The Indigo Spell

The Indigo Spell By Richelle Mead


THIS WASN’T THE FIRST TIME I’d been pulled out of bed for a crucial mission. It was, however, the first time I’d been subjected to such a personal line of questioning.


“Are you a virgin?”

“Huh?” I rubbed my sleepy eyes, just in case this was all some sort of bizarre dream that would disappear. An urgent phone call had dragged me out of bed five minutes ago, and I was having a little trouble adjusting.

My history teacher, Ms. Terwilliger, leaned closer and repeated the question in a stage whisper: “I said, are you a virgin?”

“Um, yes. . .”

I was fully awake now and glanced uneasily around my dorm’s lobby, making sure no one was around to witness this crazy exchange. I didn’t have to worry. Aside from a bored-looking desk attendant on the far side of the room, the lobby was empty, probably because no sane person would be up at this time of night. When Ms. Terwilliger’s call had woken me, she’d demanded I meet her here for a “life-or-death” matter. Getting interrogated about my personal life wasn’t quite what I’d expected.

She stepped back and sighed in relief. “Yes, of course. Of course you’re a virgin.”

I narrowed my eyes, unsure if I should be offended or not. “Of course? What’s that supposed to mean? What’s going on?”

She immediately snapped back to attention and pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose. They were always slipping down. “No time to explain. We have to go.” She grabbed hold of my arm, but I resisted and stayed where I was.

“Ma’am, it’s three in the morning!” And then, just so she’d understand the severity of the situation: “On a school night.”

“Never mind that.” She turned in the direction of the desk attendant and called across the room, “I’m taking Sydney Melrose with me. Mrs. Weathers can argue with me about the curfew tomorrow.”

The attendant looked startled, but she was just some college student who’d been hired to sit there overnight. She was no match for the formidable Ms. Terwilliger, with her tall, gangly stature and birdlike face. The real authority keeping girls in my dorm was the security guard outside, but he simply nodded in a friendly way when Ms. Terwilliger dragged me past. It made me wonder just how many girls she’d abducted in the middle of the night.

“I’m in my pajamas,” I told her. It was the last protest I could offer as we reached her car, which was parked in a fire lane. She drove a red Volkswagen Beetle with flowers painted on the sides. Somehow, this didn’t surprise me in the least.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, fishing car keys out of her massive velvet purse.

Around us, the desert night was cool and silent. Tall palm trees created dark, spiderlike shapes against the sky. Beyond them, a full moon and smattering of stars glittered. I wrapped my arms around myself, touching the soft fabric of my microfleece robe. Underneath it, I had on full-length striped pajamas paired with fluffy beige slippers. The ensemble worked well in my cozy dorm room but wasn’t exactly practical for a Palm Springs night. But then, going out in pajamas wasn’t really practical in any place.

She unlocked the car, and I stepped gingerly inside, having to dodge empty paper coffee cups and old issues of Utne Reader. My neat sensibilities cringed at that kind of mess, but it was the least of my worries right now.

“Ms. Terwilliger,” I said, once we were driving through the suburban streets. “What’s going on?” Now that we were out of the dorm, I hoped she’d start talking sense. I hadn’t forgotten her “life-or-death” comment and was beginning to grow nervous.

Her eyes were on the road ahead of us, and lines of worry marked her angular face. “I need you to cast a spell.”

I froze as I tried to process her words. Not long ago, this proclamation would’ve sent me into protests and fits of revulsion. Not that I was comfortable with it now. Magic still freaked me out. Ms. Terwilliger taught at my private high school, Amberwood Prep, by day and was a witch at night. She said I, too, possessed a natural affinity for magic and had managed to teach me some spells, despite my best efforts to resist. I actually had a few good reasons for wanting to avoid anything arcane. Aside from inborn beliefs about magic being wrong, I simply didn’t want to get caught up in any more supernatural affairs than I had to. I already spent my days as part of a secret society that kept vampires secret from the human world. That and my schoolwork were enough to keep anyone busy.

Nonetheless, her magical training had gotten me out of some dangerous situations recently, and I was no longer so quick to dismiss it. So, her suggesting I perform magic wasn’t the weirdest thing going on here.

