Everyone had hit it off so well at lunch with Avery that the group had gotten together again that evening and had kind of a wild time. Lissa was thinking about that as she sat in her first-period English class the next morning. They'd stayed up late last night, sneaking out past curfew. The memory brought a smile to Lissa's face, even as she stifled a yawn. I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of jealousy. I knew Avery was responsible for Lissa's happiness, and that bothered me on a petty level. Yet... Avery's new friendship was also making me feel less guilty about leaving Lissa.

Lissa yawned again. It was hard to concentrate on The Scarlet Letter while fighting a slight hangover. Avery seemed to have a never-ending supply of liquor. Adrian had taken to this right away, but Lissa had been a little more hesitant. She'd abandoned her partying days a long time ago, but she'd finally succumbed last night and drunk more glasses of wine than she really should have. It wasn't unlike my situation with the vodka, ironically enough. Both of us overindulging, despite being miles and miles apart.

Suddenly, a high-pitched wail pierced the air. Lissa's head shot up, along with everyone else's in the class. In a corner of the room, a small fire alarm flashed and shrieked its warning. Naturally, some students started cheering while some pretended to be scared. The rest just looked surprised and waited.

Lissa's instructor also looked a little caught off guard, and after a quick examination, Lissa decided this wasn't a planned alarm. Teachers usually had a heads-up when there were drills, and Ms. Malloy didn't wear the usual weary expression teachers had when trying to figure out how much time the drill would cut from their lessons.

"Up and at 'em," said Ms. Malloy in annoyance, grabbing a clipboard. "You know where to go." Fire drill procedure was pretty standard.

Lissa followed the others and fell in step with Christian. "Did you set this up?" she teased.

"Nope. Wish I had, though. This class is killing me."

"You? I have the worst headache ever."

He gave her a knowing grin. "Let that be a lesson to you, Little Miss Lush."

She made a face in return and gave him a light punch. They reached their class's meeting spot out on the quad and joined in the semblance of a line the others were trying to form. Ms. Malloy arrived and checked everyone off on her clipboard, satisfied no one had been left behind.

"I don't think this was planned," said Lissa.

"Agreed," said Christian. "Which means even if there's no fire, it might take a while."

"Well, then. No use waiting around, huh?"

Christian and Lissa turned around in surprise at the voice behind them and saw Avery. She wore a purple sweater dress and black heels that seemed totally out of place on the wet grass.

"What are you doing here?" asked Lissa. "Figured you'd be in your room."

"Whatever. It's so boring there. I had to come liberate you guys."

"You did this?" asked Christian, slightly impressed.

Avery shrugged. "I told you, I was bored. Now, come on while it's still chaotic."

Christian and Lissa exchanged glances. "Well," said Lissa slowly, "I suppose they did already take attendance..."

"Hurry!" said Avery. Her excitement was contagious, and, feeling bold, Lissa hurried after her, Christian in tow. With all the milling students, no one noticed them cutting across the campus-until they reached the outside of guest housing. Simon stood leaning against the door, and Lissa stiffened. They were busted.

"Everything set?" Avery asked him.

Simon, definitely the strong-and-silent type, gave a swift nod as his only answer before straightening up. He stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and walked off. Lissa stared in amazement.

"He just... he just let us go? And is he in on it?" Simon wasn't on campus as a teacher, but still... that didn't necessarily mean he'd let students skip out on class because of a faked fire drill.

Avery grinned mischievously, watching him go. "We've been together for a while. He's got better things to do than babysit us."

She led them inside, but instead of going to her room, they cut off to a different section of the building and went somewhere I knew well: Adrian's room.

Avery beat on the door. "Hey, Ivashkov! Open up."

Lissa slapped a hand over her mouth to smother her giggles. "So much for stealth. Everyone's going to hear you."

"I need him to hear me," Avery argued.

She kept pounding on the door and yelling, and finally, Adrian answered. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

He'd drunk twice as much as Lissa last night.

