Pavel widened his eyes and slowly turned his gaze to Tatiana’s before rolling his eyes. She had to smother a laugh. Except, it wasn’t really funny. Babusya said to pray, but for whom? Herself? Or the mysterious real Tati who was stolen from her crib?
“So we’re all on the same page then.” She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Nothing changes, and we go about our lives.”
Dad drew his eyebrows together and stared at the table, but he didn’t say anything. “All these doctors and not one of them can help us.”
“Prayer,” Babusya said again. “If you had listened to me when she was a baby, this never would have happened.”
“Mom.” Dad drew out her name, for all the world sounding like a whiny child.
“Not this again, Natasha. Tati is our daughter. Our real daughter. I gave birth to her. I would certainly know if someone had switched her at birth. For God’s sake, she looks just like Mike!”
Pavel snorted, but Tatiana had had enough. “I’m going to bed if you don’t mind. Lie down a bit.”
“Go on,” her dad said kindly. “I’ll say goodbye before I leave. And I’ll be back tomorrow for the glass guy.”
Her mom gathered the plates from the table as Tatiana headed upstairs to her room. She’d showered quickly once the glass had been swept up, but she was beat. And rather than change into her pajamas, she flopped down onto the bed and stared up at her ceiling.
It couldn’t be real.
She held her hand in the air, studying the back of her hand. There was no mark, but it still ached. Absentmindedly, she ran her thumb over and over the spot.
Had she really seen a naked woman transform from young to old and then disappear with whispers of… Tatiana didn’t even know what. The rusalka spoke in riddles, or nursery rhymes. There was something to it both familiar and strange.
The wind outside picked up and Tatiana turned onto her side, shoving her pillow beneath her head. As much as she wanted to dismiss Babusya’s words as the ravings of a superstitious woman, she couldn’t.
A branch tapped at her window, but she ignored it. She’d gotten used to the sound. It was the backdrop of every windy and rainy day. Dad would cut it back tomorrow, and she couldn’t help feeling a little sad about it. Not that the tree was doing her any good. Except, she could use it to make a quick escape if Babusya decided a prayer session was necessary.
The wind picked up, rushing past her window like a freight train, and she turned over. With the light on she couldn’t see anything except a reflection of her room, so she flicked off the lamp next to her bed.
“Oh.” It was snowing. The flakes fell in a hypnotizing flurry before the wind blew them sideways. The branch continued to tap tap, and she stood up to make sure one big gust wouldn’t send it through her window like it had in the bathroom.
Tap.
The closer she came, the quieter the wind got, but the branch continued its tapping. Weird. It must have been blowing just enough to move the heavy branch. Tatiana took another step closer and leaned toward the window. Her breath fogged up the cold glass, so she lifted her hand to wipe it away.
But before she could, another hand slapped the pane. She yelped and jumped back. “Holy crap, Dad. You could have warned me.” Her crazy father. She imagined him on the rickety ladder. “In a snowstorm,” she muttered as she wrestled with the lock on top of the window. Finally, she got it to slide and pushed the window up. “Dad…”
There was definitely someone outside her window. And it was definitely not her father.
Tatiana stumbled back, landing hard on her butt as the form launched through the window head first.
She scrambled backward, pushing her heels into her carpet, but he landed on her, caging her in with strong cold arms and a heavy body.
“Don’t scream,” he said in a raspy voice.
She may have yelped earlier, but Tatiana was no fool. She bucked like an angry bull and slammed her knee as hard and as fast as she could into the guy’s crotch.
He let out a whoosh of air as he fell, curling onto his side. Tatiana flipped over and ran toward the door, but as she yanked it open, a gust of air slammed it shut again.
She grabbed the knob, pulling with all her might, but it wouldn’t budge.
Behind her, in an accent she couldn’t place, the man called out, “Lock the door. Shut the lights. Say no more.”
“Mom!” she screamed, shaking the knob.