“Why would you need me for that?” I asked. There were few cars out, but occasionally, passing headlights would cast a ghostly light over us. “You’re a million times more powerful. I can’t cast a fraction of the things you can.”

“Power is one thing,” she admitted. “But there are other limitations and factors at work here. I can’t cast this particular spell.”

I crossed my arms and slouched back in the seat. If I kept focusing on the practical aspects, I could ignore how worried I was growing. “And it couldn’t have waited until morning?”

“No,” she said gravely. “It could not.”

Something about the tone of her voice sent chills down my spine, and I fell silent as we continued our drive. We were headed outside of the city and suburbs, into the wilds of the true desert. The farther we drove from civilization, the darker it became. Once we were off the freeway, there were no streetlights or houses in sight. Spiky desert shrubs created dark shapes along the side of the road that put me in mind of crouching animals, ready to pounce. There’s no one out here, I thought. And no one back at Amberwood knows you’re here either.

I shifted uneasily as I recalled her virgin question. Was I going to be a sacrifice in some unholy ritual? I wished that I’d thought to bring my cell phone—not that I could have told my organization, the Alchemists, that I was spending so much time with a magic user. And not just any magic user—one who was teaching me to become one too. Better to risk being sacrificed than face the Alchemists’ wrath.

Twenty minutes later, Ms. Terwilliger finally pulled to a stop along the side of a dusty one-lane road that seemed to be a direct route to nowhere. She got out of the car and motioned for me to do the same. It was colder here than it had been back at Amberwood. Looking up into the night sky, I caught my breath. Free of the city lights, the stars were now out in full force. I could see the Milky Way and a dozen constellations usually hidden to the naked eye.

“Stargaze later,” she said curtly. “We need to hurry, before the moon progresses much further.”

A moonlight ritual, a barren desert, virgin sacrifice . . . what had I just foolishly walked into? The way Ms. Terwilliger pushed me into magic always annoyed me, but I never thought she posed a threat. Now I berated myself for being so naive.

She tossed a duffel bag over one shoulder and headed off into a desolate stretch of land, dotted with rocks and scraggly vegetation. Even with the brilliant celestial display there wasn’t much light out here, yet she walked purposefully, as though she knew exactly where she was going. I dutifully followed, wincing as I crossed the rocky ground. My fuzzy slippers had never been intended for this sort of terrain.

“Here,” she said when we reached a small clearing. She carefully set down the duffel bag and knelt to rifle through it. “This’ll do.”

The desert that was so mercilessly hot in the day became cold at night, but I was still sweating. Probably my own anxiety had more to do with that than the temperature or heavy pajamas. I retied my robe more tightly making a perfect knot. I found that kind of detail and routine soothing.

Ms. Terwilliger produced a large oval mirror with a scalloped silver frame. She set it down in the middle of the clearing, glanced up at the sky, and then shifted the mirror over a little. “Come here, Miss Melbourne.” She pointed to a spot opposite her, on the other side of the mirror. “Sit there and make yourself comfortable.”

At Amberwood, I went by the name of Sydney Melrose, rather than my true one, Sydney Sage. Ms. Terwilliger had gotten my made-up name wrong on the first day of class, and it, unfortunately, stuck. I followed her directions, not that I could really get all that comfortable out here. I was pretty sure I could hear some large animal scuffling out in the brush and added “coyotes” to my mental list of dangers I faced out here, right below “magic use” and “lack of coffee.”

“Now then. Let’s get started.” Ms. Terwilliger peered at me with eyes that were dark and frightening in the desert night. “Are you wearing anything metal? You need to take it off.”

“No, I—oh. Wait.”

I reached around my neck and unfastened a delicate gold chain that held a small cross. I’d had the necklace for years but had recently given it to someone else, for comfort. He’d given it back to me recently, by way of our mutual friend Jill Mastrano Dragomir. Even now, I could picture the angry look on her face as she’d stormed up to me at school and thrust the cross into my hand without a word.

I stared at the cross now as it gleamed in the moonlight. A queasy feeling welled up in the pit of my stomach as I thought about Adrian, the guy I’d given it to. I’d done so before he professed his love for me, something that had caught me totally off guard a few weeks ago. But maybe I shouldn’t have been so surprised. The more I looked back—and I did so all the time—the more I began to recall telltale signs that should have tipped me off to his feelings. I’d just been too blind to notice at the time.

Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d seen it coming or not. Adrian was totally unsuitable for me, and it had nothing to do with his many vices or potential descent into insanity. Adrian was a vampire. True, he was a Moroi—one of the good, living vampires—but it made no difference. Humans and vampires couldn’t be together. This was one point the Moroi and Alchemists stood firmly together on. It was still amazing to me that Adrian had voiced those feelings to me. It was amazing that he could even have them or that he’d had the nerve to kiss me, even if it was a kiss that had left me dizzy and breathless.

I’d had to reject him, of course. My training would allow nothing less. Our situation here in Palm Springs forced the two of us to constantly be together in social situations, and it had been rough since his declaration. For me, it wasn’t just the awkwardness of our new relationship. I . . . well, I missed him. Before this debacle, he and I had been friends and spent a lot of time together. I’d gotten used to his smirky smile and the quick banter that always flowed between us. Until those things were gone, I hadn’t realized how much I relied on them. How much I needed them. I felt empty inside . . . which was ridiculous, of course. Why should I care so much about one vampire?

Sometimes it made me angry. Why had he ruined such a good thing between us? Why had he made me miss him so much? And what had he expected me to do? He had to have known it was impossible for us to be together. I couldn’t have feelings for him. I couldn’t. If we’d lived among the Keepers—a group of uncivilized vampires, humans, and dhampirs—maybe he and I could have . . . no. Even if I had feelings for him—and I firmly told myself I didn’t—it was wrong for us to even consider such a relationship.

Now Adrian spoke to me as little as possible. And always, always, he watched me with a haunted look in his green eyes, one that made my heart ache and—

“Ah! What is that?”

I squirmed as Ms. Terwilliger dumped a bowl full of dried leaves and flowers over my head. I’d been so fixated on the cross and my memories that I hadn’t seen her coming.

“Rosemary,” she said matter-of-factly “Hyssop. Anise. Don’t do that.” I’d reached up to pull some of the leaves out of my hair. “You need that for the spell.”

“Right,” I said, getting back to business. I set the cross carefully on the ground, trying to clear my mind of green, green eyes. “The spell that only I can do. Why is that again?”

“Because it has to be done by a virgin,” she explained. I tried not to grimace. Her words implied that she was not a virgin, and even if that made sense for a forty-year-old woman, it still wasn’t a thought I wanted to spend a lot of time on. “That, and the person we’re looking for has shielded herself from me. But you? You she won’t expect.”

I looked down at the shining mirror and understood. “This is a scrying spell. Why aren’t we doing the one I did before?”

Not that I was eager to repeat that spell. I’d used it to find someone, and it had involved me staring into a bowl of water for hours. Still, now that I knew how to do it, I knew I could perform it again. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of walking into a spell I knew nothing about. Words and herbs were one thing, but what else might she ask of me? Endanger my soul? Give up my blood?

“That spell only works for someone you know,” she explained. “This one will help you find someone you’ve never met before.”

I frowned. As much as I didn’t like magic, I did like problem solving—and the puzzles magic often presented intrigued me. “How will I know who to look for, then?”

Ms. Terwilliger handed me a photograph. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I looked into the face of a pretty young woman. There was a striking resemblance between her and my teacher, though it wasn’t initially obvious. Rather than Ms. Terwilliger’s dull brown hair, this woman’s was dark, nearly black. She was also much more glamorous, dressed in a black satin evening gown that was a far cry from Ms. Terwilliger’s usual hippie attire. Despite those ostensible differences, the two women shared the same high cheekbones and aquiline eyes.

I glanced back up. “She’s related to you.”

“She’s my older sister,” Ms. Terwilliger confirmed, her voice remarkably flat. Older? I would’ve guessed this woman was at least ten years younger.

“Is she missing?” I asked. When I’d scried before, it had been to find a kidnapped friend.

