Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1)

by Sophie Masson

  “Hi, Helen. How’s it going?”

  She tried to keep her voice level. “Fine.” Walking away from the church to a quiet spot by the river, she went on, “I’ve just been to visit Saint Dimitri’s.”

  “And what did you think of it?”

  “Beautiful. But sad. Poor little boy. I guess he got to be a saint but somehow I think he’d have preferred to grow up.”

  “I’d say you were right. You know, when I was a kid, I used to think that one of the pictures of Saint Dimitri looked like my brother Misha. Same sulky look.” There was a smile in his voice. “Misha hated it. Used to chase me around yelling he was going to turn me into a saint if I didn’t shut up.”

  “Does he still hate it now?” Helen asked, smiling into the phone.

  There was a short silence, then Alexey said, “Misha’s … he’s dead. A few years ago.”

  What a fool she was, what a fool. How could she not have noticed that he’d spoken in the past tense? How could she not have remembered that the newspaper article she’d read had mentioned he was the only surviving child? “I’m so sorry, Alexey,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You weren’t to know and it was me who mentioned him. Anyway it does me good to speak about him. He wasn’t the easiest of brothers, but he was my brother. Poor old Mish.” He sighed. “Sorry to be a downer. You probably wish I hadn’t called now.”

  “No.” She clutched the phone closer to her ear as a couple of people walked by. “Not at all. Really. I – um – did your meeting go well? With your godfather?”

  “Sure. He’s a great guy, even if he does worry a bit too much. And he’s been awesome in getting me up to speed on things with Trinity. Steep learning curve, that’s for sure. Listen – what are you doing right now? Are you on your way home?”

  “No. I’m sitting by the river, just near the church.”

  “Good. I’m not far away. Mind if I drop by?”

  “If you like,” said Helen, her pulse racing.

  He laughed. “I do like. See you very soon, then.” And he clicked off.

  He was as good as his word. Just over five minutes had passed when she heard him calling her name and, turning, saw him walking across the grass towards her.

  “Hi,” she greeted him, trying to sound casual, as if she hadn’t spent the last few minutes with her stomach full of butterflies.

  “Hi there. Good to see you. It’s been a while,” he said, and grinned, so that she knew he was only kidding.

  “I was beginning to wonder when we’d catch up next,” she answered, matching his light tone. They looked at each other and laughed.

  “Want to walk a bit?” he said. “I’ve just spent hours over some very tiresome formalities and I really need to stretch my legs a bit before I have to go through yet another lot of papers. That okay with you?”

  “Sure.” She wouldn’t have been able to sit still, anyway. Not with him sitting next to her. At least now the flush in her cheeks might be put down to exertion. “I like walking.” On an impulse, she added, “How did you do that?”

  He blinked. “What?

  “My ankle – the other day – it was so sore.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “And then – you touched it. And it wasn’t sore any longer. Please don’t tell me it was my imagination. I know it wasn’t.”

  There was a small silence. Then he said, “I don’t know how it works.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “Just that.” For the first time since she’d met him, he sounded shy, reticent, even a little nervous, and she didn’t press him. Instead, she fished in her handbag and, bringing out Mrs. Feshina’s figurine, handed it to him, recounting the story of how she’d got it, finishing with, “So what do you think?”

  He’d accepted the change of subject with obvious relief. Turning the little figure over in his hands, he said, “You mean, should you be worried about this doll?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t think so,” he said, gently, and handed the carving back to her. “If she’s a zhanarka – well, they are the good sort of witch. Her giving you this – it’s a good sign.”

  She faltered, “You mean – you think it’s actually true, what that woman said?”

  He shrugged. “Could be.” He handed the figurine back to her, and smiled. “Don’t look so worried, Helen. Witch or not, I’m sure the old lady hasn’t called down a curse on you or anything.”

  She blushed. “Of course I didn’t think that. It’s just so – so –”

  “So out there?” he suggested. She nodded.

