After breakfast, Katya had shown Dariya the Web site of her university and the listings for her favorite courses—the ones she thought the girl would especially like. After letting Katya drive the browsing around the academic pages for a while, Dariya had seized control of the computer and begun looking into student life, dormitories, clubs. Katya had never lived on campus, but had commuted from home, as her parents had insisted.
Dariya sizzled with interest, as excited as she was when discussing Femme Fatale.
The energy was contagious, and Katya enjoyed imagining herself with that independence—not just freedom to learn and think, but also to laugh with friends and just…live. No mara pulling her reins.
With the thought, her splitting headache returned, as if the spirit were trying to cleave her in half. She went back to Nikolai’s room and crawled under his blankets, which smelled of him—sweet, salty sweat and his spicy shaving cream. The sheets felt decadently soft against her skin, and the memories of what they’d done in the bed were even more decadent. She’d lived very little in the twenty-six years she’d been given to roam the earth, but at least she’d taken some greedy bites out of the second chances he’d given her.
In the dark, enrobed in his bed and his scent, the mara rested. Katya hovered on the edge of sleep, not so much tired as wrung out by all the emotions tormenting her body. In the distance of the apartment, the incessant ringing of a telephone barely registered in her consciousness. Moments later, the door opened with a click.
She blinked at the band of light that crawled over the bed.
“Sorry to bother you, but Kolya wants to talk to you.” Dariya held out her phone, yanking on one of her pink locks and grimacing. She didn’t need to say he sounded worried.
Katya brought the device to her ear. “Hello?”
“How solid are you?” He was out of breath, and the phone rustled with the sounds of rapid movement. He was headed somewhere in a hurry.
“Um…” The chills hadn’t even started. “Pretty good, I think. What’s going on?”
“I’m on my way home.”
In spite of the urgency and the fear in his voice, her heart gave a little flutter at the prospect of seeing him.
“Lisko knows I’ve been investigating him. That woman, Sonya, is his wife, and her sister, Anya, is married to the cop I was stupid enough to trust.”
“Oh.” It was all Katya could manage as the mara stirred in her, like a second soul shifting inside her, waking up from a fragile rest. Would Lisko finally come to find her? And if this was the end, how could she ever be ready to say good-bye to Nikolai?
Then, with a chill as cold as the grip of death coming to take her back to the spirit realm, she understood what he was afraid of.
“We have to get Dariya out of here.” She locked eyes with the girl, who’d folded her long arms over her chest, as resolute as a marble statue.
“I already begged her to go. She won’t leave without you.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly. I’m not sure she could leave without a mouthful of those tranqs the doctor gave her, and she can’t leave like that, either. Is there some place you can hide her in the building? A storage room, a broom closet?”
“Mr. Kulish’s apartment. Upstairs, six C.”
“He came back today,” Nikolai said. “I saw him in the lobby.”
“But he’s a kind man. He’ll take her in—”
A thunderous knock sounded at the apartment door.
Dariya’s gaze flew to Katya’s.
“Was that—?” Nikolai asked.
“Hang on.” She muted the microphone and leveled a stare at Dariya. “Go to your room and stay there until I say you can come out.”
Like a model fifteen-year-old, she pouted her defiance.
“Dariya, this isn’t a joke. It’s the sort of thing Nikolai has been trying to protect you from. So don’t be stupid, and don’t make him more afraid. Go to your room and lock the door.”
The knock rang out again. “Hello. Is anyone home? I’m Officer Marchuk of the militsya. I’m afraid I have some bad news about Nikolai Zurkov.”
The girl deflated, somehow losing a solid inch of height. “Should we call the real militsya?”
Katya shook her head. “He’s probably legit.”
Dariya’s eyes widened, but as Nikolai’s niece, she knew very well that law enforcement could not always be trusted. With a visible gulp, she dropped her arms and tiptoed hurriedly through the living room to her bedroom. Katya followed, pointed under the bed, and depressed the lock in the knob.
Just as she cast a glance at the front door, bracing herself for another knock, the officer rattled the handle. “Anybody home?”
Her heart began to race. She unmuted Dariya’s phone but didn’t dare speak, setting it on the countertop so Nikolai might hear. As quietly as she could manage, she carried over a chair from the table. First, she slid the spice rack out from the narrow, deep cabinet. She peered inside but saw nothing. The angle of the cabinet was such that its back wall would be dark no matter the position of the sun outside. She shone light from Dariya’s phone screen into the shadowy space.
