Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series)

by Mesick, Catherine

  Eventually, GM sighed. "Yes, I suppose we should go see Galina and Aleksandr. Galina is not such a bad woman, really—she's just a bit misguided."

  The seatbelt light came on, and we lapsed into silence. Our plane taxied down the runway and took off, and I stared out the window as the plane climbed into the sky. We reached cruising altitude, and a flight attendant came by and offered us drinks.

  After the flight attendant left, GM reached over and patted my hand.

  "We are going to have a wonderful Christmas in Krov. We will be in our old home again."

  Our old home. I thought of the house in Krov with its apple tree and its roses. I had lived there with my mother, my father, and GM until my parents' death when I was five years old. A year before they had died, my cousin, Odette, had come to live with us. Beautiful, red-haired Odette was five years my senior, and I had adored her.

  I had been happy in that house in Krov, and it had existed for me only as a pleasant memory. I had never expected to see it again.

  But back in October, GM and I had found our way back to that house. It had been both strange and wonderful for me to enter a house I had believed I would never see again.

  And now, only two months later, we were going back yet again.

  Krov, it seemed, was unwilling to let us go.

  GM continued. "I will be sure to find us a Christmas tree for our house in Krov."

  "A Christmas tree?" I asked. I thought back to the decorated house that we had left behind us in Elspeth's Grove. "We'll have a Christmas tree in Krov too?"

  "Yes, of course," GM said. "The traditions of Christmas are a little different in Russia than they are in the U.S., but we can add anything we wish to our celebration."

  She paused and then went on wistfully. "Christmas is beautiful in Russia. Possibly more beautiful there than anywhere else in the world."

  Something about GM's dreamy tone suddenly reminded me uncomfortably of Charisse's suggestion that GM might have a Joshua Martin of her own.

  "GM, are we going to Russia to see someone?" I asked abruptly.

  "No, no, of course not child." GM looked startled. "This trip is just for us."

  "But people usually travel at Christmas to see loved ones," I said. "If we are just traveling to Krov so the two of us can sit around a Christmas tree, then—"

  I stopped.

  "What, Solnyshko? Go on."

  "Well, then, we might just as well have stayed at home. We have a nice Christmas tree there, too."

  "You are still worried about the expense, are you?" GM patted my hand again. "You have nothing to worry about on that score—truly. And there will be only the two of us at Christmas. And it will be wonderful in Russia—you will see."

  I had a strange feeling that GM was avoiding something, but I decided not to pursue the topic any further.

  I had thirteen hours to spend on the plane, and after some time had passed, and the lights had been dimmed in the cabin, I tried to sleep. But relaxation of any kind escaped me, and I remained wide awake and jittery, watching a small graphic on the screen in front of me of our plane's progress over the ocean. I knew we were going hundreds of miles an hour, but on the map the plane barely appeared to be moving at all.

  I glanced over at GM. She appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep.

  On impulse I pulled out the charm William had given me.

  Though he was lost to me forever, I couldn't bear to part with the charm. I stared at the roughly hewn cross, turning it over and over in my fingers. It had, I knew, special properties that gave its wearer some protection against the kost—that's why he had given it to me.

  I had thought once that perhaps the charm had had some other significance to William—something that had nothing to do with its protective properties. I had thought that maybe William had given it to me for that reason too. It seemed now as if I had been wrong about that.

  As I continued to stare at the charm, I felt calmer and less jittery.

  Before I knew it, I had fallen asleep.

  I awoke with a start some time later—the cabin was still dark—and it took me a moment to realize where I was.

  I'd had disturbing dreams—just images flashing by. All my worst memories had been replayed for me.

  I'd seen Gleb and Timofei hiding in the cave in Elspeth's Grove. I'd seen Gleb advancing on me in the tunnels in Krov. I'd seen Joshua Martin snarling at me in Charisse's basement. I'd seen Anton lunging for me in the Old Grove.

  I had a terrible feeling that new images of horror would be added to this list.

  I tried to shrug the feeling off, but as I sat in the dark cabin listening to the steady hum of the plane's engines, the feeling only increased.

  As the moments crawled by in the darkness, an unpleasant idea took hold of me.

  What if the next image to be added to the list would be the last one? What if I wasn't destined to survive this trip?

  Maybe Krov would be the end for me.

  I closed my mind firmly against the thought and tried to sleep again.

  After several long hours, the lights came on once more, and the flight attendants began to serve breakfast. Then, after several more hours, our plane touched down in Moscow.

  I was relieved to finally be off the plane, and I hoped desperately that I was wrong about what this trip to Russia held in store for me.

  When GM and I reached baggage claim, we discovered that all the luggage from our flight had been heavily wrapped in plastic. It took us some time to identify which bags were actually ours.

  After that, we spent a lengthy time going through customs. But eventually, we got through the line, and we were free to enter Moscow.

  It was early evening, and GM and I took a cab into the city. We checked into our hotel and had dinner at the hotel restaurant.

  GM gave me some Russian money then—colorful ruble banknotes, ruble coins with a double-headed eagle on them, and kopek coins which were worth 1/100th of a ruble. I was fascinated by the new money, just as I had been on our trip to Georgia.