"What...?" He blinked. "Shouldn't you guys be in class? Oh God. I didn't sleep that much, did I?"

"Let us in," said Avery, pushing past. "We've got refugees from a fire here."

She flounced onto his couch, making herself at home while he continued staring. Lissa and Christian joined her.

"Avery sprang the fire alarm," explained Lissa.

"Nice work," said Adrian, collapsing into a fluffy chair. "But why'd you have to come here? Is this the only place that's not burning down?"

Avery batted her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you happy to see us?"

He eyed her speculatively for a moment. "Always happy to see you."

Lissa was normally pretty straitlaced about this kind of thing, but something about it amused her. It was so wild, so silly... it was a break from all her recent worries. "It's not going to take them that long to figure it out, you know. They could be letting everyone in right now."

"They could be," agreed Avery, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "But I have it on good authority that another alarm is going to go off in the school once they open the doors."

"How the hell did you manage that?" asked Christian.

"Top secret."

Adrian rubbed his eyes and was clearly amused by this, despite the abrupt wake-up. "You can't pull fire alarms all day, Lazar."

"Actually, I have it on good authority that once they give the all-clear on a second alarm, a third's going to go off."

Lissa laughed out loud, though a lot of it was due more to the guys' reactions and less to Avery's announcement. Christian, in fits of antisocial rebellion, had set people on fire. Adrian spent most of his days drunk and chain-smoking. For a cute society girl like Avery to astonish them, something truly remarkable had to happen. Avery looked very pleased at having outdone them.

"If the interrogation's over now," she said, "aren't you going to offer your guests any refreshments?"

Adrian stood up and yawned. "Fine, fine, you insolent girl. I'll make coffee."

"With a kick?" She inclined her head toward Adrian's liquor cabinet.

"You have got to be kidding," said Christian. "Do you even have a liver left?"

Avery wandered over to the cabinet and picked up a bottle of something. She held it out to Lissa. "You game?"

Even Lissa's morning rebelliousness had limits. The wine headache still throbbed in her skull. "Ugh, no."

"Cowards," said Avery. She turned back to Adrian. "Well then, Mr. Ivashkov, you'd best put on the pot. I always like a little coffee with my brandy."

Not long after that, I faded away from Lissa's head and drifted back into my own, returning to the blackness of sleep and ordinary dreams. It was short-lived, however, seeing as a loud pounding soon jerked me into consciousness.

My eyes flew open, and a deep, searing pain shot through the back of my skull-the aftereffects of that toxic vodka, no doubt. Lissa's hangover had nothing on mine. I started to close my eyes, wanting to sink back under and let sleep heal the worst of my pain. Then, I heard the pounding again -and worse, my whole bed shook violently. Someone was kicking it.

Opening my eyes again, I turned and found myself staring into Yeva's shrewd dark eyes. If Sydney had met many dhampirs like Yeva, I could understand why she thought our race were minions of hell. Pursing her lips, Yeva kicked the bed again.

"Hey," I cried. "I'm awake, okay?"

Yeva muttered something in Russian, and Paul peered around from behind her, translating. "She says you're not awake until you're actually out of bed and standing up."

And with no more warning, that sadistic old woman continued kicking the bed. I jerked upright, and the world spun around me. I'd said this before, but this time, I really meant it: I was never going to drink again. No good ever came from it. The covers looked awfully tempting to my agonized body, but a few more kicks from Yeva's pointy-toed boots made me shoot up off the bed.

"Okay, okay. Are you happy now? I'm up." Yeva's expression didn't change, but at least she stopped with the kicking. I turned to Paul. "What's going on?"

"Grandmother says you have to go with her."

"Where?"

"She says you don't need to know."

I started to say that I wasn't following that crazy old wench anywhere, but after one look at her scary face, I thought better of it. I didn't put it past her to be able to turn people into toads.

