The Golden Lily (Bloodlines #2)(77)

While he was giving some last-minute instructions to Eddie, I pulled Sonya aside for a quiet word. "I... I've been thinking about something," I told her.

She studied me carefully, probably reading my aura and other body language. "What is it?" she asked.

"If you want... if you really want it, you can have some of my blood." It was a huge, huge admission. Was it something I wanted to do? No. Absolutely not. I still had the same instinctive fears about giving my blood to Moroi, even for scientific purposes.

And yet, yesterday's events - and even the alley attack - had begun making me re-analyze my worldview. Vampires weren't the only monsters out there. They were hardly monsters at all, especially next to these vampire hunters. How could I judge the enemy on race? I was being reminded more and more that humans were just as capable as vampires of evil - and that vampires were capable of good. It was actions that mattered, and Sonya and Dimitri's were noble ones. They were fighting to destroy the ultimate evil of all, and as squeamish as I felt about giving my blood, I knew the right thing was to help them.

Sonya knew what a sacrifice this was for me. Her face stayed calm - no whoops of joy - and she nodded solemnly. "I have my collection kit here. I can take a sample before you leave, if you're sure."

So soon? Well, why not. It was best to get it over with - especially if Sonya would be leaving town soon anyway. We did it in the kitchen, which seemed slightly more sanitary than the living room. Sonya was no doctor, but whatever training she'd had, it was right in line with what I'd observed when getting physicals. Antiseptic, gloves, a new syringe. All the right procedures were followed, and after a quick poke of the needle, she had my blood sample.

"Thank you, Sydney," she said, handing me a plastic bandage. "I know how difficult this must have been for you. Believe me, this could really help us."

"I want to help," I told her. "I really do."

She smiled. "I know. And we need all the help we can get. After being one of them..." Her smile faded. "Well, I believe more than ever that their evil needs to be stopped. You might be the key."

For one second, her words inspired me - that I might somehow play a greater role in the fight against evil and possibly even stop it. Immediately, that thought was replaced by my old panic. No. No. I wasn't special. I didn't want to be. I would make a good faith effort to help, but surely nothing would come of it.

I returned to fetch the others. Adrian and Jill were having some earnest conversation in the corner. Eddie and Angeline were also talking, and I overheard her say, "I'll stay with Jill more at school, just to be safe. We can't have her be part of some accident or mistaken identity." Eddie nodded and looked impressed that she'd suggested it. "Agreed." Amazing, I thought.

I left soon with my carpool and swung by downtown to drop Adrian off. As I pulled up in front of his building, I saw something that made my jaw drop. Awe and disbelief rolled through me. In what was probably the most ungraceful parking job I'd ever done in my life, I brought Latte to an abrupt stop and was out of the car the second I pulled my keys from the ignition.

The others followed moments later.

"What," I breathed. "Is that?"

"Oh," said Adrian casually. "That's my new car."

I took a few steps forward and then stopped, afraid to approach it in the same way someone hesitated before royalty. "It's a 1967 Ford Mustang convertible," I said, knowing my eyes were probably bugging out of my face. I began walking around it. "The year they did a major overhaul and increased the size to keep up with other high-powered competition. See?

It's the first model with the concave tail lights but the last to have the Ford block lettering up front until 1974."

"What in the world is that color?" asked Eddie, not sounding impressed at all.

"Springtime Yellow," Adrian and I said in unison.

"I would've guessed Lemon Chiffon," said Eddie. "Maybe you can get it repainted."

"No!" I exclaimed. I tossed my purse over onto the grass and carefully touched the car's side. Brayden's beautiful new Mustang suddenly seemed so ordinary. "It's been touched up, obviously, but this is a classic color. Which engine code is this? C, right?"

"Um... not sure," said Adrian. "I know it's got a V-8 engine."

"Of course it does," I said. It was hard not to roll my eyes. "A 289. I want to know what the horsepower is."

"It's probably in the paperwork," Adrian said lamely.

It was at that moment that I really processed Adrian's earlier words. I looked up at him, knowing my face must be filled with disbelief. "This is really your car?"

"Yup," he said. "I told you. The old man spotted me the money for one."

"And you got this one?" I peered in through the window. "Nice. Black interior, manual transmission."

"Yeah," said Adrian, a note of unease in his voice. "That's the problem." I glanced back. "What is? The black is great. And the leather's condition is fantastic. So is the rest of the car."

"No, not the interior. The transmission. I can't drive a stick." I froze. "You can't drive a stick?"

"Neither can I," said Jill.

"You don't have a license," I reminded her. Although, my mother had taught me to drive before I had a license - both automatic and manual transmission. I knew I shouldn't be surprised the stick was a lost art, as savage as such a lack seemed to me. That paled, of course, in comparison to the other obvious problem. "Why on earth would you buy a car like this if you can't drive a stick? There are dozens of cars - new cars - that have automatic transmission.