Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (9 page)

Chapter 10

Tuesday morning, grumpy from his lack of dreams, he brought the painting with him when he and Sol left to catch the bus, not caring that it made Sol quiet and flat-eared again. It took up so much room on the seat that Sol sat elsewhere, and only raised a paw to Alexei when he left.

At the framing store, they told him that to replace the glass would be a hundred and fifty dollars, and Alexei said yes, because he had to, but that he didn’t have the cash on him and could he leave the painting and come back? The clerk told him he could just use a credit card and Alexei said he didn’t have one, which led to an awkward silence of five seconds and the clerk just taking the painting and his name.

He had the cash, barely, but he would have very little left after that. He could ask Vlad for an advance on his pay; it would only be for four days, but the thought of imposing on the tiger who had already generously hired him gave him flutters in his stomach. Meg’s offer to help pay was kind, but he didn’t know where she got her money, and anyway it hadn’t been her fault.

So he called Liza on a break and asked her if he could borrow fifty dollars from her until Saturday, when he would see her at the VLGA outing. “Of course,” she said, without even asking what he needed it for. “You want me to come over tonight?”

Riverwalk, where Liza and a lot of other gay couples lived, was only a fifteen-minute walk away. But Alexei didn’t want the extra conversation that a visit would entail. “I don’t need it right now, thank you.”

“No worry. I’ll bring it tomorrow.”

And Wednesday evening at the game, Liza took Alexei aside first thing and passed him two twenties and a ten. “No rush to pay me back,” she said.

“I can pay you Saturday. Like I promised.” He shoved the money quickly into a pocket.

She patted him on the shoulder. “No rush. Now let’s go kick some Westside Insurance tail.”

The muskrat from the Peaches, Colin, was there again, though this time he’d brought a folding chair and was just relaxing. He, like most of the team, seemed to think this would be an easy game, but Alexei didn’t know anything about the insurance industry and treated each game the same. And it was a good thing, too, because the insurance team came out aggressive and fast, and Alexei, on defense, found himself engaged from the very start.

They gave up a goal quickly, which brought yells from Kendall to tighten up the defense, as though it had been Sol or Alexei who’d let in the score. He started directing the two of them, which didn’t seem to bother Sol. It made Alexei grit his teeth, and made him look over at the sidelines to see if Colin was watching. When the muskrat was paying attention, Alexei either ignored or deliberately contradicted Kendall’s instructions, even when they were reasonable.

About fifteen minutes from the end of the game, the Westsiders sent a pass down the field to Alexei’s side, one striker following it with Mike close behind him. The big sheep wasn’t going to catch the Westsider, a quick white-tailed deer, and Sol was too far away to intercept him, but Alexei was back near the box around the goal. He moved forward and then saw Kendall out of the corner of his eye as the pine marten sprinted up, yelling, “I got it!”

But Alexei was slightly closer, and although technically the goalie had the right to come stupidly out of position the way Kendall was doing just to show off for Mike, it was Alexei’s play. With Kendall charging, Alexei properly should hang back and defend the goal, just in case something went wrong. He hesitated for a moment.

The field darkened as though a cloud had passed across the sun. Alexei felt a chill and was reminded of the cold wind of his dream. And in that moment he clenched his fists and leapt forward, the grass cold beneath his paws though the sun was out again, wind streaming through his tail. He ignored Kendall’s furious shout and reached the ball a second sooner, taking in the Westside deer charging toward him and in an instant smacking the ball to his left, out of the path of the deer, across to Sol.

Kendall plowed into him from behind, knocked him down, and didn’t say a word before sprinting back to the goal. Alexei followed the ball as he got up; Sol received his pass and launched it back down the field to one of the VLGA strikers, and the action was back on the other side again. Mike had already turned to follow it, so Alexei didn’t see how the sheep had reacted to his save, but Sol gave him a big smile and a thumbs up, and Colin was standing on the sidelines, watching Alexei closely.

The moment stuck in his mind, replayed over and over. He thought it might have been one of those transcendent moments the great players talked about, when the game took you over and you found yourself anticipating, moving before the opposing player made his move, before you could even think about what you were doing. It cheered him to think that those kind of moments were coming to him now, and it cheered him even more that Kendall stopped yelling directions at him, focusing all his advice on Sol. He could not completely forget the chill, the echo of his dream, but that shiver faded in the warmth of the day.

They lost the game 1-0, but the mood afterwards was generally upbeat anyway; few people cared about the score. Kendall, though, stalked up to Alexei and talked in a low, even tone that was at odds with his tense body language and slight snarl. “Listen,” he said, “I don’t know how you played in Siberia, but ‘got it’ means ‘I’m going to kick the ball.’”

“I know what it means,” Alexei said, cutting off Sol’s protest. “I was closer.” The muskrat was coming their way.

“But I called it,” Kendall persisted.