“I won’t hurt you.” The man’s voice was strained, and he groaned. Tatiana turned around, darted to her side table, and grabbed the lamp. She pulled with all her might before heaving it toward him. It crashed into his head and he stumbled back, giving her time to run to the door.
Tatiana took a deep breath, ready to scream with the last of the air left in her lungs when the wind blew so loud and so hard, it seemed to take her voice as soon as it left her lips. The man stood. A gash on his head oozed blood black as damp earth. “Listen.”
She shook her head. Why in the world would she listen to him? The window was still open, and she considered running as fast as she could to dive out it. Would the fall kill her? What if she bent her knees when she landed?
“I’m promise I won’t hurt you.” The words rolled off his tongue in a strange cadence. “You’re a changeling. I wouldn’t.”
Tatiana’s entire body stilled as if she’d frozen in ice. Slowly, gaze beginning at his feet and traveling to his head, she studied him. He was tall and wild-looking. Leaves stuck in his long, reddish hair, and his clothes and boots were dirty and scuffed. He lifted the sleeve of his white shirt to his forehead and dabbed at his injury. “You injured me.”
“You attacked me.”
When she spoke, he smiled. “So you do have a voice.” His teeth gleamed in his pale face as he limped toward her. “I know you have knees. Sharp ones.”
“Stay back.” She held out her hand to ward him off, and he immediately stopped.
“I didn’t mean to touch you,” he said. “I was trying to leap into the house before the babusya saw me. I thought she was the only one I had to worry about.”
“Who are you?” she asked. Perhaps it was a stupid question and she should be screaming, but there was something about him that felt familiar.
And different.
It wasn’t his clothes. He wore things she’d seen other guys wear: tan pants, a white shirt… but they looked softer. And the style was just slightly… off.
And the way he stood. His shoulders were broad, thrust back, and he was so tall, if she got any closer, she’d have to tilt her head back to see him.
And Tatiana wasn’t a small girl. Thin, yes. But she was tall for a girl, and was used to standing eye-to-eye with most guys.
The man paused as if her question took him by surprised before he bowed his head in an old-fashioned gesture. “Grisha.” He rolled the r.
It struck her suddenly. “Are you Ukrainian? You sound like my grandmother.”
Grisha laughed, head thrown back. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Like your babusya? No. No, I’m not Ukrainian.”
“What are you?” she asked. What she meant was where are you from? But at her question, his deep-set, cat-like eyes narrowed.
“I’m like you.”
“American.”
“No, exchanged girl. I’m feia.” He stared at her for a moment and then laughed loud and long. “Your face!” He scrunched his nose and opened his mouth wide, then circled it with his finger. “This is your face.”
Tatiana shut her mouth. “No, it isn’t.”
“It is!” he said and made the face again. “This is exactly your face.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know what feia is. Is it, like, Canadian?” When he laughed again, it took all her energy not to stomp her foot and throw something else at him. “Rude.”
“I’m sorry.” He chuckled and wiped the corner of his eye with a rough-looking thumb. “Thank you for the laugh. No. Feia is you, a changeling. And me, a roamer.”
“I’m not a changeling.”
Grisha frowned. “Don’t pretend to be stupid.”
Tatiana balled up her fists, ready to argue when a wave of exhaustion hit her and she swayed.
He moved faster than her eye could track, appearing at her side to touch her elbow and lead her to the bed. As he helped her sit, she stared at him. “You didn’t want to hurt me.” It was obvious by how quickly he came to her aid that if he’d wanted to, he could have overpowered her.
“I said that. You need to listen.” He reached for her feet, lifted them and swung them onto the bed. “You have lasted longer than any changeling I’ve known.”
“Why are you here?” Tatiana asked, ignoring the fact that yet another person had pointed out her short life span.
“I saw a rusalka. And I’m a curious guy.”
“You followed her here.”