"Fine," I said. "I'll be ready to go once I shower and change."

Paul translated my words, but Yeva shook her head and spoke again. "She says there's no time," he explained. "We have to go now."

"Can I at least brush my teeth?"

She allowed that small concession, but a change of clothes was apparently out of the question. It was just as well. Each step I took made me feel woozy, and I probably would have passed out doing something as complicated as dressing and undressing. The clothes didn't smell or anything either; they were mostly just wrinkled from where I'd fallen asleep in them.

When I got downstairs, I saw that no one else was awake except Olena. She was washing leftover dishes from last night and seemed surprised to see me up. That made two of us.

"It's early for you, isn't it?" she asked.

I turned and caught sight of the kitchen clock. I gasped. It was only about four hours after I'd gone to bed. "Good God. Is the sun even up?"

Amazingly, it was. Olena offered to make me breakfast, but again, Yeva reiterated our time crunch. My stomach seemed to simultaneously want and loathe food, so I couldn't say if abstaining was a good thing or not.

"Whatever," I said. "Let's just go and get this over with."

Yeva walked into the living room and returned a few moments later with a large satchel. She handed it to me expectantly. I shrugged and took it, hanging it over one shoulder. It clearly had stuff in it, but it wasn't that heavy. She went back out to the other room and returned with another tote bag. I took this one too and hung it over the same shoulder, balancing both of them. This one was heavier, but my back didn't complain too much.

When she left for a third time and returned with a giant box, I started to get irate. "What is this?" I demanded, taking it from her. It felt like it had bricks in it.

"Grandmother needs you to carry some things," Paul told me.

"Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I sort of figured that out fifty pounds ago."

Yeva gave me one more box, stacking it on top of the other. It wasn't as heavy, but by this point, it honestly didn't matter. Olena shot me a sympathetic look, shook her head, and returned silently to her dishes, apparently not about to argue with Yeva.

Yeva set off after that, and I followed obediently, trying to both hold the boxes and not let the bags fall off my shoulder. It was a heavy load, one my hungover body really didn't want, but I was strong enough that I figured it wouldn't be a problem to get into town or wherever she was leading me. Paul ran along at my side, apparently there to let me know if Yeva found anything along the road she wanted me to carry too.

It seemed like spring was charging into Siberia far faster than it ever did into Montana. The sky was clear, and the morning sun was heating things up surprisingly fast. It was hardly summer weather, but it was definitely enough to notice. It would have made very uncomfortable walking weather for a Moroi.

"Do you know where we're going?" I asked Paul.

"No," he said cheerfully.

For someone so old, Yeva could move at a pretty good pace, and I found myself having to hurry to keep up with her with my load. At one point, she glanced back and said something that Paul translated as, "She's kind of surprised that you can't move faster."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of surprised that no one else can carry any of this."

He translated again: "She says if you're really such a famous Strigoi killer, then this shouldn't be a problem."

I was filled with great relief when downtown came into sight... only we kept walking past it.

"Oh, come on," I said. "Where the hell are we going?"

Without giving me a backward glance, Yeva rattled off something. "Grandmother says Uncle Dimka never would have complained so much," Paul said.

None of this was Paul's fault; he was just the messenger. Yet, every time he spoke, I kind of wanted to kick him. Nonetheless, I kept carrying my burden and didn't say anything else for the rest of the walk. Yeva was right to a certain extent. I was a Strigoi hunter, and it was true that Dimitri would have never complained about some old lady's crazy whims. He would have done his duty patiently.

I tried to summon him up in my mind and draw strength from him. I thought about that time in the cabin again, thought about the way his lips had felt on mine and the wonderful scent of his skin when I'd pressed closer to him. I could hear his voice once more, murmuring in my ear that he loved me, that I was beautiful, that I was the only one... Thinking of him didn't take away the discomfort of my journey with Yeva, but it made it a little more bearable.

