by Sarah Fine
“Once the magic is off-loaded, I’m sure you’ll be free to go.”
What choice did I have? I had no doubt Myron could physically overpower me, and I needed my energy to figure out what I was going to do—and how I was going to get Asa back. “Fine. Lead the way.” I clamped my eyes shut for a moment as fear for Asa crashed over me. He’d looked so helpless, on his knees, clearly hit with either Ekstazo magic or some kind of tranquilizer, enough to make him vulnerable. Whoever had taken him hadn’t wanted to hurt him—they’d wanted to have him.
I pressed the back of my hand over my mouth against a wave of nausea as I followed Myron up the sidewalk. He’d replaced the cartridge on his Taser before tucking it back in his jacket. He kept his hand on it, though, as he scanned the street. We passed a few groups of revelers and last-minute shoppers, but stores were closing and the streets were emptying out. I barely noticed signs or landmarks as we walked—I was caught in my own head, still reeling. Every minute that passed was another minute they could take Asa away from himself, steal everything he’d worked so hard to be.
We headed into the Knightsbridge tube station as Myron made a few phone calls to let his colleagues know what had happened. He told them he had the magic, which was what the people on the other end seemed to care most about. Myron sounded weary and terse as he answered their rapid-fire questions, and then hung up and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. “They’ll be waiting for you at the safe house,” he said as he swiped a blue card twice through the slot, allowing us both to pass through to the platform.
“Yay,” I muttered. “When are we going to do the transaction?”
“The arrangements are being made.”
“Wait,” I said slowly. “We were going to meet the conduit tonight. Where was she?”
“I am trying to figure that out,” said Myron. “It could be she was in on it, or it could be they nabbed her and pumped her for information. We’ll find her, if she can be found.”
Another swoop of nausea made me shudder. “I need to know who took Asa.”
“I swear I’ll do my best, Mattie. I feel responsible.”
“Because you are,” I grumbled as two men and a woman staggered onto the platform, giggling and smelling heavily of booze. One of them, a slim guy wearing a snug trench coat over faded jeans, had his head down, his dark hair hanging over his brow. The other two, a man with a wide, soft mouth, and a young woman with her hair pinned up into a funky swirl on top of her head, held him between them.
Myron and I stepped to the side as they wove their way toward us and stopped, standing close to us even though there was no one else on the platform. Myron slipped his hand inside his jacket.
“Eh,” said the man with the soft mouth, which had taken on a decidedly sharp curve. “Pull that out and you won’t live through the next few minutes.” He had a barely-there accent that I couldn’t place.
I glanced down at his waist—his jacket had gaped to reveal a large knife strapped against his torso. “Let me guess. You want our wallets.”
The man between them raised his head, and I gasped. It was the guy I’d seen in Prague, the one who had chased me up the street. “No, Mattie,” he said, his Russian accent thick. “We want you.”
Myron’s hand jerked toward his Taser, but the Russian’s friends both drew weapons—hers was a gun. He sighed and raised his hands in the air. “Botwright will come after you. This is her territory.”
“Let her,” said the Russian. “Volodya would love to punish her for stealing his property. Now leave.”
Myron’s eyes narrowed as a train came whooshing into the station, and the agents concealed their weapons. “I can’t just let her go.”
“You can if you don’t want me to shoot you,” said the woman, tracing her eyes up his body. “And you don’t look like you have a death wish. Tell your boss we let you live to deliver the message. She won’t punish you.”
Myron muttered something about how she didn’t know Botwright.
“Myron,” I said, looking back and forth between the Russian and the Brit. “Please.”
Myron put up his hands again as the doors opened, and the Russian grabbed my arm and jerked me aboard. “This isn’t over,” Myron said in a loud voice.
“Myron,” I shouted before the Russian clamped his hand over my mouth. As the doors closed, I began to struggle, but then he leaned down and spoke quietly in my ear as the train jerked into motion, carrying us into a dark tunnel. I could feel his belt buckle digging into my back. His breath smelled of vodka.