Alexei shrugged. “In Siberia, the goalie stays in the goal box.” The words, like his sudden decision to attack the ball, felt oddly both his and not his. Though the day was every bit as hot and humid as the previous Thursday, he felt cooler about the head and chest, and when he panted, it was deliberate, like sticking his tongue out at the marten.

Sol, panting as well, broke in. “Look, he got the ball out and they didn’t score, so let’s let it go.”

“Next time,” Kendall said as Colin joined them, “we might not be so lucky.”

“So stay in goal.” Alexei stared back at the pine marten and let his jaw drop in a tongue-lolling smile. He didn’t know if Mike was watching, and found he didn’t care.

The muskrat looked between them, picking up on the tension. Though he was Kendall’s age and therefore a few years Alexei’s senior, he hesitated before saying, “Nice move there. Good aggression on defense.”

Alexei flicked his tongue back into his mouth, close enough that drops of his saliva almost sprayed Kendall. “There, you see,” he said. “The professional player agrees.”

Kendall looked as though he might choke, but obviously didn’t want to say anything in front of the muskrat. “Sure,” Colin said. “I mean, in one of our games, the goalie would’ve stayed back, but in this case it’s a casual game. I might’ve let Kendall have the play, but you did a nice job.”

“Anyway,” Kendall said, “Colin and I were going to get a beer.” He glared at Alexei.

Sol tugged at Alexei’s arm. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get dinner.” And as they walked away from Colin and Kendall, Sol said, “What’s gotten into you?”

The fox couldn’t keep the grin from his muzzle. “He made a bad play.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Sol said, and then waved a paw as Mike came over to them. “Never mind.” He started to walk away, but Alexei grabbed his wrist and made him stay.

“Hey,” the sheep said. “Nice play.”

Alexei’s ears flushed, and his grin widened. “You played well, too. They have a good goalie.”

Mike stood with one hand in his pocket, the other hovering at his side. “Don’t worry about Kendall. He just really wants to win.”

“So do I,” Alexei said, looking right up at the tall sheep.

They stood for a moment, eyes locked, and then Sol said, “Well, we all do,” and the moment was broken. An answering smile blossomed on the sheep’s face and he stuck out his hand to Alexei.

Alexei clasped the hand in his paw and impulsively said, “Would you like to join us for dinner?”

Mike opened his mouth to reply, looking surprised and happy. Alexei’s heart raced faster. And then Kendall’s sharp voice interrupted them. “Hey, Mike! We leaving, or what?”

The smile died. “Oh yeah,” Mike said. “I was supposed to…”

The confidence that had filled Alexei on the field deserted him, replaced with a flush of warmth in his flattened ears. If Mike
wanted
to go with Kendall, if he was taken in by that act, then Alexei certainly wasn’t going to stand in his way.

“Well, uh,” Mike said, half turning and taking a step toward Kendall. “Maybe you guys can come with?”

“No.” Alexei walked out across the field because that was the direction that took him away from Mike, away from Kendall. He stalked across the grass, past the goal, into the fading light. He barely saw the brilliant pinks and oranges in front of him.

Sol caught up to him just as he was leaving the field. Alexei didn’t slow his pace. “So where do you want to go?” Sol said.

“Don’t care,” Alexei replied. His mind whirled furiously. What good did it do him to be aggressive on the field if Mike still didn’t see the value in him? That moment of certainty, when he’d leapt forward—he’d never experienced anything like it. Now, with Mike walking away from him and Sol barely registering that he cared about it, that moment felt tarnished in Alexei’s mind.

He and Sol got fried chicken and talked about very little, except when Sol brought up Meg’s friend. “We’ve got to keep an eye out for her,” Sol said. “She’s only known him on the Internet.”

“He seems nice,” Alexei said cautiously. “Meg says they are just friends.”

“Have you talked to him?” Sol’s voice held a challenging tone, and Alexei shook his head, afraid to bring up the ritual again when they were talking so freely. “You don’t know what he wants. Nobody knows. Not even Meg.”

“I will help watch out,” the fox said. “Although Meg may not talk to us if there is a problem.”

Sol chewed another bite of his chicken off a drumstick. “We’re all she’s got. I don’t think she’d tell her parents anything.”

And while Alexei felt good about being someone Meg could count on, he felt bad for her because he knew what it was like to have no parents one could rely on. At least hers had been neglectful rather than abusive, from what she said. Sol seemed to think they were nice people, but Meg said he didn’t know, and there the exchanges usually stopped. Still, Meg had him and Sol now, and they had her, and the three of them looked after each other. Usually.

When they returned home finally, Alexei let Sol use the desk and the computer. Rather than sit and stare at the blank space on the wall, he took his sister’s letter out again and read it at the kitchen table, and then continued his response.

