“Olive Sinclair,” I replied.
Immediately, a look of distaste filled the woman’s eyes, but it was clearly in regard to me, not Olive. “So you’re the one who got her in trouble.”
“The one who . . .” The meaning became clear, and I found myself blushing—something I’d maybe done twice in my life. “What? No! Of course not. I mean, if I did, I’d never—that is—I’m not the kind of guy who—”
“No,” said Dimitri bluntly. “Adrian’s not responsible. His intentions are honorable here. I’ll vouch for him. I’m Dimitri Belikov. This is Rose Hathaway, Sydney Ivashkov.”
Normally, a human introduced with a royal Moroi last name would have warranted a double take. But it was clear this woman never heard anything past Rose and Dimitri’s names. I saw it clearly in her eyes: the same awe and worship I’d observed in so many other faces whenever this dynamic duo introduced itself. And like that, the woman turned from fiercely protective doorkeeper to swooning fangirl.
“Omigod,” she gushed. “I thought you looked familiar! I’ve seen your pictures! I should’ve known right away! I’m so embarrassed. Come on, come on. I’m Mallory, by the way. Let’s not stand around in the woods! You must have done a lot of traveling to get here. Come rest. Get something to eat. Omigod.”
We followed her down the narrow trail, which eventually opened up to a huge clearing in the forest. It turned out Wild Pine really was kind of a cross between a camp and a resort. Actually, it kind of reminded me of a Wild West town after all. I could totally picture a shoot-out happening. Nice-looking cabins were arranged in orderly rows and seemed to be divided into business and residential areas. Dhampirs, almost entirely women and children, moved about their business, some pausing to give us speculative looks. Mallory led us toward a large cabin that was situated between the business and residential areas, bouncing with each step she took.
We entered what seemed to be a sort of office, and the first thing I noticed was that they had electricity. I took that as a good omen for plumbing. An older dhampir woman, her blond hair streaked with silver, sat at a desk, clicking something on a computer. She too wore a blue-edged medallion. When she saw us, she stood up and looped her fingers through the belt on her jeans as she leaned against the wall, showing off tooled leather boots that further reinforced my Wild West stereotypes.
“Well, what did you turn up, Mallory?” she asked with amusement.
“Lana, you’ll never believe who this is,” exclaimed Mallory. “It’s—”
“Rose Hathaway and Dimitri Belikov,” supplied Lana. Her eyes then fell on Sydney and me, and she arched an eyebrow. “And Adrian Ivashkov and his infamous wife. I’ve been to Court. I know who the celebrities are.”
“We’re not celebrities,” I assured her, putting my arm around Sydney and nodding toward Rose and Dimitri. “Not like those two.”
Lana’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at us. “Aren’t you? Your marriage has been the source of a lot of speculation.”
“I think that makes us more of a source of a gossip than celebrities.” Although, as soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered whether there was any real difference between the two.
“Well, I’m delighted to meet you. All of you.” Lana walked forward and shook our hands. “I’ve also heard from Olive how you’ve done some pretty fancy work to create a Strigoi vaccine, Lord Ivashkov.”
I started to say we weren’t having much luck on the vaccine, but something more important in her words drew my attention. “You know Olive.”
“Of course,” Lana said. “I know everyone here.”
“Lana’s our leader,” explained Mallory.
Lana actually guffawed. “I’m more of an administrator. I assume it’s Olive you’re here to see?”
“If you’ll allow it,” said Dimitri politely. “We’d be grateful for any assistance you can offer.”
“Not up to me. It’s up to Olive.” Lana held us in her gaze for a few moments, as though deciding something. At last, she gave a small nod. “I’ll take you to her myself. But first, have some dinner and relax. I know it’s not easy getting here.”