The Pyramid of Souls (12 page)

   "Quiet, Vlad!" Nick shushed his pet.

   But then he realized it wasn't Vladimir at all. It was his crystal ball. Or, more precisely, it was a large black raven inside the ball.

***

"Do you understand what I am asking of you, Edgar Allan Poe?" inquired the raven, her voice lilting and raspy.

   The writer was sweating, panic-stricken. His shirt collar stuck to his neck. He mopped his brow. He had sworn off alcohol, but he was certain that he was delusional.

   "Yes! Yes! I understand, Miranda."

   "We had a deal, did we not?"

   "Yes, but I had no idea…"

   The raven paced back and forth across the wooden floor, hopping and occasionally stopping to admire her own feathers and preen.

   "Didn't the poem I gave you make you famous? You are recognized when you go out in the street now. You earned money. Your fame grew. I did precisely what I told you I would do. I kept my word to you. And now…I said I would return to you one day and ask a favor."

   "But…" The writer put his head in his hands and then leaned his head on his desk. "I had convinced myself it was all a dream. I had convinced myself that you—and the poem— were of my own imaginings. That you were born of cognac and the fretful worries of a writer with a very ill wife."

   The raven fluffed her fathers. "Many people convince themselves of lies, Edgar Allan Poe. Many people. From the dawn of time. I consider this part of the human condition. I have no need to lie to myself. But hear me: the truth is that I exist, and I have come to extract my favor. You must hide the Pyramid of Souls. That trunk there, in the corner, should do nicely. Lock the pyramid in there, lock it tight with the key, and then never part with the key until I return for it."

   "But I had no idea that I would be safeguarding something from those creatures. What are they?" Poe asked. He lifted his frightened eyes, ringed with dark circles. "They smell wretched. And their faces are leathery. They are the stuff of nightmares. I may never sleep a wink again."

   The raven turned her beak toward Poe. "They are soulless. They have aligned themselves with evil. And the Pyramid of Souls is what they covet most. I must go now."

   "When will you return?"

   "When I can. Until then, safeguard the key, no matter what."

   The raven took flight from the open window. As the black bird flew across the star-speckled sky, it cawed, "Nevermore! Nevermore! They are near! They are near! They are near!"

***

Nick sighed and stared at the ceiling. He pulled out the key necklace that had been his mother's. Like Edgar Allan Poe, he had a key and he had secrets. And like Poe, he was exhausted and scared…

   Nick didn't remember his mother, Tatyana. Or maybe he did. He was never certain. She had died when he was a baby at the hands of a Shadowkeeper. His father said that they had made it look like she died of a sickness in her brain—that they had done it to make sure they were undetected. Theo's crystal ball had shown Nick the truth. She had died at the hands of Rasputin. The Shadowkeepers were
that
evil.

   Damian and Theo had each shown him his mother in small visions in crystal balls. But this confused him, because he never knew if the memories he seemed to have were really
her or were just what he had been shown of her. Sometimes
, he found himself humming a song:

the Winter Palace, he was given this room, which had all his mother's things in it. His eyes came to rest on a small gold sculpture of a horse, which was probably his favorite thing since he now rode Maslow. He liked to think maybe his mother knew that one day he would have a golden horse.

   Without thinking, he reached for the gold key he wore on the chain around his neck. He often forgot it was even there. It had belonged to her. Sometimes, like now, he would find himself whispering to the key, as if it understood him. And sometimes, the key would warm, as if somehow it
did
really understand.

   "Here's the thing," Nick whispered. "I'm starting to like it here. And I don't want anything bad to happen to the family— especially Isabella. So I just need you to help me. Show me somehow that this is really and truly where I belong. Help me live up to my destiny."

   The key throbbed against his heart. He rolled over on his side. His head hurt, and that was a bad sign. His headaches were always a sign the Shadowkeepers were reaching out to him. Around him somewhere. When he was younger, a doctor told his dad that Nick suffered from migraines. But now he knew it wasn't that at all. He could sense danger.

   His temple throbbed. Nick couldn't explain it, but he didn't think the Shadowkeepers wanted Isabella's essence. After defeating Rasputin in the desert, Nick was pretty sure they wanted
him.
His essence. He was the Gazer. He had tricked Rasputin once before. And he didn't think Rasputin was the forgiving sort.

The next morning at breakfast, the Grand Duchess was curiously absent. Usually, the entire clan sat down for each meal. After breakfast, but before rehearsal, Nick decided to go check on the Grand Duchess himself. She had become like a grandmother to him. Once a week, without exception, she and Nick had tea together, and she told him stories about her life in Russia, about the family she lost because of Rasputin. She told him stories about his mother sometimes. Mostly, he just liked being with her because she
listened to him—it ofte
n felt as if all Damian and Theo did were bark orders at him or reprimand him.

   As he rounded the corner to her private apartment on the top floor, he saw the raven woman walking down the hall, her broad-brimmed hat almost as wide as the hallway itself, her long black dress swooshing behind her like a tail.

   Tiptoeing, he followed her, then watched in astonishment as she entered the Grand Duchess's apartment without even knocking.

   The Grand Duchess was, in Nick's estimation, ancient. There was no way she could fend off an attack by the raven lady. Nick looked up and down the hall, but no one else was around. He wouldn't have time to alert Theo or Damian or Boris. He ran for the Grand Duchess's door. Usually, he was on his best behavior and best manners around her, but there was no time for that. He turned the handle of her door and burst in.

   "Grand Duchess!" he exclaimed.

   The old woman looked up, startled, as did the raven lady, who glared at him with eyes the color of coal.

