Lion of Midnight (3 page)

“I had some fruit.”

“You need more than fruit. We eat breakfast then we go wherever you wish.”

“What about you, Serge? I don’t want to keep you from getting fares. I’m sure you have something more important to do than indulge the whims of an American.”

“Normally,
da
, I would have other things to do. But you are not a normal American. I like you,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Cleo laughed as they walked toward the door. “Okay, Serge. I won’t mention it, again.”

“Good.”

Cleo had another wonderful day. She spent some time at the library, where she looked for a bit more information on the Lion of Midnight and came up empty, but instead of being discouraged, she was more determined than ever. Then, Serge took her to the Bolshoi Theatre, the oldest theatre in Moscow, treating her to an experience she’d never forget.

Like the previous day, she was exhausted when she finally went back to her room. She’d just changed out of her clothes and into sleeping attire when her cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“You ain’t frozen yet, apparently. Got some hot Russian man to keep you warm?” Kenya’s teasing voice reached her.

Unbidden, the fuzzy image of the blond giant rose to Cleo’s mind. “Well…no, I’m not frozen, and no, I don’t have a hot Russian man to keep me warm.” She sat on the lounge by the window and gazed out at a snowy night over Moscow city. “How are you doing?”

“Wonderful, enough about me, I want to hear about you and your trip.”

“I love it here, Kenya. I should have come a long time ago. I’m sitting here in my room, staring out the window at a beautiful city as it is covered in snow.”

“And, how are the men?” Kenya questioned with humor in her voice.

Again, the blond head and dark eyes popped into Cleo’s imagination. It was as if he stood on the air above the city, in a pose similar to the tapestry, but this time, both hands were on the jagged sword and his feet were spread shoulder-width apart. There was this look on his face that seemed to be nothing but a challenge. Arrogant but definitely challenging.

“Cleo?” Kenya asked. “You still with me?”

“Sorry. Hey, quick ques for you. Do you ever remember hearing anything in class about a man called the ‘Lion of Midnight’?”

“Nope. Why?”

“Just something I’ve run into and would really like to get some more information on him.”

“Well, let me see what I can dig up on this end, and I’ll let you know. I know it’s late for you, so I’ll let you go. Keep in touch, hon. Have fun and stay safe.”

Cleo smiled. “Okay, thank you for everything, Kenya. Mostly for believing in me and my dreams. I’ll call soon. Miss you.”

“Miss you too. Bye.” Kenya hung up.

Closing her phone, Cleo sighed and rubbed her arms. “Bedtime,” she muttered to herself. One last lingering glance out over the city that resulted in no more images, and she pushed up from her seated position. After turning out the light, she slid into bed and let sleep overtake her.

The Lion of Midnight was the first thing she thought of when she woke the next morning. Cleo showered and dressed before heading down to where she knew Serge would be waiting for her.

And, he was. A grin filled his weathered face as he saw her, hat in hand. “Good morning, Miss Cleo,” he said.

Kissing him on the cheek, she responded, “
Dobroye utro,
Serge.”

“Perfect. I told you, speaking like a native in no time.”

“I have a wonderful teacher,” she told him.

“Thank you.
Spasibo.
”

Biting her lower lip, Cleo thought for a moment and, then, said, “Are you sure you can spend the day with me, Serge? I feel like I’m monopolizing all of your time.”

He took her hands in his old ones. “I can think of nothing more I’d rather be doing. Let me show you a wonderful last day in Moscow,” he offered.

Nodding, Cleo squeezed his hands. “I’d love that.”

Together, they walked out of the hotel to his waiting, already running taxi. He held the door for her then maneuvered his way to the driver’s seat and grinned at her when he shut the door on the cold winter air. Then, they were off on her last day in this wonderful city.

Cleo was tired when she walked into the hotel that night. Serge promised to be there in the morning and take her to the bus station. Her body was exhausted, but her mind was alive and whirling as it processed everything she’d seen and done during the day.

She had gone to the Tretyakov Art Gallery, which housed one of the most extensive and celebrated collections of Russian artifacts and art in the world. It was there, in her mind, she encountered the same man from the tapestry and the lone image she’d managed to find. Granted, there was no sword in his hand, but everything about his stance told her it was the same man. In addition, this time, he was painted in with the last tsar of Russia, Nicholas the Second, who looked very attractive in his white and gold attire, the uniform of His Majesty’s Hussar Life Guards’ Regiment. When she came upon the art piece, her heart leapt up into her throat.

It wasn’t the handsome tsar that took her breath away. No, it was a man standing behind him to the left. He was dressed in the same Hussar uniform as the tsar. A dress uniform, just not as adorned. White pants, and an attila jacket the same crisp color accented by gold with ribbons and more on his chest, there was no pelisse that she could see. His shoulders were just as wide as the previous two times she’d seen him. She could see the hilt of his saber by his left side. The brown of his eyes was intense as he stared at something past the tsar.

Her, perhaps?

She trembled and had to force herself to move along to the next work of art. She knew Serge noticed her hesitation but, bless his heart, kept his opinion to himself. The only thing he did do was offer his arm.

After stopping by the portrait one more time on their way out, Serge next took her to the Izmailovsky Souvenir Market, which was open since it was the weekend. They had a wonderful time, haggling with the stall holders, taking in all the amazing memorabilia. When she got tired, they took a seat and had some cognac to get warmed up then did some more perusing through the offered wares. The excitement coming from the vendors made her smile constantly.

