Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (10 page)

Chapter 12

The wind howls past Alexei’s ears again like the cries of the dead. He does not stand on a rocky plain now; it is a field, but the ground has been torn by more than plows. His feet stand uneasily on mud frozen into the twisted shapes left behind by horses and boots, tufts of grass lying trampled and broken, and unidentifiable pieces of metal and cloth. Yards away, large boulders lie strewn in the ground, and to the other side of the field, a forest squats, shadowy and more black than green. The sky above him swirls, dark grey on light grey, turbulent and restless.

Alexei smells only the emptiness of winter and impending snow. His whiskers, buffeted by wind, nevertheless register a presence at his side. He turns, and crouched beside him is the old fox in his blue military coat. His arms fold over his knees; his tail spills across the ground. The collar, which Alexei can see over his shoulder, is a deep blood red, trimmed in the same golden yellow that circles the fox’s narrow waist.

But it is his face, which Alexei has not seen before, that draws the young fox’s attention. The muzzle is broad, like his own father’s, but with more grey on it. Above the eye, a clean scar bisects the eyebrow, and in the left ear, a long notch runs almost five centimeters in from the edge. Many of the foxes in Samorodka had similar notches, their longer ears a target for the other children in schoolyard tussles. But none of their notches ran so deep. Their ears were chewed, and healed. This notch has been inflicted by a weapon.

The fox stares out across the field, and his paw reaches down to brush a long piece of metal. It gleams like a knife blade under the black-furred fingers. When they lift, Alexei sees a patch of red on it. Not fresh blood red, but the rust-red of ancient blood, of tiger’s fur, of a dying sunset.

I have been watching you
, the fox says.

How?

You called me.

I called
you
?

The fox turns. A dark eye fixes Alexei.
I have decided
, he says,
that you require my help
.

Did you do something to me on the field? During the game?

If you are to be a worthy servant of the Tsar, Alexei Tsarev, you will have to learn pride
.

Alexei’s ribs and stomach feel like ice. His feet shift on the frozen mud, unstable.
There has not been a tsar in a hundred years
, he says.

The fox narrows his eyes, the scar wrinkling as he glares. He places a paw across his chest.
The tsar,
he says,
lives in our hearts and spirits. He is the force that guides us and sets our place in the world, the father of us all. Without knowing your place in the world, how can you take pride in it? Without a tsar to serve, how can you know your place? You have been lost, alone. You have no family, no country.

The words strike him like cold needles in his chest.
I don’t want a country. I want a—I want a companion.

How can you be someone’s mate when you do not know where you belong?

But a specific someone
, Alexei says.

The fox turns to him.
A vixen?

He does not know how closely the fox has been watching him, if this is even real.
Y-yes
, he says.

The older fox’s muzzle turns, points straight ahead. He speaks in a low voice:
When I first set eyes on Mariya Frolova, I was an attendant in the honor guard at the Ostaltsev ball, and she was the youngest sister in the Frolov household. I could not dance with her then; I was on duty and she was a daughter of a noble family. But I caught her eye, and when the night was over, I waited in the crisp spring night air. She accompanied her family out, and turned to look at me.

Ten feet before them, shimmering in the air where the fox’s eyes are fixed, the image of a vixen in a long dress appears. Her dress is a deep blue untouched by the dust and dirt of the field, trimmed with pearls and lace, a hundred years old but still elegant and becoming. She is young, perhaps Alexei’s age, and though she is turned away from them, her head bends back over her shoulder so the bright blue of her eyes shines back at them. The wind’s cries soften and the clouds overhead go still.

After a moment staring at her in silence, the old fox goes on
. I could have stayed by my post and waited. I could have let her walk off into that night, to marry one of the many noble foxes she danced with. But she stopped, and she turned, and she looked. There was a moment, a chance, and I knew that if I let that chance go, I would forever be left to wonder what might have happened. My destiny was to have a family of my own, ones who would be loyal and who would put to rest the crimes of my parents.