Ms. Terwilliger’s lips twitched. “Not in the way you’re thinking.” From the never-ending duffel bag, she produced a small leather book and opened it to a marked page. Squinting at where she indicated, I could make out handwritten Latin words describing the mirror and herbal concoction she’d dumped on me. Following that were directions on how to use the spell. No bloodletting, thankfully.

“It sounds too simple,” I said suspiciously. I’d learned that spells that only had a few steps and components usually required a lot of mental energy. I’d passed out from the other scrying spell.

She nodded, guessing my thoughts. “It takes a lot of focus—more than the last one. But, as much as you don’t want to hear this, your strength has grown enough that you’ll probably have an easier time than before.”

I scowled. She was right. I didn’t want to hear that.

Or did I?

Part of me knew I should refuse to go along with this madness. Another part of me worried she’d abandon me in the desert if I didn’t help. And still another part was insanely curious to see how this would all work.

Taking a deep breath, I recited the book’s incantation and then set the picture in the middle of the mirror. I repeated the incantation and removed the picture. Leaning forward, I stared into the shining surface, trying to clear my mind and let myself become one with the darkness and moonlight. A hum of energy coursed through me, much more quickly than I expected. Nothing changed in the mirror right away, though. Only my reflection peered back at me, the poor lighting dulling my blond hair, which looked terrible both from sleeping on it and having a bunch of dried plants hanging in its strands.

The energy continued to build in me, growing surprisingly warm and exhilarating. I closed my eyes and sank into it. I felt like I was floating in the moonlight, like I was the moonlight. I could’ve stayed that way forever.

“Do you see anything?”

Ms. Terwilliger’s voice was an unwelcome interruption to my blissful state, but I obediently opened my eyes and looked into the mirror. My reflection was gone. A silvery gray mist hung in front of a building, but I knew the mist wasn’t physical. It was magically produced, a mental barrier to keep me from seeing the image that lay beyond it. Strengthening my will, I pushed my mind passed that barrier, and after a few moments, the mist shattered.

“I see a building.” My voice echoed oddly in the night. “An old Victorian house. Dark red, with a traditional covered porch. There are hydrangea bushes in front of it. There’s a sign too, but I can’t read it.”

“Can you tell where the house is?” My teacher’s voice seemed very far away. “Look around it.”

I tried to pull back, to extend my vision beyond the house. It took a few moments, but slowly, the image panned out as though I were watching a movie, revealing a neighborhood of similar houses, all Victorian with wide porches and creeping vines. They were a beautiful, perfect piece of history set in the modern world.

“Nothing exact,” I told her. “Just some quaint residential street.”

“Go back further. See the larger picture.”

I did, and it was like I drifted up into the sky, looking down upon the neighborhood the way some soaring bird would. The houses extended into more neighborhoods, which eventually gave way to industrial and commercial areas. I continued moving back. The businesses became more and more densely packed. More streets crisscrossed between them. The buildings grew taller and taller, eventually materializing into a familiar skyline.

“Los Angeles,” I said. “The house is on the outskirts of Los Angeles.”

I heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by: “Thank you, Miss Melbourne. That will be all.”

A hand suddenly waved across my field of vision, shattering the city image. Also shattered was that state of euphoria. I was no longer floating, no longer made of light. I came crashing down to reality, down to the rocky desert landscape and my stuffy pajamas. I felt exhausted and shaky, like I might faint. Ms. Terwilliger handed me a thermos full of orange juice, which I drank greedily. As the nutrients hit my system and strengthened me, I began to feel a little better. Intense magic use depleted blood sugar.

“Does that help?” I asked, once I’d downed the thermos. A nagging voice inside me started to chastise about how many calories were in orange juice, but I ignored it. “Was that what you wanted to know?”

Ms. Terwilliger gave me a smile that didn’t extend to her eyes. “It helps, yes. Was it what I wanted?” She stared off into the distance. “No, not exactly. I was hoping you’d name some other city. Some city far, far away.”

I picked up my cross and refastened it around my neck. The familiar object brought on a sense of normality after what I’d just done. It also made me feel guilty, looking back on the euphoric high the magic had given me. Humans weren’t supposed to wield magic—and they certainly weren’t supposed to enjoy it. Running my fingers over the cross’s surface, I found myself thinking of Adrian again. Had he ever worn it? Or had he just kept it around for luck? Had his fingers traced the cross’s shape like mine often did?

