Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series) (31 page)

           
"I tried to," I admitted.
 
"But I didn't quite make it."

           
GM reached over and ran a soothing hand over my hair.
 
"You must not worry like this.
 
I am perfectly capable of looking out for you.
 
As I said, I have kept you alive all this time, haven't I?"

           
"I know you said that," I replied.
 
"But I wasn't just worried about me.
 
I was worried about you too.
 
I don't want Joshua to come after you either."

           
Fire flashed in GM's eyes.
 
"I am more than capable of looking after myself."
 
She leaned forward and her eyes bored into mine.
 
"More than capable.
 
There are things about your grandmother that you don't know.
 
So no more worrying."

           
She stood up then.
 
She looked over my supplies once again and shook her head.

           
"First, the open widow on a freezing-cold night, and now you're preparing for a firefight.
 
Sometimes I wonder about you, Katie.
 
Please promise me that there will be no more shenanigans of this type."

           
Now that GM had caught me, I knew that I wouldn't get another chance to sneak in supplies from the kitchen—I knew she would put locks on the cupboards if she felt she had to.

           
I would have to come up with something else.

           
"I promise, no more shenanigans," I said.

           
"You are a good girl," GM said.
 
"I have always known that.
 
You are a little strange, but nonetheless, you are good."

           
She turned to go.

           
"GM," I said sharply, "you've said that you can protect us, but that wasn't true that one night, was it?"

           
GM turned back.
 
"To what night are you referring?"

           
Since GM and I had returned from Russia, neither one of us had spoken of Gleb Mstislav's attack on our house in October—an attack that had forced us to flee the country.
 
GM had not spoken of it because she wished to pretend it had never happened.
 
I never spoke of it because I knew it was taboo.

           
"I'm talking about that night in October," I said, "when Gleb Mstislav broke into our house and tried to kill us.
 
And you recognized him.
 
You said you did.
 
You weren't able to stop him then.
 
What if something like that happens again?"

           
I expected GM to be angry, but instead her expression softened.

           
"Yes, that was a frightening night, wasn't it?
 
I confess that I did not react as I should have done.
 
For a time, I accepted Galina's nonsensical explanation that Gleb had returned from the dead.
 
I, like many, had believed that he was dead.
 
But then I came to my senses.
 
I realized that he had been in hiding—that he had allowed us all to believe he was dead so that he could continue his criminal activities without interference.
 
And I now believe that he must have been under the influence of drugs that night, hence his ghastly appearance.
 
You need fear him no longer, Solnyshko.
 
He is gone.
 
He is in the family crypt now.
 
The police even opened it up to look."

           
GM gave me a stern stare.
 
"Now get up, get ready, and come downstairs for breakfast.
 
There will be no more time for fears today."

           
She turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

           
I found GM's attitude toward Gleb Mstislav to be curious.
 
She believed that Gleb had been walking around alive and well in October, but had not been surprised when the police later opened the crypt and found him lying in it dead.
 
She didn't seem to have wondered how he had gone from one state to the other without interruption.
 
Perhaps she thought his son Timofei had killed him—though that was not one of the crimes he had been accused of.
 
But I supposed, ultimately, that GM did not wonder about it because she didn't want to.

           
I couldn't really blame her for that—reanimated corpses were not a pleasant topic.

           
And she was right.
 
Gleb was gone now.
 
I had seen him wrestled back into death by William with my own eyes.

           
I stood up and stretched.
 
I looked down at my supplies and wondered if I could try stashing just a few things in my room for my next vigil.

           
I was relieved that GM and I had survived the night, but I was far from easy in my mind.

           
Why hadn't I been attacked?

           
Who was after me?

           
Who had placed a price on my head?

           
I could think of only two people who could possibly want me dead—Gleb and Timofei Mstislav.

           
And both of them were dead themselves.

           
But I knew only too well that the dead could come back.

Chapter 11.

I showered and dressed, and then returned to my room, where I sat for a long time just staring at a patch of sunlight on the floor.

           
I knew I had to move—I had to think.
 
I had to come up with a plan for guarding the house.
 
But I just kept staring at the sunlight.
 
It seemed so normal, so safe.

           
Everything my life was not.

           
Eventually, I forced myself to move.
 
I got up and took all my things downstairs where GM supervised me as I put them away.
 
Then I ate breakfast.

           
After that, I worked on homework, cleaned my room, ate other meals—the rest of Sunday passed quickly.