Your parents?
Alexei looks down at the fox’s ear and wonders if the notch came from his father. Many of his friends—his schoolmates—in Samorodka bore the marks of their parents. Some parents left less visible marks.

The fox ignores him.
I left my post
, he says,
and I walked up to her. I told her that I would be deeply honored to receive the pleasure of her company. Loudly enough so that her mother could hear, I told her that I was a junior officer of the Semenovsky Guards, in the event that she was not familiar with the uniform, and I told her that my adopted father was the fourth military officer in line from the Emperor himself.

She could have smiled politely and walked away. She could have laughed. But she turned to her mother with the most beautiful tilt to her ears, and asked for her mother’s favor. And when her mother hesitated, she could have lowered her muzzle, met my eyes with a secretive look of longing, and acceded to her mother’s will. But she added a heartfelt plea, and I stood smartly at attention, and her mother allowed that I might be permitted to call upon the family.

The image of the vixen vanishes, but the fox keeps staring off into the distance. Alexei looks down at him.
What happened?

They respected my uniform, the place I held in society. My rank assured them that I would be a worthy husband to her.

He waits for more, but the fox does not speak, only reaches down to the knife blade again and strokes it. When his paw rises this time, it reveals the patch of rust not on silvery steel but on a dirty white bone. Alexei looks up quickly.
Why are we in this place?

The fox lowers his eyes. The wind returns, biting at Alexei’s ears and nose, keening with a mournful, almost-sentient cry. He flattens his ears, but the fox’s words still ring clear.
When the people no longer trust their leader, death follows.

It sounds suspiciously like the way his mother used to talk about the government, when she suspected that there might be something different about Alexei: they have your best interests at heart, what are you going to do, leave your mother country, go out to die on your own? Cold needles dance across his fur.
How will you help me?

The fox turns dark brown, shadowed eyes on him.
Will you accept my help?

When Alexei looks around again, the field is a football field. He thinks about the exhilaration of the moment in which he was in control of the game, the peak compared to the valleys that came before it, the crushing rift with Sol, the moments spent out on the sidewalk where he felt powerless, directionless. And after all, this is a dream, is it not? What harm can the fox do? The confidence he will give Alexei is Alexei’s to use. He called the ghost; he can send the ghost away if he becomes troublesome.

So he nods his head and he speaks.
Yes
.

The word echoes, taken by the wind and then returned over and over, icy affirmation against Alexei’s ears. The fox nods gravely. He stands, and now he looks down on Alexei, and his military coat sparkles with medals. From the front, the gold sash is even more stained, and torn in places; the coat, too, is rent. But that does not detract from the authority, the almost regal bearing.
I will teach you to be a good soldier
, he says.

I don’t want to fight
, Alexei replies.
Only to be happy
.

The fox’s eyebrow, the one with the scar, rises. He gestures to the field.
Do you believe that happiness comes without a struggle? I may guide you to your goal, but you must still strive for your destiny.

He reaches out and grasps Alexei by the shoulder. The touch is hard and firm; Alexei flinches but stands tall beneath it.
What is your name?
the younger fox asks.

I am Konstantin Vasilyevich
, the older fox says.

Chapter 13

“Konstantin.” Alexei woke with the name on his lips. Immediately he thought of the name he’d spoken in the ritual: Nikolai Konstantinov. If that were truly Niki’s name, then his father’s name would be Konstantin. Could this be the ghost of Niki’s father? If so, would he be inclined to be helpful? Alexei didn’t remember Sol ever saying anything about Niki’s father.

But he got out of bed with energy, tail arched and step springy. Konstantin would teach him confidence and passion, and Alexei would have—
did
have—his own ghost story. He could tell Cat about it.

