Bloodlines Theories

I couldn’t breathe.

There was a hand covering my mouth, and another shaking my shoulder, startling me out of a heavy sleep. A thousand frantic thoughts dashed through my mind in the space of a single heartbeat. It was happening. My worst nightmare was coming true.

They’re here. They’ve come for me, I thought.

My eyes blinked, staring wildly round the dark room until my father’s face came into focus. I stilled my thrashing, thoroughly confused. He let go and stepped back to regard me coldly. I sat up in the bed with my heart still pounding.

“Dad?”

“Sydney,” he said. “You wouldn’t wake up.” Naturally that was his only apology for scaring me to death. “You need to get dressed and make yourself presentable,” he continued. “Quickly and quietly. Meet me downstairs in the study.”

I felt my eyes widen, but didn’t hesitate with a response. There was only one acceptable answer. “Yes sir,” I said. “Of course.”

“I’ll go wake your sister.”

He turned for the door and I leapt out of bed. “Zoe!” I exclaimed, “What do you need her for?”

“Shh,” he said. “Hurry up and get ready, and remember, be quiet. Don’t wake your mother.”

He shut the door without another word, leaving me staring. The panic that had only just subsided began to surge within me again. What did he need my sister Zoe for? A late night wakeup meant alchemist business, and she had nothing to do with that. Technically, neither did I anymore. Not since I’d been put on indefinite suspension for bad behavior this summer.

What if that’s what this was about? What if I was finally being taken to a reeducation center and Zoe was replacing me?

For a moment the world swam around me and I caught hold of my bed to steady myself. Reeducation centers: they were the stuff of nightmares for young alchemists like me; mysterious places for those who grew too close to vampires were dragged off to learn the errs of their ways. What exactly went on there was a secret, one I never want to find out. I was pretty sure “reeducation” was a nice way of saying “brainwashing”. I’d only ever seen one person who had come back, and honestly he’d seemed like half a person after that. There’d been an almost zombie-like quality to him, and I didn’t want to think about what they might have done to make him that way.

My father’s urging to hurry up echoed back through my mind, and I tried to shake off my fears. Remembering his other warning, I also made sure to move silently. My mother was a light sleeper. Normally it wouldn’t matter if she caught us going off on alchemist errands, but lately she hadn’t been feeling so kindly toward her husband’s and daughter’s employers. Ever since angry alchemists had deposited me on my parents’ doorstep last month, this household had held all the warmth of a prison camp. Terrible arguments had gone down between my parents, and Zoe and I often found ourselves tiptoeing around.

Zoe, I thought. Why does he need Zoe?

The question burned through me as I scurried to get ready. I knew what presentable meant. Throwing on jeans and a t-shirt was out of the question. Instead, I tugged on grey slacks and a crisp button-down white shirt. A darker charcoal grey cardigan went over it, which I cinched neatly at my waist with a black belt. A small gold cross, the one I always wore around my neck, was the only ornamentation I ever bothered with.

The entire process took me all of six minutes, which might have been a new record for me. I sprinted down the stairs in perfect silence, careful again to avoid waking my mother. The living room was dark, but light spilled out past the not quite shut door of my father’s study. Taking that as an invitation, I pushed the door open and slipped inside. A hushed conversation stopped at my entrance. My father eyed me from head to toe and showed disapproval at my appearance in the way he knew best, by simply withholding criticism.

“Sydney,” he said, “I believe you know Donna Stanton.”

The formidable alchemist stood near the window, arms crossed looking as tough and lean as I remembered. I’d spent a lot of time with Stanton recently, though I’d hardly say we were friends. Especially since certain actions of mine had ended up putting the two of us under sort of vampire house arrest. If she harbored any resentment toward me, she didn’t show it though. She nodded to me in polite greeting, her face all business.

Three other alchemists were there as well, all men. They were introduced to me as Barnes, Michealson, and Horowitz. Barnes and Michealson were my father’s and Stanton’s age. Horowitz was younger, mid-twenties, and was setting up a tattooist’s tools. All of them were dressed like me, wearing business-casual clothing in nondescript colors. Our goal was always to look nice, but not attract notice. The alchemists had been playing men-in-black for centuries, long before humans dreamed of life on other worlds. When light hit their faces the right way, each alchemist displayed a lily tattoo identical to mine.

Again, my unease grew. Was this some kind of interrogation? An assessment to see if my decision to help a renegade half vampire girl meant my loyalties had changed?