           
All too soon it was night again—and I didn't have a plan to fight what waited for me in the dark.

           
I lit my candle and sat up as I had the night before, waiting to hear footsteps on the stairs, watching my door to see if it would be opened by an intruder.
 
But despite my best efforts, I fell asleep again, and I was awakened on Monday morning by the insistent beeping of my alarm.

           
I looked around my room in groggy surprise.
 
I had survived another night.

           
I should have felt relieved, but instead a new fear settled over me.
 
The house was no longer protected—I knew for a fact that no one watched over it.

           
But there was a price on my head, and at least one of the would-be collectors—Anton—knew that I was now alone.

           
So what was stopping any of them from coming in?

           
Were they planning something worse than the attack that I already feared?

           
I shivered.

           
I supposed I would be safe enough at school—there would be too many witnesses around for someone like Joshua or Anton to attempt anything.
 
But I had to be alert all the same.

           
I got ready for school quickly, and as I crossed the room to go downstairs, I was seized suddenly by a sharp pain as William crowded into my thoughts.
 
Now that the reality of his abandonment had truly sunk in, I was left with an agony that seemed to grow worse each day.
 
And along with that deepening hurt went the continuing realization that I still loved him—that I would always love him.

           
I felt emptiness stretching before me, as if I were falling and would fall forever.

           
William did not love me.

           
Pain continued to wash over me, but I knew I had to find a way to get on with the day.
 
I worked to contain the hurt, to force it into a confined space and make it manageable.
 
There were still other people in my life to think of—and I had to look out for GM.

           
I reined the pain in and resolved again not to think of William.

           
As I went downstairs, I happened to catch sight of some downy white flakes fluttering past the window.

           
I felt momentarily cheered—I always loved to see snow.

           
I didn't eat much at breakfast, and I didn't protest when GM insisted on driving me to school once again.

           
GM set off quickly, and the world outside my window turned into a white blur.
 
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the headrest.
 
After a second night of waiting up to guard against intruders, I was tired.

           
I must have fallen asleep briefly, for when I opened my eyes we were already gliding to a stop in front of the school.

           
GM eyed me closely.
 
"Are you well, Solnyshko?
 
You did not look well yesterday, and you do not appear to have improved any this morning.
 
Perhaps you have not recovered yet from your day out in the cold on Saturday."

           
I gave her a smile and attempted to appear cheerful.
 
"I'm fine.
 
I really am."

           
"You will call me if you start to feel worse?"

           
"Yes, I will.
 
Thanks, GM."

           
I moved to get out of the car.

           
"And call me when school is over, so I can pick you up."

           
"I'll give you a call," I said.

           
GM nodded approvingly.
 
"Now hurry into the school.
 
Don't linger out in the cold air."

           
I couldn't help but smile a little at GM's fussing, and as I got out of the car, I gave her a little wave to reassure her that everything was all right.
 
Once GM realized that I was, in fact, headed into the school, she sped off.

           
As I walked across the schoolyard, I carefully avoided glancing over at the picnic table where Charisse, Branden, and Simon tended to gather, just in case they were there.
 
I realized that I wasn't really in the mood to see any of them.
 
They'd been set against William, and now that I knew for sure that he was gone, I didn't feel up to talking to them.
 
They didn't know he was gone, of course, and they certainly hadn't made him go, but I still didn't want to see them.

           
I knew that if they found out that William had left me that they'd be happy.

           
And I realized right after that that I'd thought of William without meaning to.
 
I resolved not to let it happen again.

           
I drifted through the first half of the day, hardly hearing anything that was said in any of my classes, and I felt little except for a distant dread that lunch was coming—I wondered if I should skip lunch and avoid seeing Charisse, Branden, and Simon altogether.

           
When lunch arrived, I decided I had better face them and get the worst of seeing them over with.

           
They don't know what happened with William
, I told myself,
and you don't have to tell them
.

           
I bent my steps toward the cafeteria.

           
Simon smiled when he saw me, and we went through the line together.
 
I didn't really notice what was being served, and even though Simon kept up a cheerful line of conversation, I couldn't really focus on what he was saying.

           
All I could think about was how happy he would be if he knew that William was gone.
 
I realized I couldn't blame Simon for that—especially considering what he thought William was like—but I couldn't help but feel something angry and unpleasant toward him.
 
It felt a lot like resentment.