by Dima Zales
I take out my phone, take pictures of the three papers, email them to Felix, and dial his number.
“Sasha, where are you?” he says, picking up. “Fluffster and I are—”
“Check your email,” I say urgently.
Something in my voice must be telling, because I hear him fuss with something before he exhales a shocked breath.
“Felix?”
“I don’t believe my eyes.” He sounds equal parts awed and scared—a combo that worries me. “This is incredible.” He clears his throat. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“You better find your words and quickly.” I grip the phone tighter.
“One is a Russian birth certificate for a girl named Alexandra Rasputina,” he rattles out. “The ‘a’ at the end of the last name makes it the female version of the last name Rasputin. And Alexandra, of course, is the formal version of Sasha. The birth date is Tuesday, October 31st, 1916. Only a father is listed—Grigori Rasputin.”
“You think that’s my grandma?” I ask, my voice shaking. “Or mother? Was I named after her?”
“No.” Felix sounds strongly subdued. “You don’t understand. Let me tell you about the rest of the documents.”
“Yeah, stop stalling.”
“Okay, but this one makes no sense, unless it’s a hoax,” he says. “It’s written in antiquated Russian, so I could be misinterpreting it, but it appears to be a set of prophesies made by Rasputin.”
“Oh?” I say, unsure how this will come back to me but trusting Felix to eventually get to it.
“Yeah,” he says. “This is also dated 1916, and covers the hundred years since then.”
“What?” I glance at my phone, debating if I should video call Felix to see if he looks as crazy as he sounds.
“I know. This predicted it all.” He speaks faster. “The Russian revolution a year later. World War II and the Nazis. Pearl Harbor’s exact date and time. Sputnik and the first man in space—as well as on the Moon.” He noisily inhales. “It goes like that through all the history—every war, the rise and fall of major corporations with specific dates and stock prices, the dot com and the housing bubbles, 9/11 and—”
“This document must be a hoax,” I say, my insides growing cold. “Something someone recently put together. I know several methods of how to age a—”
“It could be,” Felix says. “But then legends do say that Rasputin was a powerful seer, so in theory, he could’ve had a vision to cover even this length of time—though judging by your experiences, he must’ve been out of commission as a seer for a long, long time after, if not forever.”
“Fine,” I say, fighting dizziness as I imagine living a hundred years in a vision as Rasputin would have to have done. “What does this have to do with me? Am I a pinnacle of some prophecy of his?”
“That’s where the third document comes into play,” Felix says. “This one is even harder to discern because besides being written in antiquated Russian, it’s also a type of legalese.”
“What does it say?”
“I’ll try to translate it as best as I can,” he says. “It’s even harder to believe than the previous one.”
“I’m going to kill you if you don’t stop stalling right this second,” I grit though my teeth. “Seriously.”
“Fine,” Felix says. “Here goes.”
Chapter Forty-Four
I jam the phone painfully against my ear, unwilling to miss a single word.
“What follows is a contract between Grigori Rasputin and a man henceforth known as Nero Gorin,” Felix starts.
“What?” I stare at the three yellow papers, unsure which one he’s currently translating. My mind latches on to a random tidbit. “Did Nero have another name before?”
“You heard Rose and Vlad. Even they consider him old. He must’ve had tons of identities throughout his life,” Felix says. “Now let me go on.”
“Sorry,” I say. “Go ahead.”
“The first part is the secrecy clause,” Felix says. “The legal jargon is dense here, but I think it states that the parties signing this document aren’t allowed to disclose any details of the document to anyone for any reason. There’s also a list of topics they agree not to discuss—”
“Let’s get back to that,” I say. “Go on to the next section—and it better be the meat of the document.”
“The two parties exchange services,” Felix says with an intonation I’d expect in a courtroom. “Grigori Rasputin will provide Nero Gorin with a hundred-year prophecy that will make Nero Gorin the richest Cognizant to have ever walked the Otherland named Earth.” Felix takes a breath. “In exchange, Nero Gorin is to look after Grigori Rasputin’s daughter, Alexandra—henceforth known as Sasha—Rasputina, when she appears on the Otherland named Earth at the beginning of the new millennium according to the local timekeeping.”
The room around me spins.
Though Felix translated the words into English, their meaning does not want to register in my brain.
“There’s more,” Felix says softly. “Nero Gorin is to make sure Sasha Rasputina is adopted by the human family named Urban and treated well. He’s also to oversee her education and smooth her transition into Earth society—”
“No.” I shake my head. “This can’t be true. How could I have been born over a century ago? When my parents found me, I was just a child.”
“Rasputin could’ve taken you to an Otherland where time flows very slowly,” Felix says. “Then he could’ve waited and taken you to Earth after decades had passed here. Whatever danger he escaped might’ve calmed down by then, or maybe he had a vision that told him when and where to take you.” Felix sounds annoyingly rational. “It actually kind of makes sense. Your adoptive parents found you in JFK, near the hub. Whatever Rasputin was afraid of on Earth, he only had to stay here for a few minutes—”
I stop listening.
