Dangerously Divine

by Deborah Blake

  The sound of a chime, pure and sweet, rang through the vision and shattered it, bringing him back to his physical form. Gregori opened his eyes slowly, almost expecting the world to have changed out of all recognition.

  Instead, he saw monks and laypeople rising from their mats, freed by the bell that had signaled the end of that meditation session. Some headed out toward chores or classes, while a few lingered in the room, chatting in soft voices so as not to disturb the serenity of the moment.

  Gregori wished with every fiber of his being that he could share that calm centeredness. Instead, he could feel his body racked by minute tremors, his skin covered with goose bumps from a cold that no one but him could feel. He waited for the room to clear, not sure that he could rise to his feet without falling over.

  He hated this. Between the visions and the spontaneous healing, he felt as though he was completely losing control. For anyone else, that would be unpleasant; for him, who had spent his entire life working toward balance and inner peace, this was a kind of torment that in some ways surpassed even the physical torture he had endured in Brenna’s damp and reeking cave.

  And he had no idea where to turn for help. The Baba Yagas had been unable to find any magical cure, although they had tried what they could when he and his brothers were still healing in the graceful lands of the Otherworld. Any Human psychiatrist would simply have him institutionalized.

  He had even considered seeking out a shaman other than his mother—but he suspected that what ailed him was far beyond the skills of even the most gifted mundane spiritual healer. More and more, he was coming to believe that his only hope of learning to manage, or better yet, eradicate, his new gifts lay in finding a woman who might have been dead for hundreds of years.

  And if this latest manifestation was any indication, he was rapidly running out of time.

  • • •

  CIERA was shocked by Sun’s gaunt and haggard appearance when he showed up at her desk later that evening. He hadn’t looked exactly perky when he left her apartment in the morning, but it was less than eight hours later and now he looked like he’d been run over by a truck. Which had then backed up and run over him again.

  “Hey,” she said in a carefully neutral tone. “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. “I am as well as can be expected. And you? You are feeling no unexpected aftereffects from last night’s . . . adventures?”

  Ciera shook her head. “I’d say you’re feeling them for both of us, by the way you look. What did those monks do to you?”

  Gregori gave a short laugh. “I was, in fact, gently scolded. Nothing I did not deserve.” He made a clear attempt to change the subject. “When I went to the special collection room, the student working there told me you had something for me?”

  Ciera debated trying to press him for more answers about why he seemed so unwell, but decided she was unlikely to get anything out of him if he decided he wasn’t in the mood to talk. She didn’t know Gregori Sun well, but she had already figured out that much about him.

  So instead, she pulled out the book she had found while following up on one of his research requests. It sat on the desk between them, an innocuous enough tome in faded brown leather with a cracked binding. It smelled like old book: a slightly musty, dry perfume that told its age without words.

  Gregori lifted an eyebrow in question. “And that is?”

  “An old journal,” Ciera said. “The scribbled ramblings of a fur trapper who spent most of his time in the backwoods of Canada. The only reason it is in the collection at all, as far as I can tell, is that he was the ancestor of someone who ended up on the library board, who insisted on donating it, along with some of his family’s more relevant treasures.”

  The eyebrow rose a little farther. “And you thought I would be interested in these scribbled ramblings because . . . ?”

  Ciera could feel the smug grin as it crossed her face. “According to the notes on the journal, which some shockingly thorough cataloger entered into the computer system, the trapper enjoyed a brief notoriety because of a story he told about becoming lost in a snowstorm. He related how he was on the verge of death when he stumbled into a hidden valley filled with beautiful, peaceful residents who healed him, and gave him fruits to eat that were well out of season. He apparently spent an entire chapter waxing rhapsodic about eating sweet red strawberries and drinking the purest water he had ever known.”

  “Fascinating,” Gregori said, excitement putting a hint of color back into his sallow cheeks and drawing sparks from his dark eyes. “Did the journal happen to say where exactly our intrepid trapper’s miraculous valley was located?”

  She shook her head. “You’re welcome to look at it yourself. It has been busy today and I only had a chance to skim the relevant pages, but as far as I can tell, he spent years afterward searching for a way back, and never found one. Just like that soldier in Siberia. I can tell you, though, that he was in Manitoba when he got lost.”

  “Is that so?” If anything, that information excited Sun even more, although she wasn’t sure why. “You are certain the journal says it was Manitoba?”

  “Uh-huh.” Ciera pushed the book toward him. “It can’t leave the library, but you’re welcome to read it here as long as you bring it back to the front desk before closing. I don’t know what you think you’ll find, but maybe something will jump out at you that I missed.”

  “One can only hope,” Gregori said. “How much longer are you here?”

  Ciera glanced at her watch. “I’ve got another hour, but I don’t plan to go to the shelter tonight, so I’m not in any hurry. If you want a ride back to the monastery when you’re done looking at the journal, I’ve got my car here.”

  Gregori’s lips quirked up at one corner. “Want to make sure I do not receive another brutal reprimand from my teacher?”