  After dinner, we went for a walk, just to look around. Strangely enough, I was in a good mood by the time GM and I returned to our hotel that night. The novelty of the new city and all its sights and sounds had gone a long way toward lifting my fatalistic gloom. Back in our room, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

  In the morning, GM and I went out to go site-seeing. We were going to spend two days in Moscow before heading on to Krov.

  The sense of fatalism that had troubled me before returned suddenly with full force. I couldn't help but think that I had only two days left to live.

  And yet the morning was sunny, the air was clear and cold, and I felt excited despite my fears.

  GM and I had breakfast at a little restaurant not far from our hotel, and then GM took me to Red Square at my request. I had seen the square and its ornate buildings many times in the movies, and I was excited to realize that I would actually get to see it all in person.

  We went first to St. Basil's Cathedral, and as I gazed up at its fantastic, colorful domes, I felt myself transported—the church was surely something from another world.

  "What do you think of St. Basil's?" GM asked quietly. "People have varied opinions on it."

  "I think it looks like something from a dream," I replied. "It's a wonder. It's exactly what it should be."

  GM smiled. "A good answer, Solnyshko. As I said before, this is the land of dreams."

  "It's hard to believe this is all real," I said, looking around the square. "It's hard to believe I'm here."

  "I have not forgotten my promise to you—the one I made back in Georgia. I mean for us to take proper vacations in the future. Would you like to see Paris next year? Or maybe London? Your father was born in London, you know."

  I felt a strange sort of pang. I had known that my father was born in the U.K., but I had never known where. "No—I didn't know that."

  "There is much that you don't know about the past—though for the most part that is for t
he best. But you have been deprived of a normal childhood. I wish you could have your mother and your father back. I wish you could have a normal family like your friends have."

  "I have you," I said.

  GM gave me a small smile and brushed a hand over my hair.

  We went into the cathedral and explored its small, brightly-colored chapels—every available surface in every narrow room was painted with portraits, fantastic patterns and other embellishments. St. Basil's was truly amazing inside and out.

  We went back out into the square, and then spent the rest of the day exploring the Kremlin, including the building I most wanted to see there—the Armoury. The Armoury housed fantastic treasures—diamonds, gold and silver objects, imperial carriages, and ten Faberegé eggs. The eggs interested me particularly—there was one I was very much drawn to. It was red and gold—its colors reminded me of the clear fire I had once been able to summon.

  We took the Metro in to another part of the city for dinner—to a restaurant GM had loved years ago. She was delighted to find that it was still open.

  GM then took me to the ballet as a surprise, and it was marvelous and magical—a really amazing evening. Without knowing it, GM had succeeded in taking my mind off of my worries. By the time we got back to our hotel, I was happily exhausted, and I fell asleep very quickly.

  And yet, when I woke up the next morning, a terrible thought popped into my head—that I had one day left to live.

  I quickly pushed the thought away.

  GM and I had breakfast in the hotel restaurant, and she read a newspaper named Vremya as she drank her tea. We had been sitting in companionable silence for some time, when I realized that the quality of the silence had changed.

  I looked up at GM. Her shoulders had gone rigid, and her face was pale.

  "GM, what's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  She folded up the paper quickly and set it on her lap, out of sight.

  "Was it something in the paper?"

  GM waved a dismissive hand. "Newspapers. They can be so sensational."

  I sighed inwardly. Obviously, something in the paper that had upset her—something she didn't want me to know about. And I knew from long experience that once she'd made up her mind to be silent, nothing would convince her to speak.

  I decided that if I got a chance to have some time alone that I would go and buy a copy of Vremya.

  "I have had enough of museums," GM said, by way of changing the topic. "Do you mind if we go shopping today?"

  "Sure. Anything you'd like, GM. It's your trip too."

  We made our way back to Red Square, and as we were crossing to a huge department store named GUM, GM stopped and pulled out her phone.

  She read a text, and something flickered in her eyes that she quickly masked.

  "I have to make a phone call, Solnyshko. I think it may take a little while. Would you like to go off by yourself for a little while? We could meet back in front of GUM in an hour, if you like."

  "Who are you calling?" I asked. "Is it something to do with your work?"

  "It's nothing you need to worry about, Katie. I'll see you soon."

  She turned and walked away.

  I wanted very much to know what GM's phone call was about. But at the same time, I realized I now had a chance to get a copy of Vremya. I hurried off into the crowd.

  Finding a newspaper in Red Square, however, was no easy task. I wandered around the buildings, looking for a bookstore or a newsstand. When nothing like that materialized, I scanned the crowd, hoping to spot someone carrying one. As I did so, a man passed in front of me. His eyes were a bright, unnatural brown, oddly reminiscent of cinnamon.

  I recognized those eyes.

  "Aleksandr!" I cried.

  The man turned away from me and hurried off.

  "Aleksandr!" I cried again. Of course, with those eyes the man wasn't really Aleksandr Golovnin, Galina Golovnin's son. He must actually be the Leshi—in disguise as a mortal man again. But I could hardly call out the name of a Russian forest spirit in the middle of a crowd. I didn't want to appear crazy.

