I snuggled down farther under the comforter and half-closed my eyes, knowing full well I wouldn’t sleep, but aiming to appease Bel. “I’ll try. Now, off you go.” Pressing a kiss to my fingers, I touched his snout before I felt him hop off my chest to go to bed.
Now, in my defense, I did try to sleep. I stared out the window. I stared at the ceiling of my fabulous bed. I counted bats (Belfry always thought that was more fun than sheep), and I changed positions at least a hundred times before I gave up.
It was one of those nights where every little itch rose to the surface of my skin and my pajamas kept twisting around my body, leaving me uncomfortable. I was too hot then I was too cold. I was overthinking every conversation I’d ever had with Win.
I was sick with my stupidity for not telling him how deeply I cared for him, the heck with the consequences. But that niggle of fear, not just over our unconventional living conditions, but fear of rejection, had kept my lips sealed.
No more. I was going to dive in the deep end the first chance I got.
Anyway, sleep was elusive. So I gave up and tiptoed out of my bedroom, taking the picture of fake Win with me and heading downstairs to scour the Internet for more death notifications in the immediate vicinity.
I guess I didn’t realize how long I’d been sitting by the cold fireplace in the living room, laptop on my knees, because before I knew it, the cold, rainy night turned into a cold, rainy day.
I’d spent an entire night and early morning Internet surfing, looking up everything from death notices to articles on MI6. I don’t know what I’d hoped to achieve, but if sleep wasn’t an option, aimlessly surfing the web was better than this hopeless pit.
“Stevie!” Belfry yelled from the stairwell as Whiskey thumped down the steps, making me jump.
Uh-oh. Caught.
“Morning, Belfry!” I said with exaggerated cheer. “How’d you sleep?”
He whizzed into the living room, fluttering in front of me while Whiskey watched. “Don’t you good morning me, you faker! You haven’t slept at all, have you?”
“I catnapped,” I said, crossing my fingers.
“You didn’t. You’re lying to me. Know how I know you’re lying to me? Never mind. Don’t answer. I’ll tell you. You have so many bags under your eyes, you look like the baggage claim at JFK. How can you spy if you don’t get some sleep? What good will you be to Win if you’re not rested?”
Setting the laptop on the coffee table, I pinched the bridge of my nose. “What good will I be if we don’t find him, Bel?” I said between clenched teeth, my patience, just like everything but my butt, beginning to wear thin.
“What good will you be when you do, and you can’t keep your eyes open long enough to confess your deepest desires?” he taunted as I rose from the couch and headed to the kitchen for coffee.
“Never you mind about my deepest desires,” I grumbled, agitated and about as cranky as I could ever remember being.
“Malutka? Why you do not call for Arkady to keep you company while you sit up all night alone?”
I grabbed a coffee pod and popped it into the Keurig, pressing the button and letting the heady scent of the nectar of the gods permeate my nose. “Because this is exhausting and you needed a break. I needed a break. I just needed some time to myself.”
Opening a cabinet, I pulled out a mug—the one Win had Belfry buy for me for my birthday that reads, “First I drink the coffee. Then I do the things”—and drummed my fingers on the countertop with impatience. “So any news up there?” I asked hopefully, almost knowing that hope would be crushed.
“Nyet, cinnamon bun,” Arkady answered softly.
As I headed to the pantry to fill Whiskey’s bowl, with Strike following close behind, I happened upon a can of jellied cranberry sitting on the many shelves we’d had installed, one of my favorites at Thanksgiving, but, as per Win, more Philistine food. Cranberry should be a chutney, not a jelly, he’d said in his refined accent.
But seeing the can reminded me, we had a houseful of people coming the day after tomorrow, with no Win in sight. Not to mention, caterers.
“Thanksgiving dinner, Bel,” I muttered as I filled Whiskey’s bowl. “We need to cancel it. Even if we find Win, we won’t be prepared, and it’s not fair to keep people from making other arrangements. Bel? Can you handle it? Call the caterers so they can at least give the waiters notice. Have them donate the food to the shelter and the senior center, would you?”