Ms. Terwilliger began gathering her things. When she stood up, I followed suit. “What does it mean exactly, ma’am?” I asked. “That I saw Los Angeles?”

I followed her back toward the car, and she didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was uncharacteristically grim. “It means that she’s much closer than I would like. It also means, whether you want to or not, you’re going to have to work on improving your magical skills very, very quickly.”

I came to a halt. Suddenly, I felt angry. Enough was enough. I was exhausted and ached all over. She’d dragged me out here in the middle of the night and now had the presumption to make a statement like that when she knew how I felt about magic? Worse, her words frightened me. What did I have to do with this? This was her spell, her cause. Yet, she’d given the directive with such force, such certainty, that it almost seemed as though I was the reason we’d come out here to this wasteland.

“Ma’am—” I began.

Ms. Terwilliger spun around and leaned toward me so that there were only a few inches between us. I gulped, swallowing whatever outraged words I’d been about to utter. I’d never seen her look like this. She wasn’t scary, not exactly, but there was an intensity I’d never seen before, far different from the usual scattered teacher I knew. She also looked . . . frightened. Life or death.

“Sydney,” she said, in a rare use of my first name. “Let me assure you that this is not some trick on my part. You will improve upon your skills, whether you like it or not. And it’s not because I’m cruel, not because I’m trying to fulfill some selfish desire. It’s not even because I hate seeing you waste your ability.”

“Then why?” I asked in a small voice. “Why do I need to learn more?”

The wind whispered around us, blowing some of the dried leaves and flowers from my hair. The shadows we cast took on an ominous feel, and the moonlight and starlight that had seemed so divine earlier now felt cold and harsh.

“Because,” Ms. Terwilliger said. “It’s for your own protection.”

\MS. TERWILLIGER REFUSED to say much more after that. She drove us back to Amberwood and hardly seemed to know I was there. She just kept muttering things to herself like, “Not enough time” and “Need more proof.” When she finally dropped me off, I tried pressing her for more information.
“What was all that about protecting myself?” I asked. “Protection from what?”

We were parked in the fire lane again, and she still wore that distracted look. “I’ll explain later, in our session tomorrow.”

“I can’t,” I reminded her. “I’m leaving right after my regular classes. Remember? I have a flight to catch. I told you about it last week. And yesterday. And earlier today.”

That brought her back to attention. “Did you? Well, then. I suppose we’ll make do with what we must. I’ll see what I can have for you in the morning.”

I left her for my bed after that, not that I could get much sleep. And when I showed up to her history class the next morning, she was true to her word. Before the bell rang, she walked up to my desk and handed me an old book with a cracked red leather cover. The title was in Latin and translated to Elements of Battle, which sent a chill down my spine. Spells to create light and invisibility were one thing. There was a practicality to them that I could almost rationalize. But battle spells? Something told me I might have a little trouble with those.

“Reading material for the plane,” she said. She spoke in her usual, addled scholar voice, but I could see a glint of that anxiety from last night in her eyes. “Focus only on the first section. I trust you’ll do your usual thorough job—and then some.”

None of the other arriving students paid any attention to us. My last class of the day was an independent study session on late-antique history, which she served as my mentor for. More often than not, she used the session as a passive-aggressive way to teach me magic. So, her giving me books like this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“And,” she added, “if you could find out where that neighborhood is, it would be extremely useful.”

I was speechless for a few moments. Locate one neighborhood in the greater Los Angeles metropolitan area? “That’s . . . a very large area to cover,” I said at last, choosing my words carefully with witnesses around.

She nodded and pushed her glasses up her nose. “I know. Most people probably couldn’t do it.” And on that semi-complimentary note, she returned to her desk at the front of the classroom.

“What neighborhood?” asked a new voice.

Eddie Castile had just arrived and slid into a neighboring desk. Eddie was a dhampir—possessing a mix of human and vampire DNA that had been passed down from days when the two races mixed. For all intents and purposes, though, he was indistinguishable from an ordinary human. With his sandy-colored hair and brown eyes, he also bore enough resemblance to me to support our cover story that we were twins. In reality, Eddie was here at Amberwood as a bodyguard for Jill. Dissidents among her own kind, the Moroi, were hunting her, and even though we’d seen no sign of them since coming to Palm Springs, Eddie was always vigilant and ready to pounce.