  “Something like that,” Ciera said. More like she was afraid he was coming down with the flu—it was going around campus, as usual at this time of year, and if he tried to walk back in the snow and cold, they’d find him facedown in a snowbank in the morning.

  He gave her the gentle, knowing smile that for some reason always tugged oddly at her heart. “I assure you, Ciera, I am not ill.”

  How did he constantly know what she was thinking? Was she that transparent? Or was it only with him?

  “That’s good, since they obviously aren’t going to make you chicken soup at the monastery if you are.” She smiled back to make sure he knew she was teasing. “Nonetheless, you came to my rescue last night and got in trouble for it. The least I can do is make sure you get back on time tonight.”

  He bowed to her in what looked like a mixture of thanks and resignation. “Very well. I suspect there is nothing in here I cannot read in an hour.”

  This time she laughed out loud. “You only say that because you haven’t seen his handwriting. It’s appalling.”

  • • •

  SUN was ready to go by the time she finished up the last of the paperwork for the day. Ciera wasn’t sure what had been in the old journal beyond what she’d already told him, but his calm demeanor couldn’t hide the quietly simmering excitement that hovered underneath. They walked down to the parking lot in companionable silence, passing a giggling trio of college girls and one of the cleaning staff on the way. By the time they hit the cold outside air, the early-winter darkness had already descended, giving the nearly empty lot an eerie feeling it lacked during more sunlit hours.

  Gregori was carrying a folder containing photocopies from the journal he planned to study in more detail once he returned to the monastery. Ciera was debating the wisdom of offering to stop somewhere for a cup of tea on the way back when Gregori suddenly halted in his tracks, throwing one arm up in front of her.

  “Wait,” he said. His entire stance changed to one of alert readiness, and for a moment she saw the ruthless fighter from the alley. He had the folde
r tucked into his jacket and a knife out in the hand not holding her back before she could blink. She hadn’t even seen him move.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, reaching into her purse for the can of pepper spray she carried there.

  In answer, Gregori inclined his head in the direction of her car, sitting alone under a foggy pool of light from one of the widely spaced lampposts in the parking lot. Even from where they stood, she could make out that the car was listing drunkenly from four completely flat tires. As she and Gregori moved cautiously closer, she could see the open wounds where each tire had been slashed from one side to the other.

  “Shit,” she whispered.

  Gregori simply grunted, listening carefully and finally putting away his knife. “Whoever did this is long gone,” he said. “It probably took only a couple of minutes to accomplish. Less if there were more than one of them.”

  Ciera glanced over her shoulder, seeing attackers skulking in every shadow. But Gregori seemed unconcerned, so she finally focused her attention on her poor car.

  “What’s that?” she asked, spotting something tucked under the windshield wiper on the driver’s side. As she walked up to look, bile rose in her throat. A very dead rat, its throat sliced open just like her tires, was neatly arranged so that its paws were folded around a bloodred rose.

  “Charming,” Gregori said. “Do you have a secret admirer? This seems a bit over-the-top for a collegiate prank.” He peered at it over her shoulder, his nearness making her feel somehow safer. As if safety was anything other than a temporary illusion.

  She was fairly certain that was the message here, and she got it loud and clear. What the sender didn’t realize was that this was a lesson she had learned long ago and never forgotten, not for even one moment. This assault on her peace of mind didn’t make her more afraid—she had never stopped being afraid. It just made her really, really angry.

  “Not a prank,” she said through gritted teeth. “More like a very unsubtle love note. Or a no-love note, maybe.”

  “If you know who did this, perhaps we should call the police,” Gregori suggested, in the tone of one who knows he is wasting his breath.

  “There’s no proof, even if I’m right,” Ciera said. “The cops would probably just think it was college kids or some vandal.” Besides, I can’t afford to have the police looking too closely into anything to do with me, since my entire identity is built on lies.

  “You think it was this Victor you told me about,” Gregori said flatly. “But you left him years ago. Why would he do this now?”

  A chill formed in the pit of Ciera’s stomach that had nothing to do with their snowy surroundings. Gregori had a point. She had jumped to the conclusion that it was Victor because the entire nasty mess had the feel of something he would do. But she hadn’t had any contact with him in years, unless you counted occasionally seeing his face in the newspapers, usually posing with someone influential or famous or both. Why would he do this now, out of nowhere?

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “But if it isn’t him, then who?” The chill in her belly turned into a giant ball of ice. Gregori moved around her and lifted the wiper blade, picking up the rat and its twisted gift and tossing them into a snowbank before scrubbing his gloved hand over the snow next to it to clear the glove of any lingering nastiness.

  “Have you angered anyone of late?” he asked, returning to her side. “A lover, perhaps, or some rival in the library?”

  Ciera laughed, only a little bitterly. “I don’t have lovers, Gregori. Or rivals, for that matter. I spend all my time trying not to attract attention. I don’t make enough waves to bring on this kind of thing.”

  He gazed at her steadily. “Not in your everyday life, perhaps. But I saw you making very distinct waves the other night. Perhaps this is retribution for those activities.”