“And what would you like me to tell everyone else?”
Tightening the belt on my fuzzy purple bathrobe, I gulped. “I’ll call them myself. I have to convince them I have a family emergency, and it’ll sound better coming from me than my virtual assistant.”
It had been Bel’s idea to call himself my virtual assistant, thus making the scheduling of appointments at Madam Zoltar’s, among many other things, so much easier. But canceling Thanksgiving needed a personal touch. I also had to find a way to prevent Carmella from bringing me a casserole, which would be her first instinct if I didn’t reassure her I had plenty of food.
“What about Mommy dearest and your father?” he asked. “Were they still coming or are they off globe-trotting?”
I reached for the necklace my father had given me, still around my neck, and smiled. He’d told me to use it if I ever needed him, and as vain and self-absorbed as he was, he’d step in and use his magic.
But I couldn’t involve him in afterlife matters. He was a warlock, subject to the same rules as the rest of us, and that went for my mother, too.
We’d come a long way since the death of her latest husband, Bart, but there was no way I’d tell her about the mess I was in right now. She’d interfere on my behalf and Baba Yaga would have ten chickens. My mother had changed in many ways, but losing her powers because her daughter was in a pickle over a dead British spy wasn’t on the agenda.
So I shook my head and sighed, almost wishing I could call them. “Neither of them were coming until Christmas. So we’re okay there. Besides, they can’t get involved, and you know they can’t.”
Bel flew out of the pantry and up to the ceiling toward the hallway. “Okey-doke, Boss. I’m on it,” he called.
“Thanks, Bel.” Wandering out of the pantry, I set Whiskey’s bowl on the floor and scattered some seed for Strike, who clucked and cooed at my feet.
Grabbing my phone, I checked the time. It was only eight in the morning, too early to begin calling people.
I collected my cup of coffee and went to sit at the kitchen table and watch the choppy waters of the Sound while I considered what was next. The wind slashed at the almost naked trees and rain pummeled our browning lawn, dripping off the plastic covers on our lawn furniture while I tried to think of a new plan of attack.
The gnawing ache in my heart and the turmoil in my stomach intensified then. I didn’t know where to go from here, and I said so to Arkady.
“Arkady?”
But I was greeted with silence—a silence so silent, I froze.
“Arkady?” I whispered. “You there?” I cocked my head and listened, holding my breath.
Still—everything felt very still. Too still.
No. No, no, no! Had he done something stupid, like go looking for Win?
I rose from the table, almost knocking my coffee cup over. My muscles flexed and tensed, tightening in terror.
Clenching my fists, I banged on the table, frightening Strike and Whiskey, who both ran to the corner of the kitchen. “Arkady, answer me right now!”
Then I heard him sigh, a long, raspy bit of wind. “Malutka. We must speak.”
I knew that tone. I knew that somber, ominous tone. Still, I steeled myself, gripping the edge of the table so hard, I thought my knuckles would crack. “Talk to me,” was the best I could manage.
“I hear talk from spirit.”
Closing my eyes, I licked my dry lips. “Talk?”
“Dah.”
My heart began that irregular thump inside my chest, and
my skin went clammy and cold. I knew it wasn’t good. I felt it way down inside, deep in my bones, and it made me yelp in frustration. “Just say it!”
“Sit, please, malutka. Sit before I tell you,” Arkady begged, but I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t just sit and let it happen.
“Say it, Arkady!” I cried out as I began to pace. “Stop pussyfooting around and say it!”
“Spirit this morning say Zero…” He inhaled a harsh breath, one that whistled through my ears. “She say he…he cross to other side. She say he is gone for good.”
Chapter 9
The blood drained from my face, and I had to grab the back of a chair to keep me standing as my legs wobbled.
“Malutka…” Arkady’s tone was pleading and soft.
I held up a finger. I just needed a second to gather my thoughts. Just a second before this totally blank space in my head filled with questions. I knew they would come, but as Win would say, I was momentarily gobsmacked and I needed to catch my breath.