I slipped the red leather book into my messenger bag. “Don’t ask. Another of her wacky assignments.” None of my friends—save Adrian—knew about my involvement with Ms. Terwilliger’s magic use. Well, and Jill by default. All Moroi possessed some sort of elemental magic. Adrian’s was a rare and powerful one called spirit, which could work miracles of healing. He’d used that magic to bring Jill back from the dead when assassins had killed her. Doing so had made Jill “shadow-kissed”—that is, it created a psychic bond between them, one that allowed Jill to feel his emotions and sometimes see through his eyes. As a result, Jill knew more about what went on between Adrian and me than I liked.

I took my car keys out of my bag and reluctantly handed them over to Eddie. He was the only one I trusted to drive my car, and I always let him borrow it when I left town, in case he needed to run errands for our group. “Here you go. I better get it back in one piece. Do not let Angeline near the driver’s seat.”

He grinned. “Do I look suicidal? I probably won’t even use it. Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you to the airport later?”

“You’d miss class,” I said. The only reason I was able to cut school early was because of the unusual nature of my independent study.

“I wouldn’t mind, believe me. I’ve got a science test.” He grimaced and lowered his voice. “I hated physics the first time, you know.”

I couldn’t help a smile. Both Eddie and I were eighteen and had graduated high school, me through homeschooling and him through an elite Moroi and dhampir academy. We couldn’t pose as students without going through the motions of class, however. While I didn’t mind the extra work, Eddie wasn’t as taken with a love of learning as I was.

“No thanks,” I told him. “A cab will be fine.”

The bell rang, and Eddie straightened up in his desk. As Ms. Terwilliger called the class to order, he whispered to me, “Jill’s really bummed she can’t go.”

“I know,” I murmured back. “But we all know why she can’t.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “What I don’t know is why she’s mad at you.”

I turned toward the front of the classroom and pointedly ignored him. Jill was the only one who knew about Adrian’s declaration of love, thanks to that bond. It was another one of those things I wished hadn’t been shared, but Adrian couldn’t help it. Although Jill knew vampire-human romances were wrong, she couldn’t forgive me for hurting Adrian so badly. To make things worse, she was probably personally experiencing some of his pain.

Even if our other friends didn’t know what had occurred, it was obvious that something wasn’t right with Jill and me. Eddie had picked up on it right away and immediately interrogated me. I’d given him a vague excuse about Jill not liking some rules I’d instated for her here at school. Eddie hadn’t bought that, but Jill had been just as close-mouthed on the matter, leaving him clueless and frustrated.

The school day zipped by, and before long, I was in a taxi and on my way to the airport. I’d packed light and only had one small suitcase and my messenger bag, both of which could be carried on. For what seemed like the hundredth time, I took out a small silver and white gift bag and examined its contents. Inside was an expensive crystal sun catcher, the kind meant to be hung on a porch or in a window. It depicted two doves in flight, facing each other. Wrapping it back in its tissue paper, I returned it to its gift bag and then my own bag. I hoped it would be an acceptable gift for the upcoming event.

I was going to a vampire wedding.

I’d never been to one before. Probably no Alchemist had. Although we worked with the Moroi to protect their existence, the Alchemists made it clear they wanted no involvement that went beyond business contact. After recent events, however, both groups had decided it would be good to improve our professional relations. Since this wedding was a big deal, a few other Alchemists and I had been invited.

I knew the couple, and in theory, I was excited to see them married. It was the rest of the event that made me nervous: a huge social gathering of Moroi and dhampirs. Even with other Alchemists there, we’d be hopelessly outnumbered. Being in Palm Springs with Eddie, Jill, and the others had gone a long way in improving my feelings toward their kind. I got along with that little group well and now considered them friends. But even as liberal as I was in such matters, I still possessed a lot of the anxiety other Alchemists had inside the vampiric world. Maybe Moroi and dhampirs weren’t creatures of evil, like I’d once believed, but they certainly weren’t human.

