Mosaic

by Sarah Fine

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed hard. “I don’t want to hurt you. Go.”

  Daniil slipped out the door, leaving me on the floor between Theresa and Volodya. She didn’t lower her gun. “Mattie, get up.”

  I clung to the wall and slowly got to my feet in the tense silence. As soon as I was up, Theresa holstered one of her weapons and pushed her palm against my chest. I froze, my heart ticking against her hand. She let me go a second later. “You still have it. That’s good.”

  “Yeah. Um . . .” I looked back and forth between them. Volodya hadn’t breathed since she’d walked into the room. Her skin was glistening with sweat—but her eyes were shining with tears. Of fury, of love, of terror—I had no idea. “Not that I’m complaining,” I managed to say, “but what the heck are you doing here?”

  “I decided it was time Volodya and I had a little chat about Asa Ward.”

  Volodya’s brow furrowed. “The thief?”

  “Yes, lover,” she said softly. “That thief is our son.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Volodya looked as if he’d been smacked in the head with a tire iron. “I . . . we . . .”

  “Have a son, yes.”

  “Asa Ward.”

  “Yes,” Theresa said. She still had the gun on him, but now that the secret was out, determination seemed to have dried her tears.

  “Asa Ward is my son.”

  “Yes,” I added. “That’s why he looked so familiar to you. It must have been like looking in a mirror.”

  Volodya turned to me, the first time he’d taken his eyes off Theresa since she’d stormed into the room. “And that’s what I feel from you, this longing. You see him in me.”

  “More often than I’d like.”

  He blinked quickly, perhaps trying to shuffle this new knowledge in with all his memories. “So when you left me all those years ago . . .”

  “I knew he was like me,” Theresa said. “And I knew you wouldn’t let me go. I also knew you would hurt him. Because you hurt everyone you love.”

  A shadow passed across Volodya’s face, an echo of decades-old rage and hurt. His jaw clenched and his voice rumbled. “You took my son from me.”

  Theresa’s eyes flared. “I will not apologize.”

  “I don’t want an apology,” Volodya growled, pushing himself off the wall and drawing himself up to his full height. “I want you to pay for taking the last thirty years from me.”

  She raised the gun slightly, aiming it at his face, and calmly thumbed off the safety. “Only if you’re willing to pay me for the same.”

  “Don’t pretend. You feel nothing.” His voice was shaking. He looked like he was about to leap at her. I took a step back in case bullets started to fly. “You’ve always felt nothing.”

  Theresa flinched. “Is that what you think?”

  “All an act. It was always an act. And I was always your fool,” he spat. “You deserve to die for what you’ve done to me.”

  “You think you are the victim?” Theresa laughed. “I had forgotten your ability to twist reality until it is unrecognizable.”

  Volodya took a quick step toward her, and I took another step back. I needed both of them to rescue Asa, but it seemed entirely possible that they were about to kill each other.

  “I’m the one who twists?” he asked quietly. “Or is it just that I have been twisted?”

  Theresa stood her ground but moved her finger to the trigger. “You certainly are that, lover.”

  “Don’t call me that!” shouted Volodya. “You have no right to call me that.”

  “Does it hurt?” she whispered. “Good.”

  His face contorted. “Cold-hearted bitch. You come back only to laugh at my destruction. You will probably dance as I burn.”

  “Who could blame me if I did? But that is not why I’m here. I need your help in saving our son before Frank Brindle destroys him.” She lowered her gun, looking resigned. “For that gift I would pay any price you name.”

  “And if I refuse?” His lip curled. “You stole him from me. He means nothing to me.”

  “Now you’re the one who’s pretending.”

  “Then I will let him burn to hurt us both,” he yelled. “Just to make you feel something.” His fists trembled as he clenched them.

  “You used to understand me,” she said. “It seems you’ve forgotten.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A small, quiet action. But the effect was seismic.

