Secrets and Shadows

  Scribble, scribble.

  “The number of suicides in the area has recently escalated,” she commented.

  “The train track suicides. Yes, I know. And yet, here I am. Thrilled to be in counseling. Weren’t we supposed to be focusing on a healthy expression of my grief?”

  Scribble. “You seem disoriented. Have you been drinking?”

  “I have too few brain cells naturally to waste any on a temporary buzz.”

  Scribble. “Drugs?”

  “Just write See Above—the same philosophy applies. Look, I had a really lousy lunch. Food poisoning of epic proportions. It’s messed me up.”

  “I’d like to get a urine sample.”

  “Give me your coffee cup.”

  Scribble, scribble, scribble.

  She stood, her heels clip-clopping a rhythm on the floor. Thrusting a plastic cup into my hand she said, “Down the hall and to your right.”

  I shuffled away, found the rest room, and peed into the cup. I stayed in the bathroom a moment longer, resting my hands on the cool sink and peering into the mirror at my image—thrown back to me under harsh fluorescent light.

  Not a good thing.

  There were places where fluorescents should be hung over mirrors—like in hell (or public school bathrooms—hey, they had things in common), and in underground CIA corridors, but not somewhere you hoped to improve a person’s attitude about themselves. Standing there, my brain felt like mush.

  It hurt like this when Amy found me in the bathroom vomiting over nightmares and flashbacks. Food poisoning probably just heaped the effects together. Man. I barely remembered anything from when Derek picked me up all the way to losing my lunch by Max’s car. It was … hazy. Even arguing with Max—had he been on the phone with Cat while he drove? Totally unsafe. Even that memory was like looking at a painting someone had smudged before it dried. Like I’d slammed my brain against my skull with so much puking that there wasn’t much brain left.

  Maybe I’d just go home and sleep.

  But the party … everybody would be there. It’d suck to miss my own birthday bash.

  I deserved to have a little fun. I still had a few hours to recoup. What had the nurse suggested last time? Saltines and ginger ale? I could manage. Rehydrate, relax, prepare to party. A phrase lodged itself somewhere between my brain and my lips. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” I stated. The way my head ached, that might just be tomorrow. Remembering Pietr’s words, I looked into the mirror at myself. “Live life fiercely,” I urged my reflection.

  By my session’s end my head felt clear, my attitude improved, and my stomach had calmed. Everything was better.

  Walking out to the parking lot, I paused and tried to remember exactly what I’d discussed with Dr. Jones. Vague bits and pieces of conversation stuttered around in my head. Tired. That had to be it. Being so suddenly sick made me tired.

  “Hey, Max.” I smeared on my best smile.

  In the afternoon sun, the Rusakovas’ stunning red convertible was even more brilliant. Max paused where he stood, polishing a fender, and scowled at me.

  “You cleaned the whole car while I was getting grilled?”

  “I kept busy. Keeps me from overthinking.”

  I hadn’t really thought Max was ever at risk of that. “See, I would have thought you’re being so freakishly industrious because you’re hyped up for something.”

  He tilted his head, studying me. “You okay?”

  “Much better. Good session. Hyped up for the party tonight?” I wondered aloud, noticing my costume in the back.

  “Why do I have to be hyped up about anything because I’m being industrious?”

  “I’ve just never seen you so involved in anything. Other than chasing girls.” I rubbed my eyes and shrugged.

  Max watched me, chamois in hand. “You’re okay,” he muttered. Like it was a surprise.

  “Therapy’s freeing. Maybe this is like some girls say.”

  “What?” His eyes grew small—intense.

  I’d used his favorite word again.

  Girls.

  He opened the door for me, asking, “What do girls say?”

  “That guys who are—frustrated,” I teased, cheeks catching fire at my boldness, “get antsy.”

  He slammed the door and went around to the driver’s side. I thought I heard him mutter, “She’s okay,” as he climbed in. He looked at me again, a smile twisting his lips. “So if I’m careful about the car’s appearance I’m antsy—frustrated?”

  “Are you? Itching for something?”