Bending at the waist, I breathed in and out, summoning all my strength and determination to help me face this.
Lifting my head, I gritted my teeth to keep from screaming. “Tell me exactly what happened, from the moment the spirit arrived to the moment she uttered those words. I need visuals and context, please.”
“Just a moment ago, while you make plans to cancel fancy dinner, pretty lady spirit is talking to another spirit lady. They do this all the time, and we usually pay no mind. But today I listen because we need help to find our Zero. I really listen to everything.”
Breathe, Stevie. Just breathe. “Tell me word for word what she said,” I demanded, my head spinning.
He took another long pause, one that felt like a hundred years, but was surely only seconds. “She say…she say she see him go…”
“Go?” I forced the word out.
“Dah…into light,” he answered, his words tight and choked with agonizing emotion.
I don’t know what happened to me then, but I shifted into investigative mode. It was shaky and hesitant, but I fired off questions the same way I would if Arkady were a suspect in a murder. “Do you know this pretty lady spirit, Arkady? Did you ask her how she knew it was him? Did you ask her if she actually saw him cross or if that was just some afterlife gossip she quote-unquote heard? And lastly, when did this happen?”
I heard a nervous swallow before he finally said, “She know Zero, malutka. We see her all the time at waterfall. She know what Win look like. He is not hard to identify, Stevie. He is very distinct. Everyone know the handsome, charming dead spy. Everyone. I am telling you, she tell me she see him walk into light…”
The devastation that hit me square in my belly almost physically knocked me over. How could this be true? It couldn’t be true! Win wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.
But when the light calls, Stevie, the spirit’s destiny is to answer. I’d heard that a million times when I’d been in the business of mediums. The call was stronger than the desire to finish whatever business you’ve been hanging around waiting to finish.
If I listened to everything I’d ever heard about the light, the call was more than some siren’s song, it was what was right and good and meant to be and the pull was the force of a million tidal waves.
Maybe Win had been resisting the light all this time because of me? Maybe what Bel said about the reasons I’d never confessed my feelings were true for Win, too? Maybe he shared my feelings and didn’t reveal them for the same reasons I hadn’t?
Maybe he finally realized the peril involved in body surfing and this time, when the light came calling, he’d ridden the wave to eternity?
Maybe rebirth meant moving on and being reborn in the light? I don’t know what that had to do with the other clues, and if he did cross, how did he get spirits to send me clues to begin with? It had to have been premeditated. Yet still, that nagging feeling that wouldn’t let go said if someone saw him leave, someone who could truly identify him… it made the most sense that he’d gone into the light
“Where is this spirit, Arkady? Where is she right now?”
He groaned in clear remorse. “She is gone, too, malutka. I cannot find her anywhere, but Arkady knows what he hears. He hear her say Zero is…”
“Gone.” I threw the word because I couldn’t contain it in me anymore. “Say it, Arkady!” I said, my voice rising. “He’s gone!”
“Oh, my sweet corn fritter, I cannot say the word. I do not believe he would leave without saying goodbye. I cannot. I will not!” he thundered.
“Hey, you bunch of loudmouths, what the fudge is going on down here?” Bel asked as he flew back into the kitchen. “What’s all the yelling about? I could hear you all the way up in the office on the other side of the house.”
“Belfry—” Arkady began, but I cut him off before he could finish.
“Arkady heard a spirit talking this morning. She said she saw Win…” I clenched my teeth and spat the next words. “Go into the light.”
Belfry didn’t even bother to hide his gasp as he flew to the back of the chair I was still clinging to. “What? I don’t believe it, Stevie! Arkady, are you sure?”
Arkady’s response rang true with his misery. “I wish I did not hear, but this is what she say. I never tell you anything but truth, malutka. I never hurt you on purpose.”
“I know that. I do. I—”
“Who is this she, Arkady?” Bel demanded.
“Stop yelling at him, Bel. It’s not Arkady’s fault he heard what he heard. She’s a spirit on Plane Limbo,” I replied, my response stiff, and don’t think I didn’t notice the change in my emotional state.
