I especially had a weakness for sports cars and vintage cars, the kinds with big engines that I knew were bad for the environment - but that I guiltily loved anyway. Those were out of the question for this job, though. Keith argued that I needed something that could hold everyone, as well as any cargo - and that wouldn't attract a lot of attention. Once more, I conceded to his reasoning like a good little Alchemist.

"But I don't see why it has to be a station wagon," I told him.

Our shopping had led us down to a new Subaru Outback that met most of his requirements. My car instincts told me the Subaru would do what I needed. It would handle well and had a decent engine, for what it was. And yet...

"I feel like a soccer mom," I said. "I'm too young for that."

"Soccer moms drive vans," Keith told me. "And there's nothing wrong with soccer."

I scowled. "Does it have to be brown, though?"

It did, unless we wanted a used one. As much as I would've liked something in blue or red, the newness took precedence. My fastidious nature didn't like the idea of driving "someone else's" car. I wanted it to be mine - shiny, new, and clean. So, we made the deal, and I, Sydney Melrose, became the proud owner of a brown station wagon. I named it Latte, hoping my love of coffee would soon transfer to the car.

Once our errands were done, Keith left me for his apartment in downtown Palm Springs. He offered to let me stay there as well, but I'd politely refused and gotten a hotel room, grateful for the Alchemists' deep pockets. Honestly, I would've paid with my own money to save me from sleeping under the same roof as Keith Darnell.

I ordered a light dinner up to my room, relishing the alone time after all those hours in the car with Keith. Then I changed into pajamas and decided to call my mom. Even though I was glad to be free of my dad's disapproval for a while, I would miss having her around.

"Those are good cars," she told me after I began the call by explaining my trip to the dealership. My mother had always been a free spirit, which was an unlikely match for someone like my dad. While he'd been teaching me chemical equations, she'd showed me how to change my own oil. Alchemists didn't have to marry other Alchemists, but I was baffled by whatever forces had drawn my parents together. Maybe my father had been less uptight when he was younger.

"I guess," I said, knowing I sounded sullen. My mother was one of the few people I could be anything less than perfect or content around. She was a big advocate of letting your feelings out. "I think I'm just annoyed that I didn't have much say in it."

"Annoyed? I'm furious that he didn't even talk to me about it," she huffed. "I can't believe he just smuggled you out like that! You're my daughter, not some commodity that he can just move around." For a moment, my mother reminded me weirdly of Rose - both possessed that unflinching tendency to say what was on their minds. That ability seemed strange and exotic to me, but sometimes - when I thought about my own carefully controlled and reserved nature - I wondered if maybe I was the weird one.

"He didn't know all the details," I said, automatically defending him. With my father's temper, if my parents were mad at each other, then life at home would be unpleasant for Zoe - not to mention my mom. Better to ensure peace. "They hadn't told him everything."

"I hate them sometimes." There was a growl in my mom's voice. "Sometimes I hate him too."

I wasn't sure what to say to that. I resented my father, sure, but he was still my father. A lot of the hard choices he made were because of the Alchemists, and I knew that no matter how stifled I felt sometimes, the Alchemists' job was important. Humans had to be protected from the existence of vampires. Knowing vampires existed would create a panic. Worse, it could drive some weak-willed humans into becoming slaves to the Strigoi in exchange for immortality and the eventual corruption of their souls. It happened more often than we liked to admit.

"It's fine, Mom," I said soothingly. "I'm fine. I'm not in trouble anymore, and I'm in the U.S. even." Actually, I wasn't sure if the "trouble" part was really true, but I thought the latter would soothe her. Stanton had told me to keep our location in Palm Springs secret, but giving up that we were domestic wouldn't hurt too much and might make my mom think I had an easier job ahead of me than I likely did. She and I talked a little bit more before hanging up, and she told me she'd heard from my sister Carly. All was well with her at college, which I was relieved to hear. I wanted desperately to find out about Zoe as well but resisted asking to talk to her. I was afraid that if she got on the phone, I'd find out she was still mad at me. Or, worse, that she wouldn't speak to me at all.

I went to bed feeling melancholy, wishing I could have poured out all my fears and insecurities to my mom. Wasn't that what normal mothers and daughters did? I knew she would've welcomed it. I was the one who had trouble letting myself go, too wrapped up in Alchemist secrets to be a normal teenager.

After a long sleep, and with the morning sunlight streaming through my window, I felt a little better. I had a job to do, and having purpose shifted me out of feeling sorry for myself. I remembered that I was doing this for Zoe, for Moroi and humans alike. It allowed me to center myself and push my insecurities aside - at least, for now.

I picked up Keith around noon and drove us outside of the city to meet Jill and the recluse Moroi who'd be helping us. Keith had a lot to say about the guy, whose name was Clarence Donahue. Clarence had lived in Palm Springs for three years, ever since the death of his niece in Los Angeles, which had apparently had quite a traumatic effect on the man. Keith had met him a couple of times on past jobs and kept making jokes about Clarence's tenuous grip on sanity.

"He's a few pints short of a blood bank, you know?" Keith said, chuckling to himself. I bet he'd been waiting days to use that line.

The jokes were in poor taste - and stupid to boot - but as we got closer and closer to Clarence's home, Keith eventually became very quiet and nervous. Something occurred to me.

"How many Moroi have you met?" I asked as we pulled off the main road and turned into a long and winding driveway. The house was straight out of a Gothic movie, boxy and made of gray bricks that were completely at odds with most of the Palm Springs architecture we'd scene. The only reminder that we were in southern California was the ubiquitous palm trees surrounding the house. It was a weird juxtaposition.

"Enough," said Keith evasively. "I can handle being around them."

The confidence in his tone sounded forced. I realized that despite his brashness about this job, his comments on the Moroi and dhampir races, and his judgment of my actions, Keith was actually very, very uncomfortable with the idea of being around non-humans. It was understandable. Most Alchemists were. A large part of our job didn't even involve interacting with the vampiric world - it was the human world that needed tending. Records had to be covered up, witnesses bribed. The majority of Alchemists had very little contact with our subjects, meaning most Alchemists' knowledge came from the stories and teachings passed down through the families. Keith had said he'd met Clarence but made no mention of spending time with other Moroi or dhampirs - certainly not a group, like we were about to face.