  “You’ll get used to that,” he said. “Magic is so popular here that the government actually regulates witchcraft.”

  She stared at him. “What? Like in Harry Potter?”

  He smiled. “Kind of. They know they can’t ban magic, so they just try to keep tabs on it, and forbid witches and wizards and ekstrasens – those are psychics – from claiming their services can cure terminal illnesses, that kind of thing. Doesn’t stop them from getting tons of clients, from all walks of life, who come for potions, and curses and fortune-telling and whatever. And let’s not forget those that can help you stave off energy vampires.”

  “You’re kidding me! What on earth are those? Twilight types on speed?”

  He laughed. “Sort of. Except more like they’re on downers. Energy vampires suck all the energy out of you. They’re the kinds of people who bring you down all the time, who make you feel that life’s a drag, who take away your joy of life, who turn the world into a gray fog.”

  Helen gave an involuntary shiver, thinking of Simon. Alexey saw it and said, quietly, “Makes sense, doesn’t it, in a strange sort of way? We all know people like that. It’s just that some of us prefer to think it’s a kind of spell. Because you can break a spell, if you have the right formula. Gives you hope. Do you see?”

  “I do,” said Helen, very much struck by his words.

  “Helen, can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “What brought you here? I mean, I know you came on holiday with your mother. But if you don’t mind me saying so, it’s kind of unusual to see a girl your age traveling with her mother.”

  She swallowed. “I – I happen to like traveling with my mother.” Defiantly, she added, “Is that so strange?”

  “No. It’s unusual, that’s all. You’re lucky. My mother …” He paused, and she saw his eyes darken. “I never got to know that about her and me. She died of cancer when I was twelve, but I still miss her so much.”

  Her throat swelled. Impulsively, she reached out a hand to him. “Oh, Alexey. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and clasped her hand. Though his touch was brief, Helen’s breath caught in her throat, for the flood of warmth she’d felt when he’d touched her ankle had surged through her again. Only sweeter and more piercing this time. And from the expression in his eyes, she knew he felt it too.

  There was a small silence, then he released her hand and went on, “It’s the one thing I really understood about my father. The fact he loved my mother. I think she was the only person he ever truly loved.”

  His eyes were shiny. His emotions were so close to the surface, she thought, and she was helplessly drawn to that in him. Still a little shaky, she whispered, “Oh, it must be so hard for you.”

  “It has been. But I think it just got easier.” Their eyes met.

  And then, it was as if some barrier had broken between them, and as they walked by the river and back through the park, the talk blossomed between them as easily as if they had known each other for a long time, and yet it was sparkling, piquant with discovery; intimate and unfamiliar, all at once. For though there was so much that was different between them, there was so much too that rang common bells: uneasy family circumstances, shunting between different countries, different cultures, the feeling of being set apart, somewhat solitary but needing company too, and concentrating on school work to escape the confusion
. But whereas Helen’s interests at school had always tended to words, Alexey was drawn to music. His interest led him to the conservatorium and training as a classical singer; hers to Changeling. But he didn’t dwell on the music school. “I want to know about you,” he said. “Tell me about Changeling and what you do there.”

  “Nothing now,” she said, softly. “It was an internship and I was so excited to get it because it’s really sought-after. You see, Changeling’s one of the coolest small production houses in the UK, they do great quirky documentaries. And they made it pretty clear that if I did well, they’d offer me a job. I really thought I was doing well. I worked really hard, and I even came up with a couple of story ideas which I pitched. Well, my internship expired – and they said they had to let me go. When I asked why, they told me I didn’t quite fit in, that I didn’t have what they called a ‘proper team spirit’. I knew then what it was really about. Those story ideas I’d pitched. I hadn’t gone to my immediate boss first, I didn’t play office politics, I just had no idea. I thought – I thought that none of that mattered. I thought Changeling was – different. Creative. Cool. So uncorporate.” She grimaced. “I learned the hard way they weren’t. That they’d pinned me down as a troublemaker. I was an idiot. I should have kept my head down.”