  “Why, Jessie?” he purred, and the Big Bad Wolf was back and grinning. “You have a girlfriend who’d like to scratch my itch?”

  I sank into the seat, every bit of skin on fire. “Down, boy,” I muttered.

  He chuckled. “Maybe the hot redhead. Amy?”

  “Dating Marvin,” I reminded him.

  “Yeah.” He frowned. “I was thinking about changing that.”

  “Don’t mess with Amy,” I warned. “She seems happy.”

  He nodded solemnly. “Sometimes, Jessie, things aren’t exactly what they seem.”

  Says a werewolf.

  Max threw the car into gear.

  * * *

  His arm around my shoulders, Max guided me into the Rusakovas’ dining room and pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

  I did.

  “Ekaterina!” he roared.

  “You have to,” Cat argued upstairs. “I do not care how uncomfortable it makes you. You will do your part in this. This is the path you’ve set us on.”

  “Ekaterina!”

  “Da!” There was movement at the top of the stairs. “I mean it. Get yourself togetherrr,” she warned. “I’m coming!” she thundered back, racing down the stairs. She stopped in the doorway and straightened, pushed one rogue curl back into place and regained her composure. She smiled at me. “Jessie!” she greeted me, giving me a big hug and—a cursory sniff?

  She conceded to Max, “Da, you are right.”

  “What did you say?” He looked toward the stairs.

  “Nothing except he must step up. Now.”

  “Hi,” I said. “I’m right here and yet—somehow not involved in the conversation at all.”

  Alexi stepped into the room, hearing my complaint, arms loaded with books. “Welcome to the club,” he griped, setting the stack down.

  “Wow. What are those, Alexi?”

  “Grandfather’s journals.”

  “Seriously? So these have information about…”

  “About their creation?” He nodded. “Close. I’m missing a volume.”

  “Lemme guess. The volume.”

  Cat bent over me, murmuring, “How are you, Jessie?”

  “Fine. Other than a bout with food poisoning, I’m fine.”

  Alexi was still rambling, ruffling the pages of one journal. “Da. Extrapolating the information to find a cure…”

  That last word scored my full attention. “You think you can?”

  “Da, but it may take more time than we have,” he admitted.

  “See,” Cat whispered behind me. “She’s fine. Tabula rasa can be a blessing,” she assured.

  “Ignorance is bliss?” Max returned.

  “Why rock the boat?”

  Max echoed her tone, “Because the boat may be sunk with the wrong captain at its helm.”

  “Nothing we cannot handle now we know. Stay between them,” Cat insisted.

  “Between them?” Max sighed. “Do you understand what you are asking me to do?”

  “Precisely. I have asked even more of Pietr.”

  “He is why she is here.”

  I flipped. “Look. I want to know why you’re both talking over my head—and behind my back.” I spun to face them, gripping the back of the chair. “Let’s get a couple things straight. I am not here because of Pietr. Not anymore. It may have started that way, but that’s obviously not what he wants. And what I want…” My throat tightened. “I’m here to help your family if
I can. Say what you have to say.”

  Cat kissed my forehead. “You know everything you need to. There is nothing to say.”

  I blinked.

  Max looked toward the stairs.

  “Come,” Cat said, gently taking my hand, “let me get you some crackers. You rest while we decorate. Food poisoning can be ruinous.”

  Although I protested, Cat filled a plate for me with crackers, poured some ginger ale, and sat me on her bed. I flailed a moment, sinking into a giant marshmallow of pink and lace. “Eat, drink, and get some rest. Everything looks better after a nap.”

  “Really, Cat, I’m fine.”

  She smiled at me. “I know, Jessie. I just want you to have a terrific time at your party, and since Derek won’t be attending…”

  “Wait. What?” One of the reasons Dad had been okay with me attending a party at the Rusakovas’ house was because Derek would be my escort. Not Pietr.

  She studied my expression, squinting to peer into my eyes as if I reflected back the sun. “A boy who would dump you on the first friend of yours with a car—when he knows you are sick…” She shook her head. “Such moments tell you much about the man he will become. Derek is not growing into a man you should be with.” She pulled the door shut after her.

