She nodded. "I know. Mom tells me each time you call." But there was no apology for dodging my calls.
"I'm sorry about the way we left things. I never meant to hurt you or one-up you. I thought I was doing you a favor, saving you from getting involved."
Her mouth tightened, and something hard flashed in her eyes. "I don't mind being involved. I want to be involved, you know. And it would've been great! Being in the field at fifteen. I could have a stellar career. Dad would be so proud."
I chose my next words very carefully so that she wouldn't take offense. "Yeah, but another year with Dad will really be, um, stellar. He's got so much experience - and you want to get as much as you can, believe me. Even if you have to wait for an assignment at sixteen, you'll still be ahead of the rest of us."
Each word out of my mouth made me feel sick, but Zoe seemed to buy it. I wasn't bothered by her wanting to be part of the cause - but it killed me that she was clearly doing it to impress our dad. "I suppose. And I am learning a lot. I wish I could at least get some field experience - even if it's not my own post. It's all theory with Dad. I've never even seen a Moroi."
"I'm sure he'll fix that." I didn't like encouraging this, but at least she was speaking to me.
The lights dimmed, ending our conversation. Organ music filled the room, and the scent of frankincense drifted around us. Incense and resin were common components in magic, and my mind was instantly starting to make associations from the spell books I'd painstakingly copied. Frankincense is used to heal burns. It can also be used when casting divining or purifying spells -
I immediately stopped that train of thought. Even if I was keeping it to myself, thinking about magic in the middle of an Alchemist church service was pretty sacrilegious. I shifted uncomfortably, wondering what all these people would think if they knew the truth about me: that I practiced magic and had kissed a vampire. . . .
Alchemist priests were called hierophants. They performed blessings and offered moral advice, when needed. In day-to-day affairs, they wore suits, but for this occasion, the lead hierophant wore robes that reminded me uncomfortably of the robes some of the Warriors had donned. It was yet another reminder of our shared history - and maybe our shared future. Marcus had been right. This was a mystery I had to solve, regardless of where I stood on breaking the tattoo.
I'd attended services like this off and on throughout my life and knew the Latin prayers by heart. I chanted along with the rest of the congregation and listened avidly as the hierophant reaffirmed our goals, his voice echoing through the sound system. Even though the Alchemists' religion had loose connections to Christianity there was very little mention of God or Jesus or even Christmas. Most of his sermon was about how we had to help protect humanity from the temptation of following Strigoi who offered unholy immortality. That warning, at least, wasn't exaggerated.
I'd heard stories and even seen for myself what happened when humans decided to serve Strigoi. Those Strigoi promised to turn their servants as a reward. Those humans helped Strigoi spread their evil and became monsters themselves, no turning needed. Keeping those dark vampires hidden was for the good of weak humans who couldn't protect themselves. I paid especially close attention when the hierophant mentioned the Moroi offhandedly in his sermon, as a means to an end in defeating the Strigoi. He didn't exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings about them, but at least he wasn't calling for Moroi and dhampir destruction either.
I agreed with a good part of the message, but it no longer filled me with the fire it once had. And when the hierophant started droning on and on about duty, obedience, and what was "natural," I really began feeling disconnected. I almost wished there was more talk of the divine, like you'd find at a normal church service. With everything going on in my life, I wouldn't have minded a connection to a higher power. Sometimes, when I listened to the hierophant, I wondered if everything he was saying had just been made up by a bunch of people sitting around in the Middle Ages. No holy mandate required.
I felt like a traitor when the service ended. Maybe Adrian's joke had been right: I didn't even need Marcus to break my tattoo and connection to the group. Glancing at my companions - and even the other Alchemists in the room - it was clear I was alone. All of them looked captivated by the sermon, devoted to the cause.