“Kazimir taught me some phrases during the flight.”
“Interesting.” Valentina winked. “That’s what you two were doing in my suite? Learning.”
Kazimir still hadn’t moved his gaze from me. “Let me hear you speak Russian.”
Valentina lifted her glass to drink.
I waved at her. “Privet. Menya zovut, Emily. Shob tebe deti v sup srali.”
Valentina came close to spitting out her drink.
Maxwell eyed her. “What did Emily say?”
Valentina coughed in between laughter. “She said, ‘Hello. My name is Emily. I hope your kids shit in your soup.’”
Kazimir did his best to keep a straight face. At the corners of his mouth, a smile came and then left.
“Really, brother?” Valentina shook her head. “That is not survival Russian at all.”
“I’ve taught her other things,” Kazimir said.
“Tol'ko vy mozhete pozvonit' mne, chto,” I said to prove his point.
Maxwell held out his hands. “What was that?”
I replied, “It means, ‘Only you can call me that.’”
“Call me what?” Maxwell asked.
“Whatever she wants,” Kazimir answered.
Valentina giggled. Maxwell made some funny comment that was lost on my ears, right as X cheered his second drink to a straight-faced Oleg. All the while, Kazimir watched me with an intensity that sank down to my bones.
That look made me uneasy. For the first time in my life, it made me want things that I’d never considered. My heart hammered again just like it did at the astronomical clock.
“I would destroy the world, if it would calm you.”
Turning from him, I gazed out the window and focused on breathing. Everything was happening so fast. For the first time in my life, I felt a devout closeness to a man. I loved Maxwell and X, but we were no more than family. With Kazimir, it was something else. I would die for Maxwell and X. This was true. But for Kazimir, I would ruin myself. I would shed my skin and rip out my organs. An intense feeling had been blossoming. He’d learned the truth of who I was and didn’t bat one eye. He’d found out how damaged I’d been, and he found kinship in it, instead of running away or hurting me more.
In a small amount of time, I’d found a devout closeness. One that was deep. Heartfelt. Religious, even. I hadn’t experienced anything holier, anything more sacred.
And maybe it was all in my head. I’d killed several men and blocked it out of my mind, only thinking about it through dreams. Kennedy had just passed. Daryl had killed her and any relationship we had.
So much was going on, and this man looked at me, and I felt like everything would be okay. Suddenly, faith flowed in a dark, hopeless soul.
I can’t think about this now. Focus. Someone’s trying to kill him. Keep the man alive, and then you can think about what you want to do with him.
I exhaled and took in the surroundings running by the limo’s window.
Everyone else chattered. Even Kazimir joined into the discussion. X had tons of questions about Russian traditions and culture. We all knew that Prague was just a short stop. Moscow would be the true test of our survival.
“Using both the first and last name is polite and official, especially if you’re younger than the person. But age can matter.” Kazimir continued, “If a woman is around fifteen years older than you, then you would say, Hello, Mariya Sergeevna. But if she is at least forty years older, then she would probably prefer Aunt Mariya which is a polite and unofficial form.”
“Valentina said that we are going to your Uncle Igor’s castle,” Maxwell said. “Is this your actual Uncle or is it like this polite way of talking to people?”
“In a way,” Kazimir said. “He is not my uncle by blood, but he is my uncle in blood.”
“He helped raise us, and took care of our mother,” Valentina chimed in.
“I get that,” Maxwell said. “It’s like X is our uncle.”
“I’m not your damn uncle,” X replied. “I just can’t run fast enough from y’all. No matter what.”
“Don’t listen to him.” Maxwell shook his head. “He loves us like his own children.”
X snorted but said nothing else as the ice clinked in his glass.
“When we meet your uncle, how should we address him?” Maxwell asked.
“You won’t meet him. They call him the Old Fox, and he’s tricky as one.” Valentina finished her glass and handed it to Olga. “It would be too dangerous.”
I turned to Kazimir.
“No, Valentina,” Kazimir said. “They will be staying with us there.”
Valentina switched to heated Russian.
Kazimir shrugged.
Annoyed, she made herself another drink and muttered something that I assumed was a curse word in Russian. Whatever it was, it was worse than kids shitting in soup.
I wanted to ask what was going on, but Kazimir wasn’t a man who loved questions. Granted, he had all the answers, but he wasn’t a fan of giving them to anyone. It was probably how he’d gotten to the top so fast and at such a young age.
“But Valentina makes a good point,” Kazimir said as if we knew the whole conversation. “You won’t meet our uncle, personally. He’ll know you’re there. You’ll be the Harlem Crew.”
No one said anything, listening to the hidden clues in the silence. Something was up with Uncle Igor. Maybe he didn’t like black people. Perhaps, the guy was a mad man. Whatever it was, we’d find out soon and deal with it.
We left the city and went up a crooked, quiet path that later led to a rocky road rising into mountains. We bounced in the limo a little. Besides the ice clinking in X’s glass, silence filled the space. The sharp edge of the mountains appeared closer, ready to cut us.
The road curved sharply. Trees outlined the road, thickening and crowding with each foot. Tangled woods came next.
I couldn’t say how far away we were when I spotted the castle on the cliffs. But it shot up out of nowhere. Simply materialized, a line of jagged darkness set against a cloudy sky, captivating and scary all at the same time. First, there was shading from the trees and a subtle darkness ahead, and then the castle showed its face, blinking with ornate stained-glass windows and a massive stone staircase that wound up to the door. An immaculate fortress on a steep cliff.
I leaned forward.
Holy shit.
Tons of cars surrounded it. Other cars were driving to the front and letting guests out.
What’s going on?
Bonfires dotted the front as if we had rolled up on some sort of Celtic Harvest festival. Everyone wore black. Many had animal masks on their faces. And these weren’t the fun, plastic Halloween masks. They were carved and covered in hair and fur. Hundreds of people headed that way.
Valentina muttered Russian under her breath as if cursing Kazimir.
Kazimir whispered to me, “My uncle is eccentric and very religious. He thinks I’m dead, so he’s probably holding some sort of ceremony.”
“Or séance,” Valentina added.
I ignored all the masked people and returned to the castle. Only God knew how many bedrooms existed in that monstrosity of stone and stained windows. It was more of a massive gothic church than a home.