We walked for almost an hour more before reaching a small house, and I was ready to fall over in relief, soaked in sweat. The house was one floor, made of plain, weatherworn brown boards. The windows, however, were surrounded on three sides by exquisite, highly stylized blue shutters overlaid with a white design. It was that same sort of flashy use of color I'd seen on the buildings in Moscow and Saint Petersburg. Yeva knocked on the door. At first there was only silence, and I panicked, thinking we'd have to turn right around and head back.

Finally, a woman answered the door-a Moroi woman. She was maybe thirty, very pretty, with high cheekbones and strawberry-blond hair. She exclaimed in surprise at seeing Yeva, smiling and greeting her in Russian. Glancing over at Paul and me, the woman quickly stepped aside and gestured us in.

She switched to English as soon as she realized I was American. All these bilingual people were kind of amazing. It wasn't something I saw very often in the U.S. She pointed to a table and told me to set everything there, which I did with relief.

"My name's Oksana," she said, shaking my hand. "My husband, Mark, is in the garden and should be in soon."

"I'm Rose," I told her.

Oksana offered us chairs. Mine was wooden and straight-backed, but at that moment, it felt like a down-filled bed. I sighed happily and wiped the sweat off my brow. Meanwhile, Oksana unpacked the things I'd carried.

The bags were filled with leftovers from the funeral. The top box contained some dishes and pots, which Paul explained had been borrowed from Oksana some time ago. Oksana finally reached the bottom box, and so help me, it was filled with garden bricks.

"You have got to be kidding," I said. Across the living room, Yeva looked very smug.

Oksana was delighted by the gifts. "Oh, Mark will be happy to have these." She smiled at me. "It was very sweet of you to carry these that whole way."

"Happy to help," I said stiffly.

The back door opened, and a man walked in-Mark, presumably. He was tall and stockily built, his graying hair indicating an age greater than Oksana's. He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and then turned to join us. I nearly gasped when I saw his face and discovered something stranger than the age difference. He was a dhampir. For a moment, I wondered if this was someone else and not her husband, Mark. But that was the name Oksana introduced him with, and the truth hit me: a Moroi and dhampir married couple. Sure, our two races hooked up all the time. But marriage? It was very scandalous in the Moroi world.

I tried to keep the surprise off my face and behave as politely as I could. Oksana and Mark seemed very interested in me, though she did most of the talking. Mark simply watched, curiosity all over his face. My hair was down, so my tattoos couldn't have given away my unpromised status.

Maybe he was just wondering how an American girl had found her way out to the middle of nowhere. Maybe he thought I was a new blood whore recruit.

By my third glass of water, I began to feel better. It was around that time that Oksana said we should eat, and by then, my stomach was ready for it. Oksana and Mark prepared the food together, dismissing any offers of help.

Watching the couple work was fascinating. I had never seen such an efficient team. They never got in each other's way and never needed to talk about what needed doing next. They just knew. Despite the remote location, the kitchen's contents were modern, and Oksana placed a dish of some sort of potato casserole in the microwave. Mark's back was to her while he rummaged in the refrigerator, but as soon as she hit start, he said, "No, it doesn't need to be that long."

I blinked in surprise, glancing back and forth between them. He hadn't even seen what time she'd selected. Then I got it. "You're bonded," I exclaimed.

Both looked at me in equal surprise. "Yes. Didn't Yeva tell you?" Oksana asked.

I shot a quick look at Yeva, who was again wearing that annoyingly self-satisfied look on her face. "No. Yeva hasn't been very forthcoming this morning."

"Most everyone around here knows," Oksana said, returning to her work.

"Then... then you're a spirit user."

That made her pause again. She and Mark exchanged startled looks. "That," she said, "is not something that's widely known."

"Most people think you haven't specialized, right?"

"How did you know?"