“Yes.” He shifted, moving gracefully from the floor to the bed. “Here. I can’t stay much longer, but when I saw you, I realized I had to offer you the choice.”
Tatiana stared at him in confusion. “I understand the individual words leaving your mouth, but the way you string them together makes no sense.”
He laughed again, the dull light from the one lamp left in her room turning his hair the color of a summer sunset. Leaning over, he knocked her gently with his shoulder. “As a feia, you have a right to live in Korolevstvo. I’ll take you.”
“Again. No idea what you’re talking about.”
One side of Grisha’s mouth lifted in a half-smile, but it didn’t touch his eyes. “You don’t have much time left. Korolevstvo is our home. The place where people like you and me come from. You’re not meant to live here, surrounded by iron.” He let out a breath and grimaced. “It’s in the air from a hundred and fifty years of smelting. No wonder you are sick.”
Tatiana studied him. His eyes were compassionate, and he didn’t say a word as she trailed her gaze over his features and clothing, down to his shoes. “What is feia?” she asked again.
Grisha sighed. “It’s impossible to describe us, because we are everything.” His smile this time was a little wicked and had Tatiana wishing her bedroom had two doors. “It’s much easier to show you what feia are.”
Talking to Grisha was like talking in circles and riddles. He made no sense. But then again, nothing in her life made sense right now. She wanted to disbelieve him. He had to be crazy.
Except he had the same explanation as Babusya. They used the same words: exchanged child, changeling.
“I don’t trust you.”
“Nor should you!” He adjusted his position, pausing before he perched on the bed. “May I?”
She waved her hand. “Go ahead.”
“There aren’t many like you, but seeing the rusalka has piqued my curiosity. I can’t help wondering, who did you replace? Is your human counterpart alive? Hidden in Korolevstvo?” He glanced out the window and ran his fingers down his face. It made a rough sound and Tatiana found herself studying Grisha closer.
“You have stubble.” She almost lifted her hand to touch him.
He grinned. “Yes. Even if I am different, I am still male. We—most of us—grow hair on our bodies. Some of us more than others.”
“Like Bigfoot?”
“You’re trying to trick me.” He seemed to enjoy her joke. Actually, he seemed to enjoy everything she did, if his grin was anything to go by. Tatiana relaxed into her pillows. She should have been much more worried than she was, but Grisha put her at ease. “Trickery is a feia trait. I hope you’ll come to believe what I tell you. It will be the only thing to save your life.”
It may have been crazy, but Tatiana was starting to believe him. Babusya was one thing, but for Grisha to arrive so closely on the heels of her revelation…
And of course, there was the rusalka.
Was that creature her true mother? If what she said was true, she’d fashioned Tatiana and breathed life into her form. But she loved her family. Those feelings were real, weren’t they?
“Am I not real?” she asked.
Rather than put her at ease, Grisha merely shrugged. “As real as me.”
“My family is here. My mother, father, brother.” She clenched her teeth together before uttering, “And my babusya.”
“They’re not really your family,” he said, not unkindly. “They have a daughter, and she is not you.”
“Do you think she’s still alive?”
“The real you?” he asked.
Ouch. “I’m the real me,” she countered, but… “Yeah. Her.”
“Maybe, if the rusalka didn’t lose interest in the child as she got older. She came here when you were in distress, so she does have some maternal instincts.” Grisha pushed off the bed. “I don’t know how you stand it. I’m getting sick to my stomach. Are you coming or not?”
How could she leave her family? Even if they weren’t her family by birth, they were certainly the family of her heart. And it would destroy them if she just disappeared.
“Thank you, Grisha,” she said. “I can’t go with you.”
He narrowed his eyes, face wiped clean of the smile she’d gotten used to. “You’ll die here.”
She couldn’t shrug like it wouldn’t matter, but her family was more important to her than anything. And no one could tell her for sure she wouldn’t survive. She’d made it this long, hadn’t she? Grisha waited, but Tatiana could see that his skin had lost some of its glow, and between his statement and her silence, his eyes had become sunken.
