by Kenya Wright
Em: K
I waited for more texts or explanation. None came. I put the phone back in my pocket and got ready to go through the bag some more, but then the bumping on the wall increased.
This place is fucking crazy? Is that Valentina coming back?
A little dust fell from the bottom of the painting where Valentina had just escaped through. I didn’t reach under my pillow. Granted, I wasn’t supposed to have a gun, and whoever coming through probably was a friend.
Still, this wasn’t Harlem, and I had more enemies here than friends.
Better safe than sorry.
I grabbed the gun from the pillow, rushed over, and aimed as the painting opened.
Em popped her head in and then widened her eyes. “There’s secret tunnels here.”
“Yeah.”
She climbed through. “You already knew?”
I hurried and closed the painting. “Valentina just came through it.”
“What?” She jumped to the side. “What the hell did she want, and why did she come through the painting?”
“She wants me to help her do something shady.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I briefed Em on everything that had happened in the room with Valentina, including the bag under my bed, its contents, and the story.
“She gave you the gun?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” She didn’t seem overly interested as she turned back to the painting and slid her fingers along the frame. “See where it goes with, Valentina. It might be nothing, or it could be everything.”
My words dripped with sarcasm. “Great and informative advice as usual, Em.”
“What else can I say?”
“What about the kid’s book?”
“Baba Yaga is from Slavic folklore. At least, I think so. He was huge in eastern European folklore. He’s a supernatural being.” She held her hands out. “What that has to do with guns and knives, I don’t know.”
“What do you think Valentina is going to do?”
“I have no idea. We’re just rolling with the moment here.” She tried to open the painting again. “I just went through a tunnel in the wall. Clearly, we’re going to be working with a lot of crazy stuff we can’t understand. Just like with a new tunnel, you have to walk through the darkness and see where it leads.”
“Hold up.” I shut the painting back. “How did you know about the tunnels anyway? Did your Russian tell you?”
“His name is Kazimir. It’s easier to say that than, Your Russian.”
“He needs a nickname like the others.”
“Kaz isn’t a job.”
“Then, what is he?”
“Helping us stay alive. And anyway, I haven’t heard from Kaz since he left with his uncle. I know about the tunnels because X sent me blueprints.”
“Okay, but we’ve got to watch our communication on text. I bet they’re still monitoring your phone.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to keep this a secret from Kaz.” She opened the painting back up.
Something about the way Em said his name had me worried.
I watched her climb back into the wall. “What the hell do you mean you won’t be keeping secrets from him?”
“It’s in our best interests to work with Kaz. This is his world, and he’s the most powerful one in it. He stays in the know.”
I couldn’t understand if she was talking metaphorically or literally when discussing the Russian and his owning the world. I’d seen a lot around him. He had deep power. There was definitely an argument that he ruled the actual world.
She studied the painting. “That’s cool. Your hidden door was a painting. Mine was a bookshelf that snapped back and forth. The books weren’t real. That was my first clue that something was up. I hit X. He gave me the blueprints. Then, everything made sense. A secret exit lay behind the book shelf.” She slipped her hand against the frame. “Mine was a bitch to open. I didn’t think anyone had gone through it in a long time.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t have walked through it.”
“Come on.” She stepped back into the wall. Darkness swallowed her up.
I don’t want to go in no stupid ass wall with fucking rats and spiders and shit. We’re sitting in a castle and of course, you find the one place in it that has all the rats and shit.
I ducked my head inside and scowled. Spider webs crowded the area. It was clear many people hadn’t used it. In fact, Valentina, Oleg, and Em might’ve been the secret tunnel’s first passengers in several years.
A moldy scent thickened the air.
I wore a skeptical expression. “Man, this shit won’t be good for our lungs.”
Em did as she would with the tunnels. She kept on moving. When she hit this mode, Daryl and I would always have to race after her. She remained too consumed with the mystery of what lay in the darkness.
I climbed further in, ducking my head even more. The painting shut on its own behind me. I gripped the gun tighter and followed Em as she held her phone in front, the flashlight app on. Light beams shot out and led the way.
Why would Valentina or even Em be fine with walking back here? This shit is creepy.
Thankfully, the ground was cement. Whoever had the castle had modernized this part. While it didn’t seem like many walked it, this section had been used before.
Shadows covered the whole space. In some areas, light, air, and noise slipped through the cracks in the stone.
“There’s more on the blueprint,” Em said.
“More what?”
“Ways to go inside and out the castle. Many of the hidden doors are camouflaged as other things—fireplaces, sliding bookcases, paintings. There’s a trapdoor in the banquet area.” Excitement dotted her voice. “I peeked in but saw a rug over where I assumed it’s at.”
“You peeked in from where?”
“The fireplace.”
“In the banquet room’s fireplace, there’s a hidden passage?”
“Yes, and a trapdoor on the floor.” She grinned in the shadowy light. “It’s a maze shaped like a castle. Most of the passageway leads to an underground water source. I don’t know if I’ll have time to check it out, but—”
“Other people hike when they travel. You go through mold and rat-infested tunnels.”