Because it was exactly how it had been for Lissa and me. Stories of bonds had always existed in Moroi folklore, but how bonds formed had always been a mystery. It was generally believed they "just happened." Like Oksana, Lissa had generally been regarded as a non-specializing Moroi-one who didn't have any special ability with one element. We realized now, of course, that bonding only occurred with spirit users, when they saved the lives of others.

Something in Oksana's voice told me she wasn't really all that surprised I knew. I couldn't figure out how she'd realized that, however, and I was too stunned by my discovery to say anything else. Lissa and I had never, ever met another bonded pair. The only such two we knew about were the legendary Vladimir and Anna. And those stories were shrouded by centuries of incomplete history, making it difficult to know fact from fiction.

The only other leads we had to the world of spirit were Ms. Karp-a former teacher who went insane-and Adrian. Until now, he had been our biggest discovery, a spirit user who was more or less stable-depending on how you looked at it.

When the meal was ready, spirit never came up. Oksana led the conversation, keeping to light topics and jumping between languages. I studied her and Mark as I ate, looking for any signs of instability. I saw none. They seemed like perfectly pleasant, perfectly ordinary people. If I hadn't known what I did, I would have had no reason to suspect anything. Oksana didn't seem depressed or unhinged. Mark hadn't inherited that vile darkness that sometimes seeped into me.

My stomach welcomed the food, and the last of my headache faded away. At one point, though, a strange sensation swept through me. It was disorienting, like a fluttering in my head, and a wave of heat and then ice coursing through me. The feeling disappeared as quickly as it came on, and I hoped it'd be the last of that demon vodka's ill effects.

We finished eating, and I jumped up to help. Oksana shook her head. "No, there's no need. You should go with Mark."

"Huh?" I asked.

He dabbed at his face with a napkin and then stood up. "Yes. Let's go out to the garden."

I started to follow, then paused to glance back at Yeva. I expected her to chastise me for abandoning the dishes. Instead, I found no smug or disapproving looks. Her expression was... knowing. Almost expectant. Something about it sent a shiver down my back, and I recalled Viktoria's words: Yeva had dreamed of my arrival.

The garden Mark led me to was much bigger than I expected, enclosed in a thick fence and lined with trees. New leaves hung on them, blocking the worst of the heat. Lots of bushes and flowers were already in bloom, and here and there, young shoots were well on their way to adulthood. It was beautiful, and I wondered if Oksana had had a hand in it. Lissa was able to make plants grow with spirit. Mark gestured me over to a stone bench. We sat down side by side, and silence fell.

"So," he said. "What would you like to know?"

"Wow. You don't waste time."

"I don't see any point in it. You must have lots of questions. I'll do my best to answer."

"How did you know?" I asked. "That I'm shadow-kissed too. You did, right?"

He nodded. "Yeva told us."

Okay, that was a surprise. "Yeva?"

"She can sense things... things the rest of us can't. She doesn't always know what she's sensing, however. She only knew there was a strange feel to you, and she'd only ever felt that around one other person. So she brought you to me."

"Seems like she could have done that without me having to carry a household's worth of stuff."

This made him laugh. "Don't take it personally. She was testing you. She wanted to see if you're a worthy match for her grandson."

"What's the point? He's dead now." I nearly choked on the words.

"True, but for her, it's still important. And, by the way, she does think you're worthy."

"She has a funny way of showing it. I mean, aside from bringing me to meet you, I guess."

He laughed again. "Even without her, Oksana would have known what you are as soon as she met you. Being shadow-kissed has an effect on the aura."

"So she can see auras too," I murmured. "What else can she do? She must be able to heal, or you wouldn't be shadow-kissed. Does she have super-compulsion? Can she walk dreams?"

That caught him off guard. "Her compulsion is strong, yes... but what do you mean, walk dreams?"

"Like... she'd be able to enter someone else's mind when they're asleep. Anyone's mind-not just yours. Then they could have conversations, just as if they were together. My friend can do it."

Mark's expression told me that was news to him. "Your friend? Your bondmate?"