“I can’t.”
As if he couldn’t wait another moment, he stood. The wind blew outside her window and he turned toward it. He tilted his head, listening, before he faced her again. “Good luck to you, exchanged girl.”
“You scared the crap out of me Grisha, but it’s been interesting. Thanks for not murdering me.”
His eyes lit up, and he laughed, but sobered quickly. “It is a waste for you to stay here.”
All at once the world seemed to come to life again and Tatiana could hear her family talking animatedly downstairs. She could easily distinguish one voice from another. Pavel was whining about something, and Mom was quick to answer. They all laughed and she couldn’t help smiling in response. “I’ll be okay,” she said.
The wind outside seemed to pick up. “Goodbye,” Grisha said as he walked to the window.
“You can use the front door,” she called to him when he opened it.
“Nah,” he answered. Cold air and snow blew in, and she shut her eyes instinctively. When she opened them, he was gone and she was alone in her freezing room.
4
Grisha/Cherny
Of all the things Cherny expected to see roaming the human world, a feia wasn’t one of them.
Not that the girl—she wasn’t really a girl, so he corrected himself, Tatiana—was truly roaming. If the look of her was anything to go by, she’d been sick for quite a while. She probably was stuck in that small house, surrounded by angry-faced babusyas and worried parents.
A tiny pang of guilt niggled at him. He’d left her there, knowing full well her time was running out. For an exchanged child to live as many years as Tatiana had… it was unheard of. Maybe he should have forced her to come with him.
But since she hadn’t, maybe he should have given her his true name. He dismissed the thought as soon as it came. No feia gave their name, their true name, to a stranger.
His name.
Cherny shivered as the sickening wind blew. If the wrong person knew his true name, it could mean his end.
It didn’t matter if Tatiana called him Grisha. That name held no power. But he had liked the sound of it coming from her lips, and he’d liked the way her blue eyes had lingered on his when she’d spoken it. She was a clever one, the exchanged girl. It was probably best she knew as little about him as possible.
Cherny approached one of the empty factories. In the distance, the steel stacks were lit up, the giant towers bathed in Christmas ligh
ts. His entire being felt sick and dirty as he drifted through one of the many broken factory windows.
It took just a moment. He imagined his home, and the world spun around him. At once, he returned to his form and his lungs filled with air devoid of metal and smoke. It felt good to breathe again without sickness sticking to his bones and blood.
Poor exchanged child. The short time he’d spent in Nativity reminded him of how sick the human world could make a feia. To think of spending day in and day out surrounded by filth. Breathing it in.
Guilt grew until he was nearly choked by it. He’d left one of their kind to waste away and die.
He should go back. Maybe if he explained things better—he’d always been more of a doer than an explainer. And if she didn’t agree, then maybe he’d just scoop her up and bring her here.
5
Tatiana
Sleep was an impossibility, despite how tired she was. As Tatiana lay in bed, she thought back over her life. Had there ever really been a time when she hadn’t been exhausted? When other children were running around on sunny summer days, she’d limped after them before giving up and finding a cool place in the shade.
So much of her life was spent watching.
Watching her brother graduate. Move in with his girlfriend. Get a job.
All while she stagnated.
She let out a frustrated breath and flipped onto her side, folding her hands under her cheek. That wasn’t exactly true. She was working on a degree at Nativity College, and while it hadn’t been her first choice of a school—Bates and Bowdoin far off in Maine were out of the running both financially and due to her lackluster high school grades—she loved her classes. On the days she couldn’t make it to campus, her understanding professors allowed her to turn in work late or do extra online modules.
Her degree, when she finally got it, wouldn’t get her any jobs. There wasn’t a whole heck of a lot out there for people who’d chosen to focus on the English Romantics. But, oh well. She loved it.
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