Wednesday, 5:58 am

Anne

Ethan checks the parking lot and deems it safe for now.

“I will totally not be your friend unless you swear to tell me the stuff you left out,” Tess whispers in my ear as we exit IHOP. “You almost did it with him while stuck in his ex’s bod! This is like the best story ever. I want every single detail.”

“Trust me when I say it was not as fun as you think.”

Outside, the sky’s getting lighter, red streaks rising over Lake Michigan. There’s a heaviness to the air. A storm is coming. Not now, but later. My chest tightens. I don’t do well with storms anymore. I’d imagine it’s the same for Ethan and Tess. Ben too. I scan the sky. Nothing but some wispy morning clouds, barely visible in the predawn light.

Tess and I perch on the hood of Ethan’s car, Ben and Ethan facing us. I’m on alert but also so tired that I think I could curl up right here on top of the car and take a nap. I’ve got six missed calls from my mom. I haven’t answered any of them. But eventually, I’ll have to. And I’ll go back home. I have no idea what will happen when I do.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Ben and Tess. He smiles at her, and she tucks a curl behind her ear. Tess and Ben. Definitely didn’t see that coming. Maybe on some level it’s a relief. Enough of a relief that I’m good with them breaking the time-honored rule of “Don’t date someone your best friend has gone out with.”

Am I evolved enough to listen to any future love-life details? Maybe.

He rests a hand briefly on her thigh. Maybe not.

Tess flicks Ben’s hand away and scoots closer to me. Whispers in my ear again. “Are you good with this? Because you know, if you’re not, he’ll just have to get over me.”

I squeeze her hand. “We’re good,” I whisper back. “Golden. Really.”

Ben folds his arms across himself, his gaze scanning right, left, above us. Like a bodyguard watching for danger. Ben with his military-cut blond hair, wearing faded jeans and a black Smiths’ The World Won’t Listen tee that hugs his muscles in ways I probably shouldn’t notice since we’re not together anymore. But mostly what I think as I look at it is that when I first started going out with him, Ben had cheery, happy taste in music. A few months with me, and he’s joined the angst train. Tess will be a good cure for this. Tess and Ben. Maybe I really am good with that.

Ben catches me checking him out. The slightest of smiles quirks his lips, then he’s all business. “So this Koschei. How did he keep from dying? And why do you suddenly think it’s so important?”

“It’s a tale my mother told us,” Ethan says. “I’m going to tell it like she did. So you hear it exactly like I used to. When I’m done, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking. And then you can judge.”

“Fair enough,” Ben says, and then Ethan begins.

“Once there was a powerful magician named Koschei. He was a great sorcerer. The clouds would move in the sky as he directed; the rains would fall where he desired. If he wanted wild mushrooms of a certain type, they would sprout in abundance where his gaze met the ground. If he desired a pretty young girl, he would take her and she would not resist. Just one glance and she was in his thrall. The snows would fall at his whim. The sun would bake the earth if he commanded it to. Grapes would cluster on vines for the fine wine that graced his dining table.

In summer he would ride his horse through the Caucasus Mountains, and his wild laughter would echo in the canyons. Koschei’s legend was great. The villagers feared him. ‘Beware the sorcerer,’ people said. ‘He is a tricky one, that Koschei. He can shift shapes and ride into the village in the guise of a wild black stallion or whirl through the air like a thunderstorm.’

If a mist hovered on the ground or a fog obscured a farmer’s vision as he walked to his field before the sun was up, people warned that this might be Koschei, taking the shapes of nature. They were awed and afraid. Families would warn their daughters to beware. ‘Koschei might steal you,’ they would say. ‘He loves beautiful women. Even your husbands cannot protect you if Koschei desires your company.’

But there was one thing that Koschei wanted that he could not have. Or rather, he could, but even his great powers could not promise it to him forever. Koschei wanted what many have desired but few have ever achieved. He wanted to live forever. And he had found a way, for one cannot die if one’s life force is separated from one’s body. If when Death comes searching, he finds only the outer shell and not the inner spirit.

Koschei had hidden his soul inside a needle in a duck’s egg, hidden inside a hare, tucked away in a chest, buried under an oak tree that grows on an unknown island in the middle of an unknown ocean. He would remain unassailable and immortal until that egg was found. And if that egg was broken, his soul would return to his body and he could in turn be killed.”

Ethan pauses.

