Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (28 page)

Chapter 36

Alexei is wandering through his apartment, only his apartment is many stories, more even than his house in Samorodka. In his bedroom, the wooden wall adorned with posters of Siberian footballers smells familiar. A low buzzing hum comes from the walls all around, and a bee flies past him, into a rotted hole two feet off the floor. He kneels to peer through, but there is only blackness there.
Cat
, he calls softly.

When he perks his ears to listen, he hears a soft keening, but it is not coming from the hole in the wall. He straightens, brushes his bed and desk, and looks for a moment to the corner of his room, but Sol is not here. Outside the window, he feels the movement of machinery even though he cannot hear or see the big yellow bulldozers and shovels.

Cat may be in trouble, may be crying out. Maybe their father has finished a batch of his vodka again. Alexei was not there to take the blows for Cat, and as the certainty of this sets in his mind, he staggers in the doorway, guilt paralyzing him. He must hurry. He might still have time.

On the back of the door is a long poster, a picture of a ten-year-old fox cub in a smart soldier’s uniform. Alexei stares, and then flicks an ear and the cub in the poster flicks the same ear. He looks into his own grey eyes and then the eyes are dark brown, but he knows the expression: it is bravery laced with fear, and Alexei has the sense that just outside the frame of the poster is a large bronze statue with a sword waiting for the cub to falter. But the cub is silent, not the source of the keening whine. With an effort, Alexei wrenches himself away and leaves the room.

The stairs outside the bedroom are not the cramped, wooden stairs he remembers, and the smell of rot and fermenting potatoes does not permeate them. They are marble, the banister polished brass, and on the wall are portraits, stern tigers glaring at him with accusatory eyes. He hurries down the stairs, glancing over his shoulder. Though none of the tigers leaps from a picture to follow him, he feels their gathering presence behind him, a weight at his back that pushes his feet faster, now skipping steps, the marble cold and hard under his pads.

He emerges from the staircase into a large living room, with marble flooring and a pair of long backless couches, between which a low credenza stretches with a mirror atop it. To one side stands an old cabinet—Alexei knows he can find the liquor there, his father’s labelless clear bottles of dreams and rage—and candelabras top both the cabinet and the adjacent desk. He has sat on the couches, letting his tail hang down between the cushions and the wall unless he has company, when it is fashionable to curl one’s tail along one’s hips. The vision of sitting in the room with other foxes and tigers comes clearly to him, and he knows them to be relatives and friends, other cubs from school and from Petrograd, and his father the tiger. And Cat, he has looked after Cat in this room and played with her when she was little and liked to hide under the couches with just her tail peeking out.

But Cat is not here, and the keening is no louder, so she is not in this room, not hiding under the couches nor in the cabinet with the bottles. He feels a fresh wave of guilt at her departure. She is in trouble somewhere and he has to find her.

He goes to the window, but instead of seeing the dirt road of Samorodka—

—or the fine gardens and the Petrograd streets beyond it—

—or, yet, the construction machines, dull yellow amid a chaotic jumble of dirt—

—he sees weathered old sandstone buildings, rows of blank and featureless windows a street’s width beyond. Here the keening is louder; perhaps the wind screeching through the canyon between the buildings and into Alexei’s eyes and perked ears. He blinks away tears and turns his head this way and that. And then he looks down.

Many stories stretch down to the street below, and it is a modern street such as he might see in Vidalia, only without color, all sepia-toned and blurry. It seems to be twenty stories down, then ten, then fifty, and he cannot make out what is in the street. The wind brings the keening to him, and Alexei squints against the wind. Through his tears, he sees a figure below, and his heart leaps—Cat?

He retreats into the living room and runs to every door, but none conceals a staircase, and even the large marble stair leading up to his bedroom is nowhere to be found. He stops and stares into the mirror and sees a fox in a dark blue coat, standing on a field of ice. This fox could help Cat; this fox would be brave; this fox would not run away.

Desperate, he runs back to the window and calls:
Cat! Cat!

The wind shrieks up at him. The figure below is dark, but he knows she is looking up.
I’m coming!
he yells, and runs back into the room, but nothing has changed: the couches, the wood cabinets, the doors that lead to closets and kitchens and no stairs. He stares at the window, and bites his lip. Then he runs at it and leaps through.