The thought made his tail wag, and then another brilliant idea came to him. There was something he could do for Cat after all. He had only to wait until the next dream, then ask Konstantin to go visit her, to inspire her. Surely a ghost could go back to Samorodka without any trouble at all, could visit dreams there as easily as here. Konstantin had been steeped in Siberia, and yet he had come to Alexei in Vidalia. So distance was no trouble. True, the ghost had not seemed like the suggestible type, but Alexei was sure that he must have seen Cat’s letters. After all, he had been watching Alexei, knew his name, and he had mentioned “servant to the Tsar,” just as Cat had written about being servants to the emperors.

On the way to work, he asked Sol what he remembered about Niki’s father. The wolf looked around them and didn’t answer immediately, his ears half-down. “The father of that fox you used to know,” Alexei said, in case Sol was worried people might think it strange to be talking about a ghost.

“Yeah,” Sol said. “I don’t…I don’t remember talking about him very much.” He stared down at his paws. “Why?”

Alexei, ready for this, said, “I had a letter from my sister. She says our father is getting worse, drinking and sitting apart from the family.”

“I’m sorry.” Sol looked at him more fully than he had since Alexei had dropped the picture, his green eyes sympathetic.

“I just wondered how perhaps other foxes in Siberia…if their fathers are better or worse.”

The black wolf nodded. “I don’t think he was very nice to Niki. He mentioned being beaten, told he was useless.”

Alexei folded his paws together. It was something he could believe of Konstantin, assuming the old ghost was much as he had been in life. “And,” Sol said, “his ears were all torn up. I think his father might have done that.”

“Perhaps,” Alexei said, thinking again of the long notch in Konstantin’s ear. “Other cubs do that as well. In these days it is easier to heal.”

“I guess you’re right.” Sol looked past Alexei to the street they were passing. “I think he wasn’t happy at home. He ran away from it.”

Alexei curled his tail into his lap. He wished again that he had been more successful in calling Niki rather than his father—if Konstantin was his father. Konstantin’s experience with love had been to see a pretty vixen and go after her. He had had rivals, perhaps, but in those days things were all more structured, guided by the mechanisms of society. He had not run away from home, like Alexei and Niki—or perhaps he had.

But then again, Alexei thought, Sol’s story of Niki had not had very many happy turns. Perhaps Niki would not have been the best confidant for him. Niki had been gay, though, and would understand that. “Did he run away because…” he started to ask, and then changed his question, not wanting to say the word “gay” aloud on the bus. “Do you miss him?”

He hadn’t asked Sol that in several weeks. For one thing, the care Sol took with the picture made his feelings plain. For another, nothing had happened with Niki since before Sol’s birthday, months ago.

“Yeah,” Sol said. “Even though it was really stressful having him…around, you know? Like, that stuff really freaked me out, the stuff that would come back…” He didn’t have to say,
come back from the dreams
.

“Did something always come back?” Alexei had not noticed anything out of the ordinary that morning. “After every…time?”

“Yeah,” Sol said. The wolf’s ears flattened and he turned back to the inside of the bus. Of course, Alexei thought, cursing himself, the painting was one of the things that had come back. He sighed and leaned against the glass.

In the evening, though, Sol was friendly again, and the rest of the week passed without any further letters, arguments, or dreams. Alexei was aware of Konstantin as a presence in his memory, a shadow waiting for the right moment to bolster him. He added a small paragraph about the ghost in the letter to his sister, and then mailed it.

Saturday, Alexei received a call that the picture had been repaired, but it was in the afternoon, and he and Sol had the VLGA dinner at the Playtime restaurant and arcade. Much as he wanted to get the painting back soon, it would be better to wait until Monday.

The Playtime dinner would be the first time Alexei had seen Mike since Wednesday, and on the bus on the way there, Sol talked about whether he should have invited Mitch, whom he’d seen again Thursday night. Alexei listened with half an ear while thinking himself about Konstantin, and whether he would help Alexei this night. Get me a date with Mike, Alexei thought. That’s all I want right now, that same cool confidence, the boldness to seize the moment. Even if Konstantin had not approved of Niki being gay, would not approve of Alexei chasing a boy, the worst he could do to Alexei would be to leave him alone again. As long as he provided Alexei just that one more moment of confidence, that one burst of courage, the young fox felt he could handle the rest.