“You should really save your energy. You have a long journey ahead of you.”
His words had no effect, so I could tell he wasn’t Knedas. But still hope spiked inside me. Were these the people who had taken Asa? I relaxed and nodded, and the Russian took his hand from my mouth.
“My name is Pavel,” he said.
I looked back to see him smiling at me. “And you work for Volodya.”
“He is very angry that you and Asa Ward stole his relic.” He winced. “Very angry,” he muttered as the other two hunched their shoulders and cringed like dogs afraid of being kicked.
Dread nearly pulled me to the floor. Still, my thoughts weren’t on the danger to me. “Where did you guys take Asa?”
Pavel tilted his head, sheer calculation glinting in his eyes. “The same place we’re taking you. Your cooperation could ensure his safety, or at least his survival.”
My heart sped. “Okay. Then where are we going?”
“To Russia, of course.” Pavel’s lip curled as he looked me up and down. “I hope you can take the cold.”
CHAPTER SIX
Once we got off the tube, Pavel and his friends bundled me into a car that headed straight for a private landing strip, where a plane was waiting. Looking feral and nervous, maybe afraid yet another boss’s crew would try to poach their prize, the trio surrounded me as we marched across the tarmac and climbed aboard. Pavel was on his phone half the time, speaking stridently to whoever was on the other end of the line. But after listening to all of them talk for a few hours, I realized maybe that was just the way Russian sounded. Aggressive and rough, like a punch in the jaw.
I buckled into my seat and focused on breathing.
Volodya had caught us, just like he’d collared Asa’s mother all those years ago, forcing her to help him hunt down relics all over the world. Arkady, Volodya’s Knedas assassin who’d wreaked havoc in rural Virginia and nearly caused Ben to murder me, had told me as much. He’d made it sound romantic, as if Volodya had loved her, but I wondered if she’d been a prisoner all along. Looking around at the three agents who’d just captured me, I was guessing Volodya wasn’t in the running for boss of the year, either—they seemed on edge at the mere thought of him. And Theresa had run from Volodya twice, after all. The first time, she’d fled back to the United States, where she’d married a childhood friend—Don Ward—and had the two boys. But then she’d left the day after Asa’s fourth birthday, abandoning him to his father’s brutal anger and turning up in Thailand with one of the original four relics.
I knew Asa’s rage toward his mom covered a crushing heartbreak. We’d barely talked about it, but he’d said enough—she’d left him behind, knowing what he was, knowing what he would face. And what I couldn’t figure out was why. Had she gotten bored in the confines of her hometown and taken off for greener pastures? Had she actually missed her old life?
Or had she been cornered? Had she run to escape a threat? If that were true, why had she voluntarily returned to Volodya’s side? Whatever the reason, she’d escaped again fifteen years later. Disappeared into thin air. Arkady had told me she was probably dead.
Which meant Volodya was without a magic sensor. Until now.
Pavel and his friends slept in shifts, always leaving someone awake to watch me. Not that I was about to try anything at twenty thousand feet, especially when my cooperation might be the key to saving Asa’s life. I stared out the window as the sky slowly brightened, as we
soared east toward more danger and uncertainty than I’d ever faced before. I should have taken the time to sleep, but I was too lost in thoughts of what should have been. Asa and me together. I would have admitted how I’d fallen for him. I would have told him how much it scared me. I would have asked him what he wanted. I would have offered him anything, as long as he stayed. After months of circling, I was ready to risk my heart, and crazily, it had actually seemed like Asa might have been willing to do the same. Or that maybe he already had.
Instead, Volodya had taken him from me. I couldn’t get that dopey smile of his out of my head. Asa had never looked like that before, spaced out and vulnerable. It made my eyes burn.
By the time we landed—at an airport that looked more like a military base, all gray and grim, the runway streaked with blowing snow—my body was numb with exhaustion, and my thoughts were fluttering and spinning like the icy flakes outside the window. The others were awake, grabbing their bags and stretching. They were on their home turf, but looked only slightly more relaxed.