When the cold began to sink into her bones, Serge escorted her along a ten-minute walk to the Izmailovo Royal Estate. She took in the imposing triple-arched Ceremonial Gate and the Cathedral of the Intercession, which was a five-domed building. They dated back as early as the seventeenth century, and she was equally impressed by them both. After they had explored that, they went back to the market and grabbed some food. Then, he took her to the Novodevichy Convent and Cemetery.

“I could spend a lifetime here and not see everything,” she told him as they made their way back to his taxi.

“We are blessed to have a city that is steeped in such rich history.” He held the door for her, and she slipped into the cold interior.

She remained silent until he was inside, as well, and had started the engine. “If I had known, I would have booked a longer stay. I know I’ll be back to Moscow, someday.”

The ride back to her hotel was tinged with sadness. Cleo was going to miss him. Serge pulled up to the front door and put the car in park.

“I’ll be here in the morning to take you to the bus.”

Blinking back some tears, Cleo nodded. “I’ll see you, then.” Leaning across the interior, she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “
Spokojnoj nochi
, Serge.” Before the tears could come, she slipped out of the car and hustled into the warmth of the hotel without looking back. With a wave and a smile to the receptionist, Cleo headed for the elevator and rode to her room in silence.

Before she packed her computer, she checked her email one more time. There was a small note from Kenya.

Cleo:

I went to the uni and asked our old prof.

He did some digging and the only thing he came up with.

Novgorod. I’ve attached the corresponding file.

Stay safe,

Kenya

Novgorod. With a sigh, Cleo opened the file and read the following passage.

“The Lion of Midnight has shown up in many places throughout Russian lore, but mainly dealing with Novgorod is there mention of his name. There is no documentation, however, to support that he is anything more than legend.”

Pulling up a map of Russia, Cleo released a burst of disappointed laughter. Novgorod was on her way to Saint Petersburg. “Figures,” she muttered as she shut down her computer. “More decisions.” Tapping one fingernail on the brown desktop, she worried her lower lip with her teeth. Did she dare change her plans?

No. She had a hotel waiting for her in St. Petersburg. It was not in her best interest to do so. With a determined nod, she closed her laptop and turned her attention back to making sure all her things were packed except what she’d need come morning.

Still, like the previous nights,
he
was before her mind’s eye as she waited to sink into sleep. Cleo woke bright and early and was waiting by the time Serge pulled his taxi up to get her and her bags off to the bus station.

They shared slight smiles as she climbed into the warm vehicle. Serge was silent as he drove her to the bus terminal, and she didn’t try to talk, just spent the trip gazing out the window at the snow that continued to fall. Her heart was heavy despite the anxiousness within her to take the next step in her adventure.

Instead of doing like other taxis and stopping in front of the door to the building, Serge pulled into a snowy parking spot and shut off the engine. Cleo watched him take the keys out of the ignition and put them in the pocket of his large overcoat. She swallowed back her tears and opened the door on the cold morning. The corresponding sound from Serge’s side of the door reached her, but she didn’t look at him.

They met at the trunk, where he pulled out her four suitcases. She took two and waited for him to shut the mottled metal hatch. Side by side, they slogged through the slippery snow-ice mix to the front door. Her teeth were chattering by the time they made it inside. Cleo smiled as she looked around for the sign that indicated Saint Petersburg. Even before she headed in that direction, she looked to Serge to double-check her thought on it. He waited with a small nod and began walking toward the counter.

After getting her bags checked and ready to be loaded, Cleo turned her attention to the man who’d come to mean so much to her in such a short time. He held his black round winter cap between gnarled hands. His powder blue eyes seemed suspiciously light as if brightened with tears as he looked back at her. They gave another boarding call for her bus, and she knew she couldn’t delay any longer.

“Thank you, Serge, for everything you’ve done for me these past few days. I want you to know how much it’s meant to me to have found such a wonderful friend on my first trip to this country.”

He shoved his hat in his pocket and took her hand with one of his. The brown leather of his gloves blending with the black of hers. “You, Miss Cleo, are a treasure. I have enjoyed every minute with you.” He squeezed her hand. “Until we meet again.” Serge kissed her on the cheek and sent her a smile before nudging her on toward the door leading to the waiting bus.

Standing on the first of the bus’s steps, Cleo looked at Serge over her shoulder and waggled her fingers in a brief final farewell. He raised one hand in return. Squaring her shoulders, Cleo continued onto the bus and took a seat near the back. She sighed and got comfortable as the door swished closed. Staring out her window, she became mesmerized by the large snowflakes that fell from the sky. Serge was on the other side of the bus, and she could no longer see him. This was probably good because, if she could see his kind face, she’d probably begin to cry.

αβ

The old bus slowly pulled out of the station. An intense gaze followed the cautious movement of the bus. Serge moved to the person who gaped so hard at the disappearing mode of transportation.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded with a hiss.

The dark head turned toward him, and Serge was faced with eyes the color of permafrost that had a ring of red around the pupils. A sly grin filled the newcomer’s face. “Well, now, this is a new look for you.”

Serge narrowed his eyes. “Don’t interfere.”

“Like you are remaining out of it?”

“Don’t make me hurt you,” he warned, ignoring the remark.

“Just looking around is all.” The man shrugged and walked off.

Serge remained motionless as the other man disappeared into the crowd. A subtle wave of his hand and the veil Serge had placed over Cleo’s eyes vanished. He knew, were she to look up at the destination bar, she would see that instead of
Saint Petersburg
, it read
Novgorod
. “Sometimes, things need a push,” Serge muttered as he made his way back to his cab. This way, once Cleo got to Novgorod, she could decide whether or not to get back on a bus and continue to Saint Petersburg.

As he slid behind the wheel, he was no longer a he. The old man had become a voluptuous woman with long dark hair.