But when they arrived in the restaurant, Kendall was already sitting next to Mike. Sol took the other side of the pine marten and nodded Alexei to the seat beside Mike, but Alexei did not want to compete with Kendall all through dinner, giving the fast-talking marten the chance to put him down. He would get to talk to Mike afterwards, while they were playing games.

So he sat next to Liza and gave her the fifty he’d borrowed, first thing. She took it reluctantly, with motherly questions about whether he could afford it, and he had to assure her twice that he could. Alice and Zayda, the hare and red squirrel, were on Alexei’s left, so all through dinner, he mostly listened as they talked about their friends, including some of the people at the other end of the table. “Is it tonight, you will ask Mike out?” Liza asked Alexei, when they were all looking down the table at the sheep.

“Leave him,” Alice said. “He’s a sweet kid, Mike will figure it out.”

“Mike deserves better than Kendall,” Liza answered.

“Ah.” The hare waved her off. “Kendall’s just a bunch of hormones. Once he gets Mike to say yes, he’ll lose interest quick.”

Liza nudged Alexei. “She thinks this is okay.”

“It’s how boys are.” The hare picked at her salad.

“Like you are better,” Liza said, and then Alice turned and glared at her so furiously that the ermine turned to Alexei and started chattering about a movie she’d seen.

Alexei knew Alice had some sort of history, but he hadn’t previously thought that it might be with Liza. Or maybe it wasn’t, but Liza just knew about it. Anyway, it was clear she didn’t want it discussed, not with her fiancée Zayda sitting just on her other side.

“So why aren’t you sitting down there with him?” Alice asked when she’d finished her salad.

“Not the right time,” Alexei said, with a glance down the long table.

“What about Sol?” Liza turned her sharp eyes on him.

Alexei looked back, confused. “What—we are not boyfriends. You know this.”

“I mean, why are you not sitting with him?”

“I see him every day.” Alexei smiled at her. “
And I like your company
,” he said in Siberian.

“Don’t be rude,” Alice said. “Speak English.”

Then Liza asked about his sister, and Alexei told her about the letter he’d received, and Alice and Zayda talked about their wedding on his other side, and he put Mike and Konstantin in the back of his mind. Before he knew it, the waitstaff were clearing plates, and people started getting up to go play the games. Mike, Kendall, and Sol were still talking when Alexei followed the girls down a dark staircase to the bright, chaotic basement.

Below the very ordinary-looking restaurant lay a glittering world of flashing lights and sounds and smells. Alexei had no plan in his head save to take advantage of the game-playing time to get Mike alone and ask him on a date. Sol had again offered to distract Kendall, and Alexei had gratefully accepted his assistance.

But when Sol and Kendall, with Mike in tow, came over to see him finish up his shooting game, Alexei didn’t have a chance to get Mike alone before Sol said, “We were heading over to shoot some hoops. Want to play?”

The basketball shooting game had four stations, where players could compete against each other while shooting at individual baskets. Alexei prepared to decline, but when he opened his mouth, the words he said were, “Of course.”

He’d been about to shy away from a challenge? That was—

A smile touched the corners of his muzzle. That was not what Konstantin would have him do. Well, even if he was not good at the shooting, he would play with them. Then he could ask Sol to challenge Kendall to something afterwards, something that would occupy them both. So he said yes, and took up his place at the fourth station, with Sol beside him and Mike at the far end.

When the basketballs dropped, he did his best to launch them at the hoop the way Sol was doing, in quick succession, and he thought he was doing well, missing only about every other one. When he found a groove, he sank five baskets in a row, and then lost the groove when the basket retreated and shots were worth three points. His ears flattened as his last four shots caromed off the sides of the small enclosure. Still, 42 was a good score, he thought.

He looked up at the board that tracked the scores. His 42 showed fourth, both in location and in rank. Mike had scored 55, and Kendall had barely edged out Sol, 64–62. “Woo!” the marten said, pumping his fist. “Just call me K-Hop. I got the shootin’ touch.”

