Shadow Touch (24 page)

But Rik said nothing more. Their driver steered the car right up onto the sidewalk, narrowly missing several old women who hopped out of the way, flapping their arms like chickens. The driver pulled the parking brake, gave the angry women a bored look, and made a shooing motion with his hands. Insulting, patronizing Elena thought that if any other man had done such a thing to them, there would be nothing left but a puddle of blood. Instead, the old women took one sharp look at the driver, as well as the license plates on the car, and moved on. Quickly.

No one harangued them about the flagrantly illegal placement of the car; Elena even spotted a police officer at the end of the street, who very deliberately turned around and began walking in the opposite direction. Elena was suddenly very happy that Mikhail was on their side.

Mikhail’s help continued; the driver followed them into the train station, and it was clear what his purpose was. Muscle. A hired gun meant to keep them safe. Something that Artur should be familiar with. She wondered if it was strange for him, this reversal of roles. Then again, Elena suspected Artur was a man who never thought much about things like that. It would be too petty. Before, he had a job to do, so he did it. Just as the man who currently walked behind them was doing a job—nothing more, nothing less. After he got them safely aboard the train, he would no doubt return home to a girlfriend or family. One more day, working hard for the money.

Rik, eyeing the bodyguard, said, “What is it you do for a living, Artur? You seem to know a lot of… interesting people.”

Interesting. Elena wanted to laugh.

Artur said, “I work for a private detective agency in the United States. Before that, however…” He hesitated, and Elena nudged him with her elbow. There did not seem much point in holding anything back from these men.

“The Mafia,” he said shortly, giving her a look.

“The Mafia,” Rik said. “You’re kidding me.”

Amiri made a humming sound, low in his throat. “I do not think he is.”

“Oh.” Rik glanced again at their bodyguard, who was doing an admirable job of pretending to ignore them. “Okay.”

Artur waited, but Rik said nothing more. After a moment, Amiri said, “Shall we continue inside?”

So much for being hated and feared. Elena wanted to smile. Instead, she brushed her hand against Artur’s and felt him take a deep breath. They walked into the train station.

The interior was more modern than Elena expected, though still messy with people. The crowds made her nervous. Everywhere, she expected an attack, some strange hand to emerge and snap her back into captivity. She wished Rictor were there; a mind reader would be a good friend to have right about now. She hoped he was well. She also hoped he would come back one day to explain some things to her—like why he had helped her, made that first step of resistance with her arrival.

You’re better off not knowing
. Yes, maybe. But unsatisfied curiosity could be a horrible thing.

The lines in front of the ticket counters were monstrous and, in fact, were not lines at all but just a giant mass of flesh, rippling in one direction.
Hours
, Elena thought. It would take hours to get through that mess, and by that time the Quiet Man would probably have her roasting on a stake.

Artur, however, did not seem concerned. He made them wait by the wall, tucked behind the first pillar of a colonnade. The driver stayed with them. Elena had no doubt he was armed to the teeth, and that was fine. Wonderful. She might not like holding the gun, but she was honest enough with herself to appreciate letting someone else do it.

From her spot next to a drooping plastic tree, Elena watched Artur struggle through the scrambled mish-mash of bodies—chaos, a crowd: bent old women lugging plastic bags, swaddled in thick sweaters with brightly colored scarves covering their hair; lean men with quick eyes talking loudly on cell phones; a tour group from Asia, a tiny army of red caps and a Russian woman at the head of them, holding a flag with Chinese characters written on it. More and more—the cavernous train station felt like it housed several different nations. Artur pushed and shoved until he reached the front of the ticket line. If Elena had not watched with her own eyes, she would never have believed it possible.

“He’s going to start a fight,” Rik pointed out. Elena agreed.

Amiri merely smiled and said, “Look at their faces.”

Elena did, and it was true: those who began to protest Artur’s actions took one glance at his face and got out of his way. In fact, the longer she watched, the more it seemed to her that there was a method to the madness—a pecking order, of sorts. So much for being subtle. Elena said as much, and again Amiri smiled.