Bondmate? I'd never heard that term. It was weird-sounding, but it made sense. "No... another spirit user."

"Another? How many do you know?"

"Three, technically. Well, four now, counting Oksana."

Mark turned away, staring absentmindedly at a cluster of pink flowers. "That many... that's incredible. I've only met one other spirit user, and that was years ago. He too was bonded to his guardian. That guardian died, and it ripped him apart. He still helped us when Oksana and I were trying to figure things out."

I braced myself for my own death all the time, and I feared for Lissa's. Yet it had never occurred to me just what it would be like with a bond. How would it affect the other person? What would it be like to have a gaping hole, where once you'd been intimately linked to someone else? "He never mentioned walking dreams either," Mark continued. He chuckled again, friendly lines crinkling up around his blue eyes. "I thought I would be helping you, but maybe you're here to help me."

"I don't know," I said doubtfully. "I think you guys have more experience at this than we do."

"Where's your bondmate?"

"Back in the U.S." I didn't have to elaborate, but somehow, I needed to tell him the whole truth. "I... I left her."

He frowned. "Left as in... you simply traveled? Or left as in you abandoned her?"

Abandoned. The word was like a slap in the face, and suddenly, all I could envision was that last day I'd seen her, when I'd left her crying.

"I had things to do," I said evasively.

"Yes, I know. Oksana told me."

"Told you what?"

Now he hesitated. "She shouldn't have done it... She tries not to."

"Done what?" I exclaimed, uneasy for reasons I couldn't explain.

"She, well... she brushed your mind. During brunch."

I thought back and suddenly recalled the tickling in my head, the heat rolling over me. "What does that mean exactly?"

"An aura can tell a spirit user about someone's personality. But Oksana can also dig further, reaching in and actually reading more specific information about a person. Sometimes she can tie that ability into compulsion... but the results are very, very powerful. And wrong. It's not right to do that to someone you have no bond with."

It took me a moment to process that. Neither Lissa nor Adrian could read the thoughts of others. The closest Adrian could come to someone's mind was the dream walking. Lissa couldn't do that, not even for me. I could feel her, but the opposite wasn't true.

"Oksana could feel... oh, I don't know how to explain it. There's a recklessness in you. You're on some sort of quest. There's vengeance written all over your soul." He suddenly reached over and lifted my hair up, peering at my neck. "Just as I thought. You're unpromised."

I jerked my head back. "Why is that such a big deal? That whole town back there is filled with dhampirs who aren't guardians." I still thought Mark was a nice guy, but being preached to always irritated me.

"Yes, but they've chosen to settle down. You... and others like you... you become vigilantes of sorts. You're obsessed with hunting Strigoi on your own, with personally setting out to right the wrongs that whole race has brought down upon us. That can only lead to trouble. I see it all the time."

"All the time?" I asked, startled.

"Why do you think guardian numbers are dwindling? They're leaving to have homes and families. Or they're going off like you, still fighting but answering to no one-unless they're hired to be bodyguards or Strigoi hunters."

"Dhampirs for hire..." I suddenly began to understand how a non-royal like Abe had gotten his bodyguards. Money could make anything happen, I supposed. "I've never heard of anything like that."

"Of course not. You think the Moroi and other guardians want that widely known? Want to dangle that in front of you as an option?"

"I don't see what's so wrong with Strigoi hunting. We're always defensive, not offensive, when it comes to Strigoi. Maybe if more dhampirs set out after them, they wouldn't be such a problem."

"Perhaps, but there are different ways of going about that, some better than others. And when you're going out like you are-with a heart filled with sorrow and revenge? That's not one of the better ways. It'll make you sloppy. And the shadow-kissed darkness will just complicate things."

I crossed my arms over my chest and stared stonily ahead. "Yeah, well, it's not like I can do much about that."

He turned to me, expression surprised once more. "Why don't you just have your bondmate heal the darkness out of you?"