  The ice moved through her veins until it coated her insides from head to toe. “That would mean someone has made the connection between my secret life as the masked vigilante and my public self.” She didn’t have to say out loud how big a disaster that would be. Gregori was a smart man; he could figure that much out for himself. “It’s not possible. The only one who has seen the face under the mask is you.”

  “I told no one,” he said.

  She swallowed hard. “I believe you,” she whispered. “But then how could anyone know?”

  “Could it be this drug lord you are pursuing? The one who killed your friend, whose identity you seek to reveal? Perhaps you are growing too close for comfort. It may have nothing to do with your other secret at all.”

  Ciera considered this, her breath pluming in the cold air as she thought. “I don’t know, Gregori. This guy is ruthless. I suspect if it was him, I’d be dead, not just out the money for four new tires.” She slumped, suddenly feeling too overwhelmed to even think about it anymore. She just wanted to go home.

  “Tires can be replaced,” Gregori said. “You cannot. I am glad it was only the tires.”

  • • •

  AFTER Ciera called a tow truck to take her car to a garage, where they would replace the tires in the morning, Gregori insisted on going home with her in the taxi he also insisted on. Too tired and cold to argue, Ciera allowed him to escort her all the way up to her apartment and inside, where he checked every room and closet to be sure there were no surprises.

  Which thankfully there weren’t.

  She sat on the couch while he made them tea; oolong this time, lighter and more soothing than its stronger Russian counterpart. It felt odd to have someone in her apartment waiting on her, but in its own way, this small act of service was as comforting as the tea.

  Gregori handed her a mug and sat down on the couch next to her.

  “What will you do now?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Drink my tea and then read a book while I eat my dinner, I suppose.”

  He gave her a look that in a less restrained man would have been an eye roll. “That is not what I meant.”

  “I kind of figured,” Ciera said. “But what can I do? Change my life because someone slashed my tires? Hide behind locked doors to keep the rat population safe from rose-wielding nutjobs?”

  Gregori put his mug down on the coffee table. “This gesture was clearly intended to make you afraid. It would seem that your mysterious adversary has failed in this endeavor.”

  She took another sip and then put her mug down next to his. “I wouldn’t say that, exactly. Of course I’m afraid. It was a violent and creepy act. Thinking about that dead rat makes my skin crawl.” She shuddered in demonstration. “But there is no way to know who did it or why, and I wouldn’t let it stop me from accomplishing my mission even if I knew.”

  Gregori gazed at her, his eyes filled with admiration and something else she couldn’t quite identify. “You are a very brave and determined woman. Perhaps somewhat foolhardy, but that could be said for the Baba Yagas as well, and they are formidable women all.”

  “Who are the Baba Yagas?” Ciera asked.

  “Ah,” he said, as if belatedly remembering she knew very little about him. “Some women I used to work with. It is a long story for another time.”

  More secrets. Well, she understood secrets. Let him keep his. At least for tonight.

  Suddenly drained by the fear and the drama, Ciera slumped against the sofa. “Sure,” she said. “You should be getting back to the monastery anyway. We wouldn’t want you to get yet another gentle scolding. One can only stand so many of those in a day.”

  He laughed quietly. “I suspect I would survive the experience.” Dark eyes gazed at her intently, probably trying to assess her state of mind. Or at the very least, the state of her nerves.

  “Do you want me to stay the night?” he asked. “I do not wish for you to be alone if it makes you afraid.”

  For a moment, his kindness almost brought tears to her eyes, before she remi
nded herself that she didn’t cry. Hadn’t, since the day she’d found Skye Blue’s body. She was touched by his willingness to stay, even though to do so would undoubtedly get him into serious trouble, perhaps even jeopardize his standing at the monastery. She was used to being on her own and, even after what happened, not really scared to be by herself, but she appreciated the offer.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, her voice firm. “It is kind of you to worry, but I’m just a little unnerved. Nothing some leftover Chinese food and some Death by Chocolate ice cream won’t cure.”

  Gregori raised an eyebrow. “Those are powerful remedies indeed, but perhaps I should remain for a bit regardless.” He nodded down at her hands, which, without the mug to steady them, were trembling against each other in her lap. “You are shaking,” he said, and put one arm around her to comfort her.

  Ciera froze. For a minute, she even forgot to breathe.

  It felt so strange. The rational part of her brain noted that this was the first time in years that anyone had touched her with affection. Her relationships with her colleagues at the library were friendly but impersonal; she purposely kept her distance from anyone who might encourage more. And the kids at the shelter tended to be even more prickly than she was, for some of the same reasons.

  The irrational part of her brain shrieked at her to move across the room or to shove him out the door, running through a catalog of all the weapons she had stashed around the apartment, including a wickedly sharp knife right beneath the couch cushion where she sat.

  She took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was Sun, not Victor. Gregori had never done anything to threaten her, never tried to control her. Even now, he was leaving the choice of whether or not he stayed up to her, not insisting in some macho way that she needed his protection. The only violence he had ever displayed had been in her defense. Even so, it was hard not to react out of old habit, although she had spent all these years trying hard to re-create herself as a completely different person.