Clarence’s talk of vampire hunters always triggered a mix of amusement and unease around everyone. With him pacified (even if I didn’t like the means), we were all able to relax a little bit. Sonya leaned back against the loveseat, drinking some fruity drink that looked perfect on a hot day like this. From her dirty clothes and haphazard hairstyling, I was willing to bet she’d been outside—not that she still didn’t look beautiful. Most Moroi avoided this kind of intense sun, but her love of plants was so great that she’d been risking it to work on some of the ailing flowers in Clarence’s garden. Heavy sunscreen could work wonders.

“I’m not going to be around much longer,” she told us. “A few more weeks at most. I need to go back and work on some wedding plans with Mikhail.”

“When’s the big day again?” Adrian asked.

She smiled. “It’s in December.” That surprised me until she added, “There’s a huge, tropical greenhouse near the Court that we’re going to use. It’s gorgeous—not that it matters. Mikhail and I could be married anywhere. All that counts is that we’re together. Of course, if we’re able to choose, then why not go all out?”

Even I smiled at that. Leave it to Sonya to find a spot of green in the middle of a Pennsylvania winter.

“Dimitri may stay on,” she continued. “But it’d be great if we could make some kind of progress before I go. The aura tests so far have been…”

“Useless?” suggested Adrian.

“I was going to say inconclusive,” she replied.

Adrian shook his head. “So all that time we spent was wasted?”

Sonya didn’t answer and instead took another sip of her drink. I was willing to bet it was non-alcoholic—she didn’t self-medicate the way Adrian did—and that Dorothy could make me one if I wanted. Yet, I was also willing to bet it was terrible for me. Maybe I’d see if there was any Diet Coke in the kitchen.

Sonya leaned forward, an eager glint in her eye. “Dimitri and I were talking and realized there’s something obvious we’ve been missing. Actually, I should say avoiding, but not pursuing it would be a waste.”

“What’s that?” asked Adrian.

“Blood,” said Dimitri.

I winced. I didn’t like it when this topic came up. It reminded me of exactly what kind of people I was with.

“Obviously, there’s something about restored Strigoi that protects them—us,” he said. “We’ve looked for magical signs, but the answer might be more physical. And from the report I read, the Strigoi had trouble drinking L—his blood.” Dimitri had been about to say Lee, but had amended his choice out of respect for Clarence. The old man’s dazed, happy look made it hard to tell if he understood what we were discussing at all.

“They complained about it,” I agreed. “But that didn’t seem to stop them from drinking it.” Strigoi could be forcibly created if a Strigoi drained a victim’s blood and then fed Strigoi blood back to him or her. Lee had asked Strigoi to do this for him, but all draining him had achieved was death.