The air is cold, and grows colder as he falls. His eyesight blurs, his body chills, but the figure below waits for him, growing larger. And he sees the dark coat, the old muzzle turned upward. It is not Cat; it is Konstantin who spreads his arms and his coat, which turns blue as his form judders and snaps in the sepia street.

Keening becomes screaming in his ears, wind shrieking past him and through him, and he is falling and falling past blank windows, and below him the fox’s coat spreads wide, the grey haze of nothingness sending tendrils up to meet Alexei. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks, I am dreaming, I am dreaming, wake up wake up WAKE UP

Chapter 37

Alexei woke with a jerk, sat bolt upright, and clutched the covers to his chest. His tail wound tightly around his stomach and he panted, gulping in the warm air of the bedroom and the comforting scent of Sol nearby. He flicked his ears upright against the panic in his head, forcing himself to listen. No keening reached him from outside, only the whirr of the fan, the low rumble of machinery, and Sol’s even breathing.

Just a nightmare. And yet he could not relax. His eyes searched the shadows of the room, accustomed enough to the darkness to pierce even to the shadowy corners. There was the desk, the dresser, the picture of Niki back in its place on the wall, piles of clothes on the floor. No Konstantin. No beam of light touched the room from outside.

The fox drew in a breath. He uncurled his fingers with an effort and released the covers, but he did not lie back down in bed. The night sounded and smelled like any other, but though the air was warm, the tips of Alexei’s fingers and ears ached with cold. Konstantin was here, again, waiting for him.

He turned to Sol. The wolf lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, and as Alexei watched, he let out a little snort and rubbed his head back into the pillow, as though scratching an itch behind one ear. Sol would want to be woken, to help defend Alexei, and the thought brought a smile to Alexei’s muzzle. But he did not want to put Sol in danger, and he did not want defending, not now.

Because Cat was gone. The sorrow of the dream remained with him, the desperate need to help her, the echo of her keening, and the guilt that circled his chest like a vise. As her older brother, he should have protected her. He should have waited until they could both leave together. He never should have left her behind.

Konstantin had visited Alexei from the grave, and that was undoubtedly where he wanted to take Alexei back to. Perhaps, perhaps, he might see Cat there, and apologize to her. Or if Konstantin was offering him nothing but oblivion, well. The alternative was an empty apartment filled with guilt and memories and a keening he could never stop hearing.

So he slid out of bed.
Don’t come in
, he said in his head.
I’m coming out
.

He had no idea if Konstantin could hear him, but the ghost did not appear. Alexei pulled a t-shirt over his head and walked out into the kitchen.

The smells of dinner persisted, fish and toasted bread and rice, but the kitchen lay eerily silent and dark. He touched the back of one of the chairs as he circled the kitchen table, remembering the dinners Meg had made and the drinks she’d mixed for him, the peach and cherry and orange faint memories along his nose and tongue. For a moment, he felt guilty, thought he should leave a note, but there was nothing to write with out here. The guilt subsided. They would assume correctly that Konstantin had taken him, and it would be kinder to let them imagine it had been against his will.

A flicker of resistance burned still, deep in his chest, the spark that had kept him hopeful on those icy nights in Samorodka, his back or arms or chest aching from beatings administered by his father, his spirit bleeding from his mother’s blows. Now, it felt smothered beneath a damp woodpile. In Samorodka, he had believed in a better life for himself and for Cat. Here, there was nowhere to escape to. This hell was inside him.

As quietly as he could, he threw the bolts on the front door and slid out. In the hallway, even the noises of the street outside were subdued, far away, as if he were on an upper floor and the street far below. Indeed, when he opened the front door of the building, he almost expected to look down onto the scene from his dream. But the front stoop lay empty and ochre in the light of the sodium lamps as it always was, the street outside quiet and dead save for the engine of a car fading into the distance, the buzz of insects.

And on the sidewalk below the stoop, Konstantin waited.

He looked normal here, solid and real, just an old fox in a worn blue military coat fastened with a clean gold sash. His soldier’s bearing, straight-shouldered, paws clasped in front of him, did not relax as his eyes met Alexei’s, but his tail swished slowly from side to side, the white tip shining in the dim light.

Alexei let the front door close behind him and stood in silence. Running away again, a voice said in the back of his head, and he pushed it aside. Running toward something now, he told it. Toward peace and structure, toward a place where I know what is expected and I need not make decisions that kill those I care about.

