Secrets and Shadows: A 13 to Life Novel

  Footsteps faded farther down the other hall. One of them walked away.

  I let out a deep breath and looked at Pietr, his eyes once again clear and blue, breathing steadied. What the heck was really going on in Junction?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “You need to take the hint,” Pietr insisted, pushing through the stairwell doors at Golden Oaks, kitten in hand. “Don’t push me, Jess. Even she’s told you, beware the boy,” he said, opening Feldman’s door. “I am the boy.”

  “Bull and shit,” Feldman snapped. “Close that door.”

  Cowed, I obeyed.

  “Are you so egotistical you believe everything is about you, Pietr?” she asked. “Just because cards are pulled or produced in your presence does not mean…” She puffed out an exasperated breath. “If you are so fascinated by yourself, perhaps I should stroke your ego and tell you more, hmm?” The cards zipped and buzzed like angry bees as she shuffled them furiously. “Touch nothing,” she commanded when he reached to draw. “I will pull your heart out and display it here. Now.”

  She tossed the cards in a seemingly random spread and bent over her lap to examine them. “Oh,” she whispered, looking up.

  I grabbed Pietr’s arm and his eyes flashed red at me, bright as fireworks.

  Feldman gasped. “Oh, no. I did not…” She scooted back as far as the wall allowed. “I didn’t realize what you are … I didn’t guess you would find me here—I have tried,” she swore.

  “What the…,” Pietr muttered, blinking his eyes clear.

  “Mrs. Feldman, what are you talking about?” I set Tag on the floor at her bedside. The amber heart slipped free of my neckline, swaying between us. Mesmerized, Mrs. Feldman’s mouth opened and closed like that of a fish out of water.

  “Oh, no wonder you are with him … You’ve opened the matryoshka.”

  My knees felt filled with rubber.

  Pietr crouched beside her.

  She gasped. “I swear I’ve t-t-tried,” she stuttered, “but I haven’t found the way to cure you … not yet. Please, please don’t hurt me.”

  “Mrs. Feldman, no one will hurt you.” I patted her hand and tried to make my legs support me. “What do you know about the matryoshka?”

  “That”—she jabbed a bony finger at my pendant—“was inside. I prescribed its design at my father’s bidding.” She held her head and rocked back and forth, muttering incoherently.

  “Hazel Feldman,” I scolded. “No one here is going to hurt you. Stop this nonsense and talk to us.”

  The rocking stopped. Her eyes slid warily to Pietr and back to me. “He is oborot,” she confided. “A werewolf.”

  “Yes. And they have very good ears,” I added. My mind raced. If she hadn’t known Pietr was a werewolf earlier—what secret did she see in his first reading? “Who are you? CIA?”

  “No.” Her eyes grew round. “The CIA’s involved?”

  “Never mind,” Pietr said, his voice as rich as cream. “You’ve been working on a cure? What do you know about all this?”

  “What don’t I know should be the question,” she insisted. “My father was your creator.… The lead scientist on Project Oboroht. He was deemed a failure when the first generation wasn’t markedly different, but then, only seventeen years after the project was closed, he heard tales of strange children, horrible murders … suicides and monsters.” She shivered. “He realized his project was not completely a failure, but ran along a canine chronology. He tried to gather your—people—back up, find them, and redeem himself, but … you die so young.…”

  Pietr looked away.

  “He became a changed man. He could not return to the USSR knowing his research had led to such a tragic circumstance. To create such things and set a genetic timebomb … He came here to better track the offspring of Oborot, to study and find a cure. But I wanted none of it. I”—she pointed to the cards—“chose a different path. Then I believed science and magic were mutually exclusive. If one existed, the other could not.”

  She looked at Pietr again, studying his face. “You are different than I expected. He is handsome, isn’t he?”

  I blushed. “Yes,” I agreed. “Amazingly handsome.”

  “And you know and yet…” Emboldened once more, she asked, “You will not hurt me?”

  “Nyet, I will not,” he agreed, solemn.

  “Let us test that theory. She has seen you—ahhh—” Her eyes sparkled. “On your birthday, yes?”

  “Da.”

  “She knows the truth of who you are.”