“Where to now?” I asked.
“The boss is expecting you.”
“When can I see Asa?”
Pavel grunted. “Volodya decides. We would not ever presume.”
The woman, whose name was Elena, tossed me a coat that she’d pulled from one of the overhead compartments. “Cold,” she said, jerking her head toward the window.
I slid my arms into the sleeves, grateful to have a shield against the frigid air as Pavel pushed open the door and lowered the stairs. A bitter, icy wind hit me like a slap, instantly turning the backs of my hands red and probably my nose and cheeks, too. I tugged up my hood and jogged after Pavel as he made for a waiting car, a boxy black vehicle with rugged tires. It was roomy inside, with two bench seats facing each other in the back. Elena and Pavel sat across from me while the other dude, whose name was Grigory, got in front with the driver.
Huddled in my too-big coat, I pressed my face to the window as we sped off the tarmac and onto a two-lane highway. “Scared?” asked Pavel.
Heck, yes. “Should I be?”
“I would be if I’d stolen from Volodya. And this relic?” He whistled and shook his head.
“It’s not like it was his. You guys stole it from Garza.” She was the boss of Spain, and Asa had told me her people would be on the hunt for it.
Pavel shook his head. “It belongs to whoever is strong enough to keep it. And Volodya has need of it.”
“To do what?”
Grigory turned around. “This should be obvious.”
His condescending sneer set me off. “Viagra isn’t quite enough for Volodya these days?”
Grigory’s eyes went round, and his voice trembled with outrage as he said, “You insult Volodya’s manhood?”
“You told me to guess.”
“Volodya is a great man,” said Elena, her voice like a lash. “A great businessman as well.”
“So his business is . . . oh. Ew,” I said as I realized what kind of business the magic inside me could power.
“His brothels are the most exclusive in Moscow. One thing the men of this city will pour their money into,” said Pavel, pushing his swath of dark hair off his forehead. “And this magic will help him crush his rivals.”
My stomach swooped as I remembered how I’d felt in the moments after the magic had entered me—a hunger that could be sated only one way. I closed my eyes as I remembered how Asa had taken control. The way his stubble had scraped my inner thighs, the heat of his mouth, the force of his fingers as he wrenched me closer.
“Do you feel this magic inside you?” Pavel asked.
I opened my eyes to find him watching me with interest. “No.” I rubbed my chest. “Not once it’s in the vault.”
“It won’t be there much longer. Volodya will pull it out of you.”
A chill zipped down my back that had nothing to do with the weather. Would it feel the same way it had going in? Would I be affected the same way? “I’m not letting it go until I know Asa is safe. Until I’ve seen him.”
Pavel’s eyes narrowed. “You will give Volodya this magic, Mattie. If you don’t, he will punish you.”
“He is very good at punishing,” said Grigory from the front. His shoulders were tense, drawn up nearly to his ears.
I crossed my arms over my chest. As long as I had the magic inside me, I was valuable. I had some leverage. I just had to be strong enough to hold on to it.
Pavel leaned forward, his eyes intense on mine. “I’m going to be your conduit, you know.”
I pressed back into my seat, recalling how I’d manhandled Erik in the moments after the transaction. Pavel must have seen the shadow of fear in my eyes, because he laughed. “I can’t wait,” he said, then jabbered in Russian to his two friends, who guffawed, the sound harsh and jarring.
We were passing signs of civilization now, heading toward the shadow of a large city within the swirling snow. Moscow. Up ahead was a bridge over a river that snaked like a white ribbon over the flat terrain. High-rise apartment buildings lined the bank on both sides. It seemed to be early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. When I asked, Elena told me it was just after eight, and though it was still dim, the roads were pretty crowded, trucks rumbling by and motorcycles zipping past, including one weaving through traffic right next to us. We were in a sea of dingy sedans, all headed for the gray metropolis.
“Nobody celebrates Christmas here?”
Pavel rolled his eyes. “Today is not a public holiday.”
