“You are tired, zvyozdochka. I understand this.” Viktor was trying to be sympathetic. He only called me zvyozdochka, or “little star” when he was trying to be parental. But I knew his head would be spinning with the idea of how much money we would lose if we canceled two weeks of shows.
I had only missed shows twice. Once, I had to be rushed to the hospital when I broke my foot after tripping over a violin bow backstage in Glasgow, and once when my mother had given birth to my little brother and I flew to Russia to meet him. Although even then, taking up the space of another person in my parents’ house simply made me feel as though I was in the way.
“But you will come out here, and you will practice, and you will rest,” Viktor said, hopefully. “You only need to play the next shows, and then there is a break in the schedule. And you will have time to focus on preparing for the Hull, yes?”
I glanced back at Dec, who was watching the waterfall. He had said he knew someone who might be able to speak to Dmitry; perhaps they could also find lost items. Going to Dmitry’s funeral was not an action that would honor my teacher’s memory. But following his last request would honor him in the most dramatic way I could imagine.
I took a deep breath. “I am sorry, Viktor. I am truly sorry, but no. I cannot do this. Not yet. I need to mourn Dmitry in my own way.”
I told Viktor how grief-stricken I was and how my hands shook uncontrollably every time I tried to play. That second part was a necessary lie. Viktor would never want me to go on stage if I were less than perfect. It would ruin my image and everything “the team” had worked for so many years to achieve.
“If you insist on telling me that you are safe, I will believe you and run interference with the others if I must. You are seventeen now. And I trust you. You have earned that. But you are certain that you will be at the Dublin shows?”
I nodded, though Viktor would not be able to hear it. The shows, which took place in just over three weeks, had sold out; and the money was going to benefit a children’s charity. I could not bail on them. “I promise I will be there.”
On the other end of the phone, Viktor made a sound of relief that reminded me the money I brought in not only supported my own family, but the crew and their families as well.
Now that the big issue was out of the way, Viktor began to fill me in on the other business deals my team had signed or discussed in my absence.
I let my mind wander as I turned to watch Dec again. He was attractive in a way that made it clear that attractiveness was not a goal he found important. His dark brown hair had just enough wave in it to catch the sunlight, and his eyes had the tired look of someone who spent too much time thinking. There was a complexity about him that reminded me of a set of matryoshka, Russian stacking dolls, I had as a child. Every time you opened one, there was a smaller one inside.
As I watched, Dec picked up a handful of pebbles and held them tight in his hand before tossing them into the water one by one.
“Anastasia!” Viktor barked on the phone when it became obvious I hadn’t been paying attention.
“Sorry. I am…tired. Could I call you back in a few days, Viktor? Please. Just tell everyone I am well.”
I spat on the ground for luck. It was an old superstition. One of my grandmother’s. Like throwing a coin in the wishing well, I was not above looking foolish if it meant that everyone would give me these few days off.
It paid off, because Viktor took a deep breath and said, “Under the circumstances, I will do this. Just remember your commitments and stay safe. I will let you know how the ‘event’ goes.”
“Is everything okay?” Dec asked when I hung up.
His concern was obviously genuine, and it was amazing, for the first time, to feel like someone was actually interested in me and not my career.
Was everything okay? I was alone in a town I did not know. Dmitry was gone. But the air was fresh with falling water, and I felt like I was making a friend for the first time. I had time to myself to decide if I would continue my grueling schedule beyond this year or whether I would honor Dmitry’s request to find the rest of the Prelude.
Dec’s face was open and eager for my answer. “I believe it is okay,” I said to Dec, enjoying the sudden weightlessness of my shoulders. “I truly do.”
Chapter 10
Russ
I thought back to Willow’s words. There was only one thing I “have” and that was the notebook of my grandmother’s. The writing was dense and the pages were old and it wasn’t as if there was an index or anything. I couldn’t just look up “unmoving piano” or “assholes who cheat at poker.”
Still, I had no choice but to try.
Starting at the beginning, I deciphered pages that, near as I could tell, held the secrets to caring for wounds and giving yourself strength for longer than average séances. I whipped up a solution from a note on page seven, titled “archival tips” and used it to carefully pry apart pages that were stuck together with mildew and age.
Then, I admitted defeat and tried to sleep. After another hour or two of failing at that, I got up and, despite it being the middle of the night, quiet except for the sounds of crickets and other nocturnal creatures, I let myself out of the house and walked.
This time, I avoided the woods. There was a place near the town square I’d always liked. A small fountain surrounded by some old brick benches near a statue of Sarahlyn Beck, one of St. Hilaire’s founders. She was an alchemist, we learned in school, and the story was she had turned enough metal into gold that she was able to fund the creation of the town.
There was nothing overly remarkable about the fountain itself, except the only memory I had of St. Hilaire from my childhood was of this place.
When I was little, my teachers complained that I was dazed at times, distracted, almost as if I were somewhere else. As I got older, I improved at ignoring the voices I sometimes heard and the movements I saw in the shadows.
I knew my mother could see the ghosts as clearly as I could. Knew she understood why I was cold all the time. But she refused to talk about it or, aside from that one time, to bring me to St. Hilaire.
I remember the sound of the water, the cold spray on my face, and the music being played by some older kids nearby. It was hot, and I’d danced in the water while my mother and grandmother had argued about how to deal with my abilities, but the memory was removed as if I were watching a movie. I was such a different person now.
A breeze picked up and blew a flyer into my leg. It was for the Guild’s failed community séance to summon Ian’s ghost. What a crock. Ian had never done anything simply because anyone else demanded it. They were fooling themselves if they thought he’d start now that he was dead.
Looking at the flyer, I admitted to myself that part of me missed the push and pull of our banter, the incredible sense of possibility I’d always felt when Ian was around, the rare feeling of being part of something, instead of on the outside looking in.