Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (16 page)

The wolf shook his head in a sharp motion. “I…” He breathed in deeply and then slumped forward as he exhaled. “He did, once. Just for a short time. But he couldn’t stay.”

“Was that when your…boyfriend…”

“He wasn’t ever that,” Sol snapped, his head rising to glare at Alexei. A moment later he softened. “I thought he was. Yeah. Niki saved me from him. And then from myself. But he didn’t stay.”

But the ghost fox had been able to strike the sheep who was going to force himself on Sol, to throw a scared wolf across a bathroom to stop him hurting himself afterwards. And if Niki could do that, what might the ghost of his father do to Alexei? He had already inspired Alexei with courage, had perhaps made him feel disgusted at Mike’s—at Mike’s sensitivity, the thing Alexei loved about the sheep.

He came close to telling Sol then, right there. But the longing in the wolf’s voice when he described Niki coming and going pierced Alexei’s heart again. How could he tell Sol that he had succeeded in contacting a ghost? Sol would be jealous, and then perhaps he would redouble his efforts to connect with Niki again, when he should be focusing on dating Mitch here in the real world. Alexei bit his lip with one canine tooth and said, “I wish I could have met him.”

He had said that before, and Sol responded as he had the other times. “I do too. I wish he could have gotten another chance.”

Alexei nodded, rubbing the flat of his paw along his thigh because it was itching again, and it hurt when he scratched it. “How are things going with Mitch?”

He’d intended it to perk up Sol’s spirits, but the black wolf didn’t respond with a smile. “Good. He’s going home this weekend for a visit with his parents.”

“Oh, good.” Alexei rubbed his paw harder. “Have you talked to your parents recently?”

Sol turned back to his desk. “Mom, yeah. I talked to Dad a week or so ago. It’s just hard to talk to him about my life here, you know? ‘I play soccer with some friends…I’m seeing someone…’” He stared at his computer screen. “Just too vague.”

“Does he ask questions?”

“No.” Sol drummed claws on the desktop. “Still. I feel bad about it. It’s just easier not to say anything.”

Sol’s parents were nice people. They did not drink, they worked hard, they believed their cubs would grow up to be good people like they were. Their disapproval of Sol’s homosexuality felt mild to Alexei, and even though he had read that there were places in the States that were better still—Yerba, Port City, Crystal City, Freestone—he was happy to live in a place that did not fear gay people.

He thought that Sol’s parents would get over their anti-gay bias. His mother already had come to visit and had asked if Alexei—not Sol—were dating a “nice boy.” Sol had talked to his father on the phone a few times, and things seemed to be cordial with them. His father wanted to know if Sol was playing baseball and Sol told him he was playing soccer and softball (the VLGA fielded a softball team that played for beer and fun; Sol played when it didn’t conflict with soccer). That seemed to make things all right.

But Sol wanted to share more of his life with his parents. Alexei thought he should just go ahead and do it, but the fox wasn’t about to push Sol, not now when the blank space above his bed reminded them both of the tension between them. Before the end of the summer, perhaps, but he had enough to worry about, with Mike, and his sister, and how he would remain friends with Sol. Once those were resolved, he could think about helping Sol deal with his parents.

What
was
he going to do about Mike? Again, lying in bed, he remembered the dream and Konstantin’s demand. Here in the real world, the attraction to Mike was much more clear, and Konstantin’s threat diffused. But the sharp feeling, like claws around his heart, at the thought of giving up a life where he could date whomever he wanted—the memory of that remained.

Cat alone of all the people in Samorodka had known his secret. He’d crouched by the rotten wall and seen her russet fur on the other side, shading to ivory at the base of her ear. She had just asked him if he’d wanted to go out with…with…he couldn’t even remember the vixen’s name now. And he’d said no, and she’d asked why not, that she thought the vixen pretty.

And Alexei had looked at the fur on the other side of the wood and had imagined his words released, traveling that small span, reaching his sister, a confession he could never take back. And he had realized that if he didn’t tell her, if he kept it in, it was going to gnaw away his insides until he was nothing but an empty shell. So he had taken a deep breath and said, “I don’t think I want to go out with any vixens.”

Cat had stayed quiet. She’d asked if he liked that female wolf in his class, and Alexei, embarrassed, had said “Never mind,” and tried to crawl back into bed, but her voice had called him back to the wall.

“Oh,” she’d said. “I saw about that on the Internet. Are you gay?”

And she’d used the formal term for it, not the derogatory term he had heard on the schoolyard all his life. He’d choked out the single word, “Yes,” and leaned against the wall, in the darkness and silence that no longer felt quite so alone.

The next morning, she’d given him an extra-big hug, and he’d forgiven her for breaking his pencils the week before. Whenever they’d fought in the past, it had only lasted as long as it took for one of their parents to heap abuse on them; from that day forward, Alexei had forgiven her nearly everything immediately. Cat, in her turn, aware of what a fragile thing she held, had talked to him gently and even spread rumors at school about what vixen he’d moaned about in his sleep, so people wouldn’t suspect.

She’d covered for him when he met with the engineer, distracted his parents while he ran away to Vdansk. He never forgot the hug Cat had given him before he left, nor the words she’d whispered to him. He’d whispered to her that he loved her, and that he would see her again.

Wasn’t it worth any price to make those words come true?

Would Cat approve of the price?

He sighed and closed his eyes. Once Cat was safe, he could stop having these thoughts. Her safety was the only thing that could make him give up this part of who he was. He had run out of alternatives; he had no recourse but to accept Konstantin’s help. He would keep trying to convince the old soldier that his homophobic attitudes were out of date, and if that did not work, then he hoped Mike would wait for him. As much as the principle of giving up his right to love bothered him, the ordeal shouldn’t last more than a month or two.