“
You have chosen to come with me.
” Konstantin’s words sounded flat through the humid air.

“
I think so,
” he said softly. “
Where are we going?
”

“
Back,
” Konstantin said. “
Can you hear the train? The souls traveling to the land between?
”

Alexei turned his ears this way and that, and what he heard first was the keening sound from his dream. When he focused on it, it turned into a long, low whistle, a steam engine releasing pressure in a mournful cry. He turned back to Konstantin. “
So I will be dead.
”

“
In this world, yes.
”

Alexei nodded. The spark in his chest flared. “
Why?
”

Konstantin inclined his head. “
You created a bond when you summoned me, but it is not that alone. You have been treated badly by the world. I have grown fond of you. I would…welcome the company.
”

“
Can I see my sister?
”

The older fox shook his head slowly from side to side. “
We may encounter others in that land, but those we love…that comfort is denied to us.
”

“
Oh.
” Alexei’s shoulders sagged. He curled his tail back and forth and breathed in the warm, humid night air. “
Can I get a message to her? Can I tell her I’m sorry?
”

“
In my experience,
” and here the older fox, too, hunched over, as though carrying some weight, “
that is not possible. But the land between is a strange place that I would not have believed possible when I lived. Who can say?
”

“
How do you know I will stay with you, then?
” A new fear had occurred to Alexei. “
I would hate to die and still be alone there.
”

“
You do not know. Nor do I. But I feel it; do you not?
” Konstantin reached out his paw. “
You have but to grasp my paw and come with me.
”

Alexei did not move, not yet. “
Why can’t you just suck me into your coat?
”

The older fox smiled wryly. “
We are not in a dream, here. There are…limitations.
”

“
Is that why you’re not as scary?
”

“
Perhaps I am less frightening because you are less frightened of me, now.
”

Or it could be another trick, Alexei thought wearily, for the spirit to appear old and vulnerable, to lure him in closer. But Konstantin’s explanation was the simplest: Alexei had come to him willingly, and there was no need for anything more than an outstretched paw.

In his chest, the rebellious fire refused to be quenched. What about Sol, what about Meg? But balanced against them was Cat’s absence, the vitriol of his parents, the weight of his guilt. To think he could have peace with just a touch of Konstantin’s paw… He lifted his arm.

Noise sounded behind him, and the front door clattered open. Alexei half-turned, saw Sol in his boxers, Meg in a robe, Athos in a t-shirt and shorts, all wide-eyed. Sol cried, “Alexei!” but all three of them stared past him, at the old Siberian fox in the military garb.

“My God,” Athos breathed.

“God dammit, Alexei,” Meg said. “You scared the hell out of us. Who is this bum?”

Words caught in Alexei’s throat. The warm, real presence of his friends overwhelmed him, but he couldn’t keep from thinking, what if I betray them as I did Cat? What if they fall as well? And then the startling flash of realization. “
You can see him?
”

He spoke in Siberian, and then had to force his mind to translate the words into English. But even as he said them again, Konstantin was speaking in Siberian, aloud. “
Of course they can see me. You brought me here into the world.
”

“I see someone,” Sol said slowly. “I can’t understand what he’s saying.”

“Oh, he’s from some Siberian homeless shelter downtown.” Meg grabbed Alexei’s wrist. “Get back inside.”

At that, Konstantin strode forward, his ears flattening and eyes narrowing. “Do not touch him,” he said in English, and he stopped short of Meg, his movements clockwork-precise. He could not grow to a great height here, but he looked down on all of them from his natural stature, and he had a soldier’s assurance.

“Back off,” Meg said warningly, and Sol took a step forward.

Alexei shook his wrist free. He stepped to one side, away from his friends and yet not toward Konstantin. “None of you know what this is like,” he said, pressing a paw to his chest. “It
hurts
. Every minute, every thought I have. Before, there was hope, and now…nothing. There is
nothing
.”

“It gets better.” Sol reached out to him, and kept his paw out even when Alexei shied from the touch. “You stop thinking about it quite so much. It just takes time.”

“What,” Alexei said, “you’re talking about losing Niki?” He set his jaw. “You knew him for a month, and never even in real life! This is my sister, my little sister. I held her when she was tiny, I walked to school with her, I protected her…” His throat closed up again and the rush of his loss roared in his ears.