I kind of wished my Palm Springs friends were coming with me, but that had been out of the question. The whole point of Jill and the rest of us being in Palm Springs was to hide her away and keep her safe from those trying to kill her. Both Moroi and Strigoi tended to avoid sunny, desert regions. If she suddenly showed up at a major Moroi function, it would defeat the whole purpose. Eddie and Angeline, another dhampir protecting her at Amberwood, had to stay behind as well. Only Adrian and I had been invited to the wedding, and we were thankfully on separate flights. If anyone had noticed that he and I were traveling together, it could attract attention back in Palm Springs, which could then expose Jill. Adrian’s flight wasn’t even leaving from Palm Springs. He was flying out by way of Los Angeles, two hours west, just to make sure we weren’t linked together.

I had to connect through a different flight in Los Angeles, which reminded me of Ms. Terwilliger’s task. Find one neighborhood in all of Los Angeles’s greater metropolitan area. Sure, no problem. The only thing I had going for me was that the Victorian houses were so distinct. If I could find some historical society, there was a good chance they could direct me toward areas matching that description. It would narrow my search considerably.

I reached my gate at LAX an hour before the scheduled flight. I’d just gotten cozy with Ms. Terwilliger’s book when an overhead announcement declared, “Paging passenger Melrose. Please come see a customer service agent.”

I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Gathering up my things, I approached the desk and was greeted by a cheery airline representative.

“I’m sad to tell you this flight has been overbooked,” she said. From her peppy voice and big smile, she didn’t seem sad at all.

“What’s that mean for me, exactly?” I asked, my dread growing. “I have a confirmed seat.” I dealt with bureaucracy and red tape all the time, but overbooking flights was something I’d never understood. How did that even happen? It wasn’t like the number of seats was a surprise to them.

“It means that you’re no longer on the flight,” she explained. “You and a couple other volunteers gave up your seats to accommodate that family. Otherwise, they would’ve had to be split up.”

“Volunteers?” I repeated, following her gesture. Off to the side of the seating area, a family with seven children smiled back at me. The children were tiny and adorable, with big eyes and the kind of cuteness you saw in musicals about orphans finding new homes. Outraged, I turned back toward the agent. “How can you do that? I checked in way ahead of time! I have a wedding to get to. I can’t miss it.”

The woman produced a boarding pass. “We’ve more than made up for it. We’ve booked you on another flight, to Philadelphia—one that’s leaving sooner. And you’ve even been upgraded to first class for your inconvenience.”

“That’s something,” I said. I was still annoyed at this, simply out of principle. I liked order and procedure. Altering those threw off my world. I looked down at the boarding pass and then did a double take. “It’s leaving now!”

She nodded. “Like I said, sooner. I’d hurry up if I were you.”

Then, on cue, I heard a last-call announcement for my new flight, saying all passengers need to be on board now, as they were about to shut the cabin doors. I wasn’t the swearing type, but I almost was then—especially when I saw that my new gate was on the opposite side of the terminal. Without another word, I grabbed my things and sprinted toward the gate as quickly as I could, making a mental note to write a letter of complaint to the airline. Through some miracle, I made it just before my new flight was closed to passengers, though the agent working that gate sternly told me that next time, I should plan ahead and allow more time.

I ignored her and headed into the airplane, where I was greeted by a much nicer flight attendant—especially when she saw my first class ticket. “You’re right here, Miss Melrose,” she said, pointing to the third row of the cabin. “We’re so glad you could join us.”

She helped me put my suitcase in the overhead bin, which proved to be pretty difficult since other, earlier passengers had taken up most of the space. It required some creative knowledge of spatial relations, and when we finally managed it, I practically passed out into my seat, exhausted from this unexpected flurry of excitement. So much for a relaxing trip. I had just enough time to fasten my seat belt before the plane began backing up. Feeling a little steadier, I plucked the safety card from its pocket so that I could follow along with the attendant’s presentation. No matter how many times I flew, I always thought it was important to be up to speed on procedures. I was watching the attendant fasten an oxygen mask when a familiar and intoxicating scent washed over me. In all of the chaos of making this flight, I hadn’t even bothered to pay attention to my seatmate.

Adrian.