Like a violent storm, a new paradigm is realigning everything I’ve ever known.
All the facts fit now.
The Russian connection. Fluffster’s last owner. Me being abandoned at JFK airport. Nero keeping tabs on me all my life.
When I first learned about Rasputin, I considered that he might be an ancestor of mine, but he’s so much more.
He’s my father.
Could he still be alive? Between Otherland time differentials and the longer Cognizant lifespan, it’s entirely possible.
But if so, where is he? Why did he give me up?
“Sasha?” Felix says. “You there?”
“I’m processing,” I say. “It sounds like Nero has all the answers. If he knew my father, he might’ve known my mother. He might be able to tell me where—”
“I’m afraid it’s not so simple,” Felix says. “If you had let me complete the secrecy clause section, I would’ve told you. Nero can’t talk to you about your heritage at all.”
“What?” I barely resist the urge to throw my phone at the wall.
“Breathe, Sasha,” Felix says soothingly. “You’ve learned a lot today. Just think—”
“Let’s talk later,” I say. “I want to take pictures of the other documents.”
“Wait a sec… Where did you get these documents?”
“From the source. Where did you think?”
“You’re in Nero’s apartment, aren’t you?” Felix whispers.
“And that’s why I’ve got to go,” I say. “Time might be limited and all that.”
“Mr. Gorin, sir, I had nothing to do with this,” Felix says loudly. “When Sasha called me, I had no clue. Please don’t kill—”
I hang up and look at the next paper.
It looks like some strange hybrid between a map and a Venn diagram. I’ll have to figure out what this is and what it has to do with me at some later date.
I look at the next document.
It’s an exact duplicate of my high school diploma.
I look through the next ones, and they turn out to be every transcript, diploma, and certifi
cate I’ve ever gotten. Someone has gone out of his way to keep the evidence that he’s upholding his end of the bargain.
I keep flipping through the papers.
Nero’s collection is a lot more thorough than my mom’s.
The last paper in the folder is the work offer letter I signed when I started working for Nero.
I chuckle mirthlessly.
My stupid job is the culmination of events over a hundred years in the making.
And Nero used it all to get obscenely rich.
Then it dawns on me.
He’s still trying to stay rich.
When his hundred-year cheat sheet expired in 2016, he must’ve decided to use me, the daughter of a powerful seer, to keep the money flowing.
The shoe fits Cinderella well.
I snap the folder and stare at my name written in Russian.
Had I spoken this language in my early years? Given that most babies start talking at one year of age, I must’ve had a small Russian vocabulary that I’ve now forgotten. Unless my mother spoke English.
I still know nothing about her.
Then a sense of déjà vu hits me.
I have stood in this exact spot and stared at this folder before.
Of course.
That super-short vision in which I saw my name in Russian.
That time, there was a noise behind me—
My heart jumping into my throat, I spin around—just as I hear that same noise again.
It was the door banging open so hard it could’ve flown off its hinges.
His face a mask of fury, Nero strides into the room.
Chapter Forty-Five
We lock eyes.
His fury morphs into confusion.
On my end, I realize he’s wearing only a towel, and blood rushes treacherously to my face.
This explains why he didn’t answer the door.
He was in the shower.
Soaping up. Scrubbing. Rinsing.
I swallow.
Loudly.
There isn’t an ounce of fat on his broad, utterly male body. Every muscle looks carved out of a solid block of ice—and I suddenly want to lick an icicle.
On his part, Nero seems just as stunned to see me, his blue-gray eyes traveling over me with disbelief and something else.
Something disturbingly heated.
That is, until his gaze falls on the folder I’m still holding.
He launches into motion.
In a blur, he extricates the folder from my hands, stuffs it into the safe, and locks it.
I back away, deeper into the office, my mouth going Sahara dry.
He lost the towel during that bout of super speed.
Holy crap. Thank heavens we’re not related. Though I have to say, even if he’d been my second cousin…
No, stop. This is insanity.
Willing my shaky limbs to move, I eye the exit.
He steps in front of me, blocking my path. “How much did you figure out?” He seems gloriously oblivious to his lack of clothes—and I am definitely not.
I swallow again. Gulp, actually. “Everything. I know who I am—and all about your meddling and spying.”
His jaw hardens. “Fine. But it doesn’t change anything.” His voice turns low and hypnotic, his eyes peering into mine as though he’s trying to X-Ray my soul. “I hope you realize that.”
I dampen my dry lips. “It changes everything.”
His gaze is on my mouth, avidly following the movement of my tongue. “We made a deal.” His voice is low and deep as he steps impossibly closer. “You are going to work for me, and you will remain my Mentee.”
I nod, my breath caught in my throat. I can’t debate him right now, because I’m too distracted by the reaction in the region previously covered by the towel.
A very strong, very big reaction.
Talk about below-the-belt tactics.
