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No answer. I knocked again.
A clattering sound. Then the breaking of glass.
“Rodriguez?” I called. “I know you’re in there. I need to talk to you.”
A muttered curse came through the door. “Shit.”
Rolling my eyes, I twisted the doorknob. I paused in the doorway: The office was a mess. If Rodriguez was trying to hide the fact that he basically lived at the school half the time, he was doing a poor job of it. Books and clothes littered the floor. The desk was piled with parchment and empty bottles. Kneeling beside it was Rodriguez, picking up the pieces of a shattered bottle.
A red, shimmering liquid pooled on the carpet. It only took a second for the scent to hit me: Crimson Ambrosia. A narcoticinfused liquor—an expensive one, frequently consumed for fun by wealthy highbloods. I knew Theo and Visha enjoyed its effects from time to time. But when taken by a blightborn, the reactions were more pronounced. Ambrosia could unspool a blightborn’s mind into nothing.
“Seriously?” I exclaimed. “You’re drinking that shit?”
Rodriguez glanced up. His eyes were bloodshot. Cheekbones sharper than they’d ever been. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and his dark hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed in days.
“Well, well,” he said, slurring his words slightly. “The high-blood prince returns.”
I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. “Who else has seen you like this? Dammit, Rodriguez. Regan’s running the school, and you’re pulling this shit? Do you want to get fired?”
He laughed. “Only a matter of time, isn’t it? I can always find my true calling.” He yanked at the collar of his shirt, pulling the material aside, and I froze.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Bite marks. Still healing.
“Did they … ?” I cleared my throat.
“Larissa was kind enough not to enthrall me,” Rodriguez said dryly. “She only took a few sips.”
“I’ll fucking kill her.” I curled my hands into fists. The girl was in my house, therefore she was my responsibility. “When was this?”
Rodriguez waved a hand and sat back on his haunches looking tired. He’d given up trying to pick up the broken pieces of the bottle. “Don’t bother. It’s all part of the new Blood Donation Incentive Program after all. Or, as I like to call it, B-DIP.”
I blinked. “Bee—what now?”
“Bee-dip,” he said, stressing the first letter. “Doesn’t it have a wonderful ring to it?”
“Not exactly.” Was Rodriguez losing his blooddamned mind?
“I agree with you. Regan didn’t think through the acronym when she came up with the program name. Now, if she’d put it to a vote, I might have suggested something like DIB-P.”
I stared blankly.
“Donation Incentive Blood Program,” he elaborated.
“Ah. Much better.” I came over and started picking up the pieces of the bottle of ambrosia, tossing them in the nearby waste-basket. “So what the hell is really going on? You’re just going to lie back and let Regan and Larissa and every other highblood walk all over you? That doesn’t sound much like the Rodriguez I know.”
“The Rodriguez you know is a monumental fuckup.” He picked up a piece of broken glass and stared down at it. “I made a plan. It went to shit. I failed. I thought I could steer this place away from the fire. Instead I poured out the oil and lit the flame myself.” The shard was cutting through his finger, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I gambled. Thought I could outmaneuver Viktor. Thought I could keep people safe. But that’s life, isn’t it? You can’t keep your hands clean and try to play the hero.”
“Look, it wasn’t just you. We all made mistakes.” I gently took the piece of glass out of his hands and tossed it away, then pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and passed it to him. “To soak up the blood.”
He stared at the blood welling up on his hand as if he were just noticing it but pressed the cloth against the cut. “You’re still standing.”
I clenched my jaw. “Barely.”
He raised a brow. “Is that so?”
“Why do you think I’m here?” I said quietly. “You’re not the only one whose life is going to shit.”
Rodriguez didn’t answer right away. Instead, he hauled himself up, leaning against the desk for support, then slumped into the chair behind the desk, looking a little green. I took a seat across from him warily, half expecting him to pass out.