  “He only shared the truth with me because of this,” I tapped the pendant.

  “That is not true.” He rose to his feet.

  “You thought it was a sign because of the rabbit netsuke.”

  “The rabbit netsuke,” Hazel mumbled, smacking her forehead like it was all so obvious now. “Your mother? I gave her the rabbit in Brighton Beach.”

  “What? I need to sit down.” I landed in a nearby chair gracelessly. “Alexi’s mother was the Coney Island con woman—How do they connect?”

  “Alexi’s mother—oh.” She paused. Took a deep breath. “They are—I am—one and the same,” she said. “Perhaps you should brush up on your geography, child. Brighton Beach and Coney Island are not so very far apart.”

  “Why did you give Jess’s mother the rabbit?” Pietr pressed.

  “It was foretold.” She shrugged.

  “No. Things are foretold? Our destiny’s already written in the stars? No. That’s too Shakespearean. Too tragic,” I gulped, thinking about Romeo and Juliet. “You mean to tell me I have no choice in life—there’s some almighty plan I don’t have a chance to change?”

  “Shhh,” Feldman soothed. “Just because something’s written in the stars does not mean our destinies are fixed. The stars may not seem to move, but they are moving as our universe starts the return from its Big Bang. Fixed is not what we once thought it was. We have choice. But some things come highly recommended.” She smiled. “I expect it is highly recommended I call the nurse to fetch my lockbox.”

  Pietr’s eyebrows rose.

  “Proof that though I was the prodigal daughter, I did not abandon my father’s search for a cure.” She pressed the button by her bed and a nurse appeared. “Bring me box HF169, please.” The nurse disappeared. “While we wait, perhaps you can answer my questions. The boy your parents adopted—”

  “Alexi,” Pietr said.

  “Ah. Is he well?”

  “Da.”

  “Good, good. What is he—what is my son like?”

  “He is smart, and strong and handsome,” I answered, adding that last one even though I didn’t see Alexi that way.

  “Good, good. And … the night of your birthday … Jessie accepted what you are?”

  Pietr nodded, slowly, as if he was still unsure.

  “Did you imprint?”

  I straightened at the question.

  “Nyet,” he conceded.

  “Interesting.” She glanced at the cards still spread on her bed. “Not an easy task to accept one who isn’t sure if he is man or monster,” she credited me.

  “It’s not difficult if you care for him,” I stated.

  She nodded. “So why? Why are you trying to stay away from her now? Have you imprinted with someone else?”

  “Nyet.” He flexed his fingers, cracking his knuckles. “I am trying to protect her.”

  “By not being with her? Interesting. And is she safer now you maintain your distance?”

  “Da.”

  “Nyet!” I countered. “There were mafiosos at the Golden Jumper. I threw the competition just to get us out of there.”

  “What? Why didn’t you tell me—?”

  “When, Pietr? When you were making out with Sarah? When you refused my phone calls? When you locked yourself away at my birthday party?” I stormed through the list, my face heating with rage. “You’ve forgotten that there was no time you gave me … I was hurt worse falling off my horse than taking that punch f
rom the guy in the church.”

  Pietr was before me, gripping my arms, his eyes red as rubies. “You’ve forgotten I am the boy you’re being warned against.”

  “Mrs. Feldman?” The nurse pushed open the door. “Is everything all right in here?”

  “Yes, yes,” she waved her hand. “Merely a demonstration of teen drama.”

  “Oh,” the nurse set a numbered box on her bed with a key. “Romeo and Juliet?”

  “I certainly hope not,” Feldman scoffed as the nurse bobbed her head and exited. “Close the door,” she reminded her.

  She opened the box and withdrew a journal that looked amazingly like the ones Alexi had been poring over searching for a cure. “Take this when you leave. You should now have all thirteen journals. My notes are in the margins.”

  I nodded.

  Pietr dropped his hands from me and held my eyes with his. “Do you see this, Jess,” he whispered, widening his eyes so I could not mistake the red color glowing in them.

  “Yes.”

  “This is why I can’t … why I don’t…”

  The deck of cards smacked into Pietr’s face and dropped to the ground.