  “No,” said Alexey, his eyes flashing. “What they did was not only unjust but stupid. A company’s only as good as the people who work for it. And if they treat staff like that – well, in the end they’ll get what they deserve. You’ll see.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Alexey, but that isn’t how it works,” she said, wearily. She thought of that last hour at Changeling, of stumbling blindly out of the office and into the Tube, heading home desperate for comfort, and walking in on Simon and Annie…

  She couldn’t tell him that part. Not yet. Maybe one day. If they got to “one day”. Right now, it felt like a violation. Telling him about Changeling was a relief, but it wasn’t the worst of it, not the coup de grâce that had sent her reeling out into the street.

  Chapter 6

  Not long after, Alexey had to leave. But not before he had made a date with Helen for the next day. “No snatched moments, this time,” he’d said. “Let me take you to lunch. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” she echoed, and as she made her way back to Irina’s, she was so happy she felt as though she were floating. Her mother had said she should take care, because “people like that” saw life differently. “But that’s what I want,” said Helen to the bright sky. “To see life differently. And no more energy vampires!” And she laughed.

  The rest of the afternoon and evening passed quietly, but cheerfully. Helen’s mother clearly saw that her daughter was in a buoyant mood, but she didn’t ask any questions, and when Helen told her she was going out to lunch with Alexey the next day, she only nodded and said, “That sounds nice. I suppose being a local he must know the good places around here.” Helen knew her mother was making an effort for her sake, and it touched her instead of irritating her as it might once have done. She showed her Mrs. Feshina’s figurine, and told her what the stall-keeper had said, and her mother shook her head and said, “That reminds me of old Madame Latour in the village in France when I was a child, everyone knew she was a sorcière. Even the mayor of the village went to her in secret once, and he was supposed to be a Communist and not believe in God let alone magic. She really had a gift, you know. She knew people. Could see inside you. Or that’s what it felt like.”

  “That’s what Mrs. Feshina was like too,” Helen exclaimed, and then the rest of the evening passed happily swapping stories of the unexplained over dinner, and then watching a DVD of Dersu Uzala that Irina had on her shelves. The touching story of the old Siberian hunter Dersu Uzala and his friendship with the young Russian surveyor Arseniev, and the grandeur of the Siberian landscape, were enthralling, so that when Helen went to bed, her head was full of snowy vistas and huge dark forests, and hard-faced, soft-eyed men for whom life was never a gray fog.

  *

  Dreaming, Helen was back in the wood. The same wood as where she’d met Alexey, but it felt very different. The trees pressed in much closer, the shadows grew across the track. Unseen eyes were in every tree, and there were whispers, rustles of footfalls all around. She could hear her own heart beating. Could feel the sweat growing cold on her skin. She wanted to turn back, but couldn’t. Could only go forward, deeper into the heart of the woods.

  There was someone right behind her. Something. She turned her head to look and saw a bear. A huge beast the size of a grizzly. It was a short distance away, loping down the track toward her. Small, intelligent eyes, mouth open on a soundless roar. She began to run, but the bear kept coming, calm, purposeful, while the breath tore in her chest and through her throat. She ran and ran, and the bear still kept coming, and soon, soon, it would catch her up …

  Helen woke. Her heart was pounding. Her skin felt cold. For a moment, the dream’s menace still lingered in her, like a warning, a threat. She looked at the time. It was well past ten o’clock! She hadn’t slept so long for ages, and yet she didn’t feel very rested because of the dream. And then she remembered. Alexey was picking her up at midday. And that immediately chased away thought of everything else.

  Whoa, girl, she told herself. Slow down. Yes. You’re going on a date with a gorgeous guy who you clearly click with. But he’s a stranger, from a dangerous world so different to yours that it might as well be on another planet. After that business with Simon, surely she’d learned her lesson. And then it struck her. That dismissive phrase, the one an indifferent stranger might have used: The business with Simon. No grief, no shame, not even anger. That was suddenly all in the past. Finished. Done with. All that mattered was here. Now. Seeing him again.