  The man began to move faster, and I hurried after him. Soon I broke into a run.

  But no matter how fast I ran, the man remained just ahead of me.

  I watched as he headed toward one of the Kremlin's buildings—a museum—one I hadn't visited yet.

  "Aleksandr!" I called after him. "It's me! Katie Wickliff!"

  The man disappeared into the museum.

  I ran in after him.

  The man pushed his way through the crowd inside, hurried around the front desk, and went up a staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. I ran after him and was just in time to see him run down a corridor and disappear behind a door. The door slammed closed behind him.

  I ran up to the door—a sign on it read in Russian 'staff only'—but I went through the door anyway.

  Once inside I found myself in a long, dimly lit room that stretched on into shadow. There was no sign of the man I had followed.

  I ran my hand along a nearby wall, searching for a light switch, but I couldn't find one. I took a few tentative steps into the room.

  "Aleksandr?" I whispered. "Aleksandr?"

  There was no answer.

  I walked further into the room. There were several desks, and then a long line of shelves. The shelves were laden with objects of varying shapes and sizes, all of which bore tags with serial numbers. Between the shelves were a number of strange shapes draped in cloth and several large crates. I opened the lid of one of the crates, and two marble, sightless eyes looked back at me. I was staring into the face of a statue.

  I was clearly in a room where the museum stored exhibits when they weren't on display.

  I let the lid of the crate fall back into place, and the statue was returned to its slumber.

  Just then a slamming sound from the dark end of the room drew my attention. If the man I'd followed truly was the Leshi, then I had to talk to him. He just might know something about who and what was after me.

  With his help I might even survive my trip to Krov.

  I edged toward the other end of the room. Through the gloom, I could see that there was another door—I figured that the sound I'd just heard was the sound of this door closing.

  I went through it into the next room. The new room was also dimly lit and apparently devoid of light switches. This room had more desks and tables and was lined by glass cases.

  Even in the gloom I could see something glittering in the cases, and I went closer.

  On thick red cushions lay row after row of ornate, intricate jewelry—necklaces, rings, bracelets, earrings—even a tiara. In the next case were small icons—beautifully rendered portraits of saints and holy figures. Such things were common fixtures of Russian churches. Labels underneath each icon identified the individual who was depicted.

  I reached the end of the case and started on the next one.

  The next case also contained icons, but this group of icons was like nothing I had ever seen before. The images were rendered in the usual fashion, but the subjects were clearly not saints. The eyes staring back at me were malevolent, not serene. The faces were pale and unhealthy, and there was something cruel about the mouths. The names listed underneath the icons were names I did not recognize.

  When I reached the end of the row, I saw a face I did recognize, and I froze. The final icon depicted a man of extreme pallor. His eyes were closed, and his face was covered by a filmy substance with sharp edges—he was covered in ice. Though the image was stylized, I had no doubt that I was looking at the same man who had appeared to me at the cave in the Old Grove.

  I read the inscription below the icon. It was one word.

  WERDULAC.

  Chapter 15.

  Stumbling, I made my way out of the dark rooms as fast as I could. I was no longer interested in finding the Leshi. I just wanted to get back out into the sunlight again.

  I was badly rattled.

  As I hurried back
out into the museum corridor, I nearly ran into a woman who began to berate me loudly.

  "What were you doing in there?" she cried in Russian. "Those rooms are off limits to tourists. Be off, or I will call security."

  I needed no encouragement to leave.

  I ran along the hall and down the stairs. I kept running until I was back out in the square. I drank in the cold air gratefully, and the sunlight felt like an embrace.

  I had enough presence of mind to glance at my watch—it was just about time for me to meet GM at GUM.

  I turned in the direction of the department store.

  I couldn't help shivering as I walked, and the image from the icon rose up in my mind again. I had no doubt that that was the same man I had seen emerging from the cave.

  Werdulac.

  I wondered how old the icon was. I had a terrible feeling it was from a span of time that greatly exceeded the life of an ordinary human being. This Werdulac had appeared to me in Elspeth's Grove, but it now appeared that he was known in Russia. Was he one of the creatures that were after me?

  And just what was he?

  Cold fear suddenly washed over me in a wave. Now that I was back in Russia—would he come for me here, too?

  Even in the open square I felt surrounded—trapped.

  I spotted GM on the other side of the square, and I began to move toward her, pushing my fears aside. But a moment later, I spied a man with a newspaper. He was preparing to throw it away.

  I hurried over to him.

  "Excuse me! Excuse me!" I said.

  The man stopped, arrested in the act of dropping the newspaper into a trashcan.

  "Sorry," I said. "May I have your newspaper? Since you're about to throw it away anyway?"

  I didn't know for sure if it was the same paper GM had been reading, but even if it weren't, it still might have a story that would stand out to me.

  The man looked surprised, but he smiled and held the paper out to me.

  "Thank you." I glanced at the paper. I was in luck—it was Vremya. "Really. Thank you very much."