Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (29 page)

“Hey!” Meg and Sol ran forward, but Alexei did not stop, the burning need to keep Konstantin away from his friends driving his feet forward.

The older fox staggered backwards several steps with him and then recovered his balance. He threw Alexei aside and strode back toward Sol, determined. Alexei ran at him and tackled him from behind, shouting, “Leave him alone!” and so distraught he did not know whether he was speaking Siberian or English.

Cold earthy air enveloped him and strong arms pinned him down. “He must not be allowed to speak that way,” Konstantin said.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alexei saw motion: Meg and Sol. He tried to wave them back, tried to call, “He’s dangerous!” through the thicker and thicker fog surrounding him. His lungs burned with the cold, his nose wrinkled at the overwhelming smell of mold and age, rot and decay. But he did not feel fear. He would save Sol, and then his departure would have meaning.

And then, high and clear, he heard the ringing of a bell. Konstantin stopped, though his grip did not relax enough for Alexei to escape. Athos’s voice, a little shaky, called out, “Avaunt, shade!”

For a moment, Alexei could only think about how ridiculous it was. He had tried so many things to banish Konstantin, and this grey fox thought he could just ring a bell? But the fog around him warmed, the odor of the grave weakened, and Konstantin’s grip on him faltered.

The bell rang again, and this time Konstantin flinched as though he’d been struck. His head turned down to Alexei, and in them Alexei saw a vast and endless darkness, pain and loneliness, and his own eyes reflected in them. Points of light appeared in the darkness, and Alexei realized that what he was seeing was the night sky through the fading outlines of Konstantin. The physical grip on his arms weakened, but he could not look away from those eyes.

Meg and Sol called his name from a long way away. The fire in him hissed and wailed, but it could not burn away the blackness. Grey fog crept in at the edge of his vision and the ground slipped out from below him and he fell.

Chapter 38

Alexei stands on a flat concrete platform with a wooden building behind him, his paw in the icy grip of Konstantin. His paw, like his ears, like his tail, tingles with cold, and so the touch of the older fox’s paw is not uncomfortable. His tail swishes slowly behind him. He looks around curiously.

A pair of rails runs past the station, and to his left, there is a train approaching. He perks his ears and catches the hiss of the engine. Clouds of steam escape the train’s boiler and rise to join the cloudy sky, persisting for a long time against the featureless grey before finally dissipating. The landscape around the train, flat plains that rise in the distance to brown hills and a jagged, toothy horizon, is familiar. Somewhere not too far, Alexei thinks, there is a river, and sometimes fish.

Above him, a sign creaks gently. There are Siberian characters on it, but the sign is nearly directly overhead and Alexei cannot read them.

“The train will be here soon.”

Konstantin speaks Siberian. Alexei’s ears flick in acknowledgment. He turns to his right and follows the empty track away from the station. It stretches out across the same flat landscape, but there are no hills, no mountainous peaks on the horizon. Instead, the tracks disappear into a grey-brown fog.

Behind them, the windows of the wooden station-house are dark and empty. There is a doorway, but Alexei smells only dust and age from it, no other people. The pressure on his paw crushes his fingers, but only a little, and even if he did pull free, where could he go? He scratches behind his ears, and then down his side. His fur feels gritty, as though he has fallen into a patch of dust.

“Nicholas had a son,” Konstantin says off-handedly. Alexei listens but does not reply. “His name was Aleksei.”

Alexei knows this; one does not grow up named “Alexei Tsarev” without someone bringing up the son of the last Tsar in history classes. Aleksei Romanov, the hemophiliac tiger who died at the age of fourteen with the rest of his family, bore little resemblance to Alexei Tsarev the fox, as far as the fox could tell, but he listens as Konstantin talks and the train draws nearer. He thinks about Sol and Meg and wonders what they are seeing. Is he lying dead? Is he gone, disappeared?

“I attended his birth. The empire was already in turmoil, but the birth was a blessed occasion, an island of peace in the midst of uncertainty and fear. It was the last time I saw Nicholas in person, the only time I saw him happy after the turn of the century.

“When our children are born, we have such hope for them. Was Aleksei’s weakness inherent in him? The spiritual weakness of the father was made manifest in the son, perhaps—our biologists would have it so. But then whence came Nicholas’s weakness? He must have had inner strength and let it languish and die. His father—his father was strong. It is impossible that the fault lies in the father, or in the mother.” Konstantin’s voice grew stern. “You, now, you are strong. You resisted your nature, you defended your friend. Away from the temptations of the world, with a strong guide, you will be a good fox. I will be pleased to have your company.”

