Trinity: The Koldun Code (Book 1)

by Sophie Masson

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  There was a pause, then her mother said, in a different tone, “I’m sorry too, Helen. Didn’t mean to jump down your throat like that. It’s just – it was a bit of a shock, that’s all. Are you having a good time?”

  “Yes. We are.” She didn’t mention what had happened at the office.

  “Then that’s good. Oh well, I suppose I’ll just have to make apologies for you tonight. At Galina’s place. Sergey’s sister. You know.”

  “Oh shit. I totally forgot about that.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” said her mother, wryly. “Ah well, you take care, have fun, and see you soon.”

  “You too. Mam?”

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, chérie,” said her mother, and Helen could hear the smile in her voice. “See you when I see you, then.” And she rang off.

  Helen went to find Alexey, who’d kept a discreet distance while she called her mother. He was munching on some olives and nuts in the kitchen, a bottle of vodka and two glasses at his elbow.

  She smiled at him. “Hey, that looks good.”

  He poured them each a shot. “To us!” he said, and they drank.

  She took a handful of olives and nuts. “Well, that’s it. Mam freaked out a bit at first but she was okay in the end.”

  “Good,” he said, coming to her and sliding an arm around her waist. “Now then, ma petite mademoiselle, we have the night to ourselves.”

  “Yep,” she said, joyously, resting her head against his shoulder. “We do.”

  “And you know what? I don’t want to talk about sorcerers or secrets or Trinity or anything like that. In fact, right now I’d really prefer something other than talk altogether. Or even drinking vodka. How about you?”

  “Suits me just fine,” she murmured, heart pounding as she reached hungrily for him.

  Chapter 22

  If their love-making the day before had been glorious, this evening’s took it to a new level of intensity as they explored each other, bodies silk-slipping, hotly fusing, breathing in sights, sounds, smells, touch, taste. And now it was wildly passionate, now glowingly tender, now slow and languid, now hot and urgent. For the lovers, time had stopped, the bed was their kingdom, the bedroom their universe and nobody and nothing existed outside of it. And at the end of it, as they lay sweaty, exhausted and exhilarated in each other’s arms, Alexey said, softly, “I could die happy right now.”

  “Oh, don’t say morbid things like that,” she cried, a little coldness tracking up her spine. He nuzzled at her neck and whispered, “We’re going to live forever, you and I, right?”

  ““Right,” she said, “and we’re going to make love every day of it. Like, many times a day.”

  “Wow,” he said, laughing, “what are you going to do to me, girl?”

  “Just wait and see,” she said, teasingly, and just when it seemed it couldn’t happen again, it did. Alexey fell asleep then but Helen couldn’t, and she lay there staring into space, her arm slowly growing numb under Alexey’s shoulder. Extracting it gently, she got up and, flinging on one of Alexey’s shirts from the wardrobe, she padded into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. Taking it into the living-room, she stood at the window and looked out at the glittering night city, sparkling fairy lights strung out along the roads as if there was about to be a party, colored streams of car headlights, floodlit buildings against the black sky. From this distance, framed in the big double-glazed window, it was a strangely serene scene, like a living painting.

  “How do you fancy going out in that?” said Alexey, behind her.

  “Oh, I do,” she said, hugging him. “But do you think it’s okay? I mean, safe?”

  “Christ, I’m not going to be a prisoner, no matter what anyone says. Besides, the card’s in the bank, and Kolya spread the word about it being locked up, just like Maxim said, so we’ve done everything we can.” He gestured at the city. “Out there, it’s buzzing. Heaving with people. Safest place to be, out in public. And I want to show you Moscow by night. What’s the matter, you too tired to go out, babe?” He gave her a teasing sidelong glance.

  She smiled. “No. Why, are you?”

  “Never felt better. Let’s hit the town then.” He grinned. “Maybe better change though, yeah? Very fetching what you’re wearing, but …”

  “Pot calling the kettle black,” she said, pinging the elastic of his silk cartoon-covered boxers, “don’t you think?”