I somehow manage to recall a shred of reason. “I should go. I will… see you at work.” I try to step around him, but it’s impossible.
He’s taking all the space, stealing all the air in the room.
“Yes, you should,” he agrees softly, but he doesn’t move.
My pulse is throbbing in my temples, and my face feels like it’s about to blister as his gaze falls to my mouth again, as if waiting for me to lick my lips one more time.
And I fight the urge to do just that.
Instead, I find myself saying, “You made a deal with my father. You’re… supposed to look after me.”
His nostrils flare. Dipping his head, he growls, “I know.”
His face is now directly over mine, his lips a tiptoe-rise away, and I want to run and scream.
Or close the distance.
Maybe both at the same time, as impossible as that would be.
I feel like I’m torn in two, repulsed by his machinations yet drawn to him… for no good reason at all.
Worst of all, judging by the pulse beating in his neck, he might be suffering from the same madness.
He bends his head another fraction.
My heels leave the floor.
It’s as if we have super-strong rare-earth magnets stuck in our mouths, pulling us together.
A muscle ticks in his jaw as his eyes darken, his pupils expanding until they blend with his limbal ring.
Our lips are almost touching. I feel the warm puffs of his breath and smell the minty scent of toothpaste.
I can’t.
I shouldn’t.
And then my lips press against his, my body rising up on tiptoes all the way as my arms wrap around his neck.
His reaction is as violent as it is instant. His powerful arms close around me, pressing me against his steel-hard body. His mouth turns devouring, deepening the kiss, taking it further, and I breathlessly reciprocate, channeling all my confusion, anger, and frustration into the movements of my tongue.
Something hard presses into my stomach, and I tremble with a growing need to end my cursed abstinence. The rollercoaster of sensations is blinding, and the desire to rip my clothes off is overpowering. The stupid things are between us, and I want all obstacles gone.
A growl rumbles deep within his throat, his hands roaming over my body with intensifying hunger, and a glimmer of sanity awakens somewhere in the back of my lust-soaked mind.
What am I doing?
This is Nero.
With a steel-bending effort of will, I push away—just as Nero lets me go.
I stumble back, panting, and see his chest heave with a similarly rapid rhythm.
“Leave,” he snarls, his large hands suddenly resembling claws.
What the hell?
Painful flashbacks of the orcs hitch my breath in a whole new way.
He steps aside, visibly shaking with the effort to restrain himself, and I snap out of my lust-panic paralysis.
Turning on my heel, I flee the room, then the apartment, then the building.
The cab ride home passes in a blur, and I barely recall how I made it up to my apartment. Felix and Fluffster are waiting for me inside, but I ignore their questions as I rush into the bathroom to splash cold water on my burning face.
Nero kissed me.
Actually, I kissed him.
Which confirms it.
I’m certifiably insane.
Turning on the shower and setting it to cold, I strip and step under the spray, shivering under the freezing water until the unwelcome heat inside me is but a distant memory.
I may have just gotten a boatload of answers, but none of it really makes sense—especially the enigma that is Nero.
Maybe I’m just too tired to analyze it all?
Yeah, that’s it. The shattering kiss has nothing to do with it.
If I get a good night’s sleep, I will surely be able to make heads and tails of everything in the morning.
Frozen, I stumble to my bedroom and lock the door before plopping on my bed and wrapping the blanket around myself.
I will sleep now. Dreamless
ly, if I’m lucky. And tomorrow, I will somehow find the strength to face Nero.
Between his contract with my father and my own deal with him, we’re bound to each other.
For better or for worse.
The End
Thank you for reading! I hope you’re enjoying Sasha’s story! Her adventures continue in Sleight of Fantasy (Sasha Urban Series: Book 4). To be notified when it comes out, please visit www.dimazales.com and sign up for my mailing list.
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Want to read my other books? You can check out:
Mind Dimensions - the action-packed urban fantasy adventures of Darren, who can stop time and read minds
Transcendence - the thrilling sci-fi tale of Mike Cohen, whose new technology will transform our brains and the world
The Last Humans - the futuristic sci-fi/dystopian story of Theo, who lives in a world where nothing is as it seems
The Sorcery Code - the epic fantasy adventures of sorcerer Blaise and his creation, the beautiful and powerful Gala
I also collaborate with my wife on sci-fi romance, so if you don’t mind erotic material, you can check out Close Liaisons.
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And now, please turn the page for an exciting excerpt from Transcendence.
Excerpt from Transcendence
A successful venture capitalist with billions in the bank, Mike Cohen has it all figured out. That is, until the life-changing new technology he’s developing lands him in the middle of a global conspiracy, and the only way to save himself, his loved ones, and his tech is to embed the highly experimental Brainocytes in his own brain.
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Brainocytes transform the human experience, making you smarter, faster, and more powerful. With enemies at every turn, Mike must use his newly enhanced capabilities to save his family, his friends, and ultimately, the world.