Alexei nods dully. This is his destiny. He wonders if he will see Cat here somewhere, which would be nice. He will not see Sol or Meg for a long time—unless Sol summons him via a ritual. Perhaps Alexei might return to the world as a spirit, the way Konstantin did. The black wolf’s face hovers in his imagination as the fox last saw him, ears back, eyes blazing. Fighting for Alexei, fighting to protect him.

Failing to protect him. Just as Alexei failed to protect Cat. Alexei feels a wash of love for Sol, sympathy and friendship. We both tried our best.

Konstantin squeezes his paw. “Come,” the older fox says, “it is not so bad. I have tales of battle, tales of the mounted troops, tales of society. I will teach you chess.”

Chess: a complicated game for old people. Is there room to kick a football on the train? Alexei watches it approach and regret consumes him, a clear, single note that encompasses in a wash all the things he will miss, is already missing. Sol’s laugh and Meg’s sharpness, the sweet and heady taste of her drinks, Sol’s scent and the construction outside his window, the hot, humid air and the cool, dry air conditioning, Vlad and Liza and Rozalina and his host family and Mike and the feel of the football coming off his foot and soft, flaky fish and greasy fast food chicken…

The train’s whistle drowns out his thoughts. He watches its approach through blurred vision. But even as tears render the train indistinct, his thoughts sharpen, as though the sparse landscape and imminent train have focused his mind.

Konstantin pulls him forward. He resists, and the soldier turns with surprise and annoyance.

“There is more to strength than fighting,” Alexei says.

The old fox flicks ears down. “Eh?”

“You say I am strong because I fought you to protect Sol, and because I fought Kendall, I suppose. But I left Samorodka and that was strong as well.”

“Abandoning your family?”

“Yes. To stay, to bear my parents’ abuse: you might think that strong, but it is giving in to them, admitting they are right about me.” He sees it now with the clarity of distance. “Cat saw it too. She was not in danger as I was. She chose to remain behind because she loved me. And I would have sent for her because I loved her, too.” Alexei stares off at the train. Bright lights precede it, but he does not need to shield his eyes.

Konstantin is silent for a moment. “I am sorry for your loss,” he says. “I also lost my wife. And…”

“And you drove your son away.”

The older fox glares down at him. “He left.”

Alexei is silent for a moment. “When your wife died, did you feel there was a hole in you that would never be filled?”

“Yes.”

“And yet?”

Konstantin shifts from one foot to the other. “I hoped to encounter her here in…” He gestures about him. “Heaven? But I have not seen her.” The arm not holding Alexei’s paw drops to his side. “I have not seen…any of my family.”

“But you did not think to kill yourself then, even though you suffered a great loss.”

“I had a cub to care for!” The older fox’s ears shoot up, and his paw tightens. He opens his jaw to say more, and then closes it quickly.

Alexei lets the silence hang. The train will be at the station soon. “How did you die?”

“Defending Nicholas and his family. The guards kept order as long as we could, but were overwhelmed by the revolutionaries rushing the palace, the people who cared only for their immediate gratification, who sought to place themselves above the emperor and Siberia. I believe it was a length of pipe that struck my head from behind.” He speaks dryly, steadily.

“I’m sorry.” Alexei cranes his neck to see the back of the soldier’s head: smooth, russet fur. No wound, no mark. “You never had a chance to escape.”

“Escape?” Konstantin barks. “Flee, you mean. As everyone else did. I had chances to flee, of course I did. I chose to stay, every time, every day. That is what loyalty means. That is what I hoped to teach you, after you deserted your family.”

“Still?” Alexei’s anger builds. “Look, and I will show you family.”

He does not know how to summon images as Konstantin did. But he draws on his memories, his father’s cries, his mother’s words, the bottles and boards and bruises, a kaleidoscope of childhood horror, and the soldier’s eyes widen. He winces, and his paw squeezes Alexei’s again. “Still,” he says, “you could…”

Everything else fades before the bright image of Cat crying against Alexei at the shed, the realization he felt in that moment, the understanding that his parents would not protect him. Konstantin falls silent.

And then, the warmth and understanding from Sol, the moment of connection when Alexei confessed his sexuality—yes, even this he shares with Konstantin without flinching. The joy he felt in being asked to live with Sol and Meg, the sense of belonging, the freedom that came with the openness to discuss his life with others in the VLGA, all of these fill him and, he hopes, Konstantin.

Still the soldier does not speak. Alexei takes a breath. “Why are you making me flee those who mean the most to me?”

Konstantin stirs and looks down. “Did they pursue you when you ran, or search for you when you did not return? Do they care more than I? Do they need you more than I?” It is all there in the soldier’s voice, in the emptiness of the vast plain that stretches out before them, in the long low howl of the steam engine as the train slows.

“They need me, too. And I love them.” Alexei speaks so softly that were this a normal train, even Konstantin with his fox’s ears would not be able to hear it over the screech of brakes, the huffing of the steam engine. But here in this desolate station between life and death, Alexei’s words echo from the boards of the old station platform.