  In the mall, where they’d bought the photo display, Helen had also bought a pack of knickers and a T-shirt, for her beautiful silk shirt had had to be washed, but it was so light that it was already dry. She put it back on, and the flares and jacket and boots, and twisted her hair up with a bronze band she’d also bought in the store. Alexey had extra clothes in the wardrobe so that was easy for him and in his deep green linen shirt, cream pants and jacket he looked so stunning she couldn’t stop looking at him.

  *

  Outside, the Friday night air was balmy, and the streets buzzing. It was as if the whole city was out and about. Nightclubs, bars and restaurants were crammed full, cars streamed by on the roads, from flash Italian and German sports cars and hulking SUVs to nippy Japanese hatchbacks and battered Russian workhorses. And crowds of roaring motorbikes headed for the Sparrow Hills where, Alexey said in his Aussie idiom, the bikers did “wheelies”, showing off shamelessly. Red Square heaved with people: teenagers out on the town, scrubbed-up families promenading with blasé children, wide-eyed foreign tourist groups shepherded by brisk guides, people having their photographs taken with buskers in fancy dress. Behind the baroque crimson bulk of the historical museum with its costumed guards were food and drink and souvenir stalls, still doing brisk business, while a loud rock band with a mini-skirted singer in high-heeled boots and a fur hat played on a stage in a corner and a wispy man parading two little performing monkeys in red jackets and a dejected eagle on a perch called meekly for coins from the watching crowd.

  For quite a while, Alexey and Helen wandered around happily, hand in hand, loving the bustle, loving too being a young couple like any other, for here no one recognized Alexey and no one dogged his footsteps. They didn’t go to a restaurant for dinner but just bought sausage and onion sandwiches from a stall and a cold glass of strong-smelling kvass from a cart, and had it on a bench while the crowds swirled around them. Tiring of bustle, they walked to the river and stopped on a bridge for a moment, arms around each other, gazing out over the black rippling silk of the Moskva river, shot through with broad and thin brushstrokes of moonlight and electric light, together. Helen said, “You know, last time I was in Moscow it freaked me out. I couldn’t cope with it. It was just so different to what I was used to. But now …”

  “Yeah, now?” he said, when she broke off.

  “Now, it’s like the most exciting place in the world,” she said simply, “it’s like everything around us is mirroring how I feel – do you know what I mean?”

  “I do,” he said, and drew her to him. They kissed passionately, emerging to a gleeful chorus of klaxons and whoops as a band of bare-headed young bikers and their girls swept past. Alexey and Helen laughed and waved back, and then they walked hand in hand back to the Kremlin, and the Alexandrovsky gardens behind it.

  Against the back wall of the Kremlin, a smartly uniformed guard watching over the Eternal Flame and the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier stood stiffly in his gilt-framed glass niche, like a giant toy or a colored statue. Frozen in mid-movement, the bronze bears and wolves and horses and peasants which decorated fountains and canals in the gardens could have kept him quiet company had it not been for the cheerfully noisy crowds surging through.

  Alexey and Helen found a secluded spot to sit, under a tree near the water, her head against his chest, his arms around her. She took a photo of them holding each other, and because it was night and on flash, the photo was soft-focused, almost magical, the lights of the city smudged behi
nd them like one of those aura haloes. Alexey began to sing, softly, a song she didn’t know but whose melody was nevertheless hauntingly familiar, his rich dark voice inhabiting it fully, enveloping her in a cloak of beauty like the moonlit night.

  “What was that you were singing?” she breathed, when he’d finished and the song died away on the warm scented air. “It’s so lovely. I think I’ve heard it before but I don’t know what it’s called.”

  He smiled. “It’s one of the Russian classics. Almost a cliché. It’s called ‘Moscow Nights’.”

  “Clichés like that,” she said, lightly, “I can live with very happily.”

  “That’s what I reckon. The words are beautiful too.” He translated some of them, softly, “Nothing can be heard in the garden, oh how dear they are, these Moscow nights – the river is flowing and standing still, made of moon’s silver, a song is heard and not heard on those quiet nights – Now the dawn breaks, please my darling don’t forget these Moscow nights.”

