"Are they?" asked Adrian, turning back to the smoky painting with the red streak. "I figured it was obvious. This one is Love. Don't you see it?"
I shrugged. "Maybe I don't have an artistic enough mind."
"Maybe," he agreed. "Once we bust your buddy Keith, we'll discuss my genius art all you want."
"Right," I said, growing serious again. "We need to search his place for evidence. I figured the best way to do that is if I lure him out and you break in while he's gone. To get through the lock - "
Adrian waved me off. "I can pick a lock. How do you think I got into my parents' liquor cabinet in middle school?"
"Should've guessed," I said dryly. "Make sure you look everywhere, not just in obvious places. He could have compartments hidden in the walls or in furniture. You want to find vials of blood or metallic liquid or even the tool that pierced Clarence."
"Got it." We hashed out a few more details - including who he should call when he found something - and were about to leave when he asked, "Sage, why'd you pick me to be your partner in crime in this?"
I thought about it. "Process of elimination, I guess. Jill's supposed to be kept out of trouble. Eddie'd be a good asset, but he needed to go back with her and Lee. Besides, I already knew you didn't have any moral qualms about breaking and entering."
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he declared with a grin.
We headed out to Keith's after that. All the lights were on in the first floor of his building, dashing a last-minute hope I'd had that maybe I wouldn't have to lure him out. I would've actually liked to help with the search. I dropped Adrian off and then drove to a twenty-four-hour restaurant that was outside the opposite side of town. I figured it would be perfect for keeping Keith away from his home. The driving time alone would provide Adrian with extra searching time, though it meant Adrian had to wait outside for a while until Keith left. Once I finally arrived, I got a table, ordered coffee, and dialed Keith's number.
"Hello?"
"Keith, it's me. I need to talk to you."
"So talk," he said. He sounded smug and confident, no doubt happy at pulling off the last-minute tattoo sale.
"Not on the phone. I need you to meet me."
"At Amberwood?" he asked in surprise. "Isn't it after hours?" It was indeed, but that was a problem for later.
"I'm not at school. I'm at Margaret's Diner, that place out by the highway."
Long silence. Then: "Well, if you're already out past curfew, then just come here."
"No," I said firmly. "You come to me."
"Why should I?"
I hesitated only briefly before playing the card I knew would get him, the one thing that would make him drive out here and not raise suspicions about the tattoos.
"It's about Carly."
"What about her?" he asked after a moment's pause.
"You know exactly what."
After a second's pause, Keith relented and hung up. I noticed that I had a voice mail from earlier in the day that I hadn't heard come in. I called and listened.
"Sydney, this is Wes Regan from Carlton College. Just wanted to go over a couple things with you. First, I'm afraid I have some bad news. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to retroactively admit your brother from auditor status. I can enroll him next semester for sure if he stays in good standing, but the only way he can keep taking classes now is if he continues to do so as an auditor. He won't be able to get financial aid as a result, and in fact, you'll actually need to pay the auditing fee soon if he's going to stay in the classes. If he wants to drop altogether, we can do that too. Just call me and let me know what you'd like to do."
I stared at the phone in dismay when the message was over. There went our dreams of sliding Adrian into fully enrolled student status, not to mention his dreams of getting financial aid and moving out of Clarence's. The next semester probably started in January, so Adrian was facing four more months at Clarence's. Adrian would also be facing four more months of bus-riding and taking classes without college credit.
But were the credits and financial aid really the most important things here? I thought back to how excited Adrian had been after only a couple classes, how he'd thrown himself into the art. His face had been radiant when he stood in his "gallery." Jill's words also echoed through my mind, about how the art had given him something to channel his feelings into and made the bond easier for her to cope with. Those classes were good for both of them.
How much was an auditing fee? I wasn't sure but knew it wasn't as much as tuition. It was also a onetime cost that I could probably slide into my expenses without raising the attention of the Alchemists. Adrian needed those classes, of that I was certain. If he knew financial aid wasn't an option this semester, there was a good chance he'd just drop them altogether. I couldn't allow that. He'd known there might be "a delay" while the financial aid came together. If I could keep him going to Carlton a little longer, then maybe he'd get invested enough in the art that he'd stay on, even when the truth came out. It was a sneaky thing to do, but it would benefit him - and Jill - in the end.
I dialed back Wes Regan's office, knowing I'd get his voice mail. I left him a message saying that I'd drop off a check for the auditing fee and that Adrian would stay on until he could be enrolled next semester. I hung up, saying a silent prayer that it would take a while for Adrian to find out any of this. The waitress kept giving me the evil eye over just having coffee, so I finally ordered a piece of pie to go. She had just set the carton down on my table when an irritated Keith entered the restaurant. He stood in the doorway, looking around impatiently until he saw me.
"Okay, what's going on?" he demanded, making a big show of sitting down. "What's so important that you felt the need to break school rules and drag me halfway across town?"
For a moment, I froze up. Looking into Keith's eyes - real and artificial - triggered all the conflicting feelings I'd had about him this last year. Fear and anxiety over what I was trying to pull off warred with the deep hate I'd long carried. Baser instincts wanted me to make him suffer, to throw something at him. Like the pie. Or a chair. Or a baseball bat.