He selected a book seemingly at random and walked away before I could respond. I wanted to ask him at what point I’d be accepted by the others—or if I’d ever be accepted. Surely everyone had gone through what I had at some point. And surely they’d eventually worked themselves into the detainees’ social world.
Back in my room, Emma made it clear no breakthroughs were going to occur with her. “I’m making good progress,” she told me primly. “I don’t need you ruining it with your perversions. The only thing we do in this room is sleep. Don’t talk to me. Don’t interact with me. Don’t even look at me if you can help it.”
With that, she took her book and lay on the bed, purposely putting her back to me. I didn’t care, though. It was no different than any other attitude I’d received today, and I now had a much bigger concern on my mind. I’d scarcely allowed myself to think about it until now. There’d been too many other trials and ordeals to get through, but now we were here. The end of the day. Bedtime. Once I was in pajamas (identical to my day scrubs) and had brushed my teeth, I got into bed with a barely constrained excitement.
I would sleep soon. And I would dream of Adrian.
The realization had swirled at the back of my mind, keeping me going through my low points. This was what I had worked for, why I had endured the day’s indignities. I was out of my cell and free of the gas. Now I would sleep normally and dream of him . . . provided my eagerness didn’t keep me awake.
As it turned out, that wasn’t going to be an issue. After an hour of reading time, the chimes sounded, and the lights went out automatically. The room’s door was a sliding pocket door that didn’t quite hit flush against the wall, allowing a crack of light in from the hall that I was kind of happy to see after my months in pitch-blackness. I heard a click, like some kind of bolt coming out, that locked the door in place. I snuggled into the covers, filled with excitement . . . and suddenly began to feel tired. Very tired. One minute I was imagining what I’d say to Adrian; the next, I could barely keep my eyes open. I fought it, forcing my mind to stay focused, but it was as though a heavy fog was descending on me, weighing me down and clouding my mind. It was a sensation I was all too familiar with.
“No . . .” I managed to say. I wasn’t free of the gas. They were still regulating our sleep, probably to make sure no afterhours collusion took place. I was too exhausted to think past that. Thick sleep soon wrapped around me, dragging me into a darkness that had no dreams.
And no chance for escape.
CHAPTER 6
ADRIAN
NINA WAS A GOOD DRINKING BUDDY and not just because she could hold her liquor.
Even when not actively wielding spirit, she had the same intuitiveness that we spirit users naturally possessed. She quickly picked up on when I wanted to talk about things and, most importantly, when I didn’t. We started off in a quiet bar, and I was happy to let her do most of the talking. It didn’t sound like she’d made many friends these last few months at Court, and with Olive gone, Nina had had little chance to unburden herself.
“I just don’t understand,” she said. “People almost seem afraid of me. I mean, they say they aren’t, but I can tell. They avoid me.”
“Spirit still freaks a lot of people out, that’s all. And I can tell you this, after living around Moroi, dhampirs, and humans, it’s a fact that people are afraid of what they don’t understand.” I emphasized my point with a drink stirrer. “And most are too lazy or ignorant to find out more.”
Nina smiled but still looked wistful. “Yeah, but everyone seems to accept Dimitri and Sonya. And they actually were Strigoi. Seems like that would be a lot harder to get on board with than a girl who just helped restore one.”
“Oh, there was plenty of freaking out going on when those two were first restored, believe me. But Dimitri’s gallant reputation and heroic acts soon overshadowed that. Then Sonya got her own fame with all her ‘Strigoi vaccine’ work.”
“Is that what it takes?” Nina asked. “Do I—and Olive—have to do great deeds to get people to forget about our pasts?”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” I said staunchly. “Is that why Olive left? Was it too hard being around others?”
Nina frowned and looked down at the edge of her glass. She was drinking cosmos, which were a little too fruity for my tastes. I spared a moment to idly wonder what Sydney would drink, if she ever allowed herself to indulge. Some girly cocktail like that? No, I instantly knew if Sydney ever drank, it would be wine, and she’d be one of those people who could tell you the year, region, and soil components the grapes were grown in, based on a sip alone. Me? I’d be lucky if I could tell the difference between boxed and bottled wine. The thought of her made me start to smile, and I quickly hid it, lest Nina see and think I was laughing at her.
“I don’t know why Olive left,” she said at last. “And that’s almost as bad as her leaving in the first place. I’m her sister. I brought her back!” Nina jerked her head back up, and tears glittered in those gray eyes. “If something’s bothering her, she should have come to me first. After everything I went through for her . . . does she think I wouldn’t listen? Doesn’t she know how much I love her? We share the same blood; that’s a bond nothing and no one can ever break. I would do anything for her—anything—if she only asked, if she’d only trust me enough to ask. . . .”