  “Oh, that’s gorgeous. Magical.”

  “Songs like that create a special kind of magic.”

  She looked up at him, at his dear face illumined in the moonlight. She whispered, “Oh Alexey, don’t you ever regret not … not going on with music?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, looking into her eyes. “If I can get Trinity on an even keel – if things turn out how I hope – who knows? Perhaps in the future I might go back to thoughts of singing in public. But for now, I do not miss it. Anyway,” he said, brushing her hair with his lips, “singing to you in the night garden means much more to me right now than the applause of any crowd. I am completely content.”

  Her heart was full. “Oh Alexey. So am I.”

  There was a little silence, and then he said, “Helen, how would you feel about living here?”

  Startled, she looked up at him. “What do you mean? Live here, in Moscow?”

  “Yes. Or Uglich, if you prefer. Or Petersburg. In Russia, is what I mean.”

  She was silent a moment, remembering what she’d thought last night. Then she said, slowly, “I – I don’t know. I really like it here, in lots of ways. But it also … I mean … I feel so foreign, sometimes. Things are so different. I guess I need time to think about it.”

  “Of course you do,” he said, smiling. “You take all the time you need. I’m sorry for putting you on the spot like that. Patience, Kolya’s always telling me. Don’t really follow his advice well, do I?”

  “No, you don’t,” said Helen, a ripple of laughter in her throat, “in just about every way, you give poor old Nikolai a real run for his money.”

  Alexey shook his head. “Poor old Nikolai, my foot! Don’t let his mild manners fool you, Helen. My godfather is tough as boots, with an iron will.” He stood up and held out a hand to her. “Shall we go and find something more to eat? I’m starving.”

  “Aren’t you always?” she said, happily. “I think you’re just greedy.”

  “Guilty as charged,” he said, cheerfully, sweeping her into his arms. There was no doubt, she thought. No doubt at all. He saw them sharing the future, as well as the present. How it would work, she might not know yet. But she would, when the time was right.

  *

  Leaving the gardens, they had a drink in an intimate little bar, and afterwards wandered slowly hand in hand back to Tverskaya Street. Falling into bed, they made love for the final time that day – tenderly, gently – and fell asleep still entwined in each other’s arms. In the morning, Helen awoke to find Alexey gone. But he’d left a note on the bedside table. Out to get us some breakfast. Back soon. Kolya called. Meeting with him and Maxim this evening. Rest of day’s ours. Love you. A xxxx.

  Helen looked at the time. It was ten o’clock. Stretching luxuriously, she got up and went to have a long hot shower. They’d gone to bed very late and not gone to sleep at once either of course, but she didn’t feel tired. Indeed, she felt an immense sense of well-being. Wrapped in Alexey’s dressing-gown, she stood at the big window, looking down at the morning city spread under her, and happiness flooded through her. She went to the CD rack, took out a recording of traditional Russian music, and put it on. The melancholy, lively, haunting melodies filled the air and she danced to them in front of the window, arms stretched out to embrace the city below her, feet gliding soundlessly on the thick carpet. And as she danced, her eyes prickled with ecstatic tears and a glorious shiver rippled down her spine.

  She started as the front door banged. Alexey was back. She ran to greet him, hugging him so hard as he stepped into the hall that he protested, laughing, “Hang on, let me put these bags down. Now, there, that’s better.” He held her tight, looking into her face, “What was that about – did you think I’d run away or something?”

  “No, I just love you,” she said, simply.

  “And I love you too,” he replied, kissing her. He cocked an ear. “You’ve been playing Dad’s records.”

  “Yes,” she said, lightly. “I’m getting more acquainted with Russian culture. As it seems that might be a pretty good idea.”

  Their eyes met. He understood her meaning at once. His face lit up. “Helen, are you sure?”

  “No,” she said, quietly, “but what does that matter? It’s an adventure. You can’t be sure with adventure, can you? That’s the point. You just have to get on with it.”