“Everyone needs a hobby.”
We walked several feet in silence. There was no need to ask her what she was doing. Whenever she was in a new home or surroundings, she spent the day searching for alternate ways to get out of it. She always needed three or four escape routes before she could lay down her head and relax.
Em did that the first time she arrived at a foster home, and that habit had continued. When we slept at a new library, she worked overtime searching for the back exits and service entrances. If we stayed in a hotel in one of the other boroughs, she made sure it was right between an elevator, stairwell entrance, and fire exit.
Actually, I was shocked she’d done so well on the plane. Surely, she’d had a parachute in the room with her while she spent time with the Russian.
But there was no need to ask her what she did with him either. We all could hear the moans fill the plane. At times, it made me jealous. Other times, I remained relieved and happy that she hadn’t killed him. If we landed and he was dead, there was no amount of drawing smiley faces on a dead body that could save us.
Tension rose in my chest. Since the Russian had stepped into our life, each day had seemed easier, yet more anxious. Shit was going too easy. It could make us relaxed and not on guard.
Em paused, turned off the flashlight app, and switched back to the blueprints on her screen. “According to this, if we walk twenty feet and go either in the right or left direction, we have an exit.”
“Where does it take us to?”
“The South Gate.” She pointed to it on the blueprint. “I think that’s where we came in.”
“Me too.”
She switched back
to the flashlight app.
“Are you good now?” I asked. “You’ve got some ways out of here, if you need it.”
Her bottom lip quivered. “Yes.”
I wasn’t convinced, so I tried to soothe her. “Someone comes for you, stabilize them, go through the painting, hit a left or right after twenty feet, and then you’re free. Or you can do it the easy way and just come to my room.”
She kept a neutral expression and looked away from me. “You’ll be running with me.”
“Of course. We stay together.”
Noise sounded in the distance. We must’ve been close to the dining area or kitchen. Female chatter slipped through some of the cracked stone.
I could barely see Em, but I could feel her. Feel her just like we were one. Em breathed in and out, her chest rising and falling in a beautiful rhythm, and I swore I took in the oxygen too. A torrent of feelings moved inside of me.
One day, I wished that I could just have one friendly emotion when it came to her. That surely was the normal way to love someone. Instead, confusion lay in my heart whenever we had these moments, these silent instances in the darkness. In Harlem, we stood together in the quiet at the darkest part of a tunnel. In Prague, we stood together in a secret passageway hidden by ancient paintings and rich tapestry-covered walls.
Confusion came with Em.
In these moments, I yearned to hold her. Regardless of my feelings—sometimes brotherly and other times horny—I needed to pull her into my arms and tell her everything would be okay. But, I couldn’t. My father had stolen her innocence long ago. He’d made her into a sweetly skilled monster, an intelligent criminal. He’d turned her into someone who never felt safe and was more comfortable in decaying darkness than out in the world.
I fisted my hands to the side, making sure I didn’t bring them too close to her. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Promise?”
“I do.”
“Did I mess up by bringing us here?”
“No. You saved us.”
“Should I trust him?” she asked.
“Him as in the Russian?”
“Yes.”
I swallowed down my envy and told her the truth. “Yes. I think he’s falling in love with you.”
Suddenly, she walked around me and hurried down the passageway.
“Em?” I followed.
She kept her voice low. “We should get back to the rooms.”
“Okay,” I said. “Cool.”
I’m scared of old tunnels and rats. You’re scared of love. I wish I could switch fears with you and love you less.
We returned to our rooms in silence.
So far, no problems had greeted us.
Yet, there were hints that mayhem would come our way.
I hope I’m wrong about that.
Five
Kazimir
My uncle and I sat in his bathhouse. Our men relaxed further behind us, donning their own robes. I spent time with Uncle Igor while thinking of Em. Already the space between us felt too far. Like an ocean was between us.
This moment with my uncle was necessary. He had eyes all over the globe like me, but I wouldn’t use my people yet. Many still believed I was dead. Now, with my appearance here, there would be rumors of my surviving the bomb. Stories will be created and mixed so much that there will be more fantastical elements than actual facts.
Uncle Igor wiped the sweaty gray hair on his chest and leaned back against the marble wall. “You continue to be a legend, lev. You must tell me how you escaped this time.”
“It was from what you taught me. Pay attention to what’s around you. Take note of the meaningful coincidences and follow them.”
“And was your mysh a meaningful coincidence?”
“Yes. One of the most meaningful coincidences of them all.”
In fact, Sasha designed it that way.
“Hmmm.” He waved the towel. “She looks too delicate to be with you.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Especially in this case.”
Uncle Igor nodded. “This is good and bad.”
“Sasha’s betrayal?”
“No.” He waved that away and wiped more sweat. “Sasha is no match for you. He will be done with fast. No. Your mysh will be good and bad for you. Are you aware of that?”
“I see the good.”
“And you see the bad.” Uncle Igor closed his eyes.
“The good outweighs the bad.”
“Yes, but the bad can destroy every fiber of you.”
