Shadow Touch (19 page)

“Distance is fine on the eyes,” Artur said, “but yes, parts of the city are quite beautiful. Odd, considering that it has always been used as nothing more than a glorified naval base.” He gestured toward the bay. “Do you see all the shipyards? The Russian Pacific fleet is stationed in those waters. Very strategic. It has been only ten years since foreigners were allowed in this city.”

Elena smiled. “You’ve got a secret crush on boats and submarines, don’t you?”

Artur glanced at her, surprised. A smile crept onto his face. He looked almost boyish. “I like them, yes. When I was very young I think I wanted to be a pirate. With a parrot, yes? And the sword and pistol.”

“Peg leg, too?”

“No, no.” He shook his head, laughing quietly. “No, I wanted to climb the rigging. I wanted to run. I wanted the freedom. The open sea, with nothing between me and the sun and the wind.” He hesitated. “You have seen pictures of old Soviet apartment blocks? Big and gray? They are monstrous buildings, very poorly constructed. My
matushka
—mother—did her best to make our home happy, but in a place like that it was difficult. So much controls you. In Moscow, especially. Money, your neighbors, politics.”

“And pirates don’t care about any of those things, do they?”

“Maybe the money,” Artur said, still smiling. “A little gold never hurt.”

Elena grinned. She glanced over her shoulder to see if the others were listening, but Rik looked fast asleep. He lay on the floor of the covered truck bed, curled into a ball. Amiri lay beside him. He was not asleep; but he made no move to acknowledge Elena. She did not take offense. She thought it quite possible that both men did not trust her or Artur—and to be honest, she had similar feelings toward them as well. Thrown together like beads in a bag, clanking up against one another. Who could say if they were showing their true selves?

Rictor could.

Well, yes, but Rictor was not here. And that, probably, was a good thing. She had mixed feelings about him, as well.

“Speaking of money—” Elena said, and then stopped because it was quite clear Artur was thinking about the same thing. A slight furrow appeared in his brow; his jaw tightened.

“I know someone in this city. He owes me, but he will not be happy to pay off his debt.”

“Typical,” Elena said. “What did you do for him?”

“Oh…” He hesitated. “Well, I suppose I saved his life. Perhaps the lives of his family, too. I was never quite sure about that.”

Elena stared. “You saved his life? And you don’t think he’ll be happy to repay you for that?”

Artur looked extremely uncomfortable, which was odd. He had acted so cool under pressure, Elena had suspected he lacked some crucial wires in his brain.

“Hey,” she said.

“The way in which I saved him was not… ideal,” Artur said, and he refused to tell her anything more.

They entered the city. Elena rolled down her mud-stained window, savoring the breeze. Raised anchors covered the iron railings that lined the streets, and on almost every rooftop Elena saw statues of men gazing out at the sea. Small carved waves lapped across building facades, and in the middle of several intersections sat the hulking, rusting remains of ship cannons, which no doubt had some historical significance, and which were decorated by pots of small flowers. Everywhere was a nautical decor—though some touches were more kitschy than others.

The cool air felt good on Elena’s face. She smelled the ocean and the docks, mingling with the exhaust of the Japanese sedans zipping past their monstrous truck.

“I think I like this place,” Elena said, as they passed a giant cardboard Poseidon, its trident flapping in the breeze.

“It is more pleasant than most cities in Russia,” Artur said. “Vladivostok is poor, but thanks to the sea the people here never go hungry. There is always some work to be found because of the tourists and shipyards.”

“Did you ever live here?”

“No. just… a trip. Every now and then.”

Elena thought of her brief foray into his mind, the violence she had seen. It was not a good time to ask, but she wanted to know. Artur was a fighter. To say he was not would be foolish. But he was
not just
a fighter. She wanted more. Everything.

“What did you do in Moscow?” she asked quietly. She hesitated, and then reached out to touch his hand. His gloves were back on. She slid her fingers beneath the leather. His skin was warm. She felt bone, sinew. She watched him swallow hard and fought not to do the same. Her heart beat faster.

I was not a good man
. Artur watched the road, but Elena felt his focus inside her head, strong like his spirit as it wrapped around her own. The idea of sharing her mind and body with another, a stranger, should have been torture, and if Elena had been told that such a thing was possible—had it proven to her—she would have feared it. Privacy was critical.

And yet, with Artur, sharing the innermost part of her felt natural as breathing. Good, sweet. Safe as home. They had known each other only a day, but in that day—a lifetime.

You know I don’t believe that
. Elena studied the line of his throat, the angular bones of his pale face. His dark hair looked rough. He needed to shave.

I know
, he said quietly.
But you feel that way because you do not know everything I have done
.

Tell me.

I cannot.

You’re afraid.

Yes
. He looked at her.
I worked for the Russian Mafia. I was a hired gun. I killed people for money. You see? Pleasant, yes
?

No, it was not pleasant. But it was also not a complete surprise.
Do you still kill for money
?

His expression never changed, but she felt his confusion.
Did you hear what I said, Elena? I have killed for money
.

Yes, I heard. I’m asking if you still do.

No
. His mind felt quiet.
Not for a long time, and only in self-defense
.

Elena closed her eyes. She savored the cool salty air rushing in through the open window. She wondered what Amiri made of all this peculiar silence, or her fingers resting inside his glove. Did the man even know what Artur was capable of?

I told him. He probably showed more surprise than you just did.

What? You expected screams? Accusations? Revulsion?

Yes. At the very least, shock.

I’ve seen some things, Artur. I already knew you had a violent past. The Mafia makes sense.