“It is the same at home. Lines are a convenience of societies that have so much to give; that its people have the patience—and confidence—to wait and go without. But when you have nothing, every little push and shove, every step above your neighbor, is a chance for you to survive, to get what you want before it runs out. It is survival.”

And Artur Loginov is a master of staying alive.

Which, when Elena thought about it, was pretty damn sexy.

He certainly looked sexy when he walked away from the ticket counter, a small smile tugging on his mouth. He held four sets of paper in his hand, which he handed out to everyone.

“We are lucky,” he said. “Today is an even-numbered day, so we will be on the Rossiya to Moscow. It is the best train to travel on when you journey by rail. I bought us first-class tickets.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“Almost a week.”

“A week? Artur, a lot of bad stuff can happen in a week. And trains aren’t exactly easy to hide on.”

“Easy targets, yes? I know, Elena, but we cannot fly. Our passports would never hold up to the scrutiny. We cannot drive, because it would take too long. Paperwork is not checked so thoroughly on the rails, and when it is, the officials are easier to bribe. No, the train—no matter how risky—is our best bet.”

“It’s also cutting it close,” Rik said. “What if she changes the schedule? She might, after everything that has happened.”

“Unlikely,” Artur said. “This meeting is too important to change at a moment’s notice. Nor would the bosses like the implications of a sudden shift in timing. Altering things at the last minute means trouble usually the kind that involves death. No. I think she will pretend everything is fine, and she will go to that meeting and begin manipulating the leaders into an alliance—with worms in their heads as insurance.”

Amiri shook his head. “Her power cannot be limitless.”

“How do you know?” Elena frowned. “All these things we can do… none of it makes sense anyway. The doctor tried to understand, but for all the people he poked and prodded, I don’t think he ever came up with a satisfactory explanation.” At least, not one he had been able to give her. Not that she had been given all that many opportunities to ask. Elena was still frustrated by that. Realizing she was not alone made her want more: more information, more whys and why-nots. Why could she heal while others changed shape? How could a man read the memories of others with nothing more than a touch, while another became trapped by something so seemingly harmless as a circle in the sand? Why did she share space with the soul of a person she barely knew?

“It doesn’t have to make sense,” Rik said. “You just have to ride the wave. Accept and ride, right up until you come to shore.”

“You must be the dolphin philosopher of the deep,” Elena retorted, not missing the dark circles under his eyes. “Riding that Big Kahuna to illumination.”

“Totally,” he said. Elena smiled, and it suddenly occurred to her that she was enjoying herself. Not the danger, not the risk… but the company. These three men, though she barely knew them, made the suffering easier to bear. She could be herself around them. She had never been able just to be herself around anyone not even her grandfather, who worried constantly, who worked so hard to turn her into a good person that she had stifled herself, limited her interests and opinions so as to not offend him.

But here, now, none of that was necessary. She was free and accepted, and what a gift—what a lovely blessing, even in the midst of such jeopardy. Elena’s secret was no longer hers alone to keep.

Dogged by their bodyguard, they walked through the train station, past the wide-open doors into sunlight. Elena smelled engine grease and iron, the salt of the sea; she felt the roar of a train beneath her feet, the thunder of movement coming and going, the swift approach of the future in another piece of this foreign land.

They did not go far before Artur pointed out the Rossiya. The train was long and surprisingly cheerful in appearance: a clean red-and-blue exterior with many large square windows. Most of the passengers—young men in military uniform and older women toting heavy packages—gathered around the back of the train, waiting for their turn to board. Artur walked past the locals to another carriage section that was less crowded. The people on this end dressed slightly better, and some of them spoke perfect American English. In fact, the same couple who had narrowly missed the showdown inside the Hotel Elevator stood waiting to board the train. They smiled at Elena and the others, clearly recognizing them. Elena felt rather less enthusiastic about their presence.