“Let’s go again,” Sol said, and Alexei had no choice but to stand in at his station and wait for the next game to begin. This time, trying too hard, he scored a miserable 34, while Mike stayed steady at 54. Sol improved, scoring 65, but Kendall did too, and won with a score of 69.

“That’s my lucky number,” he bragged, and patted Alexei on the shoulder, right in front of Mike. “I know they don’t really play hoops in Siberia. Keep practicing, you’ll get the hang of it. Might be as good as Mikey there in a month or so.”

“Kendall,” Mike said, with an edge to his voice.

The marten shrugged. “I’m just trying to cheer him up.”

Alexei swallowed the sharp retort that came to his lips and twisted away from the condescending paw. He opened his mouth to ask Sol if he could talk to him privately, and then over the wolf’s shoulder he saw Alice and Zayda hopping back and forth on the dance machine, and with cold clarity, he realized that he did not want to get Kendall out of the way. What he wanted was…

He turned back to the marten. “Let’s dance.”

Kendall affected surprise. “Oh, you’re cute, but the music here isn’t my scene, and anyway, there’s no dance floor.”

Alexei walked toward the dance game, pointing forward. “There.”

“I guess I’m up for it,” Sol said.

“No.” Alexei stared at Kendall. “Me against him. Mister K-Hop.”

“Sure,” Kendall said. “Anything you want. It’s not real dancing, but I’ll still teach you a thing or two.”

Maybe you will, Alexei thought. Or maybe you’ll learn something. But he kept his muzzle shut. Better to let your fighting speak for you, that was what his father had said. Or had he? No, his father had simply told him to hit back when he was being bullied by five larger cubs. Still, the words, in Siberian, rang familiarly to him.

Kendall laughed about his basketball score while they waited for the ladies to finish. “I can hit 69s in other places too,” he told them, and Mike and Sol laughed. When Alexei didn’t, Kendall spread his paws and looked innocent. “I mean golf,” he said. “You play?”

“No.” Alexei replied, when neither of the others did.

“Ah, you’ll have to come out to the links sometime. Mikey and I played last week. He’s pretty good.”

Alice and Zayda finished and stepped aside. When Alexei and Kendall stepped up, the fox made sure to catch Mike’s eye. The sheep had been pretty quiet throughout the evening, which Alexei interpreted as putting up with Kendall’s obnoxious swagger. So he gave the sheep a smile and said, “This dance is for you.”

He couldn’t say whether that had been inspired by Konstantin or not, but it provoked a reply. “Oh ho,” Kendall said before Mike could respond. “It’s on. What’s your beats?”

Mike gave Alexei a smile, and settled back with arms folded, clearly watching him. Alexei hesitated, but then breathed in, feeling confidence infuse him. He grinned broadly and said, “Loser’s choice.”

“Then go ahead,” the marten said. “Unless I wasn’t reading those hoops scores right.”

“I was not talking about scores,” Alexei said.

Because he was looking at Kendall, he saw Sol’s startled look beyond him. Kendall’s smile soured, but he didn’t make any reply, just stabbed at the screen and picked a song that Alexei thought might be completely at random.

“GET READY,” the screen warned. Kendall and Alexei both dropped to a crouch, and when the music started, they took off.

Here, Alexei had no problems with second-guessing, as he did shooting a basketball. He’d used these games to practice footwork and reaction times for football all the past year with his host family, and for the last month with Sol. He knew how good he was, and what he was capable of. After an early misstep, he caught the rhythm of the song and let himself go along with it. He was aware of the scroll of “PERFECT” scores down his screen, but he tuned out everything around him save for the arrows telling him where to jump. He barely even registered Kendall’s lithe form beside him, though he did hear the marten mutter curses twice. He grinned, because he could do that without losing concentration, and fierce joy blazed inside him at matching the pattern, the screen telling him where to step and his feet following every instruction perfectly. He felt, for that span, in tune with the world.