But still
—

No. If I had never been inside you, if we had met like two normal human beings, I would find your past highly disturbing. I would not trust you. I would be afraid. But we did not meet like that, and I
have
been inside your mind. You can’t lie to a person when they’re sitting in your brain. You can’t pretend to be anything but what you are. And you’re a good guy, Artur Loginov. Really. I like you
.

Silence followed, though it was not a true quiet: Artur’s emotions made their own music, conflicted and lovely.

You are remarkable
, he finally said, so faintly she could barely hear him.
Truly, Elena. I never imagined I would meet anyone like you
.

You’re making me blush
. Truth. Her face felt hot. Speaking mind-to-mind was also making her hot in other ways. Oh, that was embarrassing. She hoped he did not notice; she hoped—

I did not notice.

She almost said something out loud, but remembered at the last moment that they were not alone.
Please forget you heard all that
.

I would rather not
. His mental voice was soft, teasing.

Elena stopped touching him. He caught her gently, caressing her palm with his thumb. Brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

I like you, too
, he said, his mouth still touching her skin. Her breath caught and she snatched her hand away to clutch it in her lap. She continued to feel the weight of his fingers, his lips, the memory as real as flesh.
God
. He was good.

Touching him was too dangerous. She said, “So. How did you get out?”

He gave her an amused look. “I was recruited by an American detective agency called Dirk and Steele.”

“Sounds like the name of a seventies cop show.”

Artur shrugged. “They gave me new purpose, a place to go. It was probably one of the best things that ever happened in my life.”

Elena thought of the woman in Artur’s memories, his soft voice saying,
I love you
. She wondered where that woman was now, and what had happened between her and Artur. She wondered if Artur still loved her. Had she been one of his best things?

Elena could not ask. Never ever would she be able to bring herself to ask that question.

“Tell me about Dirk and Steele,” she said instead.

“As I said, it is a detective agency. Or at least, that is the face it shows the world. In truth, it is an organization whose purpose is to seek out people like you and me—or like Rik and Amiri—and give us a place where we do not have to be alone, where we can use our gifts to help others and receive support while doing so.”

“A movie would be easier to believe.”

“Yes, but this is much better because it is real.”

Elena shook her head. “I’m having enough trouble wrapping my brain around everything else I’ve seen and experienced. Even before my kidnapping I could barely come to terms with my own abilities. And now—” She stopped, staring out the window at the passing antique facades of Russian buildings, soaking in the air of a foreign land, which suddenly did not feel so foreign merely different, in the same way an apple was different from tree to tree. Because difference was relative, and when compared to a girl who could heal, or shape-shifters who could turn into animals, the rest of the world felt like fruit, and she was the psychedelically charged mushroom. Like, radical, dude.

“Elena?” Artur asked, clearly waiting for her to finish.

“My life is changed,” Elena said simply, and hearing herself say those words made her want to cry. “I can never go home again. I can never be the same person. Not just because the Consortium could find me again, but because… my eyes are bigger now. I know things.”

“Do you regret that knowledge?”

“No,” she said, and then hesitated. “Maybe. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.”

Artur smiled grimly. “I have always wished for some kind of ignorance, but I suppose I should be thankful I was never given any. I would be dead by now, otherwise.”

Elena did not know how to respond to that, so she said nothing at all. Minutes later Artur parked the truck in front of a seedy little building. A large sign hung over the chipped, gilt-encrusted door. Above a long line of Cyrillic, Elena read: HOTEL EKVATOR: RUSSIAN COMFORT.

“My old contact owns this place,” Artur said. “The rooms are not so bad, but Mikhail does not like using money for renovation. He thinks it is a waste.”

“Sure,” Elena said, hearing an ominous cracking sound far above her head from one of the hotel windows. She began to get out of the car, but Artur laid a hand on her arm.

“No, Elena. You should stay here with the others. I am not certain what kind of reception I will receive.”

“I’m not staying here,” she said. She glanced back at the shape-shifters; Amiri looked ready to leap out of the truck, and Rik was awake and alert. She wondered how much of their conversation had sunk in. “How about you guys?”

“No way in hell I’m letting you out of my sight,” Rik said. “You might sell me down the river.”

“I’m sure they’re big on seafood here,” Elena said, noting the brief—and quickly hidden—smile that passed over Amiri’s face. Rik scowled. So did Artur.

“It is dangerous,” he said.

“I thought you liked dangerous women,” Elena replied, and jumped from the truck before he could say another word.

Amiri and Rik clambered out of the back, and oh, what a sight all four of them made on the city street. Elena could only imagine what she looked like brutalized hair and face, wearing a sweater and skirt three sizes too big. The men, while all stunningly handsome, carried themselves like soldiers of a long war, and it was strange to see the three of them standing together in broad daylight on a crowded thoroughfare. Elena had grown accustomed to her companions, but in public, among regular people, they looked so different as to be alien. Even Artur, with his normal hair and eyes, still seemed… other. More than human. More than ordinary.

Magic. I am surrounded by magic.

“Are you sure about this?” Artur asked them.

“We are here,” Amiri said. “I believe that is as strong an answer as you will receive.”

They entered the hotel, Artur taking the lead. Elena wished she were more of a fighter. Those action movies always made it look easy. A good kick, a hard punch, a little guts and glory.

Reality meant a lot of running, a good dose of exhaustion accompanied by danger and pure gut-wrenching fear—and no way at all to complain, because that would just be childish, and no one liked a whiner. Which sucked. Elena made no claims to an easy life, but this was ridiculous.