  She showered, and dressed, changing clothes several times before finally deciding on a simple dark blue cotton dress sprinkled with daisies. It was short, and her legs felt strangely bare, so she pulled on a pair of cable-knit tights, and ballerina pumps, and a pale blue cotton cardigan. She twisted her hair up, and put on some lip gloss and mascara and some daisy earrings. She looked at herself in the mirror. Well, hello, little Miss Clement, she thought, Bo-Peep with your sheep, butter wouldn’t melt. Not classy or elegant. Not sexy. Not dangerous at all.

  When her mother saw her, she raised an eyebrow. “You sure you’re wearing the right sort of clothes for this?”

  “For what?” Helen flashed out.

  Her mother looked surprised and a little hurt. “I just mean – Russians dress up, you know.”

  “We’re not going to a posh restaurant, Mam. I mean, this is a provincial town in the middle of nowhere, not Moscow or Paris!”

  “You never know,” said her mother, mysteriously, and Helen shrugged, trying to look calm and collected when in fact she felt anything but.

  *

  A short time later, he arrived. Helen was in the back garden when the Mercedes pulled up outside the house, and by the time she went back in, Alexey was standing in the kitchen, talking to her mother who was arranging some flowers in a vase. Dressed in a white shirt, a fine blue linen jacket and trousers, he looked not only elegant but unbelievably sexy.

  Her mother said, “There you are. Aren’t these lovely?”

  They were creamy-white roses, very fragrant, Helen could smell them from across the room. “Lovely,” she echoed, stammering a little. “Thank – thank you.”

  “I hoped you’d like them.” The words were ordinary, but his sea-change eyes were expressive, and she swallowed. She said, a little clumsily, “Right – are you ready, then?”

  “If you are,” he replied, holding her gaze, and she saw the alarm dawning in her mother’s face. She said, hastily, “Okay, Mam, see you later,” and went out with Alexey.

  There were two people in the front seat of the car – the chauffeur and a young man with crew-cut blond hair. Alexey saw her glance and said, “Sorry about that, it’s more to keep Kolya happy than anything. He doesn’t like it when
I ditch security like I’ve done recently.” He held the gate open for her. “Anyway, don’t worry, Slava and Yuri are not going to be breathing down our necks at the restaurant, they’ll wait outside.”

  He introduced her to the two men. Helen murmured greetings, not meeting the bodyguard Slava’s eye as he jumped out and opened the rear door for them. What would he and the chauffeur think of their boss taking some unknown foreign girl out to lunch? She was prickly with nerves, but Alexey seemed perfectly relaxed, chatting about the weather, the news, the houses they passed, while she sat uncomfortably aware of the silent presence of the men in front. Yet even more acutely aware of Alexey’s nearness, though he didn’t try to touch her.

  Soon they were purring in through the impressive gateway of the hotel, a grand pillared building in the style of the Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow, standing in landscaped grounds right on the banks of the Volga, with a sweeping view over the huge river. Taken by surprise, Helen said, “Hey, that’s not bad. Someone’s old mansion, was it?”

  “No, actually. It’s pretty much brand-new. They just wanted it to look like it came from the time of the tsars. Done it pretty well, too.”

  Inside was just as grand, all turned balustrades, crystal chandeliers, crimson and cream walls on which hung oil paintings of imperial court scenes, and a magnificent central marble staircase leading up to the first floor. This was nothing like what Helen had expected.

  She blurted out, without thinking, “Alexey, this is going to cost you a fortune.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said, grinning. “My fortune’s big enough to take care of itself.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she said, blushing scarlet, because of the appallingly stupid thing she’d said, and because she was afraid he’d think she was a gold-digger, and also because she was disconcerted that he should be so open about his money. People didn’t do that. Not in the circles she’d been in, at least. Simon’s circle, that’s to say. Most of them had money – or at least their families did – and it was expected they – and you – pretended it didn’t matter. When actually, of course, it did.