He told her how excited he was that she might be able to join him, wrote about his play in the soccer game and Colin being impressed, and then, almost without consciously making the decision to do it, he told her about his attempt to talk to a ghost. He had already told her about Sol’s adventure with Niki, one of the last phone conversations he’d had with her, and he could still remember her laugh and joy at the thought that a ghost might be clever and helpful.
Sadly
, he wrote,
I have not met Sol’s ghost. I have only had a strange dream about a fox who would not help me
.

And a moment in a daydream, he remembered. And then the moment on the field, when he’d felt the cold chill. It hadn’t occurred to him to connect the moment with his dream until he was staring at the words on the page, the pen hovering in his paw above them. Even then, he didn’t feel confident enough to share the thought with his sister. He closed by asking her to tell him quickly if there was anything he could do to help.

When he went into the bedroom to go to sleep, he said good night to Sol, and then lay in bed with his eyes closed, trying to summon the image of the fox again, the blue coat, the yellow belt, the ragged tail.
Was that you?
he asked.
Did you help me? Why?

He had the sense of staring off far into the distance, toward a distant, empty horizon. Even the sound of Sol’s breathing faded away. Alexei knew he was still lying in bed, but he felt the chill of his dream creeping in on him. If he opened his eyes, he would see the wall he was facing, and he could still smell the sheets and Sol and the pasta Meg had cooked for her dinner.

He opened his eyes. The wall in front of him, painted ivory but deep in shadow, seemed to be receding. His heart raced, and he put a paw out.

His fingers touched smooth paint. The illusion was broken. The wall was just a wall.

Alexei sighed and closed his eyes again. He didn’t know if he was scared that something might be happening, or scared that it wasn’t.

Chapter 11

Under the protection of the officer Vasily Petrovich, I grew up a loyal cub to the Emperor. I played with tiger cubs and learned the military discipline and structure that made them such effective soldiers. There was a time during which I was teased and beaten by my peers for being the son of foxes who had plotted to kill the Tsar. Gregor, two years older than my eleven years, slashed at my face with a sword, leaving me a scar that brought his father’s wrath down on him. My parents’ actions were not my fault, we were both told, and I was making amends for them by living a virtuous life. After that, I had no trouble with Gregor; his father’s word was law, and protected me as effectively as if Vasily himself stood beside me.

That is not to say that I did not feel Vasily’s claws. Indeed, he believed in discipline, administered physically, not only when I transgressed, but also when my progress in studies and training did not meet his strict standards. “A soldier who doesn’t dream of becoming a general is a bad one,” he told me often. This served to drive me to do better, to earn those rare words of praise. By the time I was twelve, he rarely had cause to state his disappointment; by the time I was sixteen, he cuffed me without claws, more out of habit and affection than for correction. Unlike Gregor, I would never grow as strong and tall as my adopted father. He was a tiger often said to be second only to Emperor Alexander in physical prowess.

Vasily belonged to the Preobrazhensky Guards, the Tsar’s elite force of tigers, and he had been the Tsar’s presence on many raids of revolutionary towns. The officers of the Guards were the noblest and fiercest Siberia had to offer, and some of my earliest memories of life in Petrograd are of standing beside the training grounds, watching the magnificent tigers in their smart blue coats, golden epaulets and buttons shining in the sun. During presentations of the guards, I stood as proudly at attention as I could manage while the glorious march played, keeping my bushy tail tucked neatly between my legs.

I could not join the Preobrazhensky Guards, but the Semenovsky regiment which trained alongside them was nearly as prestigious. Nothing, I thought, would please Vasily more than to have his adopted son attain the highest honor available to a non-tiger soldier, proving my loyalty, proving that Vasily’s noble action had saved me from the accident of my birth. For no aristocrat’s son was more devoted to the Tsar than I. I flew into a rage if a word was spoken against him, at least until the age of eighteen. Perhaps I felt in my heart the terror that if I did not defend the Tsar, the dreams that haunted me would become truth, nightmares in which I returned to the cart, to the age of six, and watched Vasily extend a sword rather than a paw to me. I woke always with the terror, not of death, but of disappointing my Papa.

And that is why, when Gregor called me a little traitor’s son and kicked me in the ribs, I leapt upon him, scratching and biting, until he drew his sword and slashed blindly at me. I was not punished, not as he was, and I bore the scar proudly as a badge of my loyalty to the Tsar for all the days thereafter. I became known for it among the soldiers I trained with; they called me Notch for the piece cut out of my ear, and I arched my tail when I heard the name, remembering that I had earned that name with my loyalty and passion.

Though proud of my status, I did not hold it above the others, not at any age. Vasily would not stand for it, and I learned quickly that I would be given the same opportunities as anyone else at my station. So I trained with the other soldiers, offered and accepted advice, and did my best to be a soldier like the rest. I wanted to excel, of course—I dreamed of becoming a general—and I did distinguish myself. But I never held myself above my peers; I strove to help them reach their own potential, the better to reflect on the glory of our beloved empire, and the Emperor at its head. In the small, insular world of young soldiers, we were all aimed at that goal. Or so I thought.