“Where are you?” I asked her when she answered the phone. I was sitting in the backseat while Marcus drove us to what he swore really was a safe house. Sydney was in the passenger seat, sending text updates to pretty much everyone we knew.
“I’m at Clarence’s,” replied my mother. “Where else would I be?”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. You need to stay there for a while—do not leave. Do you have enough supplies for Declan?” I thought she’d gone overboard in her initial shopping. Now I was grateful.
“Well, yes, I suppose, though he doesn’t seem terribly fond of those pacifiers I bought. I might need to find a different—”
“Do not leave,” I repeated. “The house is almost certainly being watched. The Alchemists know we’re here.”
Immediately, my mother grasped the severity of the situation. “Are you all right?”
“We’re fine—we got away. But they’ll watch all our hangouts now to see if we go there. They’ll know we aren’t back at Clarence’s, and that’s fine. But they also probably don’t know you and Declan are there, and we need to keep it that way. Stay inside.”
She fell silent for several moments. “Adrian, there’s something . . . unusual about Declan, isn’t there?”
“Special,” I corrected. “He’s very, very special. And for now, it’s best if the Alchemists don’t know he exists. If they want to chase after Sydney and me, fine. But he needs to stay off their radar.”
“I understand,” she said. “If we need anything, I’ll either have it shipped here or send Rose and Dimitri for it, assuming they can leave?”
I hesitated. “Yes. The Alchemists have no interest in them. They might be curious about why they’re in town, but they won’t break into Clarence’s house or anything to find out, not without some other provocation. Other Moroi and dhampirs have stayed with him before. Can I talk to one of them?”
After some shuffling, Rose answered. “I can tell by your mom’s face that something went wrong.”
“The Alchemists know Sydney and I are here,” I told her. “They managed to track Marcus when he came to town and stumbled into us in the process.”
I couldn’t be certain, but I think Rose swore in Russian. “So what’s the plan?”
“We’re on our way to an allegedly safe place,” I told her. “From there, Sydney’s going to investigate the Warriors, and I’ll eventually interrogate Alicia.”
“I want to be in on that,” Rose said promptly.
“I know, but I really, really need you guys to stay with my mom and Declan. I was just telling her that she can’t leave the house. I don’t think the Alchemists know she’s in town, and I’m hoping it stays that way. But if something weird happens, I need you guys to protect them.”
“What do you mean, ‘something weird’? Why would anyone care about them?” Rose, like my mom, was beginning to suspect something odd was happening.
“I can’t tell you,” I said. “Just trust me—it’s important. At least one of you needs to stay with them at all times. If there’s a way you can safely meet me when I talk to Alicia, we’ll make it happen. But in the meantime, promise me you’ll take care of them.”
A long silence followed, and I could guess why. Rose, like everyone else, wanted to find Jill. With so many potential leads, it was understandable that she’d much rather be involved with that mission than literal babysitting. But Rose had seen enough at the commune—and was enough of my friend—to finally accede. “Okay. We’ll keep an eye on them. But if there’s anything we can do to find Jill—anything at all—”
“I’ll let you know,” I promised. I disconnected and looked around. “Is this it?”
We’d left the urban sprawl of Palm Springs, going off into the desert to a place that made Wolfe’s compound look downright civilized. A small, lone cabin sat alone on a scrubby landscape, and the car’s tires kicked up clouds of dust as we turned toward it on a sandy dirt road.
“Yup,” said Marcus.
“Well, it’s certainly remote,” noted Sydney. “But is it safe?”
“Safe as we’ll get for now,” Marcus assured us, pulling the car up to a stop outside the house. “No one followed us here. No one knows of my connection to these people.”
We got out of the car and followed Marcus to the door. He had to knock three times—getting progressively louder—before the door finally opened. A fifty-something guy with scraggly hair and round-lensed glasses peered up at us, squinting at the sunlight like a Moroi might have. His face brightened with recognition. “Marcus, man, been a while!”
“Good to see you too, Howie,” Marcus replied. “My friends and I need a place to stay. Is it okay if we crash here?”
“Totally, totally.” Howie stepped aside so we could enter. “Come on in, man.”
“Howie and his wife, Patty, grow and sell all sorts of herbs,” explained Marcus.
I inhaled deeply as I walked around the living room, which could have come straight out of 1971. “Especially one herb in particular,” I added.
“Don’t worry,” said Marcus, his lips quirking into a smile. “They’re good people.”