"Weird."
"But health-wise?"
I thought about it. "Well, I know he's been tired. But usually he seemed okay."
"Yeah, well, he's not 'okay' now. It's gone beyond just tired. He's weak, dizzy, and confined to his bed." We reached a closed wooden door, and Adrian stopped.
"Do you know what caused it?" I asked, alarmed. I'd been worried about the complications of a sick Moroi but hadn't expected to deal with it so soon.
"I have a pretty good idea," said Adrian, with surprising fierceness. "Your boy Keith."
"Stop saying stuff like that. He's not 'my boy,'" I exclaimed. "He's ruining my life!"
Adrian opened the door, revealing a large, ornate canopied bed. Walking into a Moroi bedroom wasn't something I was comfortable with, but Adrian's commanding look was too powerful. I followed him in and gasped when I saw Clarence lying on the bed.
"Not just yours," said Adrian, pointing at the old man.
Clarence's eyes fluttered at the sound of our voices and then closed again as he shifted into sleep. It wasn't his eyes that held my attention, though. It was the pale, sickly pallor of his skin - that, and the bloody wound on Clarence's neck. It was small, made with just one prick, like it had come from a surgical instrument. Adrian looked at me expectantly.
"Well, Sage? Do you have any idea why Keith would be draining Clarence's blood?"
I swallowed, scarcely able to believe what I was seeing. Here was the last piece. I knew that Keith had been supplying the tattooists, and now I knew where Keith was getting his "supplies."
"Yes," I said at last, my voice small. "I have a very good idea."
Chapter Twenty-Two
CLARENCE DIDN'T WANT to talk to us about what had happened. In fact, he adamantly denied anything was wrong, claiming he'd scratched his neck while shaving.
"Mr. Donahue," I said as gently as I could, "this was made by a surgical tool. And it didn't happen until Keith visited."
"No, no," Clarence managed in a weak voice. "It has nothing to do with him."
Dorothy stuck her head in just then, carrying a glass of juice. We'd called for her shortly after my arrival tonight. For blood loss, the remedies were the same for Moroi and human alike: sugar and fluids. She offered the glass to him with a straw, her lined face filled with concern. I continued my pleas as he drank.
"Tell us what your deal is," I begged. "What's the arrangement? What's he giving you for your blood?" When Clarence remained silent, I tried another tactic. "People are being hurt. He's giving out your blood indiscriminately."
That got a reaction. "No," said Clarence. "He's using my blood and saliva to heal people. To heal sick humans." Saliva? I nearly groaned. Of course. The mysterious clear liquid. Now I knew what gave the celestial tattoos their addictive high. Gross.
Adrian and I exchanged glances. Healing certainly was a use for vampire blood. The tattoo I wore was proof of that, and the Alchemists had worked long trying to duplicate some of the blood's properties for wider medicinal use. So far, there was no way to synthetically reproduce it, and using real blood simply wasn't practical.
"He lied," I replied. "He's selling it to rich teenagers to help them with sports. What did he promise you for it? A cut of the money?"
Adrian glanced around the opulent room. "He doesn't need money. The only thing he needs is what the guardians wouldn't give him. Justice for Tamara, right?"
Surprised, I turned back to Clarence and saw Adrian's words confirmed on the old Moroi's face. "He... he's been investigating the vampire hunters for me," he said slowly. "He says he's close. Close to finding them out."
I shook my head, wanting to kick myself for not having figured out sooner that Clarence was the blood source. It explained why Keith was always unexpectedly here - and why he got so upset when I showed up without warning. My "fraternizing with vampires" had had nothing to do with it. "Sir, I guarantee the only thing he's investigating is how to spend the money he's been making."
"No... no... he's going to help me find the hunters who killed Tamara..."
I stood up. I couldn't stand to hear any more. "Get him some real food, and see what he'll eat," I told Dorothy. "If he's only weak from blood loss, he just needs time."
I nodded for Adrian to follow me out. As we walked toward the living room, I remarked, "Well, there are good and bad sides to this. At least we can be confident Keith's got a fresh supply of blood for us to bust him with. I'm just sorry Clarence had to get hit so - "
I froze as I entered the living room. I'd simply wanted to go there because it would be a familiar place to discuss our plans, one that was less creepy than Clarence's bedroom. Considering how my imagination often ran wild while I was in this old house, I'd found that few things came as a surprise. But never in my wildest dreams had I imagined the living room would be transformed into an art gallery.
Easels and canvas were set up all around the room. Even the pool table was covered by a big roll of paper. The pictures varied wildly in their content. Some simply had splashes of color thrown on them. Some possessed astonishingly realistic depictions of objects and people. An assortment of watercolors and oil paints sat around amidst the art.
For a moment, all thoughts of Clarence and Keith disappeared from my head. "What is this?"
"Homework," Adrian said.
"Didn't you... didn't you just start your classes? How could they have assigned this much?"
He walked over to a canvas showing a swirling red line traced over a black cloud and lightly tested to see if the paint was dry. Studying it, I tried to decide if I really was seeing a cloud. There was almost something anthropomorphic about it.
"Of course they didn't give us this much, Sage. But I had to make sure I nailed my first assignment. Takes a lot of tries before you hit perfection." He paused to reconsider that. "Well, except for my parents. They got it on the first try."
I couldn't help a smile. After watching Adrian's moods oscillate so wildly in the last couple weeks, it was nice to see them on the upswing. "Well, this is kind of amazing," I admitted. "What are they? I mean, I get that one." I pointed to a painting of a woman's eye, brown and long-lashed, and then to another one of roses. "But the others are open to, um, slightly more creative interpretation."