“Maybe, but they’re not fans of human magic. I can’t imagine they’d turn to it.” I sighed. “Please. Just move back. I’ll be fine.”
I didn’t know that for sure, but after a little more coaxing, the guys yielded. Ms. Terwilliger took out a small pouch and sprinkled a yellow, spicy-smelling powder on the table. She murmured a Greek incantation, and I felt magic—my kind of magic—burn in the air around us. It had been a very long time since I’d sensed it in another, and I was surprised at the rush it gave me. With the protective spell in place, she nodded encouragingly at me.
“Go ahead, Sydney. If just opening it doesn’t work, then try a basic unlocking spell.”
I rested my fingertips on the lid and took a deep breath. Nothing happened when I lifted it, but that was to be expected. Even if Ms. Terwilliger was right about this being intended for me, that didn’t mean it was going to be entirely easy. As I summoned the words of an unlocking spell, the obvious questions nagged at the edges of my mind: Was this really for me? If so, from whom? And most importantly, why?
I spoke the spell, and though the box didn’t change, we all heard a small pop sound. I tried the lid again, and this time it lifted easily. Even better, no bomb went off inside. After a moment of hesitation, the guys all crowded forward to see what the box held. Looking down, I saw some folded pieces of paper with a single hair on top. I lifted it carefully, holding it up to the light. It was blond.
“Probably yours,” said Ms. Terwilliger. “To key a spell like this to a specific person, you need something that’s part of the recipient. Hair. Nail. Skin.”
I wrinkled my nose at that as I opened up the first piece of paper and tried not to think about how someone would have obtained one of my hairs. The paper turned out to be a flyer for a robot museum in Pittsburgh. That would’ve been comical if not for the chilling words written over the picture of one of the museum’s featured exhibits, the Raptorbot 2000: COME PLAY, SYDNEY. My breath caught, and I looked up sharply. Everyone else looked as bewildered as I felt. The writing was none I recognized.
“What’s the other piece of paper?” asked Neil.
It too was folded and had a sheen to it, like it was from a magazine. At a glance, it appeared to be some sort of travel ad. I opened it up and found myself looking at a picture of a bed-and-breakfast in Palo Alto. “What’s this have to do with a robot museum in Pittsburgh?”
Ms. Terwilliger stiffened. “I don’t think that’s the page you’re meant to see.”
I flipped the paper over and gasped at what—or more importantly, whom—I saw.
Jill.
I’d nearly forgotten about this ad. Ages ago—or at least it felt that way—Jill had briefly done some modeling for a Palm Springs fashion designer. I should’ve never allowed it, seeing what a security breach it was. The picture I now looked at was one that had been done in secret, against my wishes. Jill wore a pair of large, gilt sunglasses and a peacock-colored scarf wrapped around her abundant curly hair. She was gazing off at a cluster of palm trees, and unless someone knew her well, it would be difficult to realize this was her. In fact, it would be difficult for most people to even recognize she was Moroi.
“What the hell is this?” demanded Eddie. He looked as though he might rip the page away from me. Few things could make him lose his cool and collected nature. Jill’s safety was one of them.
I shook my head in disbelief. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Adrian leaned over me and picked up the first page. “Surely it doesn’t mean Jill’s being held prisoner at some robot museum? In Pittsburgh?”
“We have to go,” said Eddie fiercely. He turned as though he might walk out the door then and there.
“I have to go,” I said, pointing at the flyer Adrian held. “The box was intended for me. This note is even addressed to me.”
“You’re not going alone,” Eddie retorted.
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Adrian. He set the paper back down. “Before my little, uh, fallout with Wesley, I had a chat with her majesty, who made it very clear you and I are not allowed to leave Court.”
Sorrow and guilt filled me as I gazed at Jill’s profile. Jill. Missing for almost a month. We’d waited desperately for some lead, and now it had come to us. But as Ms. Terwilliger had speculated: Was it too late? What had happened while this box sat around?
“I have to,” I said. “There’s no way I can ignore this. Adrian, you know that.”
Our eyes met. So many feelings churned between us, and he finally nodded. “I do.”
“You don’t think Lissa would really forcibly have security stop me?”