He nodded toward the window. The sun was almost down, the sky purple, with only a little orange on the horizon. Tamara worked within walking distance, and while there probably wasn't any real danger, I didn't want her out alone after sunset. I stood up. "Come on, we'll go get her." To Lev and Artur I said, "You guys can stay here."
Denis and I walked the half-mile to the small office where Tamara worked. She did assorted clerical tasks, like filing and copying, and there'd apparently been some project that kept her there late tonight. We met her at the door and walked back to the apartment without incident, talking animatedly about our hunting plans for the evening. When we reached Tamara's building, I heard a strange wailing across the street. We all turned, and Denis chuckled.
"Good God, it's that crazy woman again," I muttered.
Tamara didn't live in a bad part of town but, as in any city, there were homeless people and panhandlers. The woman we watched was almost as ancient as Yeva, and she regularly walked up and down the street, muttering to herself. Today, she lay on her back on the sidewalk, making strange noises while waving her limbs like a turtle.
"Is she hurt?" I asked.
"Nope. Just crazy," said Denis. He and Tamara turned to go inside, but some soft part of me couldn't abandon her. I sighed.
"I'll be right in."
The street was quiet (aside from the old lady) and I cut across without fear of traffic. Reaching the woman, I held out my hand to help her out, trying not to think about how dirty hers was. Like Denis had said, she merely appeared to be in crazy mode today. She wasn't hurt; she'd apparently just decided to lie down. I shuddered. I tossed the word crazy around a lot when it came to Lissa and me, but this was truly crazy. I really, really hoped spirit never took us this far. The homeless lady looked surprised at the help but took my hand and began talking excitedly in Russian. When she tried to hug me in gratitude, I stepped back and held up my hands in the international "back off" signal.
She did indeed back off but continued chatting happily. She grabbed the sides of her long coat and held them out like a ball-room skirt and began spinning around and singing. I laughed, surprised that in my grim world, this would cheer me up. I started to cross back over to Tamara's place.
The old woman stopped dancing and began talking happily to me again.
"Sorry, I have to go," I told her. It didn't seem to register.
Then she froze mid-sentence. Her expression gave me warning only half a millisecond before my nausea did. In one fluid motion, I spun around to face what was behind me, pulling my stake out as I moved. There was a Strigoi there, tall and imposing, having sneaked up while I was distracted.
Stupid, stupid. I'd refused to let Tamara walk home alone, but I'd never even considered danger right outside my "No..."
I wasn't sure if I said the word or thought it. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered just then was what my eyes saw before me. Or, rather, what my eyes thought they saw. Because surely, surely, I had to be imagining this. It couldn't be real. Not after all this time.
Dimitri.
I knew him instantly, even though he'd... changed. I think in a crowd of a million people, I would have recognized him. The connection between us would allow nothing else. And after being deprived of him for so long, I drank in every feature. The dark, chin-length hair, worn loose tonight and curling slightly around his face. The familiar set of lips, quirked now in an amused yet chilling smile. He even wore the duster he always wore, the long leather coat that could have come straight out of a cowboy movie.
And then... there were the Strigoi features. His dark eyes-the eyes I loved-ringed in red. The pale, pale, death-white skin. In life, his complexion had been as tanned as mine, thanks to so much time outdoors. If he opened his mouth, I knew I'd see fangs.
My whole assessment took place in the blink of an eye. I'd reacted fast when I'd felt him-faster than he'd probably expected. I still had the element of surprise, my stake poised and ready. It was perfectly lined up with his heart. I could tell, then and there, that I could make the hit faster than he could defend. But...
The eyes. Oh God, the eyes.
Even with that sickening red ring around his pupils, his eyes still reminded me of the Dimitri I'd known. The look in his eyes-the soulless, malicious gleam-that was nothing like him. But there was just enough resemblance to stir my heart, to overwhelm my senses and feelings. My stake was ready. All I had to do was keep swinging to make the kill. I had momentum on my side...
But I couldn't. I just needed a few more seconds, a few more seconds to drink him in before I killed him. And that's when he spoke.
"Roza." His voice had that same wonderful lowness, the same accent... it was all just colder. "You forgot my first lesson: Don't hesitate."
I just barely saw his fist striking out toward my head... and then I saw nothing at all.
Chapter Eighteen
Unsurprisingly, I woke up with a headache.
For a few addled seconds, I had no idea what had happened or where I was. As drowsiness wore off, the events on the street came slamming back to me. I sat upright, all of my defenses kicking into action, despite the slight wooziness in my head. Time to figure out where I was now.
I sat up on an enormous bed in a darkened room. No-not just a room. More like a suite or a studio. I'd thought the hotel in Saint Petersburg was opulent, but this blew it away. The half of the studio I sat in contained the bed and usual bedroom accessories: a dresser, nightstands, etc. The other half looked like a living room area, with a couch and a television. Shelves were built into the walls, all of them filled with books. Off to my right was a short hall with a door at the end. Probably a bathroom. On my other side was a large picture window, tinted, as Moroi windows often were. This one had more tint than any I'd ever seen. It was almost solid black, nearly impossible to see through. Only the fact that I could differentiate the sky from the horizon-after a fair amount of squinting-let me know it was daytime out there.
I slid off the bed, my senses on high alert as I tried to assess my danger. My stomach felt fine; there were no Strigoi in the area. That didn't necessarily rule out some other person, however. I couldn't take anything for granted-doing so was what had gotten me in trouble on the street.
There was no time to ponder that, though. Not quite yet. If I did, my resolve here was going to falter.
Sliding off the bed, I reached into my coat pocket for the stake. Gone, of course. I saw nothing else nearby that would pass as a weapon, meaning I'd have to rely on my own body to do my fighting. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a light switch on the wall. I flipped it on and froze, waiting to see what-or who-the overhead lights would unveil.
Nothing unusual. No one else. Immediately, I did the first obvious thing and checked the door. It was locked, as I'd expected, and the only way of opening it was a numeric keypad. Plus, it was heavy and made of what looked like steel. It reminded me of a fire door. There was no getting past it, so I turned back around to continue my exploration. It was actually kind of ironic. A lot of my classes had gone over detailed ways of checking out a place. I'd always hated those; I'd wanted to learn about fighting. Now it appeared those lessons that had seemed useless at the time had real purpose.
The light had brought the suite's objects into sharper relief. The bed was covered in an ivory satin duvet, filled to maximum fluffiness with down.
Creeping over to the living room, I saw that the TV was nice-really nice. Large-screen plasma. It looked brand-new. The couches were nice too, covered in matte green leather. It was an unusual color choice for leather, but it worked. All of the furniture in the place-tables, desk, dresser was made of a smooth, polished black wood. In a corner of the living room, I saw a small refrigerator. Kneeling down, I opened it up to find bottled water and juice, assorted fruits, and bags of perfectly cut cheeses. On top of the refrigerator was more snack-type food: nuts, crackers, and some type of glazed pastry. My stomach growled at the sight of it, but no way was I going to eat anything in this place.
The bathroom was done in the same style as the rest of the studio. The shower and large Jacuzzi tub were made of black polished marble, and little soaps and shampoos lined the counter. A larger mirror hung over the sink, except... it wasn't actually hanging. It was embedded so tightly into the wall that there was absolutely no way it could be removed. The material was strange too. It looked more like reflective metal than glass.