  Volodya made a choked noise. His fingers scrabbled at his chest. With a strangled cry, he staggered back and fell to one knee, bracing his palm on the floor. His back arched as he pressed his other hand over his heart. It looked like he was about to throw up. “Too much,” he said with a groan.

  Bewildered, I looked back and forth between them. Theresa was just standing there, gun hanging from her fist, her eyes closed, her nostrils slightly flared, breathing hard but steady. And Volodya looked like he was dying.

  “Enough,” he begged. “Enough.”

  “Not by half,” she replied. “You have earned this, my love.”

  Volodya fell to his side. His eyes were streaming tears, and his body was convulsing with silent sobs. “Please. I-I can’t . . .” He curled his long body into a ball, as if he was trying to protect himself from the onslaught.

  She’d leveled him with her true feelings. Whether for Asa or for him or both, she wasn’t denying or shielding them anymore.

  “I thought he enjoyed sensing others’ powerful feelings,” I murmured. “Seemed like he was getting off on it a few minutes ago.”

  I was surprised when Theresa responded. “But these are feelings about him. And he feels them inside,” she said haltingly. “He has no protection from them.”

  In fact, it looked like they were killing him.

  Theresa looked at peace as she opened her eyes and spied him on the floor. “Say you’ll help me.”

  His fingers clawed over the carpet, and he shook his head. Theresa moved closer, staring intently at him, and he cried out and began to rock. “I hide it for both of us,” she said. “I always have. But if this is what you want . . .”

  “Please,” he whispered.

  “Our son needs us. Whatever happened after, he was created by our love. And he was nearly destroyed by it. But somehow, and in spite of both of us, he became a man.” She glanced at me. “He is able to love and be loved, perhaps in a way we never could.”

  My eyes stung with tears of my own. I looked down at Volodya and stopped trying to focus on everything except Asa. I let my love and fear for him rise like a tidal wave.

  Volodya screamed. He held up a hand as if trying to ward me off. “All right,” he gasped. “All right. Just stop. Make it stop.”

  “Mattie,” Theresa said.

  I let out an unsteady breath and concentrated on a little tear in the carpet next to the baseboard, forcing my feelings beneath the shroud of my logical thoughts once again. And maybe Theresa was doing the same, because Volodya shuddered as some of the tension left his body. His face was so pale that it almost glowed in the dimly lit hallway. He lay there, limp.

  “Will you agree to auction the pages of the Essentialis Magia?” I asked.

  “Anything.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Theresa.

  “We’ll work together,” she said. “Like we used to.”

  His eyes squeezed shut again as his face crumpled, maybe with grief, maybe with memory. “Promise.”

  “You have my word. As long as you do whatever you can to free Asa from Brindle’s service, you have me.” Sweat had created a dark circle on the collar of her shirt. It trickled down her temples. I had to wonder what this was going to cost her. “But if you betray me, I will find a way to take you down with me.”

  “You always have, darling,” he said, still sounding weak. “You always have.” He rolled onto his back.

  Theresa holstered her weapon, then knelt at his side. “No other magic. Just yours and mine. That is all that will flow between us. I
will kill you if you try to control me again.”

  “Anything,” he whispered.

  I was feeling like a third wheel, but a little worried things would escalate as soon as I left. “I’m going to go find Daniil and make sure Zoya and the others are okay.” I leaned down until I caught Theresa’s eye. “Are you going to be all right?”

  She gave me a haunted look. “How does ‘all right’ feel?” she asked. “I wouldn’t know.” She shooed me toward the door. “It’s fine. We will both be alive the next time you see us.”

  Volodya let out another broken sound as her fingernails curled into the fabric over his chest, but he didn’t protest. I looked over my shoulder one last time as I reached the door. Theresa had bowed over Volodya, and was now cradling his head and whispering to him—but she had the gun in her other hand and was keeping it pressed to his side.

  I sighed and left Asa’s parents to their strange reunion.