Now Konstantin looks down at him, his pupils narrowed to slits from the train’s bright light. “Love is for dreamers,” the old fox recites. “That is what Vasily—my father taught me.”

The boards creak as his weight shifts. Grey dust rises at the train’s approach, narrowing the world around them to the platform, the train, each other. Alexei looks back. “And what are we doing now but dreaming?”

Again, Konstantin’s stony expression flickers. His ears curl uncertainly behind him. “It is too late for that,” he says.

Flat black train cars with no name roll past, no decoration adorning them. Faces stare out, deer and ermine, coyotes and wolves, rabbits and otters. Their eyes sweep over Alexei and Konstantin as though the foxes are no more than fixtures of the station. Behind them, all is darkness. The carriages go on and on and on, and slowly come to a halt.

“It is not too late,” Alexei says.

Before them, a door opens, sliding noiselessly to one side. Inky blackness spills down the stairs like a viscous fluid. Alexei shrinks back, but Konstantin holds him firmly and pulls forward. “Do not be frightened,” he says.

“Do I have to go?” Alexei whispers.

“Yes.” Konstantin pulls again, then stops. This is not a station where passengers disembark, and yet there is movement from the door nearest them. From the blackness emerges a cornflower-blue dress, wrapped around a young vixen with a sad smile. She holds up one coal-dark paw, palm out.

Alexei’s muzzle drops open. He cannot push the word past his throat, is afraid to say it lest he be wrong, lest her name banish her, but he cannot take his eyes from her. And then she meets his eyes, and she says his name, and the word bursts forth from him. “Cat!”

“You don’t have to come,” she says gently.

The words do not sink in. He can only hear the sadness, cannot help but remember her last message to him and the bright hope in her voice that is gone now. “I am so sorry, Cat,” he says.

“He is coming with me,” Konstantin says. “He has decided.”

“Wait!” Alexei pulls back against the older fox’s grip.

“Look.” Konstantin points to the carriage. “Your sister is here, just as you wanted. Who can say whether this chance will come again?”

“Kostya,” Cat says gently, familiarly as if she has known him for years, “it is not yet his time, if he does not wish it.”

“He is the reason you are here! He—”

“No,” Cat says. “I am the reason I am here. The mistakes I made, they are mine.”

“Do you not wish his company? Do you wish to be alone?”

“Kostya. I have come to see my brother. Who has come to see you?”

Konstantin whips around, glaring, but Alexei does not stop pulling, prying at the other fox’s fingers with his free paw. The soldier draws himself up, growing a foot taller, two feet taller, staring down with eyes growing dark and cold. “Will you leave me as well?” he cries, and behind his voice is the sharp keening of the wind, of the train whistle, the sound calling out across miles and years. “What of your guilt, what of your loss? Are you so eager to return to them, alone?”

“They are mine,” Alexei says. His eyes do not leave the older fox’s, but he is aware of Cat near him, and he draws strength from her. “And I will not have to bear them alone. There is also love, there is also hope. I serve no tsar, but I serve those who have given their hearts to me, and who have kept mine safe in return. That is as sacred a duty as your commission to the Emperor. You must not deny what is in your heart. You must cherish it.”

It is as if Sol is behind him, and Meg, and Mike and Liza and Vlad. Even as Konstantin’s shadow engulfs him, he stands tall. “Love!” the older fox says again.

“Yes,” Alexei says, and then he reaches up and he touches the very tip of the older fox’s chin, the only part he can reach. “And you are among those I love, but you are not the only one. Do you love me,
dyedushka
? Will you let me go?”

At the Siberian word ‘grandfather,’ Konstantin’s eyes widen. He exhales, his shadow retreating, returning to his regular size. And then the old fox is no more than an old soldier in a worn, bloodstained coat, and his paw holds Alexei’s a moment longer before releasing it. It remains out before him and then drops to his side. “You will not come?”

“Not now,” Alexei says. He risks a look at Cat and sees her smiling, her eyes moist. “Someday, I promise. I will not forget you.”

Cat speaks again, gentle and firm and sad. “Come, Kostya. For you, it is time.”

The train whistle keens again. Darkness withdraws into the body of the train, and Cat takes a step up. Now her tail is not visible at all, and the back of her dress vanishes into the black.

The older fox bows his head and reaches out a paw. Alexei looks warily at it, but the soldier only ruffles the fur between Alexei’s ears. The pads are cold, covered with a thin layer of dust, but Alexei does not mind. Konstantin’s expression is serious, sternly paternal. “I know you will not follow the path I set forth for you. Show me, then, in your own way, how you are strong.” He pauses and then his paw stills. “And because you have shared yourself with me…”