“You Russians are seriously disturbed,” Tess comments. “This was a fairy tale? About some lecherous dude that ended up inside an egg? How much therapy would I need if my mother read me crap like that? But whatever. That story is one of the ones Anne and I were researching before our whole whirlwind ride to Cossack land. In the version we found, someone smacks Koschei in the head with the egg, and Koschei dies. I guess I skimmed the rest of it so fast I missed the soul stuff. So he’s not invincible, right? Is that the point? But seriously—what would a kid learn from this? ‘Hey, Ivan, don’t shove your soul in an egg ’cause eventually someone will smack you between the eyes?’ And what does this have to do with—oh.”

“Oh,” Ben echoes.

“You see what I’m thinking?” Ethan nods like we’re all on the same wavelength. Ben nods too.

It takes me a few extra seconds. Possibly because watching Ben and Ethan nod their heads like they’re two old friends throws my universe askew. Ben hates Ethan. Ethan isn’t much fonder of Ben. And now Ben is going out with Tess, which is weird but okay. My brain is already so full it’s no wonder I’m the last one to catch on.

“Viktor is Koschei,” Ethan says. “Or like Koschei. I don’t think the distinction matters. My God, everything is finally making sense. When he walked out of Baba Yaga’s hut and Lily shot him, he didn’t die. And why didn’t he die?”

“Because he’d hidden his soul.” My heart thunders in my ears, and my chest feels tight again, like my lungs have forgotten how to work. “Because he found a way to get back what I took away from him when we brought Anastasia out of the forest. He figured out another way to immortality.”

I breathe through my nose, attempting calm. Instead, I almost hyperventilate. “Why is it,” I squeeze the words out of my too-freaked-to-function lungs, “that every time you tell me some new fairy tale, it turns out to be real? You’re serious, aren’t you? My insane double-great-grandfather has actually found a way to hide his soul. Fabulous.”

Ben massages the side of his neck. I watch his fingers dig, hear his neck crack as he turns it. “Assuming of course, that I haven’t joined you guys in some group hallucination—which is still entirely possible as far as I’m concerned—where does someone hide a soul?”

Silence.

“Inside something?” Tess is a fan of the obvious. “I mean that’s why my grandpa’s ashes in the closet story made you go all CSI on us, right? But it would have to be a lot of things, right? Each one hidden inside the other. So you’re saying that while Baba Yaga was holding Viktor prisoner, he found this whole pile of things that he stuffed inside each other and she like totally didn’t notice? Because I’m thinking that’s kind of strange. That witch is wicked observant. I’m not buying that she’d just miss something like that. I mean, the comparison makes sense, but what? While she’s got her back turned, he rips his soul out of his body and shoves it in a piece of bread and feeds it to the cat or something?”

Something tickles the back of my brain. I see myself standing in the pounding rain as Anastasia chose not to be saved. As she begged me to send her back to die with her family like she was supposed to. In my memory, we stand in the street as she pulls the doll apart, showing me the smaller dolls tucked inside. My mama told me to hold on to her. No matter what. That if I did not let her go, she would keep me safe. And she has. She has kept all my secrets. Even as I was hidden away like this, she says.

I gasp, a tiny sound in the back of my throat.

“Ethan. That day I had to send Anastasia back. Think. It was the doll that helped me do it, remember? Her matryoshka doll. Like the Vasilisa the Brave story—her mother had given her the doll to keep her safe. Only Anastasia’s was one of those Russian nesting dolls.” I pantomime with my hands. “One doll inside the next doll inside the next. Like the Koschei story, see? Anastasia even compared it to herself when she showed it to me. She said it hid her secrets just like she was hidden away.

“And Lily—oh my God, Ethan—Lily mentioned it too. That first time she spoke to me at the pool the day you came back. Right after she told me that Anastasia might not be dead. Not that I believe that part of it, but she talked about the doll. That whole ‘stories within stories, secrets within secrets’ thing. All this time, I just tossed it off as Lily nuttiness. But what if it’s not? What if she was really giving us a clue?”

“Clue?” Tess chimes in. “I think it’s more than a clue. The doll was in Baba Yaga’s hut with Anastasia, right? And Viktor was in the same hut. So if he was looking for a place to hide something—spare crumbs, a button, his soul—and there’s this doll that has a ready-made hiding place, then why not? I mean the guy’s wacked, right? He thinks he’s Koschei the Deathless. So if somehow he actually has figured out how to do a Lord Voldemort, Russian fairy tale style, then why not put his soul in the doll?”

