“She’ll love these.” Valentina gestured to the painting. “Not every room has one, and not everyone even knows about them.”
“Why do you?”
“Little girls always need to hide, when there’s a house full of boys.”
Sounds like something Em would say.
“Be careful, Maxwell. I like you.” She stepped through the painting. Oleg followed, but not before glaring at me for a few seconds.
Hey, I’m not a fan of you either.
When the painting closed, I checked the gun for bullets, saw that it was full, and placed it under the nearest pillow.
“I put something under your bed. Don’t look at what it is.”
“Sorry, Valentina.” I dropped to my knees, checked under the bed, and pulled out a large black duffle bag. “I’m from Harlem, not Bethlehem. We lie. We steal. And we always look, when we’re not supposed to.”
I zipped the bag open. A note lay on a pile of weapons, a card with a message written in red lipstick.
“You’re such a bad boy, Maxwell.”
So, you knew I would look?
I moved the card and checked everything else in the bag. From first perusal, the items represented things one would use to break into a house, but I had no idea. There was rope, a large knife, black clothes to fit a slim woman or small man, a syringe with some clear liquid in it, and a children’s book written in English. The title read, Vasilisa the Beautiful.
Surprisingly, out of everything in the bag, the book crept me out the most.
Why isn’t it written in Russian or Czech? When did she get this and why is it in a bag full of rope, black clothes, and weapons?
Utterly confused, I did a quick skim of the book. It had gold English cursive words that puffed up a little. I slipped my hand over the soft texture. The illustrations were captivating—something Em would have drooled over.
I glanced up at the wall and then the door. Everything seemed safe. I read a few words and skipped a couple of pages. From what I understood with a fast read, some merchant had a pretty daughter, and the girl’s mother died and left her a magic wooden doll. Throughout the girl’s life, this doll helped her with problems.
I got a Cinderella vibe from the story. There was a stepmother and stepsisters. Poor Vasilisa had to do all the household chores. The whole time, the doll helped.
But then the story went in a different direction. Vasilisa ended up living with some guy named Baba Yaga, completing tasks for him, and eventually getting to an odd happily ever after.
However, that wasn’t the part that stuck out.
Valentina—or at least I assumed it was her—had bookmarked a page. On it, Vasilisa walked through a forest and during her journey, three men rode by her on horses. White covered the first one; even his sword was ivory. The second wore red. The third one rode in all black. He had a skeleton face, and his eye sockets were empty and sunken in.
What kind of kid’s book is this?
Something or someone bumped behind my wall. I hurried, slung everything into the bag, and then slid it back under the bed. The bumping stopped.
My phone buzzed. I rose and checked the screen.
Em: Is anyone in your room?
What the hell are you up to?
I typed back.
Me: No.
Em: K
I waited for more texts or explanation. None came. I put the phone back in my pocket and got ready to go through the bag some more, but then the bumping on the wall increased.
This place is fucking crazy? Is that Valentina coming back?
A little dust fell from the bottom of the painting where Valentina had just escaped through. I didn’t reach under my pillow. Granted, I wasn’t supposed to have a gun, and whoever coming through probably was a friend.
Still, this wasn’t Harlem, and I had more enemies here than friends.
Better safe than sorry.
I grabbed the gun from the pillow, rushed over, and aimed as the painting opened.
Em popped her head in and then widened her eyes. “There’s secret tunnels here.”
“Yeah.”
She climbed through. “You already knew?”
I hurried and closed the painting. “Valentina just came through it.”
“What?” She jumped to the side. “What the hell did she want, and why did she come through the painting?”
“She wants me to help her do something shady.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” I briefed Em on everything that had happened in the room with Valentina, including the bag under my bed, its contents, and the story.
“She gave you the gun?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” She didn’t seem overly interested as she turned back to the painting and slid her fingers along the frame. “See where it goes with, Valentina. It might be nothing, or it could be everything.”
My words dripped with sarcasm. “Great and informative advice as usual, Em.”
“What else can I say?”
“What about the kid’s book?”
“Baba Yaga is from Slavic folklore. At least, I think so. He was huge in eastern European folklore. He’s a supernatural being.” She held her hands out. “What that has to do with guns and knives, I don’t know.”
“What do you think Valentina is going to do?”
“I have no idea. We’re just rolling with the moment here.” She tried to open the painting again. “I just went through a tunnel in the wall. Clearly, we’re going to be working with a lot of crazy stuff we can’t understand. Just like with a new tunnel, you have to walk through the darkness and see where it leads.”
“Hold up.” I shut the painting back. “How did you know about the tunnels anyway? Did your Russian tell you?”
“His name is Kazimir. It’s easier to say that than, Your Russian.”
“He needs a nickname like the others.”
“Kaz isn’t a job.”
“Then, what is he?”
“Helping us stay alive. And anyway, I haven’t heard from Kaz since he left with his uncle. I know about the tunnels because X sent me blueprints.”
“Okay, but we’ve got to watch our communication on text. I bet they’re still monitoring your phone.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to keep this a secret from Kaz.” She opened the painting back up.
Something about the way Em said his name had me worried.
I watched her climb back into the wall. “What the hell do you mean you won’t be keeping secrets from him?”
“It’s in our best interests to work with Kaz. This is his world, and he’s the most powerful one in it. He stays in the know.”
I couldn’t understand if she was talking metaphorically or literally when discussing the Russian and his owning the world. I’d seen a lot around him. He had deep power. There was definitely an argument that he ruled the actual world.
She studied the painting. “That’s cool. Your hidden door was a painting. Mine was a bookshelf that snapped back and forth. The books weren’t real. That was my first clue that something was up. I hit X. He gave me the blueprints. Then, everything made sense. A secret exit lay behind the book shelf.” She slipped her hand against the frame. “Mine was a bitch to open. I didn’t think anyone had gone through it in a long time.”