The Indigo Spell

Ian had parked in the hotel's front circle drive. He drove a Toyota Corolla, which was made even more boring by the fact that he'd chosen it in white. A little air freshener shaped like a tree hung from the rearview mirror, but rather than the usual pine scent, a small label declared it to be "New Car Scent." Mostly it smelled like plastic. I put on a brave face. Marcus really owed me one.

"I made us a reservation at this really great seafood place," he told me. "It's close to the facility, so we can head on over to the service right away."

"Sounds great," I said. I never ate seafood in any landlocked state.

The restaurant was called Fresh Cache, which didn't improve my opinion of it. Still, I had to give it credit for attempts at a romantic atmosphere. Most of the lighting came from candles, and a pianist in the corner played covers of easy-listening songs. More well-dressed people filled the tables, laughing and chatting over wine and shrimp cocktails. The host showed us to a corner table, covered with burgundy linen and decorated with a scattering of green orchids. I'd never seen any up close and was actually quite taken with how exotic and sensual they were. If only I was here with anyone but Ian.

I was hesitant to take my coat off. It made me feel exposed, and I had to remind myself of the consequences of Alchemists and Warriors working together. As soon as the dress was unleashed again, I had the satisfaction of seeing Ian melt once more. I remembered Adrian's advice about confidence and put on a smug smile, hoping I gave the impression that I was doing Ian a great favor by allowing him to be in my presence. And, to my complete and utter amazement, it seemed to work. I even allowed myself to indulge in a dangerous thought: maybe it wasn't the dress wielding such power here.

Maybe it was me.

Opening the menu, I began skimming for a beef or poultry option. "What do you recommend?"

"The mahi mahi is great here," he said. "So is the swordfish."

The waiter stopped by, and I ordered a chicken Caesar salad. I figured they couldn't really mess up the anchovies in the dressing.

We were left alone to wait, with nothing to do now but move on to small talk. Ian picked up the ball. "I suppose you still can't tell me much about where you're at, huh?"

"Afraid not. You know how it is." I buttered a sourdough roll with what I was pretty sure was exactly half a tablespoon. I didn't want to go too crazy, but I could allow myself a little indulgence since I ordered a salad. "I can tell you I'm in the field. I just can't say much else."

Ian's attention shifted off my neckline as he stared into the candle's flame. "I miss that, you know. Being in the field."

"You used to be, right? What happened?" I hadn't thought much about it lately, but when Ian had accompanied Stanton and me to the Moroi court, he had been pulled from his post to make the trip. He'd been assigned somewhere in the south, Florida or Georgia, I thought.

"Those Moroi holding us prisoner is what happened." He shifted his gaze back to me, and I was startled at the fierceness I saw. "I didn't handle it very well."

"Well, none of us did."

He shook his head. "No, no. I really didn't handle it well. I kind of freaked out. They sent me to anger management training afterward."

I nearly dropped the roll. I had in no way expected that. If someone had asked me to name the top ten people who needed anger management, Ian wouldn't have even made the bottom of the list. My father, however, would have been near the top.

"How - how long were you there?" I stammered.

"Two weeks, and then I was good to go."

Admittedly, I didn't know the extent of the rage that had landed him in anger management, but I found it interesting that two weeks was good enough to deem him ready to work again. Meanwhile, Keith's scheme to use Moroi to make money had earned him at least two months in re-education - maybe more, since I hadn't heard any updates in a while.

"But they wouldn't let me work in the field," Ian added. "Figure I shouldn't be around Moroi for a while. So that's why I'm stuck here."

"In the archives."

"Yes."

"Doesn't sound so bad," I told him. I wasn't entirely lying. "Lots of books."

"Don't fool yourself, Sydney." He began tearing a pumpernickel roll into pieces. "I'm a glorified librarian."

Maybe so, but that wasn't my concern. What was my concern was Wade telling me that the archives were on a secure level, one floor up from the surveillance room that held security footage. He'd drawn me a map of each floor, making sure I memorized the layout and the best ways to get in and out.

"I'd still love to see them," I said. "I mean, the history they contain is amazing." Again, not entirely a lie. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes drop to my plunging neckline again. This wasn't that difficult! Really, I didn't know why I hadn't been using my "womanly charms" a long time ago. Actually, I never really knew I had any, until now. "Could you get me in for a tour? Of the archives specifically. You seem like the kind of guy who could get access to . . . a lot of places."

Ian choked on his roll. After a bout of coughing, he glanced up at my face, then my cle**age (again), and then back to my face. "I'd, um, love to, but it's not really open to the public - I mean, even the Alchemist public. Only those with special scholar access are allowed in. We could look at the general access parts of the building, though."

"Oh. I see." I looked down at my plate, pouting slightly, but didn't say anything else. As the waiter arrived with our food, I hoped my silence was making him reconsider what he could be missing out on.

Eventually, Ian couldn't take it anymore. He cleared his throat, maybe because there was still bread stuck in it. "Well, I might be able to . . . you see, the problem is just getting you down to the secure levels. Once you're through that checkpoint, it's not hard to get you into the archives - especially if I'm working."

"But you can't do anything about the main checkpoint?" I coaxed, as if all real men should be able to do that.

"No, I mean . . . maybe. I've got a friend who works there. I don't know if he's got a shift tomorrow, but he still might be able to help. He owes me some money, so I can use this as a trade. I hope."

"Oh, Ian." I flashed him a smile that I hoped rivaled one of Marcus's. "That's amazing." I remembered what Adrian had said. "I'd be so, so grateful if you could pull it off."

My reaction clearly delighted Ian, and I wondered if Adrian had been right about how "so, so grateful" was translated. "I'll call him tonight after the service," Ian said. He looked determined now. "Hopefully we can make it happen before your flight tomorrow."