Sure enough, the back panel was about four inches closer to the door, making it shallower than the other cabinets. At the bottom left corner, a finger hole had been cut. She pulled it out gingerly. With a thud, a cardboard box fell flat onto the base of the cabinet. She jerked back, nearly losing her footing on the chair. If there was a gun in there, she didn’t want to be dropping it willy-nilly
“Hello?” After a few seconds, the door rattled, as if a large man had rammed it with his shoulder.
Her hands shook just as dramatically.
In the hallway, a door closed. “Can I help you?” a woman asked. God bless Mrs. Lutsenko.
“I’m looking for Nikolai Zurkov or his niece, Dariya.”
“Well, I’m sure they’re out. School and work and the like. Would you like me to deliver a message?”
“No, thank you, ma’am. The matter is urgent, and we need to find them immediately.”
Two sets of footsteps moved away from the door. When the sound changed to the heavy footfalls of shoes on stairs, she took the phone.
“Nikolai?” she whispered.
“Fuck. Thank God. Are you okay?” Nikolai’s voice came from the phone where she’d set it on top of the fridge.
“Yes.”
Then she set the phone on top of the box and carefully lowered both to the floor, where she sat on the rug and lifted the lid. Sure enough, a handgun of some sort lay in the box atop a pile of papers.
“What’s going on?” Nikolai asked again.
“He’s gone, but as soon as he shakes Mrs. Lutsenko, he’ll be back.” She picked up the phone. “I found Fedir’s gun.”
“Chert.” The rough, windy, raking sounds of the phone continued to sound loudly from Nikolai’s end.
“I’ll keep Dariya safe until you get here and can take her somewhere else.” Where, she didn’t know. The pair was nearly as alone as Katya. But surely that wasn’t true. Dariya had friends, Nikolai had colleagues. Somewhere would be safe enough.
In the wordless rasping that followed, she could hear his inner monologue, all his arguments with her handling that weapon. Had she known him so well, so quickly, that she could guess his mind? Or maybe it only seemed so, because she was certain he would want her to protect his niece.
With satisfying predictability, he finally spoke. “Do you know how to use that thing?”
She tilted her head to look at the grip. It seemed obvious enough. “Slide in the magazine and turn off the safety?”
“That should do it.” All the noise on his end came to a sudden stop and he blew out a loud breath. “Put yourself somewhere out of first sight from the front door, but with a clear shot.”
“Sure thing, Captain Obvious.”
He snorted. “And it could pack quite a punch in terms of recoil. Be ready for that so you can get off several rounds, and for God’s sake, be careful.”
“I won’t let anything happen to her.”
“I know that, but take care of yourself too.”
She forced herself to laugh. “What’s the worst he can do to me?”
“If only I knew, Katya. But I don’t, so I can only worry and let my fucked-up imagination run wild.”
“Stop worrying and get here.”
“Wait a second.” A car door slammed, and he barked out the address of the apartment—he was in a taxicab. Depending on the traffic, he could here be fifteen minutes, or an hour. “Katya, I’m so sorry. I screwed up. I trusted the wrong guy.”
Fedir’s gun shook in her hand. “Welcome to the club.”
She ended the call.
Dariya must have been waiting and listening, because she cracked her bedroom door.
“Keep it locked,” Katya called out. “Nikolai is on his way to pick you up.”
“I don’t want to go. And we can’t leave you here.”
“You have to leave. I have to stay. Now close the door.”
“All right already. But for the record, I don’t like bossy Katya very much.”
Katya chuckled under her breath as the door slammed shut. She carried the box over to the corner of the apartment behind the front door, where she would see someone enter before they turned to see her. She loaded the gun, turned off the safety, and hefted the weight of the weapon in her hand. Had it been a gun like this that killed her? The thought sent a tremor through her arm.
She set it on the floor within easy reach.
She leaned against the wall, her legs splayed, the box between her knees. Her gaze settled on the small sheaf of papers inside.
