Bloodlines (Bloodlines #1)(99)

Laurel was nodding along with everything I said. "Yes, yes! I'll apologize right now!"

I lifted my eyes to where Jill was standing with her admirers, Lee's flowers in her arms. "No. Don't make this night any weirder for her. Tomorrow's soon enough."

"I will," said Laurel. "I promise. Just tell me what to do. How to fix this."

I hadn't expected Laurel to approach me tonight, but I had been expecting her one of these days. So, I already had the small bottle of antidote ready in my purse. I retrieved it, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head as I held it in front of her.

"One dose is all you need. Use it just like shampoo. Then you'll have to re-dye it." She reached for the bottle, and I jerked it back. "I mean it. Your harassment of Jill ends now. If I give this to you, I will not hear one more word about you giving her a hard time. No more grief if she talks to Micah. No more vampire jokes. No more calling Nevermore and asking about tall, pale people."

She gaped. "No more what? I never called anyone!"

I hesitated. When the tattooist had mentioned someone calling and asking about people who looked like vampires, I'd assumed it was Laurel running with the vampire joke. From the baffled look on her face now, I no longer thought that was true. "Well, if I hear about any of the other stuff continuing, then what happened to your hair will be nothing in comparison to what happens next. Nothing. Do you understand me?"

She nodded shakily. "P-perfectly."

I handed her the bottle. "Don't forget."

Laurel started to turn away and then cast another uneasy glance at me. "You know, you can be scary as hell sometimes."

I wondered if the Alchemists had had any idea what I'd be doing when it came to this job. At least this settled one thing. Laurel's desperation convinced me the vampire jokes had only been a tactic. She didn't really believe any of them were true. It did, however, raise the unnerving question about who had asked about vampires at Nevermore.

When I was finally out of the building and heading toward my car, I decided I really would go to Keith's. Someone needed to sort through his belongings, and it seemed like a safe way to avoid the others. I still had a couple of hours before curfew at Amberwood.

Keith's apartment hadn't been disturbed since the Alchemists had raided it. The telltale signs from before were there, where we'd discovered his stash of Clarence's blood and silver supplies. The Alchemists had done little more than retrieve the essentials they needed and had left the rest of his belongings behind. My hope in coming tonight had been to get ahold of his other ingredients, the ones not used to manufacture illicit tattoos. It was always handy to have extra amounts of those chemicals on hand, be it for destroying Strigoi bodies or making dorm room chemistry experiments.

No such luck. Even if his other supplies hadn't been illegal, the Alchemists had apparently decided to confiscate all chemicals and ingredients. Since I was here, though, I decided to see if any of his other possessions were items that would be of use to me. Keith certainly hadn't held back in using his illicit funds to furnish the apartment with every comfort of home. Scratch that. I doubted his home had anything like this: a California-king-sized bed, giant flatscreen TV, a theater-worthy sound system, and enough food to throw parties every night for the next month. I peered through cupboard after cupboard, appalled at how much of that food was junk food. Still, maybe it'd be worth taking some of it back for Jill and Eddie, so I bagged up the more portable sweets for them, organizing by color and size.

I wondered also about the practicality of hauling the TV back to Amberwood. It seemed like a waste to leave it for the Alchemists' repo crew, though I could already imagine Mrs. Weathers's expression if she saw us dragging it up the stairs. I wasn't even sure Jill and I had a wall big enough to hold it. I sat down in Keith's recliner to ponder the TV issue. Even the recliner was top of the line. The luxurious leather felt like butter, and I practically sank into the cushions. Too bad there was no room for it in Ms. Terwilliger's room. I could see her relaxing back in it while drinking cappuccino and reading old documents.

Well, whatever became of the rest of Keith's stuff, it was going to require the rental of a moving truck because Latte certainly couldn't handle the TV, chair, or most of the other things. Once this was decided, there was no reason for me to stay any longer tonight, but I hated to go back. I was afraid of seeing Jill. There was no reaction of hers I welcomed. If she was still sad from the argument, that would make me feel guilty. If she tried to defend Adrian, that would upset me too.

I sighed. This chair was so ridiculously comfortable, I might as well enjoy it a little longer. I dug into my messenger bag, looking for homework, and remembered the yearbooks. Kelly Hayes. I'd had almost no time to think about her or the murders, not with all the drama surrounding Keith and the tattoos. Kelly had been a junior when she died, and I had a yearbook for each of her years at Amberwood.

Even as a freshman, Kelly took lots of space in the yearbook. I remembered Mrs. Weathers saying Kelly was a good athlete. No kidding. Kelly had participated in nearly every sport Amberwood offered and been exceptional at all of them. She'd made varsity teams during her first year and won all sorts of awards. One thing I also immediately discovered was that Kelly was definitely not a Moroi. That much was obvious, even in black and white, and confirmed in the sophomore-year color spread in the middle. She had a very human build and tanned skin that clearly loved the sun.