She pressed close to Artur. “Are you sure this is wise? Wouldn’t it make more sense for us to mix with the locals?”

Artur shrugged. “Normally I would say yes, but Rik and Amiri both have memorable faces. I would rather have them stand out in a cabin accustomed to foreigners than spend the next week in the midst of crowds who are more likely to remember an exotic face.”

“I’m not sure that matters,” Elena said. “Seems to me that if the Quiet Man is already here, Beatrix Weave will have her people combing this place soon enough. Someone is bound to remember us. She’ll figure out where we’re going. She might already know.”

“Perhaps, but we must get out of this city. If we had time, luxury, I would suggest going underground. Fully changing our appearances, disappearing south into China, and from there back to the United States. Taking our time. Charles found us because we rushed, because we went to the very places that anyone who knows me well might suspect. This is my fault, Elena. It will be my fault if she recaptures us.”

“Don’t get all happy with the blame game yet,” she told him. “I’m just saying, this feels like the worst escape plan ever.”

Artur snorted. “You are always easy with your insults, yes?”

“It’s not an insult when it’s the truth, but believe me, I don’t know that we would do any better than you do. You’ve gotten us this far with flying colors. This is your home territory. It’s just… we’re sitting ducks, Artur.”

“Quack,” Rik said, breaking into the conversation. Artur glared at him. The shape-shifter held up his hands and backed off. He pretended to hold a significant conversation about the weather with Amiri, who was studiously ignoring the discussion between Elena and Artur. Funny how privacy could be reached through nothing more than an illusion. Though considering that this discussion also affected them, she hoped the two shape-shifters were more interested in it than they acted. Artur leaned close.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly. “Truly, I am. There are people who will help us, but they will never be able to reach us in time for the meeting in Moscow.”

“Your, um, Dirk and Steele,” Elena said.

“Yes. There is an excellent chance they are already searching for me, but until I contact them there is no way to be certain.” He touched her shoulders, peering down into her face. “This has already been ugly and messy. It is only going to get worse.”

“Thanks,” she said, only mildly sarcastic. A small smile touched Artur’s mouth; she thought he would kiss her, plant something soft on her forehead, but instead he brushed a gloved hand over her lips, and Elena suddenly knew why Amiri and Rik were giving them space, what she and Artur must look like together when they spoke. Warmth spread; her cheeks were burning.

“You could leave,” he said gently. “There is still time to find another way for you, Elena.” He would do it, too. She knew that much about him. He wanted on that train worse than anything, but he would step away from it to help her if she decided not to go. He would still find a way to Moscow—eventually—but he would take care of her first.

“No,” she said. “I’m going.” Going because she did not have a choice. Yes, she had some money and fake papers—enough, perhaps, to get her a ticket on one of the long-distance ferries to Japan that Artur had mentioned earlier. But that would mean leaving him leaving, too, Rik and Amiri—and while sticking close meant danger, she could not bring herself to break loose and separate. She had found people who were different like her. Different in all the best possible ways. She could not abandon that. Not for anything.

And, if she were being honest with herself, the way she felt toward Artur went beyond friendship. Went far beyond anything she had ever imagined she could feel. Tenuous, thrilling—more magic than the magic she had already encountered—and the wonder of it was that she suspected he might feel the same. That was worth a little danger.

They waited in line behind the Americans and Europeans. Artur looked utterly calm, unconcerned, but every now and then Elena caught the movement of his gaze, flickering about like a Geiger counter, measuring trouble. She tried to do the same. Everything looked normal, with crowds of people hauling luggage and small children, bawling and shouting and laughing with boisterous and—to measure by some of the flasks in hand—drunk conviction. Rik hunkered down in his light jacket. He fussed with his cap. Elena wanted to tell him to leave it alone, but that would have sounded too much like a mother hen, and Rik—while younger than her—certainly did not need that. At least, she did not think he did. He seemed so very young sometimes.