by Joy Preble
Ethan
Anne’s hands are still warm, fingertips glowing slightly as we leave the ballpark and come to a stop on Addison. Around us, people are filing into Wrigley Field. Like salmon headed upstream, we walk opposite the crowd, away from the stadium.
Seeing Anastasia and Viktor like that has stirred both memories and anger. I’d known him by then, I think. Just barely a member of the Brotherhood myself. No idea what was in store for me.
“Hey, buddy. Buy your girl a T-shirt.” The vendor waves the Cubs jersey in our faces.
We keep on walking, headed east toward the lake. Possibly a dangerous idea. The last time we were at Lake Michigan, things didn’t go so well. The rusalki almost drowned me. And that was just the beginning.
“Did you stop her?” Her hand tightens around mine as I ask the question.
“Baba Yaga? From sending us back to the Romanovs?” Anne shrugs. Lets go of my hand. “Maybe.”
“Anne,” I begin.
“Ethan.” She mimics me.
I exhale a sigh through my nose. This is our pattern. I analyze, she ignores. Will she ever accept how powerful she is? I wish she would. It would make all of this easier. Make us easier.
“Yeah,” she says. “I think so. It happened so fast. We’re there. We’re here. Anastasia, Viktor. You saw them, right? Absolutely not where I wanted to spend my afternoon.”
We walk another half block, maneuver through the hordes of people headed to the ball game.
I don’t expect her next question. But it doesn’t surprise me either. “Did you try to do something too? To stop it, I mean. I thought I—”
“No.” I don’t elaborate. Her tone says she thinks I did. Did I? The flutter of power that surged inside me. I felt it. Clearly she felt it. But how is that even possible? I have so little power left. And what remains has never felt so dark, so unfamiliar.
“It’s like a push,” Anne says. “Like my mind pushed into hers.”
“You stopped her that way? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Don’t know. I—it wasn’t just me. I mean, I think she stopped too.”
We walk some more.
At the corner, Anne turns to me. “Damn it. She made you drop all our peanuts, and I’m totally starving right now. Isn’t that weird? Or no, not hungry—just emptied out, maybe? Hollow. Does that even make sense?”
It does. “Magic drains. You know that.”
Briefly, her eyes narrow—you’re lecturing me, they say—but she doesn’t comment. Just says, “I get it. But this used more of me. I mean, I made a bullet rise out of your chest back in Baba Yaga’s forest. And that felt like my insides were getting sucked out. But this—this was something else. This was like—well, like the magic wanted out but something stopped it. Not something. Baba Yaga. I pushed at her. She pushed back.”
“You’re strong now,” I tell her. “Maybe stronger than she knows.”
Anne rolls her eyes. “Doubtful. And what if I am? I’m still bound, aren’t I? Stuck doing whatever it is she wants me to do. That part never changes, does it? I can push and push at her, but eventually she’s going to get what she wants. Because she’s the witch.”
This, of course, is the problem. If not for Anne, I’d have died in Baba Yaga’s forest. Every time I kiss Anne, every time I look into her eyes, I know I wouldn’t be here without her promise to Baba Yaga. No matter how much I love her, this is something I cannot change. Seeing Viktor as he once was just reminds me of how we got to this place. Because I saw only what I wanted to see. Because I allowed myself to be used. And everything that’s followed has come from that. Good and bad both.
As though she knows what I’m thinking, Anne links her fingers with mine. “God, Ethan. We’re a mess, aren’t we?”
We continue toward the lake. Against my palm, her hand grows warmer, then warmer still. I let go when it hits painful.
“Crap. Sorry. I—it’s always there, you know. The magic. I’m getting used to it. At least I’m trying. But I hate that it’s always just below the surface. Even if I needed it just now.”
“Shh,” I say. “It’s okay.” I hook my elbow under hers. Memory flashes. So many years ago, this was how a gentleman escorted a lady. I smile, imagining us together at the turn of the last century, walking arm in arm. I picture us together in London, in Paris, in St. Petersburg.