Uncle Igor had a wife named Frances. We’d called her Fanya. No matter how much money they made, she baked bread every day—fresh, crispy loaves of golden crust. No matter how many men she helped him kill, she danced at night and sung beautiful hymns in the morning. I considered her my second mother. She was the sun, and we all warmed from her light.
Then, one night, my uncle’s enemies settled a problem with him. They took Aunt Fanya from his home while he was away with me on business. They raped and beat her, mutilated and gutted her tiny frame.
When we returned, she’d hung from a tree. Her eyes had been dug out with a knife. Fox heads lay in a circle around her. She’d been dangling from the tree for a while. Worms, birds, and spiders had covered and crawled, snipping and snapping, feeding and nesting.
Uncle Igor shifted to madness after that. He buried Fanya inside the house, built a stage around her tomb, put a throne on top of the place where her body rests. There, he sat almost every day. Even today, he’d been sitting on her, probably thinking about those songs, and continuing to go mad.
He was no longer the same, never left Prague, never ventured away from his castle or that odd throne. As if to leave would be to leave her forever.
As if she wasn’t already dead.
I thought back to Em to get the nasty images of my beloved aunt out of my mind.
Uncle Igor spoke in Czech. “You love her?”
“I care for her. More than anyone else.”
“You should look in the mirror.”
“Why?” I turned to him.
His eyes remained closed. “You don’t look like a man that simply cares for a woman.”
I grinned. “Are you saying that I look rosy and in love?”
“As much as any lion can.”
I chuckled to myself and closed my eyes too, letting the steam soak into my skin.
“Yes,” Uncle Igor whispered in Czech. “This could be good and bad. I just hope that I am not here, if it ever goes bad.”
“Why not?”
“Because the world wouldn’t be able to survive your anger. Not the level of terror that would come.”
“Then, let’s hope the world doesn’t make me that mad.”
“Then, make sure you guard your little mouse.”
I will. No one will touch her. Already she’s safe and secure in her room. She understands now better than she did in New York. No wandering off. No getting in danger.
“And now…” Uncle Igor let out a long breath. “We must talk about Valentina.”
Dread filled me. Anytime my uncle brought my sister up, it would be a problem that I didn’t want to solve. My uncle enjoyed the old ways. In those times, women’s rights didn’t rank high on importance. For him, Valentina lived too free of a life and was involved in too much of our businesses. To me, Valentina was just as worthy to sit on the metaphorical throne.
For the first time in years, I considered who would take my place, if I left. Granted, the idea of leaving had never occurred to me. But if I chose to never let Em go, there would be a time when I would leave.
My world would keep us busy. There might be plans. My niece’s face flashed in my head. For the first time, I wondered if I would have kids too. Before, it had never been possible. There wasn’t a woman on this earth I could stomach for more than a few weeks. And then Em came into my life, and I couldn’t stomach being away from her for a few minutes.
I don’t know if I want kids, but I damn sure want to fill her up wi
th cum and see what happens.
“Have you seen Valentina’s child?” my uncle asked.
“I’ve seen my niece. She’s lovely.”
Uncle Igor snapped open his eyes. “And who does the child look like?”
“Valentina.”
“No clue of a father?”
“None.”
“Misha thinks the child is his.”
Shocked, I admitted, “That is news to me. I thought Misha was taken with someone else.”
“Are you talking about that obsession with the black ballerina?” Uncle Igor waved the very thought of it away. “Although she’s unique, talented, and out of his grip. She’ll be a toy, if he gets his way. Nothing more.”
I don’t know about that. Misha’s obsession runs deep.
I considered what Uncle Igor had said about Misha’s confession. “I don’t think Misha would be the father. I’m sure Valentina would’ve said something.”
“No one knows what Valentina’s thinking.” His voice went strained. “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but Misha says that Valentina and he had a one-night stand. She was pregnant a few months later, but never said anything to him about it. Also, he tried to find out if he was the father and she refused to discuss the matter.”
“This is between Valentina and Misha.”
Uncle Igor kept himself calm, but there was annoyance in his tone. “Is it just between Valentina and Misha?”
I exhaled, understanding that my uncle didn’t want to have this conversation with me either. His son and my sister were doing what they always did, involving us in their bullshit. For me, it would be no problem if Misha was the father or not. Either way, my niece would be well taken care of and protected.
For my uncle, my niece would be his first grandchild. And while he was a lonely, old man, no one could forget that he was a murderous bastard too. Lonely and murderous never went together. He would kill for companionship.
My uncle continued, “Had she not been Valentina, your sister…well…”
You would’ve tortured the truth out of her, regardless of the fact that you helped raise her. Anything to stop the loneliness.
I loved my uncle, but his life scared me. We had so much in common. We’d both accomplished some of the same violent things at similar ages. We’d killed at the same ages too, right at fourteen. Both victims were greedy cops that had gone too far. We’d both escaped jail twice and built empires at the same age. While I’d surpassed my uncle in the theoretical ranking of the Bratva, I paid him the respect of one with higher authority.