   "What an impertinent young man!" the woman in black said, her voice deep and husky, just like that of the raven who spoke to Edgar Allan Poe.

   The Grand Duchess smiled. "We were just about to have tea, Kolya—would you care to join us? I have sweets today, biscuits, and Russian tea balls." She pointed at Nick's favorite Russian treat—spherical cookies made with lots of butter and walnuts and rolled in confectioner's sugar.

   Nick's mouth watered, but he glared back at the raven lady. "I don't think so."

   "Come," the Grand Duchess gently urged. "Come sit and look at the snow. Come reminisce with me, Kolya. Come and meet my friend Miranda."

   "Your friend?" Nick didn't budge. The Grand Duchess had known, even as a little girl, that Rasputin was evil. She had an amazing ability to see into the hearts of people. How could she not know the raven woman was a Shadowkeeper?

   "Yes. Miranda used to sing opera for my family."

   Nick stared at the woman in black. That was impossible. Her face was unlined, whereas the Grand Duchess's face was wrinkled, even though her cheeks were still pink. They couldn't have known each other all those years ago.

   "Grand Duchess…can I talk to you alone?" he croaked, his heart pounding.

   "Not right now, Kolya, my precious. Later. I'm visiting with an old friend, my child."

   Nick's stomach sank to the floor. "Please, Grand Duchess," he pleaded more urgently.

   Miranda sat down at the little table by the window. The Grand Duchess's apartment was filled with antiques and heavy Persian rugs. A grandfather clock ticked in a steady, somber rhythm. The snow swirled outside. A howling breeze transformed the swirls of flakes into a blizzard. Staring over her shoulder at Nick, she poured the Grand Duchess a cup of tea from a large silver samovar.

   "One lump or two, Grand Duchess?" She smiled at Nick, apparently pleased that the Grand Duchess wasn't listening to him.

   "Two, please."

   Miranda used her long fingers, like bird talons with pointed nails, to pluck two sugar cubes from a silver dish and added them to the Grand Duchess's tea.

   Nick felt queasy.

   The Grand Duchess, as she often did, shut her eyes. "I have a memory," she sighed. "I remember Miranda coming to the Winter Palace. My father insisted I stay awake to hear her sing, even though I was so very tired. We dressed in our finest clothes. I remember that my own dress was very much like the one Isabella recently wore for the banquet. And I carried a little fan that had been a gift from a visiting Spanish nobleman."

   The Grand Duchess opened her eyes and reached a trembling hand to her teacup. She took a sip, then placed the fragile porcelain with its painting of a gilded peacock back on its saucer. "The evil monk was there," she said. Whenever she spoke of Rasputin, her eyes blazed as if she were a young woman.

   "This was shortly before the end," the Grand Duchess continued. She stared out the window mournfully. Rasputin had lied to the Grand Duchess's mother, telling the Tsarina that he could cure her son, who had a terrible sickness. While history books portrayed Rasputin as evil, the truth was even more horrifying. Rasputin was actually a member of Nicholas's clan. But he had turned to the dark side and had become a Shadowkeeper, amassing power through murderous magic. The Grand Duchess spoke again. "I remember that Miranda sang a piece from Igor Stravinsky's
Le Rossignol."

   "
Le
what?" Nick asked.

   The Grand Duchess looked at him. "I will have to tell Theo that your education must include the greats of Russian music and not just magic, Kolya. It means
The Nightingale."

   Nick stole a glance at Miranda. He was still trying to figure out how it was that she had not aged. That could only be Shadowkeeper magic at work…unless he'd somehow misjudged her. How could the Grand Duchess be so blind to it? Miranda was no nightingale. She was a raven. And she was evil.

   "I remember being entranced by her singing. It was so special. So magnificent. A soprano, in a tone that could only be described as pure. When she was finished, my father— who by this time was quite depressed—stood and applauded her. He was more animated than I had seen him in months. He invited Miranda to join the family for a late supper."

   Miranda nodded. "I believe there was sauerkraut soup."

   Nick shook his head. It appeared that his family had been eating all kinds of gross foods for a long, long time.

   "Indeed," said the Grand Duchess. "And Miranda came to my side. She warned me about the monk. She told me that I needed to be wary. And she gave me a pendant of a raven with black diamonds for eyes. She told me it was a talisman of good luck. It would protect me."

   Nick couldn't believe his ears. "Does Damian know Miranda is here?"

   "Indeed, he does," said Miranda. "The family and I—we have known each other forever, it seems."

   Nick leaned over to the Grand Duchess and pecked her on the cheek. "Be careful," he whispered.

   Then he turned on his heels and left the Grand Duchess's apartment, certain the dark eyes of Miranda were an omen of bad things to come.

   For some time, he remained in the hallway, hidden around the corner, ready to enter at a moment's notice if he sensed Miranda was going to harm the duchess. He Gazed into the room but merely saw them chatting over tea. Still, he would not leave the hall until he saw Miranda exit. When she emerged from the Grand Duchess's apartment, Miranda's head was held high. She hummed a song and headed in the opposite direction away from Nick, her black dress swirling like a cloud behind her.

During rehearsal, Irina portrayed a woman exiled to Siberia. Dressed in an old, black woolen coat that had patches on the sleeves, with a shawl pulled over her head, she faced into a wind. Alone on the ice of a grayish tundra, she appeared friendless. Then, one by one, polar bears, Siberian tigers, and caribou walked across the stage—which was covered in an eerie permafrost. The orchestra played Shostakovich, which had the rebellious composer's signature motif, a secret code of musical notes he hid within his concertos in defiance of the powerful government at the time.