“Slavic folklore predates Harry Potter by centuries,” Ben interjects. “Not that I’m an expert, obviously.”

I gape at him. I knew Ben was smart. But I had no idea that he really knew stuff. Lots of stuff. The next time I use someone as a make-out buddy so I can feel normal, I need to talk to him once in a while too.

Ethan’s brows furrow. “It makes sense as a metaphor,” he says slowly, “but when Anastasia disappeared, when you sent her back, the doll went with her. So it would have been in the basement in Ekaterinburg with the Romanovs when they were murdered, this time with Anastasia present. Not exactly accessible.”

“This is making my head hurt,” Tess says. “Did he use the doll or didn’t he? The doll can’t be in two places at once. And neither can he.”

“But what if he could?” Ethan rubs the back of his neck. “Think about our two time-travel events. You and Tess were there watching what happened to my father, but he didn’t see you. The Cossacks didn’t see you. You say that I did, but it’s not how I remember the event. So something changed. Your presence, maybe. The magic and how it works? Something allowed two versions of that reality to exist. Not different by much, not enough to make a difference down the line, but not the same.”

“Or us,” I add. “In London. Until the whole body-meld thing happened, there were basically two of you—the past you and the present you—existing together. If—and it’s still a big if at this point—Viktor really has hidden his soul to become immortal again, then it’s possible he did figure out how to be like Koschei—by somehow placing it in Anastasia’s matryoshka doll.”

“So what you’re saying is that this is hopeless.” Tess dips her hand in her pocket, extracts a small elastic, and pulls her blond hair into a loose tail. The sun is up now, and I can see purple blotches of exhaustion under her eyes.

She goes on. “Think about all the possible places that doll was over time. And the Tsarina gave it to Anastasia, right? So it existed before then too. So let’s just say that somehow, on some bizarre level, you guys are right. Viktor managed to find a way to be with a doll that technically doesn’t exist anymore, rip out his soul, and stuff it in there, all without Baba Yaga knowing he’s done this. Not that I’m buying it, but let’s just say you’re right. How do we find that right moment in time? That doll could be anywhere. So now we have to find it, destroy it, free his soul, and make him mortal again. Plus, did you ever think that it might not be just the doll? Maybe the doll is hidden inside something else. Did that ever occur to any of you?”

“Not to mention,” Ben adds helpfully, “that even if by some miraculous turn of events, A: this is all true and B: you accomplish it, then what? It’s not like this dude is stupid. Even if you destroy the doll and free his soul, all that means is that he’s not invincible anymore. If this is a needle in a haystack, as you seem to think, then even if you succeed, Viktor could be anywhere by then.”

“But he’s not,” I say. “Ben’s right, Ethan. Viktor doesn’t have to stay here. I know he’s only been free for a few weeks. Who knows—maybe he’s still planning what he wants to do. But he could go back to Russia, head to Europe, go anywhere he wants. Only here he is, stalking Tess and following us. Which makes me ask, ‘Why?’”

The four of us ponder this as the sun continues to rise. The sky stays gray, the air humid. From over the lake, there’s the vaguest rumble of thunder. My stomach clenches.

Why has Viktor hung around? Is it to stop me? Then why just stalk me? Why not confront me and get it over with? I’m not immortal. But if he is, then he’s got nothing to lose. I could slice him through with a sword and he’d get up ticking. Or at least get up. There has to be a reason.

And then the other why, the part Ethan and I have still kept to ourselves. Why make Ethan powerful again? Why would Viktor loan out a piece of his magic? It makes no sense at all.

But at least this explains how Viktor was able to remove Lily’s bullet from his chest. That’s a step in the right direction.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Tess says. She yawns hugely, and for one creepy second I think of Baba Yaga’s jaw, stretching and unhinging to show those iron teeth. “But I’m wiped. We can stand here for the next million years coming up with possibilities, but honestly? Who the hell knows what Viktor did or thought while he was at Baba Yaga’s. I say we all go to Ethan’s and get some sleep. ’Cause unless things have changed since we got to IHOP, Anne’s still kicked out of her house and no way am I going home alone. So I say daytime sleepover at Ethan’s. Make s’mores. Take turns keeping guard. That kind of thing.”

Ethan and Ben look lost in Tess ramble. But I’m not.

“You’re a genius,” I say, smacking a kiss on her forehead.