“But it’s not okay, Ethan.” Anne slips her arm from mine. “I’m bound to a witch who thinks I can figure out how Viktor is immortal again. Like I can do that? I mean, if the most powerful witch in the world can’t figure it out, how can I? And if I do, guess what? I’ll probably have to kill him to break Lily’s curse. That’s the way the story goes, right? Shed the blood of the one who’s responsible for the rusalka becoming a rusalka and she goes free. Which normally I wouldn’t care about except this rusalka is my birth grandmother. And you know what else? None of this would have happened if I hadn’t…shit.”
If you hadn’t made a bargain to save my life.
I pull her to me again, and this time she doesn’t push me away.
“You don’t have to do it,” I say eventually. “The only one who makes that choice is you. You can let him live. Who knows—maybe in the long run it’s more of a punishment than a reward. It was for me.”
“He’s not you.”
“I’m aware.”
“So what then, Ethan? Let Lily suffer forever? Let her stay like that now that my mother knows she’s alive—well sort of, anyway. How can I do that? I know she’s crazy, but she’s my mother’s mother. God, Ethan—all she wants is a chance to be human again, to talk to my mom face-to-face. To control how she lives or dies. But you know the rules—not gonna happen while he’s alive.”
I don’t have an answer. I don’t think she expects one. But I won’t lie to her. I will not tell her that taking a life is without consequence—even of someone who would gladly kill you if he had the chance.
Anne breaks the silence. “Do you think that’s what Baba Yaga wants from me? Viktor dead? Is that why she showed him to us just now? Will that be enough? Will she let me go? This is so messed up, Ethan. And my life was already messed up enough.”
“There’s a way,” I tell her. “We’ll find a way.” I work to believe my own words. Maybe there is a way. In all those fairy tales, there is always a loophole. We just have to find ours.
And because words aren’t enough right now, I kiss her. She hooks her hands behind my neck and kisses me back. Her lips press against mine, warm, salty, sweet. It will be okay, I think. It has to be. I’ll make it okay for her. Whatever the cost. This second chance at life that I’ve received? It has no value without her.
Anne opens those luminous brown eyes and smiles against my lips. Things will work out, I tell myself. We’ll find a way.
And then her eyes grow wide and she sucks in a breath. Her gaze locks behind me to the other side of the street.
I let her go. Whip around.
Half hidden in the doorway of an apartment building is the tall, thin figure of a man. He moves onto the street and rounds the corner, heading south. He doesn’t turn his head, doesn’t show his face. But I would know him anywhere. So would Anne. My pulse begins to pound in my ears.
Viktor.
“It can’t be—” Anne says.
“It is. Hurry.” We sprint across the street, dodging honking cars. By the time we get to the other corner, he’s gone. I scan right, left. We run another block. Nothing.
“Stop,” I tell Anne. “There’s no point. He’s gone.”
“Was that really him? Why would he show himself like that? Maybe it wasn’t even him. Maybe it was just some more Baba Yaga hijinks. She wants to screw with my head, right? Well, it’s working.”
“Seemed real enough,” I say. “If he’s watching us now, things are going to escalate.�
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“Tell me something I don’t know.”
It’s a request I can’t satisfy. So instead I say, “Remember how strong you are. It’s important that you remember.”
“And if I’m not?”
“You are. Not just your magic, Anne. You.”
“I’m not,” she says again. “Maybe I never have been.”
“Believe,” I tell her, because at this point it’s all I have. “Like I told you when this all began. The first thing you must always do is believe.”
Tuesday, 4:18 pm
Anne
“I can’t leave you alone, like, ever, can I?” Tess—a bag of tortilla chips in her hand—flops down on my bed. Chips scatter everywhere. She scoops them up and stuffs them in her mouth, chewing noisily.
“Nope.”
She thumbs chip crumbs off her chin and white sleeveless T-shirt. Scoots back against my headboard, tucking my pillows behind her, then kicks off her silver flip-flops with the tacky flowers in the middle—the ones she wears because they’re so heinous she’s convinced they make a reverse fashion statement. Her blond ponytail hangs over the back of the bed.