I crossed my arms over my chest and schooled my face to neutrality, hoping I looked cool and confident. If I still had a chance to plead my case, I intended to present a solid one.

Before anyone could utter another word, Zoe entered. She shut the door behind her and peered around her hair, her eyes wide. Our father’s study was huge; he built an addition onto our house for it, and it easily held all the occupants. But as I watched my sister take in the scene, I knew she felt stifled and trapped. I met her eyes and tried to send a silent message of sympathy. It must have worked because she scurried to my side, looking only a fraction less afraid.

“Zoe,” said my father.

He let her name hang in the air in this way he had, making it clear to both of us that he was disappointed. I could immediately guess why. She wore jeans and an old sweatshirt, and had her brown hair in two cute, but sloppy braids. By any other person’s standards she would have been presentable, but not by his.

I felt her cower against me and I tried to make myself taller and protecting. Stanton gave her the same polite nod she’d given me, and then turned toward my father.

“I don’t understand, Jared,” said Stanton. “Which one of these girls are you going to use?”

“Well, that’s the problem,” my father said. “Zoe was requested, but I’m not sure she’s ready. In fact, I know she isn’t. She’s only had the most basic of training. But in light of Sydney’s recent experiences…”

My mind immediately began to pull the pieces together. First, and most importantly, it seemed I wasn’t going to be sent to a reeducation center. Not yet at least. This was about something else. My earlier suspicion was correct. There was some mission or task afoot and someone wanted to summon Zoe because she, unlike certain other members of her family, had no history of betraying the alchemists. My father was right that she’d only received basic instruction. Our jobs were hereditary, and I had been chosen years ago as the next alchemist in the Sage family.

I stepped forward, not knowing what I was going to say until I spoke. The only thing I knew for sure was that I could not let Zoe get sucked into the alchemists’ schemes. I feared for her safety more than I did going to a reeducation center, and I was pretty afraid of that. “I spoke to a committee about my actions,” I said. “I was under the impression they understood why I did the things I did. I fully qualify to serve in whatever way you need. Much more than my sister. I have real-world experience. I know this job inside and out.”

“A little too much real-world experience, if memory serves,” said Stanton dryly.

“Everyone would like to hear these reasons again,” said Barnes, using his fingers to make air quotes. “I’m not thrilled about tossing a half trained girl out there, but I also find it hard to believe someone who aided a vampire criminal is fully qualified to serve.”

I smiled back pleasantly, masking my anger. If I showed my true emotions, it wouldn’t help my case. “I understand sir. Rose Hathaway was eventually proven innocent of the crime she’d been accused of. So it wasn’t technically aiding a criminal. My actions eventually helped find the real murderer.”

“Be that as it may,” he said. “We think you didn’t know she was innocent at the time.”

“I know,” I said, “ but I believed she was.”

Barnes snorted. “And there’s the problem. You should’ve believed what the alchemists told you, not ran off with your own farfetched theories. At the very least you should have taken what evidence you’d gathered to your superiors.”

Evidence? How could I explain that it wasn’t evidence that had driven me to help Rose, so much as a feeling in my gut that she was telling the truth? But that was something I knew they’d never understand. All of us were trained to believe the worst of her kind. Telling them I had seen truth and honesty in her wouldn’t help my cause. Telling them that I had been blackmailed into helping her by another vampire was an even worse explanation. There was only one argument the alchemists might possibly be able to comprehend.

“I… I didn’t tell anyone because I wanted to get all the credit for it,” I said. “I was hoping that if I had covered it, I could get a promotion and a better assignment.”

It took every ounce of self control I had to say that lie straight-faced. I felt humiliated at making such an admission, as though ambition would really drive me to such extreme behaviors. It made me feel slimy and shallow, but as I’d expected, this was something the other alchemists could understand.

Michealson snorted, “Misguided, but not entirely unexpected for her age.”

My father glanced among them, waiting for further comment. When none came, he shrugged. “If no one has any objections, I’d rather we use Sydney, not that I even entirely understand what you need her for.” There was a slightly accusing tone in his voice over not having been filled in yet. Jared Sage didn’t like to be left out of the loop.

“I have no problem with using the older girl,” said Barnes. “But keep the younger one around until the others get here, in case they have any objections.”

Horowitz spoke up for the first time, “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Re-ink Sydney,” said Stanton decisively. “Even if she doesn’t go, it won’t hurt to have spells reinforced. No point in inking Zoe until we know what we’re doing with her.”