Unless
, a voice whispered in the back of his head,
you cannot make Konstantin go away.

Chapter 19

When Nicholas had been born to Sasha, as Alexander III was known before he became Tsar, there were celebrations throughout the country, but the celebrations were muted. We were of course grateful to the mercy of God for a male heir to the throne, but in those days, even with the best doctors available, it was always in the back of our minds that a sickness or an accident could carry off the young, vulnerable cub at any time. With each day that passed, our hearts grew easier, and I recall that on the night when young Nicholas celebrated his eighth month, one of my comrades in the Guards turned to me and said that our Emperors would continue on.

Nearly eleven years later, I mourned Tatya’s death in the company of two of my peers who had also lost cubs. We commiserated with vodka, talked of how excellent our wives were and how little they deserved our ill fortune. The other soldiers spoke meaningless comforts, but in their words we could all see their true feelings: “Why are these people cursed by God?” As though it were our fault, as though our thoughts and actions were transmittable to our newborns.

My comrades in misfortune had their families gathered around them, with support and reassurance and love. Vasily attended Tatya’s funeral, but shed no tears, and when it was over, he slapped me between the shoulders with that great tiger paw and said that I must leave off dreaming of what might have been and immediately go to work on producing another cub. Mariya’s family clove to her, but clearly shared the view of the soldiers, that Tatya’s death had its root in the fault of one of the parents. Only one, mind you.

I grieved in my heart, but remained outwardly stoic. To lose a cub is a terrible thing, but I had lost two parents, and I knew that in life, losses and gifts come at the whim of the Almighty, and to grieve overmuch is to question His plan. Though Vasily’s sentiment was not tactfully phrased, I understood the message: go on, live life; that is what a good soldier must do. I endeavored to follow those sentiments and to convey them also to my lovely wife.

And yet, in the wake of Tatya’s death, Mariya fell away from me into a deep depression. Her lovely tail grew filthy unless I washed it, her fur matted and coarse, and her ears sagged as though bereft of any life. She had rarely known loss, so although I spoke of God’s plan and the life we were creating together, she did no more than nod and stare out of the window. Our servant was little help, slinking around the house telling Mariya that the constant snow that followed Tatya’s death was “frozen tears.” Nonsense. God does not weep for the deaths of the innocent any more than the Emperor weeps for the death of his soldiers. We mourn because they have passed from this world and we have lost the joy of their presence. But they are not beyond His sight. God sees them every day He looks out upon his kingdom, and the Emperor sees the spirits of his fallen soldiers in the grandeur and glory that is Siberia. He feels it every day in the breath of the land, in the reports from his ministers of the harvest and the planting, the plowing and the sowing. We who have lost them, we may weep, but God and the Emperor are above such things. And in the end, we shall be reunited with the ones we love in God’s kingdom, where there are no more tears.

Mariya did not share these views. She received her sisters and her mother, but none of them, even with their prettier, softer words, could move her any better than I could. They left with barely a word to me, speaking among themselves of how she had changed, how she had been so joyful before her marriage. They spoke in low tones, but being foxes themselves, they knew well how their words would carry, and knew full well that I heard each one.

So I ceased to call upon them. They had accepted me as their family in our wedding ceremony and then turned their backs on me. Mariya, in her state, would not call upon them either, and so they faded from our lives.

But I continued my work with the Guards, where the young Tsarevich expressed his sympathy at my loss with an eloquence far beyond his eleven years. I thought him so charming then, thought that his way with people was a strength and not a sign of his weakness. He had no need to be strong at that age. The other cubs deferred to him; he had no challenges in which to prove himself, no father striking him to temper his steel. I did not see this at the time. I saw only the grandson of our Emperor, bestowing his favor upon me.

I said to Mariya, look, the Tsarevich wishes us well. He knows that this tragedy is but a small one in our lives. We could yet have a cub worthy of him. I professed my love for her, told her that God would not let two people such as us, full of devotion, remain barren. I promised to do all in my power to keep her safe, that the doctor would attend our next cub from the moment of birth.

My passion stirred her, and six months after Tatya’s death, in the bright dawn of summer, she smiled for the first time and took my paw in hers. I felt again the happiness I had when I married her, now made stronger by the misfortunes we had suffered and borne together. I saw that happiness reflected in her eyes, and I knew that all was right with the world. Watched by God and the Emperor, Mariya and I would rebuild our life from the debris of our tragedy. Her depression was but a passing weakness, and the strength I had seen in her now rose again to the surface.

I had given myself wholly to the Guard, but when the leaves turned in autumn and Mariya declared that she would be ready to accept another cub, I took a leave from the Guard to go abroad with her, the first time we had done so. The doctor recommended a change in climate for her health, but my dear would not go unless I accompanied her. So we traveled to the south, to a hot spring known for its healthful effects, and we spent two lovely weeks there.

And yet we were not blessed with a cub. She sank into depression again once a month, and all my efforts to cheer her spirit were in vain for some three to four days. She cried that she was not meant to be a mother, that she would never know the joy of holding her cub to her and watching her son or daughter grow. I told her she was foolish, that one as lovely and caring as her could never be without someone to look after. Days went by, the sun rose and set, and she accepted my words, and kissed me, and for another month her smile returned.

It was nearly a year later that this cycle was broken, in the heat of the following summer, when she rushed into my arms one morning and told me that we would have our family after all. I held her close and laughed with her, our noses and whiskers brushing, our tails curled around each other. And the first thing I thought was, I must tell the Tsarevich Nicholas. He will be so happy for us.