Because I did. Without warning, I felt like everything was happening around me, and even though I could hear the boys arguing with each other, it became muted.
I guess as the initial shock began to wear off, I’d gone numb. As I gathered up my coffee cup and brought it to the sink, I marveled at this strange, sudden calm. Gone was the jittery fear in my stomach. Gone was the incessant voice in my head telling me to figure out Win’s disappearance.
“Belfry!” I heard Arkady yell with force. “You know Arkady would never hurt his malutka. We need facts, and if I hide this from her and it comes to be truth, then what? Then I am liar. Arkady Bagrov is no liar!”
“Weeell, we all know how reliable the spirits are, don’t we? How many times have we gotten crossed wires from that motley bunch? More often than I can count on my fingers and toes. That’s how many.”
“You don’t have toes. Or is it fingers?” I asked as Whiskey nudged my thigh for a scratch.
Bel’s sigh was full of exasperation. “You know what I mean, Stevie. Things are confused up there every which way but Sunday. I’m not saying Arkady didn’t hear what he says he heard. I’m just saying we can’t be sure she saw Win cross, because half the time the spirits don’t even know what their own names are.”
Arkady confirmed, “Dah! What Belfry say is true. I pray that is what happen.”
I held up my hands like white flags and shrugged, suddenly feeling quite tired. “Then where is he, Bel? We haven’t gotten another clue since last night, and that mustache means about as much as the pizza in relation to Win. So where is he?”
“Mustache?” Arkady asked. “What is this you say?”
“Someone drew a mustache on that crazy picture Stevie has on her nightstand of the guy she thought Win looked like.”
“When? When this happen, malutka?”
I trudged toward the hallway, almost in a hazy fog. “I guess last night while we were taking apart the bathroom pipes. It makes no sense. The only thing that does make sense is Win crossing over.”
Bel buzzed right at my ear, his tone angry. “Then who’s sending the messages, Stevie? If not Winterbutt, if he’s really gone, then who? Why?”
I climbed the stairs, my feet moving without me feeling a thing as I clung to the banister. “Maybe someone’s toying with me. Someone who knows I can no longer fight bac
k. It’s happened before.”
“Stevie! Where are you going? If that’s true, it someone’s taunting you, we have to find out who it is. But most importantly, we need to find out if what this spirit said is true!” Bel yelled at me, zipping around my head with an audible flap of his wings.
I felt defeat weighing me down, oppressive and heavier each step I climbed. “I have to call everyone and cancel Thanksgiving, Bel. Then I’m going to get dressed.”
“Oh, malutka. Arkady is sorry he make you so sad. I love you. You are my family when I have no one. I am responsible. How can I make right?”
I heard Arkady’s agonized tone, heard the plea in his voice, but it was dulled. Rounding the corner, I went straight to my bedroom. “I know you would never hurt me intentionally, Arkady. I asked you to see what you could see, and you did, and I love you for it. This isn’t your fault. Now, let me change and make those phone calls, okay?”
“And then we put heads together some more, dah?” he asked hopefully.
I began to close the door to my room, but before I did, I said, “Sure.”
The hush of the door closing, the silence in my bedroom, the gloom of the day made me stand still and close my eyes, absorbing this abrupt and strange lack of panic.
I stared at fake Winterbottom’s picture with his mustache, still without a clue as to who’d customized the photo. That should be driving me buggy, but I couldn’t seem to put anything together.
All the tumult of the past three days, all the fear and anxiety fled, and I was left feeling dead inside.
That’s exactly how I felt at that very moment.
Dead.
The entire day passed without me even noticing until Bel rapped sharply on my door. I’d never dressed after I’d made the necessary phone calls to cancel Thanksgiving dinner.
Instead, I’d plopped down in the chair in the corner of my room and watched the rain fall and the wind blow with no particular thoughts other than it was almost Thanksgiving, and I was grateful I wouldn’t have a houseful of people for whom I’d have to pretend everything was fine.
Witch Way Did He Go? Page 8