  I stared at the door for a long while before gnawing through the saltines and sipping some soda. Finally I relented; burrowing into Cat’s ridiculously soft bedding, I closed my eyes.

  When I woke and fought my way free of the frothy pink bed and stumbled out of Cat’s room, things had been transformed. Fake webbing hung from all corners, orange, purple, and red lights sparkled downstairs, giving the place a creepy glow as fog crawled around the base of the staircase. From somewhere far from sight came the feedback and static of a sound system being checked.

  Wow.

  “You’re awake!” Cat exclaimed. “How do you feel?”

  “Great. This is—amazing, Cat.”

  “Horashow. The guests will be here soon,” Cat said, “We’d better get dressed. You”—she looked at me—“need a shower.” She marched me into the bathroom.

  Turning the faucet on over the big claw-foot tub (was I the only one without claws around here?) I heard her outside the door again. “Da. I know she smells like him.”

  Pietr. Grumbling.

  Then Cat: “You will need to make a decision, brother. Before it is too late. You have already pushed her too near the edge. Tell her the truth.”

  The idea Pietr was lying was laughable. Pietr simply didn’t want me. Still, hope clutched at my faltering heart at the idea Pietr lied. How twisted that I hoped for that?

  With Pietr choosing Sarah, and Max and Cat determined to keep me away from my selfish, evidently bad-lunch-buying boyfriend, the party in my name seemed one I’d attend alone.

  Happy frikkin’ birthday to me.

  I stepped into the tub, pulled the curtain around and, not wanting to hear more, let the shower rain down over me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Beautiful!” Cat exclaimed, seeing me in my costume. “Buttercup the day of her wedding.”

  I winced at her assessment and mumbled, “Buttercup the day of her rescue.”

  Cat nodded, stroked the sleeve of the soft blue fabric, and adjusted the neckline of the dress’s shift slightly. “Just in time to greet the guests with Max.” She reached up to my hair and moved the fake pearl crown the tiniest bit. “Perfect,” she announced. “One more thing. Your present.”

  “What?”

  “This is your birthday party. You have gifts.”

  “The party is my gift, Cat,” I protested.

  “It is the gift from all of us, da. But…” She looked down the hall. “Pietr!”

  He stepped out of his room, slowly, and the breath stuck in my throat. In black jeans, engineer boots, a dramatic black poet’s shirt, and with a black bandanna around his head, Pietr was enough to make a pirate blush. My Man in Black. No, I reminded myself sharply. Not mine at all.

  He carried a large rectangular something, wrapped with a precision that demonstrated an eye for detail.

  His eyes raised and he hesitated, seeing me. For a heartbeat I thought his chest stopped moving as his eyes went so fast from blue to red they appeared purple. “Your birthday present,” he whispered, blinking.

  “Thank you.” I took it, my hand brushing his, sparks flying at such a simple touch. My stomach flopped, the electricity I still felt at his nearness made my nerves scream and my chest ache where my heart had been. Stupid heart. Stupid girl. I slid my fingers beneath the tape, sliding a poster frame out. I turned it over. “Wow.”

  In the simple black frame was an illustration of a girl in traditional Russian garb creeping through a darkened forest. Illuminating her way was the eeriest of torches: topping a long stick, a skull’s empty eye sockets glowed. “It is Bilibin’s work,” he said. “Vassilissa in the Forest. He was a renowned illustrator of Russian fables and folktales, and Vassilissa—” He fell silent, staring at me.

  “Is the heroine of our favorite,” Cat concluded.

  My eyes glued to Pietr, I whispered my singular thought: “Amazing.”

  “I will put it somewhere safe,” Cat announced, wrenching it from my hands and leaving Pietr and myself standing at the top of the staircase alone. Together.

  “Pietr…”

  “I can’t do this,” he ground out, his eyes glimmering red once more. “This party … you…”

  “Guests!” Max bellowed from the porch.

  “You need to go. This is your party. I am”—he blew out a breath, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes and snarling like he had one hell of a headache suddenly—“not ready to celebrate.” He backed toward his door.