Not that I was feeling very festive, but for some reason, that knowledge made me miss being home so much. I was without Asa, without my family, without any kind of safety net.
I was on my own. I sat up a little straighter in my seat. Asa was depending on me.
The driver, a guy with massive shoulders whose dark eyes periodically met mine in the rearview mirror, cursed and swerved as the motorcycle that had been weaving between cars suddenly slowed and veered toward us. Its rider, bundled in thick pants, a coat, and a black helmet, glanced over at us and made what appeared to be an okay sign. In return, our driver shouted something and slammed his hand against the window.
Pavel turned around and shoved the guy in the shoulder, looking amused.
“Why is he so mad?” I asked. “The biker was just telling him things were okay.”
“That is not what it means here,” he said, making an okay sign himself. “He was calling Dmitri an asshole.” He pointed at the circle made by his thumb and forefinger.
“Oh,” I said. As we neared the river, the rider steered the bike directly in front of us, forcing Dmitri to slam on the brakes.
Pavel frowned and squinted through the windshield at the biker, speaking rapidly in Russian to Grigory. Grigory shook his head. Then he turned to me. “You recognize him?”
“What? No.” I peered at the rider as well. “Why?”
“Dmitri just told me the guy’s been following us for miles.”
The enemy of my enemy might be my friend . . . except my enemy had captured Asa, and I might have the key to saving him, or at least locating him and seeing if he was all right. “And you have no idea who he is?”
“Could be anyone,” Elena muttered, craning her neck to watch the motorcycle just ahead of us. The driver kept looking over his shoulder at us. “Volodya has many enemies.” She lifted her chin and gave me a defiant look. “Though none brave enough to challenge him face-to-face.” She reached into her jacket and drew her handgun. “Maybe I have the honor of taking care of this one for him.”
Pavel barked at her in Russian and pushed her arm down as a blue-and-white police car bustled by, its high-pitched siren wailing. She grumbled something back as the police car edged by other slow-moving cars crossing the bridge. Traffic was almost at a standstill—we were creeping along now, and Dmitri was keeping us within inches of the motorcycle’s back wheel like he was trying to intimidate the driver. Then traffic stopped suddenly, and he bumped right
into the guy.
With a resounding boom the motorcycle exploded, shattering our windshield and sending flames shooting into the front seat. I screamed and threw my hands in front of my face as Pavel and Elena both lunged away from the heat, landing on either side of me. Dmitri cranked the wheel, and the engine roared. Elena shrieked with fear. We shot forward—and burst right through the guardrail on the side of the bridge.
For a moment, everything was suspended in air, the shattered glass, my curly hair around my face, a few snowflakes that had somehow crept in despite the flames. My world pitched and spun, and I caught the briefest glimpse of dirty snow before we slammed through the ice covering the river. My seat belt caught me painfully across the chest, and my arms dangled as the car rolled onto its roof and began to fill with black water. All around us, slabs of ice bounced and scraped against the car. Pavel shouted something to the others, but there was no answer. He yanked on my seat belt, but it wouldn’t come undone. He slammed his feet against the door, but it wouldn’t open. His expression was desperate, twisted with terror as river water flooded the roof.
Hanging from my seat belt, all I could do was bow my head and try to stay above the freezing water gushing in all around me. But then it was soaking my hair, filling my ears, splashing into my nose. I wailed, panic stealing all my words, and took a huge breath just before the water covered my face. Immersed in the black and the cold, I clamped my eyes shut and clawed at my seat belt latch. My skull buzzed from the lack of oxygen, and my chest burned.
My lungs were straining. I had a minute at most. I would never be able to save Asa, because I couldn’t even save myself. I was too weak to do anything but drown—and pray for help I knew would never come.
Except it did. Hands grabbed my shoulders, and I felt the seat belt give. I was pulled, gasping, up and out of the water, then I landed on a hard surface. Blinking with shock and cold and complete confusion, I looked up to see my own chalky, pale face reflected in the motorcyclist’s visor. Then I glanced down at my own body. I was completely dry.
