Richelle Mead - The Indigo Spell

At least, I’d thought that until I learned about Marcus Finch.

I’d only found about him recently, after discovering he’d once crossed the Warriors of Light by helping a Moroi named Clarence. Although the Warriors usually only went after Strigoi, a rebel group had once decided to target Clarence. Marcus had stepped up and defended Clarence against the Warriors, convincing them to leave him alone. I’d almost believed Clarence was making up the story until I saw a picture of Marcus.

And that was where things got really weird. Marcus seemed to have also crossed the Alchemists. In fact, Clarence and one of the Warriors had hinted that Marcus had at one time been an Alchemist—but was no longer. I hadn’t believed it until I saw his picture. He didn’t have a golden lily—but a large tribal-looking tattoo done in blue ink that was large enough to cover the golden one, if you were trying to hide it.

Seeing that was life changing. I’d had no idea it was possible to tattoo over something so powerful. I certainly hadn’t thought anyone could leave the Alchemists or that anyone would even want to, not with the way our purpose was drilled into us practically from birth. How could someone consider abandoning our missions? How could someone go rogue and just walk away from the Alchemists? What had happened that would make him want to do that? Had he had experiences similar to mine?

And would they let him go?

When I’d asked about him, Stanton claimed the Alchemists had no knowledge of Marcus, but I knew that was a lie. She didn’t know I had his picture. His blue tattoo was big enough to cover a lily, and I’d seen metallic hints of one underneath, proving he had indeed once been one of us. And if he’d had the Alchemist mark, then they most certainly knew about him. They were covering him up, and that just intrigued me further. In fact, I was a little obsessed with him. Some instinct told me he was the key to my problems, that he could help me uncover the secrets and lies the Alchemists were telling me. Unfortunately, I had no clue how to find him.

“It’s important no one here knows what you’re doing, so remember to be discreet,” Stanton added, like I needed to be reminded. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows. “I was particularly worried about that Ivashkov boy coming to this wedding. We can’t let anyone know you two have more than a passing acquaintance. Little things like that could compromise our mission.”

“Oh, no,” I said quickly. “You don’t need to worry about Adrian. He understands how important our work is. He’d never do anything to compromise it.”

Ian returned, and our discussion ended there. Dinner soon gave way to dancing. With the atmosphere more relaxed, a number of Moroi came over to introduce themselves to us. I felt nearly as popular as the bride and groom. Ian shook so many hands that he eventually became immune to it. And as uncomfortable as it was for my companions, I could tell this event was actually accomplishing its goal of smoothing relations between Alchemists and Moroi. Stanton and Ian were by no means ready to be best friends with any of them, but it was clear they were pleasantly surprised at how friendly and benign most of the guests seemed.

“I’m glad we got this chance to be together,” Ian told me during a lull in our public relations. “It’s so hard with our jobs, you know? I’m in St. Louis now, in the facility archives. Where do they have you?”

Secrecy was key in Jill’s protection. “I’m in the field, but I can’t say where. You know how it is.”

“Right, right. But you know, if you ever wanted to visit . . . I’d show you around.”

His desperation was almost cute. “Like for a vacation?”

“Well, yeah. Er, no.” He knew as well as I did that Alchemists didn’t get vacations easily. “But, I mean, they’re doing all the holiday services, you know. If you decide to come to one, well, let me know.”

Alchemist priests always conducted special services around Christmas in our main facilities. Some Alchemist families made a point of going to them every year. I hadn’t been to any in a while, not with the way my missions kept jumping around.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

There was a long pause, and his next words came haltingly. “I’d ask you to dance, you know. Except it wouldn’t be right in this kind of unholy setting.”

I gave him a stiff smile. “Of course. That, and we’re here on business. We’ve got to focus on building good relationships with them.”

Ian had started to respond when a familiar voice interrupted us. “Miss Sage?”

We looked up and found Adrian standing above us, dashing in his shades of blue. His face was the picture of perfect politeness and restraint, meaning something disastrous was probably about to happen.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” he said. He spoke as though it had been a while, and I nodded in agreement. As I’d assured Stanton, Adrian knew too much familiarity between us might create a trail back to Jill. “Did I just hear you two talking about building good relationships?”

I was tongue-tied, so Ian answered. “That’s right. We’re here to make things friendlier between our people.” His voice, however, was most decidedly unfriendly.

Adrian nodded with all seriousness, like he hadn’t noticed Ian’s hostility. “I think it’s a great idea. And I thought of something that would be an excellent gesture of our future together.” Adrian’s expression was innocent, but there was a mischievous sparkle in his eye that I knew all too well. He held out his hand to me. “Would you like to dance?”

I FROZE. I didn’t trust myself to respond.

What was Adrian thinking? Putting aside all the drama between us, it was absolutely unforgivable to ask this here, in front of other Moroi and Alchemists. Maybe in Palm Springs, where things were a little more casual with my friends, it might not be that crazy a request. But here? He risked exposing that we knew each other, which in turn risked Jill. Almost as bad, it could be a tip-off of his feelings for me. Even if I insisted that I had no matching feelings, the fact that things had progressed this far could get me in serious trouble with the Alchemists.

As all these thoughts raced through my mind, a more concerning one suddenly popped up. A good Alchemist shouldn’t be worried about any of those things. A good Alchemist would have simply been horrified at the immediate problem: dancing with a Moroi. Touching a vampire. Realizing this, I quickly mustered an outraged expression, hoping I looked convincing.

Fortunately, everyone else was too shocked to pay much attention to me. Good relations only went so far. Stanton and Ian wore legitimate looks of disgust. The Moroi nearby, while not appalled, were astonished at the breach of etiquette. And yet . . . I also saw a couple exchange looks that said they weren’t entirely surprised Adrian Ivashkov would suggest something so outrageous. This was an attitude I’d seen a lot with him. People often shrugged off his behavior with, “Well, that’s Adrian.”

Ian found his voice first. “She . . . no! She absolutely can’t!”

“Why not?” Adrian glanced between all our faces, his expression still sunny and unassuming. “We are all friends, right?”

Abe, who was rarely shocked by anything, managed to shake off some of his surprise. “I’m sure it’s not that big a deal.” His tone was uncertain. He knew that Adrian wasn’t a total stranger to me but undoubtedly assumed I had the usual Alchemist hang-ups. As tonight had demonstrated, most Alchemists still struggled with handshakes.

Stanton seemed to be waging a mental war. I knew she thought it was an outlandish request . . . yet she was still conscious of the need to keep things pleasant. She swallowed. “Perhaps . . . perhaps it would be a nice gesture.” She shot me a sympathetic look that seemed to say, Sometimes you have to take one for the team.