  “Oh yes,” he said, and his whole face lit up with an enormous smile. “Oh yes. Yes!” And he kissed her on the lips, hard. “I’ve brought back something for you,” he went on, rummaging in the plastic bags and pulling out a little gift-wrapped parcel.

  She unwrapped it carefully and found, nestled in a box in tissue paper, a beautiful little round brooch. Made of black lacquered wood, it was edged with delicate gilt scrolling, and in the center was an exquisite painting of a bird, rather like a bird of paradise or a peacock, with a crest and outstretched wings and a long, sweeping tail, its plumage glowing in shades of red and gold.

  Helen stared at it. Alexey said, a little uncertainly, “It’s the firebird, you see. Do you like it?”

  “Oh yes. Oh Alexey – it’s so – so … it’s just so – perfect.”

  “Whew,” he said, with a grin of relief. “I’m glad you think so. The lady in the shop – she thought it was a funny sort of choice, kept trying to point me in the direction of heart lockets and ... Hey, what’s up? Don’t cry ... don’t cry ...”

  “Sorry, I just can’t help it,” bawled Helen, on his shoulder, “I’m just so happy and I can’t believe my luck, that’s all.”

  “You are the funniest, sweetest thing,” he said, half-laughing, half-serious, sweeping her up to him, “the loveliest girl in the world – there – let me pin it to your shirt.” He turned her around so that she’d face the hall mirror. “What do you think?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” she whispered, stroking the painted bird, gently, a warmth in her fingertips tingling all through her.

  “Listen to this,” Alexey said. He picked up the box the brooch had come in and gently pulled out a little slip of paper. He read, “One of the legendary traditions of the firebird is that when one of her long golden tail feathers drops to earth, light and inspiration follows, and a new story begins. I think that’s the meaning of old Mrs. Feshina’s vision, when she said you were the firebird, come from far distant lands. That is the gift you’ve brought me, Helen – new inspiration and new meaning.”

  She murmured, “Oh Alexey, no – it’s you who has brought that to me. And the courage to know it.”

  His smile was very tender as he said, “You had that courage in you already, or you’d never have been able to find it in the first place. I’m sorry, my beautiful firebird, but I think you’re just going to have to accept that you are the light of my life.”

  “Oh, Alexey,” she murmured, overcome, leaning against him.

  “Helen, I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask away,” she said, happily.

  “You know that day we first spoke to eac
h other?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, I’d never before been to that little wood near your friend’s house. I didn’t even know it existed. Normally, if I went for a ride, it was in the forest. And I hadn’t even done that in ages. But that day I changed my route. I went in a direction I’d never gone before.” Another pause. “I had no idea why – until ...”

  “Until the moment you asked me if I wanted a lift back.”

  His eyes widened. “Yes. Oh yes. It was precisely at that moment. Up till then – I was so flustered; so deafened, blinded, by my own stupidity. I had seen you once already. I had wanted so much to speak to you and couldn’t. Now, the second time, there we were, I’d touched you, had felt that connection, so deeply – and yet it was all wrong. I’d frightened you, hurt you. I felt like fate was determined to thwart me. I cursed my bad luck, but I was just going to apologize profusely and – and go – but then, somehow, the only way I can explain it is … it was as if – as if scales fell from my eyes. And I could see.”

  She looked at him and said, softly, “What did you see?”

  “I saw a picture, clear as a bell. A crossroads. We could take one path, together. Or go on opposite ones, alone.”

  A shiver of awe goose-fleshed her skin. She said, “Alexey, I had – the same vision. A right-hand path, business as usual; a left-hand path, you and I. Oh, Alexey … What does it mean, if we both saw ...”

  He said, quietly, “It means that – how can I explain it? That our souls are keyed to the same music. To variations of the same melody.” He took her hand and, bringing it to his lips, kissed it, softly. “Tell me, my darling firebird,” he whispered, “do you think you’ll ever regret taking that left-hand path?”

  “Never,” she cried, a wild thrill coursing through her. “Not for one instant.”

  Chapter 23