running all sorts of tests and examinations to see if we could manipulate spirit into whatever it had done for the restored. No luck.

“Drop everything, huh?” I couldn’t help a little bitterness. Even though she knew I was in college, it could apparently be sidelined at a moment’s notice.

She sighed. “I know you’ve got things going on. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t crucial. She’s very recently restored–very recently. Less than twenty‑four hours. If there’s some residual sign of what exactly happened in the process, we can’t waste a moment. We can get you on a flight to Dallas in a few hours. Rose and Dimitri are on their way there now.”

“Really?” At this point, there was really nothing I shouldn’t expect. Spending the weekend with my ex and her Russian warlord was probably just the warm‑up for more shenanigans. “Well, at least he’ll have a chance to stock up on his Western wear.”

I could hear a hint of laughter in her voice. “You know why he has to go.”

I did. Dimitri Belikov was one of the lucky three–well, four now–who’d been restored. He didn’t have the ability to see spirit, but he did have the inside track on what it was like to suddenly “wake up” and realize you’d been a bloodthirsty monster who’d subsisted on the lives of innocents. Even I could appreciate how messed up that would make you. A little counseling from someone who’d gone through it would be useful, to say the least.

“I understand. And of course I’ll go, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t call me that. And don’t tell me you’re doing this just because you’re my subject. I hope you’ll do it because you’re my friend–and because it’s the right thing to do.” There was a plaintive note in her voice. It must be hard, I thought, when people saw you more as a queen than an actual person.

My next words were true. “I’m doing it for all of those reasons, cousin.”

“You haven’t called me that in a while,” she said fondly. We weren’t actually cousins, but it was a term of endearment the royal families often used with one another.