“Gross!” She swipes the spot with the back of her hand. “Don’t get so excited. Ethan probably doesn’t have marshmallows or graham crackers. We’ll have to sit in his apartment, drink hot tea, and brood about the old days.”

I snort a laugh. “No, you idiot. Don’t you realize what you said?”

The only one except Viktor who knows what went on in Baba Yaga’s hut is the witch herself.

I see the light go on in Ethan’s head. “Oh no,” he says. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Only way. Baba Yaga knows, Ethan. She may not be happy sharing, but she has to know. At least something. ’Cause let’s face it—Viktor was mortal again when he offered himself up to her. And when he stepped out of her hut, he wasn’t. Whatever he did, whenever that crucial moment was, it happened while he was her prisoner. And only one other besides him knows when that was.”

As though the sky has heard me, thunder rumbles closer. To the east, a flash of lightning rips the early morning sky. Maybe she has heard me. Maybe I’m doing it on my own.

“I’m sick and tired of waiting, Ethan. Baba Yaga’s right. I’m playing at this and playing at this while my friends are in danger and my family is totally falling apart. I’m the one who has to do something. I’ve always been the one—since this began. I mean, that’s the point, right? So let me do it.”

“Not alone. Not now.”

“Then when? After something happens to Tess? After Lily comes back when I’m not around and convinces my mother to do something crazy? Or goes after my father? Or Ben? Or you? It’s the same as it’s been, Ethan. There’s only one place to find the answers.”

When the power begins to twist inside my belly, I let it. The forest doesn’t scare me anymore. How can it? Since I made my bargain with Baba Yaga, it’s part of me like it’s part of her. I’ve resisted. I’ve ignored. I’ve pretended that this is going to go away. So what’s happened? I’ve been dragged into the past on someone else’s terms.

No more.

I lift my face to the sky. The storm rolls in because I bid it to. I’ve called her before, but out of desperation not strength. And it went badly because of it. I had to save Tess and Ben. I had to bring Ethan back from the dead.

Now my mother wants me to help her see her dead son. And Viktor wants us gone, hurt, dead—whatever he can accomplish. Lily, too, I realize as I raise my arms and feel the familiar heat of my magic crackle under my skin, fly to my fingertips. Lily, the pesky detail Viktor got wrong and is now paying for over and over. She didn’t die like she was supposed to. She may be crazy and dangerous, but she doesn’t deserve the fate she received. She lost her child—my mother—and then she lost herself forever.

Lily, who wasn’t afraid of her magic but ended up punished because of it. A rusalka until her transformation can be avenged. Until Viktor’s blood is shed.

It hadn’t occurred to me. But now it does. He wants her dead too. How do you kill a Russian mermaid? I’m sure there’s a story. There’s always a story. That’s the way my life goes now.

I summon the part of me that’s Yaga’s. Lightning etches the sky like a fingernail cutting a line. The sky splits open. I feel the magnetic pull of my power calling to its source.

“Anne, no!” Ethan’s hands are on me, and then I feel Ben’s. Powerful hands, gripping me. I shake them off. Ignore the dark surge of power pulsing from Ethan as I do.

Baba Yaga leans over the edge of the mortar. Her red kerchief flutters in the wind. Her eyes glitter. Her hands clutch the edge of the huge black bowl separately from her body. “You have much to learn, girl. Are you finally willing to begin?”

I don’t answer her. Just reach up my hand. Intuitively I know that this must be done on her terms. In her territory. One of her hands loosens its grip on the mortar and flings itself into the air, its enormous wrinkled fingers spread wide.

“No!” Tess screams. She grips me around the waist.

The disembodied hand hurtles earthward, impossibly fast. I push Tess off me. She hits the ground with a grunt. I have to do this alone. I’m convinced. Bringing anyone else with me will make her think I’m weak.

Somewhere, I hear Ethan shouting a spell. Feel his magic plow through the air toward the mortar. His thoughts are muddled, but the emotion comes through. Terror. Anger. Frustration.

Baba Yaga’s hand grabs mine, rough skin rasping as it tightens around my hand, my arm. My feet scrape the pavement as I’m dragged forward. Why not up? We need to go up to the mortar if that’s how we’re doing this.

“Let go, Anne,” Ethan yells. I hear his feet pounding the pavement behind me. Feel the swoosh in the air as he grabs for me but misses. Baba Yaga’s hand tugs and I start to lift from the ground. But whatever Ethan is muttering—his own spell? Some part of Viktor’s dark magic?—it’s keeping Baba Yaga from pulling me to the mortar.