  I sat in my chair at the conference table, casting occasional glances toward the Moscow River just outside the window, mostly to avoid the suspicious gazes of the people in the chairs around me. Seemingly in control of himself again, Volodya was standing at the front of the room, looking us over. “In one week, I will auction off some of my treasures, including various relics and some valuable artifacts,” he said to us. “Potential buyers will be traveling here from all over the world. My staff is making preparations for this event. You all are here to make sure it goes as it should.”

  “And how exactly should it go?” asked a middle-aged man, his thinning hair slicked back. He was sitting next to a woman with short red hair and a pinched expression. She eyed him with dislike.

  Volodya turned to him. “This will be simple, Sambor. I want you to stop any and all attempts to steal my possessions. In the end, I will sell certain relics and artifacts, but some, specifically some very ancient texts, must end up back in my vault. In addition, I want the mosaic panel Frank Brindle will be carrying. And I want Asa Ward.”

  “You want many things, Volodya,” said the pinched redhead.

  “I want what is mine, Masha,” he replied, his voice hard.

  Masha pressed her lips shut and bowed her head. “I am sorry for the disrespect,” she whispered. Sambor reached over and patted her hand—which she yanked from his grasp almost instantly.

  Volodya chuckled. “I see that you two are still at odds.”

  “Only because Sambor likes to put his hands where they don’t belong,” she said, her voice sour.

  “Well, maybe if you’d let me put my hands on you—”

  “Enough,” said Volodya, no longer smiling. Masha and Sambor flinched. “Get divorced on your own time, but for the next week, focus on my interests, or the two of you will spend an evening entertaining me.”

  Both of them folded their arms over their middles, almost completely in sync.

  Volodya gave the couple a charming smile. “I see you understand.”

  “Who exactly are the potential buyers?” asked a ragged-looking young man in a flannel and jeans, with a few days of thick stubble fuzzing his jaw.

  “All the major players will attend, Ilya, or send representatives. Many will come in person to see for themselves what I possess. But make no mistake—each will bring their best agents. No more than three from each organization will be allowed into the venue, but that will be more than enough for some of them.”

  Ilya cracked his knuckles. “Need me to persuade them to follow the rules?”

  Next to Ilya, an elderly woman in a headscarf let out a deep laugh and said something in Russian. Ilya scowled and shot something back before continuing in English. “Does she have to be here? I work better alone.”

  “Olga specializes in glamours,” Volodya said to all of us. “That is why she is here.” He followed up with something in Russian directed at the old woman, and she made a little kissing face at Ilya, then laughed. She was the only person in the room who appeared relaxed and unafraid in Volodya’s presence.

  “With Arkady gone, you two are my best Knedas,” Volodya said to Ilya. “Now is the time for discipline.” He sniffed, perhaps detecting the thick funk of body odor and cigarette smoke emanating from the scruffy Knedas. “And perhaps better hygiene and a change of clothes.”

  Zoya muttered something that sounded like “Yes, please,” while Daniil sat stone-faced. I had to wonder if hearing his father described as “gone” had put him in a foul mood. Or maybe it was just his ongoing grief over Kira. It suddenly occurred to me that Asa was responsible for destroying not one but two people Daniil loved.

  “Each of you will be juiced today so that we can create the proper tools to aid security,” Volodya said casually. As a slight smile played at his lips, I had to wonder if he was enjoying the obvious anxiety his announcement produced. All the naturals in the room seemed to shrink back in their seats, with the exception of Olga. “Dr. Teplov will take your donations of blood or plasma—you may choose which—and will give you guidance as to how to replenish your strength after. You’ll be fully restored before the event begins next week.”

  Ilya raised his hand, then waved it in my direction. “Who is this one?”

  “This is Mattie,” said Volodya.

  “And is she a sensor? I heard rumors you had a sensor again.” He glanced at Zoya, whose cheeks darkened.

  “Mattie is not a sensor.”

  “But you do have one?” asked Sambor. “That would be extremely helpful. We’d know more about who is walking through your doors, and we’d know who to watch.”

