The Indigo Spell

"Zoe." I kept my voice low, not that I needed to worry about the men overhearing. My dad was interrogating Ian. "I've been wanting to talk to you for so long."

She nodded. "I know. Mom tells me each time you call." But there was no apology for dodging my calls.

"I'm sorry about the way we left things. I never meant to hurt you or one-up you. I thought I was doing you a favor, saving you from getting involved."

Her mouth tightened, and something hard flashed in her eyes. "I don't mind being involved. I want to be involved, you know. And it would've been great! Being in the field at fifteen. I could have a stellar career. Dad would be so proud."

I chose my next words very carefully so that she wouldn't take offense. "Yeah, but another year with Dad will really be, um, stellar. He's got so much experience - and you want to get as much as you can, believe me. Even if you have to wait for an assignment at sixteen, you'll still be ahead of the rest of us."

Each word out of my mouth made me feel sick, but Zoe seemed to buy it. I wasn't bothered by her wanting to be part of the cause - but it killed me that she was clearly doing it to impress our dad. "I suppose. And I am learning a lot. I wish I could at least get some field experience - even if it's not my own post. It's all theory with Dad. I've never even seen a Moroi."

"I'm sure he'll fix that." I didn't like encouraging this, but at least she was speaking to me.

The lights dimmed, ending our conversation. Organ music filled the room, and the scent of frankincense drifted around us. Incense and resin were common components in magic, and my mind was instantly starting to make associations from the spell books I'd painstakingly copied. Frankincense is used to heal burns. It can also be used when casting divining or purifying spells -

I immediately stopped that train of thought. Even if I was keeping it to myself, thinking about magic in the middle of an Alchemist church service was pretty sacrilegious. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what all these people would think if they knew the truth about me: that I practiced magic and had kissed a vampire. . . .

Alchemist priests were called hierophants. They performed blessings and offered moral advice, when needed. In day-to-day affairs, they wore suits, but for this occasion, the lead hierophant wore robes that reminded me uncomfortably of the robes some of the Warriors had donned. It was yet another reminder of our shared history - and maybe our shared future. Marcus had been right. This was a mystery I had to solve, regardless of where I stood on breaking the tattoo.

I'd attended services like this off and on throughout my life and knew the Latin prayers by heart. I chanted along with the rest of the congregation and listened avidly as the hierophant reaffirmed our goals, his voice echoing through the sound system. Even though the Alchemists' religion had loose connections to Christianity there was very little mention of God or Jesus or even Christmas. Most of his sermon was about how we had to help protect humanity from the temptation of following Strigoi who offered unholy immortality. That warning, at least, wasn't exaggerated.

I'd heard stories and even seen for myself what happened when humans decided to serve Strigoi. Those Strigoi promised to turn their servants as a reward. Those humans helped Strigoi spread their evil and became monsters themselves, no turning needed. Keeping those dark vampires hidden was for the good of weak humans who couldn't protect themselves. I paid especially close attention when the hierophant mentioned the Moroi offhandedly in his sermon, as a means to an end in defeating the Strigoi. He didn't exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings about them, but at least he wasn't calling for Moroi and dhampir destruction either.

I agreed with a good part of the message, but it no longer filled me with the fire it once had. And when the hierophant started droning on and on about duty, obedience, and what was "natural," I really began feeling disconnected. I almost wished there was more talk of the divine, like you'd find at a normal church service. With everything going on in my life, I wouldn't have minded a connection to a higher power. Sometimes, when I listened to the hierophant, I wondered if everything he was saying had just been made up by a bunch of people sitting around in the Middle Ages. No holy mandate required.

I felt like a traitor when the service ended. Maybe Adrian's joke had been right: I didn't even need Marcus to break my tattoo and connection to the group. Glancing at my companions - and even the other Alchemists in the room - it was clear I was alone. All of them looked captivated by the sermon, devoted to the cause.

I was again eerily reminded of the Warriors and their fanatical devotion. No, no, whatever else the Alchemists are guilty of, we have nothing to do with that kind of unhinged behavior. And yet . . . it was more complicated than that, I realized. The Alchemists didn't shoot first and ask questions later or make our members battle each other. We were civilized and logical, but we did have a tendency to just do what we were told. That was the similarity, one that could be dangerous.

Zoe and my father walked out with Ian and me. "Isn't it amazing?" she asked. "Hearing that . . . well, it just makes me so glad Dad decided to raise another Alchemist in the family. It's good to boost our numbers."

Had that truly been his motivation? Or was it because he didn't trust me after I'd helped Rose?

It was infuriating that the only conversation I could have with Zoe centered around Alchemist rhetoric, but I'd take it over the silence of the last few months. In my heart, I longed to talk the way we used to. I wanted it back. Even though she'd warmed up a little, that old familiarity that had once existed between us was gone.

"I wish we had more time," I told her once our groups were ready to part in the parking lot. "There's so much I want to talk to you about."

She smiled, and there was a genuineness in it that warmed me. Maybe the distance between us wasn't irreparable. "Me too. I'm sorry about . . . well, the way things were. I hope we get some time together soon. I . . . I've missed you."

That nearly broke me down, as did her hug. "We'll be together soon, I promise."

Ian - whom my father now seemed to regard as a future son-in-law - drove me back to my hotel and couldn't stop gushing about how awesome it had been to meet Jared Sage. As for me, I could still feel where Zoe had hugged me.

Ian promised he'd get in touch with me in the morning about a tour of the archives. Then, weirdly, he closed his eyes and leaned forward. It took me a moment to realize that he expected a good-night kiss. Seriously? That was how he went about it? Had he ever even kissed anyone before? Even Brayden had displayed a little more passion. And, of course, neither guy measured up to Adrian.