The witch leans over the impossibly large bowl, stirs the air with her giant pestle. The sleeve that waits for the hand holding me to return flaps empty in the wind. Thunder booms. Another streak of lightning cracks and sizzles.

My memory flashes to that horrible day on the beach. My mother kneeling in the sand. Baba Yaga pulling me into the mortar. And what she said to me then about Ethan. Here’s what I did not expect, my girl. I did not expect you to love him.

Why did she think that? I do love him. I’ve loved him since the beginning. It goes against everything rational in my brain, but I do. Only here’s the problem: the fact that I love him and he loves me only makes things harder. How can I stop a crazy bad guy and a seriously disturbed rusalka when I’m worried about hurting the people I love? Maybe the real truth is that people like me don’t really get a chance at love. It’s just a cruel illusion. Loving Ethan makes me hesitate. And I can’t do that right now.

“Stop it, Ethan,” I shout to him. “I know. I know. This is nuts. I’m nuts. But let go. I’ve got to do this. Let me go, damn it.”

My pulse kicks into overdrive. I could pull away. I should pull away. But something—some weird sense of honor or responsibility or love for the people I care about—propels me to continue. Is this what it’s like when firefighters rush into a burning building? Are they as terrified as I am, even though they know that if they don’t keep on going, all will be lost? How did I become this person? What power decided that I could handle it?

“Shit, Anne, don’t.” The words are Ben’s. He’s thrown himself into the mix. I risk a glance behind me. Ben and Ethan are running in tandem, both reaching for me. I don’t see Tess. Where is Tess? The thought panics me and I try to block it out. I have to do this. Tess will be fine.

“It’s time, daughter,” Baba Yaga calls to me. “Time for you to use your gift. You know what to do. Just do it. And come to me.” She laughs, a cruel sound that echoes in waves over the parking lot. One by one, the lights of the neon IHOP sign go dark, but not in order. HOP. HO. O. If I weren’t clinging to a gross hand for my life, I’d find this funny.

For the first time, I don’t think about the magic as it rises inside me. I just let it happen. Let it be part of me. Around me I weave a spell of protection. To keep Ethan from saving me. To keep Ben from saving me. I’ve been through that before. None of us needs a repeat.

The magic simmers low in my belly, fills me in a way I haven’t allowed myself to feel. The elements are mine to control. This, I’ve learned, is the essence of Baba Yaga’s magic. Of mine. I can stop waves—better now, I’d imagine. I can cause the wind to blow and fire to burn. I can make shriveled plants bloom on their vines. Some things I can’t do. I brought Ethan back but only because there was a window of time. His lips were still warm. Air still lingered in his lungs. A few minutes more and the damage would have been permanent. There is still a natural order to things. Only so many rules that I can break. Always some consequence.

This is what I understand as my feet dangle almost comically above the IHOP parking lot, a huge wrinkled hand pulling me into the sky. And this: for the very first time, since I’ve used my magic, I think I kind of like it.

I close my eyes. Ignore the tugging sensation on my arm and the fear of flying with only this not-exactly-trustworthy witch’s hand to keep me from falling.

Ethan’s borrowed power is hugely strong. He just proved that in my backyard with Lily. If I hadn’t been there to talk him down, who knows how far he would have gone.

But I’m strong too. Stronger maybe because the witch is hovering above me and the connection between us feels like iron links. Maybe this witch thing isn’t so bad.

I close my eyes and continue the spell I’ve started. Feel the air tighten behind me. Tighten and change form. An invisible wall is what I want. It’s what I get. Ethan and Ben reach for me. I can feel the air bend as Ethan’s magic attempts to ram through the barrier. I push back. Baba Yaga’s hand slips a little and my feet scrape the ground again. So far we’ve avoided hitting parked cars, but now my hip collides with a Ford Explorer. Stinging pain shoots down my leg.

“Atebis, babushka!” Ethan shouts. He’s so close that I think I can feel his breath on my arm.

Then smack. The wall of air solidifies. Ethan and Ben smash into it. The hand drags me forward, then slowly up. My heels, then the balls of my feet. Just the barest tips of my toes graze the cement.

Someone grabs my free hand just as I lift off again. Her nails dig into my palm as she tightens her grip. The one person I didn’t think to block.

“Shit!” Tess hollers. “Don’t you dare drop me.”