  I leaped, pressing my lips to his so fast his eyes jumped wide open, red as warning as his nostrils flared and he stumbled back. His fingers slid around my neck, tangling in my hair, and he dragged me with him, kissing like he’d devour me. “Ow!” I pulled back, my tongue stinging, blood in my mouth.

  His teeth pointed, he groaned and dodged into his room, slamming the door shut in my face. The lock slid across, grating like my nerves. I pressed my ear to his door. He was a solid inch of oak away from me. And panting.

  What a way to start a party.

  I clumped down the steps to stand beside Max, putting what I hoped passed for a happy expression on my face. He put his arm around me and together we greeted the guests pouring into the party. Music blared inside, shaking me as I stood on the porch.

  At a break in the crowd streaming in, Max asked, “Pietr in his room?”

  I nodded bleakly.

  “Good for you,” he said.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” I demanded, but Max’s eyes fixed on someone on the stairs.

  Before I could push for an answer, Sarah had called my name. She climbed the stairs and smiled at me sweetly.

  “Well,” Max rumbled. “Isn’t this embarrassing? You’re both the same character.” Pietr’s movie rental had evidently educated the whole family. And Max was right. To my astonishment, a much daintier Buttercup faced me in the cool pink dress of the dream sequence, richly appointed with gold filigree. Balanced atop her blond hair was a tall golden crown.

  “Wow, you look beautiful,” I said. And I meant it. Compared to Sarah I was reduced to something far closer to Buttercup on the farm than Buttercup in the castle. Nuts. Sarah definitely reigned. “Pietr’s in his room being miserable,” I explained, pointing. “Maybe you can cheer him up.”

  She brushed past me, lifting the hem of her dress slightly to get up the stairs without tripping.

  Max moved his arm off my shoulders and looked down at me. “Maybe I’m stupid,” he began.

  “Cat might agree some days.”

  He blinked. “Don’t you want Pietr? You’re miserable and yet you push her toward him like they should be a couple.”

  “She’s my friend. If she makes him happy,” I continued, “who am I to get in their way?” Max
was shaking his head long before I finished. “I want Pietr happy. Maybe I’ll find happiness somewhere else.”

  As if on cue, the Mercedes pulled up and Derek slid out of the back, light bouncing off his tight leather pants and black satin shirt. He was radiant as a dark angel. Something fluttered in my stomach at his approach and my palms grew damp.

  Max’s arm slipped around my waist, pulling me close, and the growl building in his belly made mine tremble.

  Derek hesitated, one foot on the top step, one on the porch. He flashed a smile at me, reaching in my direction.

  Max shoved me behind him, one hot hand holding me like he feared I might bolt for the Mercedes. “Back down,” he told Derek. “Jessie doesn’t want you here.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Derek countered, stretching his hand forward again as he moved up one step.

  “You need proof she doesn’t need you?” Max challenged. Smooth as silk, Max spun me a step away from Derek, sighed as if resigning himself to some duty, and bent me back in his arms. His lips met mine, eyes commanding as he opened my mouth with his. My eyes flickered shut and he pressed me against his muscular body, curving me to match him. Dazed, I let him kiss me. Expertly. For one looong minute. He released me and I stared at him, breathless.

  There was clapping from inside. “So that’s what the birthday girl’s getting,” someone laughed.

  Derek’s hand returned to his side and he glared at me. He didn’t dare glare at Max.

  There was a noise from the doorway and Sarah jounced onto the porch, her eyes wide from Max’s display. “Present’s on the table,” she said with a little wave.

  “Your presence is my present,” I assured her.

  “Trust me, you’ll prefer what’s in the box,” she grumped. “Pietr won’t come out, and you’ve got your hands full,” she mentioned, her eyes racing across Max. “Without Pietr, it’s not much of a party,” she added, disappointment flooding her face.

  Derek held his hand out again, this time to Sarah. “Let’s you and I go somewhere and hang out. For old times’ sake.”

  She took his hand and waved to me over her shoulder as she and Derek headed to the waiting Mercedes.

  “What just happened, Max?”

  “Worst-case scenario? I just pissed off a very dangerous guy by kissing you.”