  “I do have one,” Volodya said slowly, looking down at the table, maybe to hide his bemused smile. On anyone else, it might have looked sweet, but it sent a prickle of anxiety through me as I remembered Theresa’s nightmares.

  “Then where is this sensor?” asked Masha. “Shouldn’t he be part of these meetings?”

  “She will not,” Volodya replied. “I will inform her of our plans.” Theresa had refused to stay in Tower 2000 and had retreated to one of her hideouts in the city.

  “If I’m going to work with this person—” Masha began.

  “You seem to be under the impression that you have the right to question me,” Volodya said. “Rumors of my downfall are everywhere, Masha. Have you been listening to them?”

  She sat back from the table. “N-no, boss. No.”

  Volodya’s nose wrinkled. “Your fear is rank—but wise. And as for my sensor, she will convey her observations to Mattie, who will share them with each of you.”

  All eyes around the table focused on me. “Hi,” I said, waving.

  “American,” growled Sambor. “This is why we were told to speak English? Forgive me, but why is she here?”

  “She is my special guest.” He gave me a smile that actually looked sincere. “And we share the same goals. You will treat her as your colleague and protect her as you would me. Unless you wish to make me deeply unhappy.”

  All of them shook their heads.

  “Excellent. My auxiliary guard will also be in attendance.”

  Daniil leaned over to me. “Nonmagical. But they are all former spetsnaz.”

  “Former what?” I asked.

  “Specially trained,” said Volodya. “Like . . . commandos? Is that what you call them?”

  “Oh. Sure.” It sounded as though Volodya, like so many bosses, had his own little band of mercenaries to back up his agents who were naturals.

  “We will meet each day before the auction to go over the venue, the players as we receive their responses to my invitation, and your preparations. I expect each of you to focus on what I am asking you to do. My displeasure would be unfortunate for you, but the reward will be great when we succeed.” Volodya clapped his hands. “Now. Off to the juicing room. Dr. Teplov is waiting.”

  Cowed, the naturals filed out of the room. I couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed—this was the best group he could pull together?

  “I know they do not look like much,” Volodya said, staring out the wi
ndow at the river, metal gray under an oppressive sky. “I have lost many of my best in the last ten years.” He looked over at me. “I have not been myself.”

  I thought back to my conversation with Arkady, how he’d said that Theresa’s last disappearance had devastated Volodya, but I wondered if he’d ever actually been sane. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, you’re not.” He turned back to the window. “But now I fight for something more than my wealth, more than my empire.” Despite my wariness about Volodya, appreciation and relief flowed through me, and he smiled. “You’re welcome, dear. I think perhaps my son is lucky to have a woman like you.”

  The same woman he’d been planning to torture not twenty-four hours ago.

  Before I could respond, the door to the conference room swung open. “Am I late?” asked Jack as he strode into the room.

  “Jack,” said Volodya, inclining his head in welcome. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Heard about Pavel,” Jack said with a frown. “They couldn’t use magic on him—so they went with poison instead. All over the news in New York.”

  “We will protect you here, my friend,” said Volodya, “but you will also stay in the background until the very end.” He held out his arm. “And this is Mattie. She is the reliquary you’ll be working with.”

  I offered my hand for Jack to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  He grinned. This had to be the fourth time we’d met. “It’s a pleasure, Mattie. Nice to have a fellow Yankee here.”

  His relaxed manner made it easy to smile. “Maybe we could go find some french fries and a hamburger.”

  “Excellent idea,” said Volodya, ushering us to the door. “I have a few hours of work to do, but I will meet you later to discuss the magic that will be transferred.” As soon as we were out in the hallway, he turned and walked quickly away. I wondered how difficult it was for him to wear a mask of sanity and how long he could keep it up.

  Rubbing a chill from my arms, I turned to Jack. “Everything’s going according to plan,” I said quietly.

  “The boss’ll be glad to hear it,” said Jack, glancing around. We were alone. “We’ll have heavy backup both around and inside the venue. This is huge for us. A chance to get the mosaic and its magic, as well as all those pages.”