Bloodlines (Bloodlines, #1)(8)

“Feedings?” I asked blankly. Of course. Jill would need blood. For a moment, all my confidence wavered. It was easy to talk about hanging out with vampires when none were around. Easier still when you didn’t think about what it was that made vampires who they were. Blood. That terrible, unnatural need that fueled their existence. An awful thought sprang into my mind, vanishing as quickly as it came. Am I supposed to give her my blood? No. That was ridiculous. That was a line the Alchemists would never cross. Swallowing, I tried to conceal my brief moment of panic. “How do you plan on feeding her?”

Stanton nodded to Keith. “Would you explain?” I think she was giving him a chance to feel important, as a way of making up for his earlier defeat. He ran with it.

“There’s only one Moroi we know of living in Palm Springs,” said Keith. As he spoke, I noticed that his tousled blond hair was practically coated in gel. It gave his hair a slimy shine that I didn’t think was attractive in the least. Also, I didn’t trust any guy who used more styling products than I did. “And if you ask me, he’s crazy. But he’s harmless crazy—inasmuch as any of them are harmless. He’s this old recluse who lives outside the city. He’s got this hang-up about the Moroi government and doesn’t associate with any of them, so he isn’t going to tell anyone you guys are there. Most importantly, he’s got a feeder he’s willing to share.”

I frowned. “Do we really want Jill hanging out with some anti-government Moroi? The whole purpose is to keep them stable. If we introduce her to some rebel, how do we know he won’t try to use her?”

“That’s an excellent point,” said Michaelson, seeming surprised to admit as much.

I hadn’t meant to undermine Keith. My mind had just jumped ahead in this way it had, spotting a potential problem and pointing it out. From the look he gave me, though, it was like I was purposely trying to discredit his statement and make him look bad.

“We won’t tell him who she is, obviously,” he said, a glint of anger in his good eye. “That would be stupid. And he’s not part of any faction. He’s not part of anything. He’s convinced the Moroi and their guardians let him down, so he wants nothing to do with any of them. I’ve passed a story to him about how Jill’s family has the same antisocial feelings, so he’s sympathetic.”

“You’re right to be wary, Sydney,” said Stanton. There was a look of approval in her eyes, like she was pleased at having defended me. That approval meant a lot to me, considering how fierce she often seemed. “We can’t assume anything about any of them. Although we also checked out this Moroi with Abe Mazur, who concurs he’s harmless enough.”

“Abe Mazur?” scoffed Michaelson. He scratched at his graying beard. “Yes. I’m sure he’d be an expert on who’s harmless or not.”

My heart lurched at the name, but I tried not to show it. Do not react, do not react, I ordered my face. After a deep breath, I asked very, very carefully, “Is Abe Mazur the Moroi who’s going with Jill? I’ve met him before . . . but I thought you said it was an Ivashkov who was going.” If Abe Mazur was in residence in Palm Springs, that would alter things significantly.

Michaelson scoffed. “No, we’d never send you off with Abe Mazur. He’s simply been helping with the organization of this plan.”

“What’s so bad about Abe Mazur?” asked Keith. “I don’t know who he is.”

I studied Keith very closely as he spoke, looking for some trace of deception. But, no. His face was all innocence, openly curious. His blue eyes—or eye, rather—held a rare look of confusion, contrasting with the usual know-it-all arrogance. Abe’s name meant nothing to him. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“A scoundrel,” said Stanton flatly. “He knows far too much about things he shouldn’t. He’s useful, but I don’t trust him.”

A scoundrel? That was an understatement. Abe Mazur was a Moroi whose nickname in Russia—zmey, the serpent—said it all. Abe had done a number of favors for me, ones I’d had to pay back at considerable risk to myself. Part of that payback had been helping Rose escape. Well, he’d called it payback; I called it blackmail. I had no desire to cross paths with him again, mostly because I was afraid of what he’d ask for next. The frustrating part was that there was no one I could go to for help. My superiors wouldn’t react well to learning that, in addition to all my other solo activities with vampires, I was making side deals with them.

“None of them are to be trusted,” my father pointed out. He made the Alchemist sign against evil, drawing a cross on his left shoulder with his right hand.

“Yes, well, Mazur’s worse than most,” said Michaelson. He stifled a yawn, reminding all of us that it was the middle of the night. “Are we all set, then?”

There were murmurs of assent. Keith’s stormy expression displayed how unhappy he was at not getting his way, but he made no more attempts to stop me from going. “I guess we can leave anytime now,” he said.

It took me a second to realize that the “we” meant him and me. “Right now?” I asked in disbelief.

He shrugged. “The vampires are going to be on their way soon. We need to make sure everything’s set up for them. If we switch off driving, we can be there by tomorrow afternoon.”