My eyes flipped to my sister’s noticeably bare and pale cheeks. Yes, as long as there’s no lily there, she was free. Once the tattoo was in place, as I understand, there was no going back. You belonged to the alchemists. The reality of that had hit me in the last year or so. I’d certainly never realized it while growing up. My father had to hassle me from a very young age about the rightness of our duty. I still believed in that rightness, but he’d failed to mention how much of my life it would consume.

Horowitz had set up a folding table on the far side of my father’s study. He patted it and gave me a friendly smile. “Step right up,” he told me, “Get your ticket.” He helped me lie down, and though I was too afraid of the others to openly smile back, I hoped my gratitude showed in my eyes. Another smile coming up told me he understood.

Turning my head I watched as Barnes sat a black briefcase on a side table. The other alchemists gathered and clasped their hands together in front of them. He must be the priest, I realized.

Most of what the alchemists did was rooted in science, but a few tasks required a divine assistance.

“Oh Lord,” he intoned, closing his eyes. “Bless these elixirs, remove the taint of the evil they carry so that their life-giving power shines through purely to us, your servants.” He opened the briefcase and removed four small vials, each filled with dark red liquid. Labels that I couldn’t read marked each one. With a steady hand and a practiced eye, Barnes poured precise amounts from each vial into the larger bottle. When he’d used all four, he produced a tiny packet of powder that he emptied into the rest of the mix. I felt a tingle in the air, and the bottle’s contents turned to gold. He handed the bottle to Horowitz who stood ready with the needle. Everyone relaxed, ceremonial part complete.

I obediently turned away, exposing my cheek. A moment later Horowitz’s shadow fell over me. “This will sting a little, but nothing like when you originally got the first one. It’s just a touchup.”

The needle pricked my skin and I tried not to wince. It did sting, but like he said, he wasn’t creating a new tattoo. He was just injecting small amounts of the ink to my existing one.

“Can you tell us what’s happening while we’re waiting?” asked my father. “All I was told was that you needed a teen girl.” The way he said it made it sound like a disposable role. I fought back a wave of anger at my father. That’s all we were to him.

“We have a situation,” I heard Stanton say. Finally, I’d get some answers. “With a Moroi.”

I breathed a small sigh of relief. Better a Moroi than a Strigoi. Any situation the alchemists faced always involved one of the vampire races, and I’d take the living, non-colored ones any day. They almost seemed human at times – though I’d never tell anyone here that – and lived and died like we did. Strigoi, however, were twisted freaks of nature. They were undead, murderous vampires created either when a Strigoi forcibly made a victim drink its blood, or when a Moroi purposely took the life of another through blood drinking. A situation with a Strigoi usually ended with someone dead.

“You know that they elected their girl Queen last month,” said Barnes. I could practically see him rolling his eyes. Everyone in the room murmured affirmatively. Of course they knew about that. The alchemists pay careful attention to the political goings on of the Moroi. Knowing what vampires were doing was crucial to keeping them secret from the rest of humanity, and keeping the rest of humanity safe from them. That was our purpose: to protect our brethren. “Know thy enemy” was taken very seriously with us.

The girl the Moroi had elected, Queen Vasilisa Dragomir, was eighteen, just like me.

“Don’t tense,” said Horowitz gently. I hadn’t realized I had been. I tried to think, but thinking of Vasilisa Dragomir made me think of Rose Hathaway. Uneasily I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume I was out of trouble here.

Mercifully, Barnes simply kept going with the story, not mentioning my indirect connection to the Queen and her associates. “Well, as shocking as that is to us,” he said, “it’s just as shocking to some of their own people. There’s been a lot of protests and disobedience. No one’s tried to attack the Dragomir girl, but that’s probably because she’s so well guarded. Her enemies, it seems, have therefore found a workaround: her sister.”

“Jill,” I said, speaking before I could stop myself. Horowitz tsked me for moving, and I immediately regretted drawing attention to myself and my knowledge of the Moroi. Nevertheless, an image of Jillian Mastrano flashed through my mind, tall and annoyingly slim, like all Moroi, with big pale green eyes that always seem nervous. And she had good reason to be. At fifteen Jill had discovered she was Vasilisa’s illegitimate sister, making her the only member of the royal family’s line. She too was tied to the mess I’d gotten myself into this summer.

A chill ran down my spine, and I again commented without thinking. “Did something happen to Jill?” I asked.

The other alchemists exchanged uneasy looks, nobody answering right away. “Well,” said Horowitz. “That’s the problem.”