  “You are not the boy, Pietr Rusakova,” Feldman snapped.

  He rounded on her. “How do you know?”

  “This message came from a specific source. Does one of you have a spirit hanging around?”

  I sighed and Pietr stared at me as I slowly raised my hand. “A friend of mine thinks my mother’s coming through.”

  Pietr’s eyes widened.

  “Big surprise, right?” I mumbled. “Werewolves, ghosts. Happy Halloween.”

  “Big surprise,” he echoed. Like he meant it.

  “I’m sorry, Jessie. I did not realize,” Feldman lamented. “Sometimes spirits get stuck. In a time, or a place … Some can work themselves free, but others?” She shrugged. “When your mother was alive … Who was the boy you talked about with her? Was there a boy there when she died? It could be either.”

  I collapsed back into the chair. “Oh. It’s both. Like you,” I said to Mrs. Feldman. “One and the same.” Seeing the concern on Pietr’s face, I assured him, “It’s not you. It’s Derek.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Annabelle Lee turned to a fresh page in the book she was reading over the dinner I’d prepared, acting like she hadn’t heard Dad’s words. But I knew better.

  “Dad, it’s perfectly safe. I need to get Rio to try different stuff. The old park’s perfect.”

  “You considerin’ the competition schedule again?”

  I nodded. “You know what they say: ‘Get back on the horse.’ I botched the Golden Jumper. I want to do better.”

  “Hmm.” He speared a piece of broccoli. “Make sure you’re out of there by dark,” he warned. “Never know what sort of trouble may drift in.”

  I shuddered, remembering the shootout. “Yeah.” I pushed in my chair and headed for the door, grabbing my jacket and a flashlight in case the path home was ridden in darkness.

  I needed time to think—to get things straight in my head. And whereas before I might have gone to Skipper’s and stood beneath the dogwood to search for some modicum of peace after Mom’s death, my life had been rattled by more than her loss. I needed to face the spot I had lost what was left of my innocence. The place I killed a man and watched Pietr do the same.

  Rio warmed up quickly and we jogged into the old park through what used to be its main entrance. The wooden sign had long ago been defaced, most of the marigolds stolen, and the few remaining rose bushes were seasonally trimmed back by visitors with bud vases to fill.

  I’d played here as a child, on swingsets that were now rusty skeletons of headless horses, the chains that once squeaked along their bellies long gone, the moments my feet nearly kicked the clouds to earth—all but memory.

  I nudged Rio into a trot, passing the wobbling water fountain and broken benches where parents used to watch their children play as they gossiped about their neighbors (until their neighbors joined them and they gossiped about others).

  Down a narrow path we went, only pausing when it opened into meadow. I steadied myself and felt Rio tighten beneath me in response. “S’okay, girl,” I soothed.

  In the slanting light of late afternoon the image before me was pastoral, far from the night of Pietr’s birthday. I slid out of the saddle, pausing by Rio’s shoulder, looping the reins around my hand and running my fingers along her soft snout.

  “Come on, girl, let’s walk.”

  She matched my pace, ambling beside me as I kicked leaves and scanned the area. I’d hoped to find some answers here, some peace. This was the place everything changed for Pietr and myself—for him very literally. Was there any way to get back to being us? To have a normal relationship, considering the facts stacked against us? I had to believe we could. But I needed him to believe it—to want it—as much as I did.

  I kept my feet moving, shuffling through the crackling debris of autumn while I tried to forget the blood the ground had drunk down and the leaves had covered up.

  The sky turned colors, the blue deepening to purple, and the world around me took on an eerie and unfortunately familiar cast. My stomach tightened and my mind argued against it.

  I shivered and led Rio to where most of the action occurred, reminding myself silently I had nothing to fear. The threat—the danger—had passed. Casting aside the blaring memories of blood and gunfire, my mind drifted.

  And I realized there were no definitive answers here. I could only get the answers I wanted from Pietr. Suddenly the knot of emotion nestled inside me began to loosen. “Let’s go for a ride.” I slapped Rio’s shoulder and slipped my foot into the stirrup to mount.