“So what now? ’Cause I’m thinking maybe I need some kind of spreadsheet to keep track.” She rolls her eyes, but underneath the snark, there’s real concern in her voice. My guilt-o-meter, already running overtime, kicks up another few notches. I hate being the one that she worries about. I hate that she might get hurt—again—because of what’s going on with me.
But I called her just now, didn’t I? Asked her to come over because I knew she’d fill the room with talking and chips and Tess. Loud. Obnoxious. Perfect. And still willing to hang out with me, even though she almost drowned a few weeks ago in the middle of the Baba Yaga and Lily craziness.
I curl up in my pink beanbag chair—the one I’ve had since I was five and should probably trash except that some things are just hard to get rid of. Like the navy comforter folded at the foot of my bed. The one that used to be my brother David’s.
My bedroom window is open, and the smell of chips mingles with the smell of our freshly mowed grass. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was a normal summer day.
But I do know better. So does Tess, who Ethan probably wouldn’t want involved. But Ethan’s not here right now. He dropped me at home, said he’d call later, then reminded me to be careful and went on his merry way. Correction: I doubt highly that he was merry. Stupid expression.
“Okay, boss. Tell me what’s up. And don’t leave out any good parts. If there are any. You know—Russian Romeo’s naked chest. Stuff like that. I cut out of work again for you. So you owe me. Miss Amy is going to seriously fire my ass. At least once she finds someone else to teach preschool jazz and tap.” Tess crams another handful of chips in her mouth and chews noisily. When I make a face, she opens her mouth and sticks out her chip-coated tongue.
“You never change, do you?”
“I know, right? That’s what you love about me.”
I fill her in. She interrupts only twice: first to ask me to repeat the kissing details—Tess loves the play-by-play—and second to ask me if what I have on is what I wore—it was, and she approves, especially of the lacy bra. Tess is a fan of the subtle peekaboo.
“What do you think Anastasia and Viktor were going to talk about? So weird, right?” she says when I’m done telling her about our little flashback to the Alexander Palace. “She still believed he loved her like a sister. Maybe you should have stayed. Maybe he would have said something that—”
“No way.” My stomach tightens. “I hate that we were there at all. Watching Viktor look at Anastasia, just knowing what was going to happen…Besides, who knows if that was even how it actually was. Even Ethan doesn’t know how all this works. I don’t even know for sure how we got back. For all I know, we could have overstayed our welcome and been stuck there.”
“You went into Baba Yaga’s forest last fall without knowing how you’d get back. And that worked out.”
I snort a laugh. “Oh, right. That worked out just great.”
“Well, okay, there were a few glitches. The last time when I ended up there with you, well, that was a mess, I know. Huge, scary witch in her freaky chicken-leg house.” Tess shivers.
“But I mean it.” Her expression turns serious. “Don’t you realize that if you keep running from this, it’s just going to keep running after you? I mean there’s Viktor, spying on you from across the street. Not good, Anne.” This is the first time since we’ve been back from the forest that Tess has acknowledged that none of this is over.
“Maybe I want to run. Maybe I should run. God, Tess, can you even believe we’re having this conversation? We’re supposed to be talking about what colleges we’re going to apply to. Or whether my new jeans make my butt look fat. Not magic and witches. Or how I need to kill my crazy ancestor to free my equally insane grandmother from her mermaid curse.”
Tess scoots off my bed and flings herself onto my pink beanbag chair next to me. The ancient stuffing sags beneath us. “Do you want to run?” She looks at me, her eyes still serious and intense. “’Cause if that’s what you want, then I’ll try to help you.”
“And exactly how are you going to do that?”
“Don’t have a clue,” she says evenly. “But if you could save my life, then I guess the least I can do is figure out how to help you, right? Or are you too pig-headed to let me do that?”