At the mention of Niki’s name, Konstantin had stepped forward, ears up, eyes widening. “You…you know my Nikolai?” The older fox took another step forward and stared at Sol. “
Your eyes
,” he said in Siberian, his gaze fixed on the wolf’s face.

“Niki changed his eyes,” Alexei said, in English.

Sol’s bright green eyes almost glowed in the strange light. “They’re a gift,” he said, standing with his shoulders and muzzle forward, a belligerent posture. “He gave me strength, and he’s always with me now.”

“With
you
?” Konstantin took another step forward, his paw dropping to the scabbard at his side.

“Hey,” Meg said, stepping forward to grip Sol’s arm. “Look, old timer, what’s your name? Where do you live?”

The old fox raised his paws and his voice, still fixing Sol with his gaze. “I am Konstantin Vasilyevich Galitzin, born in eighteen fifty-nine and again in eighteen sixty-five. I do not ‘live.’ I have been dead for nearly one hundred years.”

“Or you’re a crazy person who escaped Siberia,” Meg said, and then released Sol as Athos stepped back. “Don’t be—hey! Where are you going?”

Athos fled back into the building as she watched. Meg took two steps after him while Alexei watched Sol and Konstantin. Both canids had their ears back, and though Sol looked afraid, Konstantin trembled as though barely restraining himself. Alexei’s ears stayed fully up, all his senses on alert.

“How did you meet Nikolai?” Konstantin whispered, his voice low and dangerous.

“Sol,” Alexei said urgently. “Go inside. Leave me. This is—”

The black wolf ignored him, his ears flat, eyes narrow, focused only on Konstantin. “I met him. I saw his story, after he ran away.”

“After?” The fox’s lips drew back. “What became of him?”

Sol frowned, glaring more furiously than Alexei had ever seen. “He died,” he said. “Drowned.”

For a moment, like the flickering in his dream, grief blazed over Konstantin’s muzzle. Then his eyes set and his lips drew back farther, his fangs yellow in the light. “You lie.”

“He slept with a rich French noble.” Sol threw the words out, fists clenched. “Who hit him in the head with a candlestick and dumped him in the river.”

“Jesus, Sol,” Meg said.

Before Alexei could speak or react, Konstantin had lunged forward. With a growl, he drove his fist into Sol’s stomach. The black wolf doubled over, staggered, and Konstantin pushed him to the ground. The soldier dropped to his knees and raised an arm to strike again—

—Alexei seized the raised arm, pulled with all his strength, dragged Konstantin back off the stoop as Sol struggled to his feet, wheezing.

“Stop! Leave him alone!” Alexei held his paws up, tried to keep himself between Sol and the ghost.

Konstantin drew himself up, seeming to grow several inches. His fangs gleamed in a snarl as he pointed at Sol. “
He tells lies about Nikolai,
” he said in Siberian.

“
They are not lies,
” Alexei said, and switched to English. “He saw Niki. Niki helped him.”

“Niki told me it was all right to be gay.” Sol glared up from his knees, his breathing still labored. “He was gay, too.”

Konstantin’s muzzle twisted, and he lifted the pointing finger until it aimed directly at Sol’s nose. “Nikolai did not understand the world. He belonged with
me
. He would not have died had he remained a loyal son.”

“He hated you,” Sol got to his feet, lips pulled back from his teeth, as fierce as Konstantin. “You drove him away.”

“You will be silent.”

“I will not,” Sol said. “Niki wouldn’t want me to.”

Konstantin leaned forward, his muzzle less than a foot from Alexei’s, his eyes fixed on Sol. “I was not asking,” he said, and extended his arm fully toward the black wolf.

Alexei saw clearly the grey fur on his muzzle, the dark eyes, the notch in one ear. Konstantin’s breath smelled of old earth and mold, and it was cold on his nose. Shadows crept out from behind the old soldier and pooled around his feet; blackness wreathed his arms and grew like a halo behind his ears and head, crept along his arm and out toward Sol.

The black wolf recoiled, nostrils flaring, and Alexei drove forward, life and desire flaring brightly now. “No!” he cried, and lowered his shoulder into Konstantin’s chest. The military coat gave under his charge, and Konstantin grabbed at Alexei’s shirt as the younger fox pushed him back off the stoop and out of the circle of light.