  We moved from a trot to a lope to a ground-swallowing gallop. We terrorized the park’s vacant trails, spinning back the way we came at the lightest touch of my knee to her ribs, making hairpin turns, testing our abilities.

  And then, down one trail long abandoned we found my favorite obstacle: a fallen log. “Rio,” I whispered, leaning forward to prick her ear with my breath. “Let’s give it a go.” We trotted back a few paces. “Ready?” I asked, and I felt her muscles coil in anticipation.

  “H’yup!” We raced down the narrow trail, leaves flying in our wake and as we neared the downed tree I rose up in the saddle, leaned forward and straightened my back. Rio flew across the log, her legs long, extension perfect. A little jolt at touchdown, but the thump might as well have been my heart falling back into place after a great jump.

  “Awesome!” I cried, thumping my palm on her neck as she continued forward at a rapid clip.

  One of her ears pivoted to the right and I felt her tense beneath me. “Easy, girl,” I soothed just before I heard it.

  The hair at the nape of my neck tickled as it struggled against the rushing breeze to rise in warning. A half stride behind and holding steady something raced through the brush and brambles on a parallel course.

  Something big.

  I gave Rio her head and felt her stride lengthen, a spray of foam flying out of her mouth and off her neck. The pounding of her hooves on the old packed path rattled me. I gathered the reins and tried to hear beyond her heavy breathing and thundering hoof beats.

  I caught a glimpse of something zipping along the undergrowth, dodging the worst of the briars on astonishingly nimble feet. My heart raced to outrun whatever challenged us, beating so fast it quivered in my chest instead of pumped.

  The light bled from the sky, violent shades of red and purple twisting in agonizing beauty above us. I wouldn’t be out of the park by dark, regardless of my intentions.

  Ahead the path widened, the brush separating us from our challenger disappearing as the trails merged in a small clearing. “We’ll know soon,” I muttered, lying across Rio’s stretched neck, my jacket sleeves sopping up her sweat.

  The brambles between us were suddenly gone and a shadow leaped out—huge, canine, and wild. But not a simple wolf.

  Rio pani
cked, rearing up, dancing on her hind legs and kicking out with her front.

  She screamed and the beast was no longer a wolf, but Pietr, grabbing her reins in a move so fluid Rio turned with him and I plunged from my saddle.

  Into Pietr’s powerful arms.

  “Down!” he commanded Rio, his voice so low I barely caught the single word.

  Rio heard it clearly. With a squeal of indignation she obeyed, rolling her eyes and stomping her hooves.

  “Eezvehneetyeh,” he whispered toward Rio. “I didn’t think I would frighten you since we’ve known each other…” He blinked and focused on me, still in his grip. “Strahsvoytcha,” he said, his choice of greeting allowing him to roll it under a thick purr. He set me down, my hands slipping along his naked chest.

  Naked.

  I blushed so fiercely my face could have set dusk back an hour or two. I turned my head away from him, concentrating on Rio. And breathing. My knees shook. I didn’t dare look at him.

  He seemed confused. His brain still hadn’t puzzled back together with the wolf’s.

  “Hello,” I echoed lamely. “Pants,” I said.

  “Da. Pants.” A wolf again, he dashed down the trail. I heard him stop, curse, and wrestle with some sort of plant. Then he returned, pants on, T-shirt in hand. “Sorry,” he said. “I drop things sometimes.”

  “Mmhmm. Like clothes and girlfriends,” I alleged.

  “What?”

  There was no fooling me. Pietr’s hearing was remarkably keen. “You heard me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You need a new line,” I retorted. “That one’s old.”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  “Say that the past was all a nightmare.”

  “You know better. This is what I am,” he hissed.

  “That’s not the past I want erased. That’s not what needs to change.”

  “Then what?”

  “Say that you’re breaking up with Sarah—cleanly—and choosing me. Say you never wanted her but you didn’t want to hurt her. For me. Tell me you know you’re not the boy I’ve been warned against.”

  “I—” He looked away.

  “Damn it, Pietr,” I said, unable to hide my disgust, “Why bother to run with us, to talk to me now, if you’re going to keep hurting me? It’s one thing to play guard dog at school, but I need more than that from a friend.”