She punctuates her response by poking a finger repeatedly against my forehead, right between my eyes. I guess she didn’t get the memo that I’m sort of a witch now—and a bitchy one at that. I could possibly turn her into a frog or something if she pisses me off too much.
But it’s impossible to stay angry, even if maybe I should. If I’m horrible enough, she’ll stay away and be safer than if she keeps hanging with me. And because it upsets me—the power inside me, the earnest look on Tess’s face when all I want is for us to just goof around and keep pretending that my life hasn’t changed in dangerous and scary ways I can’t control—the thing inside me bubbles up without me asking it to.
The two candles in their little glass holders on top of my bookcase flicker to life, flames burning taller than if I’d just lit them with a match. The cool breeze fluttering at my curtains amps into a strong wind.
“Shit.” I close my eyes, breathe in, and concentrate. Feel the wind settle.
When I open my eyes, Cinnamon Sugar and Vanilla Sundae are burning peacefully again.
“Holy crap.” Tess shakes her head. “I so need to let you have your way with Neal. Don’t you, like, owe me some free vengeance or something for almost dying out there when I went to save your boyfriend from the mermaids?”
Neal is Tess’s ex. It’s taken her three breakups to keep it that way, but I think this time it’s permanent. As for the other part, I don’t remind her that the only reason she followed Ethan that day a few weeks ago was because she didn’t trust him.
“So if I don’t run,” I say, “you’ll really help me?”
Tess nods, serious again. “Been with you this far, haven’t I? Why would I leave when it’s just getting interesting? Besides, who else could you possibly tell all this stuff to?” She grins. “Well, except for Ethan. But he’s not your best friend, is he? And speaking of Mr. Stealthy, where is he anyway?”
I hesitate. Do I really want to tell her that I don’t know? That I was still so freaked out about seeing Viktor—past and present versions—that I chose not to ask?
She guesses at it without me saying. “It’s okay,” Tess says. “It’s probably better if he doesn’t tell you everything. Safer, even. You know I don’t—”
I put a hand—gently—on her shoulder. “I know.” Neither of us has to finish our sentence. I know she doesn’t trust Ethan. Which is exactly why there’s one detail I’ve left out—that I’m pretty
sure that somehow Ethan has power again. When I asked him about it, I think he lied. Tess, it seems, is not the only one with doubts.
Tess nibbles on a chip. “Doesn’t Baba Yaga know it’s summer vacation? I don’t want to bend my brain like I’m back in calculus class. We do enough studying all year long. Tell her that the next time you see her, okay?”
“Oh, right. I’ll be sure to…”
“Sure to what? And why do you look like you just saw a ghost? Is there one in here?” Tess whips her gaze around the room.
“Give me a second.” Her talk of school has popped last night’s dream back into my head.
“It’s like school,” I see David telling me. I’m lying next to him on his hospital bed. Is that what I dreamed? “Like when you’re cramming for a test. You have to read everything you didn’t get to during the semester. Especially the little stuff that you might think isn’t important.”
I hoist myself from the beanbag and grab my laptop from my desk. We’ve been so preoccupied—me, Tess, Ethan—that we haven’t been thinking straight.
“I’ve got it all wrong,” I say. “I’ve been waiting for Baba Yaga to do something like she did today. Both Ethan and I—we’ve been treating this like all we can do is wait for the witch to send me somewhere or for Viktor to appear or whatever. But you’re right. I need to stop running. We’ve figured stuff out before. We can figure it out again. I dreamed about David last night, Tess. He talked to me. Said I just needed to know what to see.”
She’s the first person I’ve told about these new dreams—the ones of my brother that I’ve been having now, night after night. I thought I was done dreaming about him, like I was finished dreaming about Anastasia. But I guess I was wrong about that.
“You think your dream was real? And what’s with the laptop? You and Blue Eyes going to email each other? Maybe talk about how the Cubbies probably lost after you left?”
“We’re going to research.”
Tess furrows her brow. “Research what?”
I open the laptop and power it up. “Everything.”