A passport and birth certificate lay on top. The name on both was Theodore Anatoly, though it was Fedir’s picture. All those months loving him, owing him, and he’d never told her his real name. Beneath that was a sheet of A4 paper, plain white, neat rows of numbers penciled in. The last several entries were amounts she’d recognized—those bonuses Fedir had received. And the final number—200 thousand euros—had a minus sign in front of it. The amount had been circled in pencil. Next to it was the name Lisko.
Had Fedir owed the man that astronomical sum?
The final paper in the box was an unmarked envelope. She opened it and slid out another sheet of folded A4 paper.
Dearest Katya,
At the sight of her name, heat bled out of her.
If you are reading this, there is a good chance something has happened to me. God knows, you’d never go snooping into someone else’s private business, which is how I was able to keep the truth from you for so long. If it pained you to find this gun, to learn who—what—I really am, forgive me. I only lied because I wanted to keep you for myself.
From the moment I saw you, everything changed. I wanted out, I wanted to start over. I wanted to deserve you. I sold the Belovs all Lisko’s product. If things cool off, you’ll never even know. We’ll go somewhere far away with all the money, and I’ll do something safe and boring, and maybe one day you’ll fall in love with me the way I love you.
Or I’ll end up dead, and you’ll have to sort through my things and you’ll find this box. If today is that day, then I want you to know it was all worth it. Saving you was the best thing I’ve ever done. And I would gladly die just for the chance to earn your love. If that happens, fall in love with a man who really deserves you and will give you everything you want.
She read the letter over and over again in a haze of tears, the mara jittery like an insect trapped in her skull. He’d been lying to her about everything, but he’d loved her enough from first sight to change. When she’d flung herself in front of that bullet, she’d thought she owed Fedir, but all along, he’d been trying to deserve her. He’d found her worth risking everything for.
“Anything for you.” Instead of Fedir, it was Nikolai’s voice that came back to her, deep and grave. “Love yourself, Katya.”
Nikolai also thought her lovable, had bled for her, had made love to her so tenderly he’d called forth unknown passions. He’d shown her with his mouth, his fingers, his whole body.
Something shifted inside her, not the mara, but deeper, like her guts were realigning.
She was worthy of a man like Nikolai’s love. Worthy of love.
The news sank in, and slowly, the mara calmed as if absorbing Katya’s realization. In the silent apartment, her mind grew as quiet as it had been in…maybe ever.
In the hush, the mara whispered. Avenge yourself.
Had that been her cry all along? Find Lisko and kill him to avenge herself. Her life had been worth something. Nikolai’s kindness, his desire, the sacrifice of his blood all proved it. Fedir’s letter sharpened the proof into an undeniable truth.
In the apartment, in her depths, the crystalline quiet was profound. The cold creep of death seeped into her along with the mara’s truth.
Katya deserved justice.
She would have to kill a man, to take his life to pay for her own. A man whose dreams she’d walked in, whose morose resignation she’d felt when he’d stared at Lukyanivska Prison, whose blood she’d lain in on the boxing mat, whose shocked regret at killing her had flashed in his glacial eyes.
A deafening bang fractured the silence.
Then came a shout, just feet away from her on the other side of the door. “Hello. It’s Officer Marchuk again. I know you’re in there, Ms. Zurkov. I’m sorry to say, something’s happened to your uncle.
Katya’s gut slammed into the cradle of her pelvis, even though she knew mentioning Nikolai was just a ploy to get them to open the door. Another louder knock had her jumping as she reached for the gun.
Maybe Lisko had been justified in killing Fedir, but he’d still sent his goons to find Nikolai’s niece.
Dariya’s door squeaked. Katya hid the weapon just before the girl’s head appeared from around the corner of the kitchen wall, her eyes wild and searching for Katya.
Katya shook her head, mouthing words. He’s lying. Go. Close the door. She pointed to punctuate her meaning.
A walkie-talkie blared on the other side of the door, and then the man spoke. “Nobody’s answering. Want me to break down the door? Right. I’ll go check her school.”
Long minutes after his boots had thudded down the hall, she risked closing her eyes. Thank God Dariya wasn’t at school.
The chill settled over her, like a fog condensing on skin, just barely too warm to freeze. Shivering, she waited, gun in hand, head against the wall.
More footsteps sounded in the hall. A key jangled. Had the officer gotten a copy from the super? She aimed the weapon. The door flung open.
“Dariya! Katya!”
At the sound of Nikolai’s voice, her freezing, limp arms collapsed with her finger on the trigger.