Shadow Touch (29 page)

“Well, okay.” Elena frowned. “If he’s not human, and he’s not a shape-shifter, then what is he?”

“Does it matter?” Rik asked. He had pulled his blue-streaked hair into a tight ponytail. Elena reminded herself to ask him where he was from; he looked very Hawaiian this morning. “In case you’ve forgotten, he was a member of the Consortium. You know, participated in kidnapping and experimentation? I’m not sure I buy this whole magic-mind-control thing.”

“Cynic,” Elena said.

“Realist,” he argued. “Face it, he may have helped us escape, but that still doesn’t make him good. I remember him coming down to watch me. Just staring with those eyes of his. He didn’t lift a finger. Not once.”

“I’m not saying he wasn’t a bastard, but that’s not the point of this conversation. I want to know what he is. I mean, what else is out there besides shape-shifters and humans? What kind of world are we living in?”

“A strange one,” Artur said. His leg brushed up against hers and stayed there.

“That doesn’t help,” she said, twining her ankle around his. “Does magic exist? I mean,
real
magic? Because that’s the only way I can explain the circle binding Rictor—and the fact that he vanished right before my eyes.”

Rik laughed. Artur and Amiri did not.

“Oh, God,” Elena said, watching their faces. Rik’s mirth died. “What do you know that I don’t?”

“Not enough,” Artur said. “Only that there are people born with the power to… twist reality. I have seen it done, but only once before. That was more than enough, I can assure you.”

“I have also seen the gift,” Amiri said, “but those who wield it remind me more of Beatrix Weave than Rictor. She visited me only once, and that was enough. But Rictor? I still say he is something else.”

Elena frowned, momentarily distracted. “Beatrix came to you?” She looked from Amiri to Rik. The young man nodded.

“I remember her. She visited me several times.”

Elena sat back. How could she have been so stupid? “You were there for three months. How did you and Amiri avoid succumbing to her control?”

“She touched me,” Amiri said. “But I felt nothing. And she… she was clearly unhappy about that.”

“Maybe your physiology makes you immune,” Artur said.

Rik closed his eyes. “I’m going to pretend I’m not hearing this. What I went through was enough. I don’t want to think about mind control or magic or disappearing non-human bad guys. As far as I’m concerned, they don’t exist.”

“You’re a shape-shifter,” Elena said. “Shouldn’t you be open to all the possibilities?”

“Hey.” He held up his hands. “Don’t hold my heritage against me. Just because I change shape doesn’t mean I have to believe in all this hokum.”

“Wow,” Elena said. “And here I thought dolphins were supposed to be all cheerful. Where do you get Prozac when you live in the ocean?”

“Fuck you. Oh, wait. I forgot. You
already
got nail—”

Amiri clamped a hard hand on the back of Rik’s neck. His expression was cold, unforgiving. Rik shut his mouth.

“You will remember your manners,” Amiri said quietly. “And if you do not, I will teach you to remember.”

“As will I,” Artur said in a hard voice. His hands pressed flat against the white tablecloth.

A whistle blew; the train began to slow.

“Khabarovsk!” called the waitress.

“Saved by the bell,” Elena said. “But don’t worry, Rik. I wouldn’t have let them hurt you.”

“Oh, wow. Comforting.” Sweat covered his forehead. Amiri still held the back of his neck.

“You’d better believe it,” Elena said. A brief smile flickered over Amiri’s face. Rik did not see it. She almost felt sorry for the young man.

The train stopped in front of a small station surrounded by rolling green hills and small, plain homes. Makeshift shops leaned against a low wall, with cheap trinkets and clothing for sale. Nearer the train stood a large group of women who displayed—with a quite a bit of pride and bluster—large shopping carts that overflowed with food. Elena smelled hot grease. Her stomach rumbled. She had not eaten much of the bread.

“Are you hungry?” Artur asked. He held her hand. His gloves were on. His gaze did not linger on her face, but swept across the small crowd.
Danger, Will Robinson. Danger
.

It was difficult getting close enough to the women to see what they were selling. It seemed that everyone on the train wanted a taste of their food, which Elena thought was a good sign. Artur, though, was a master at getting to the head of the line, and managed to push and prod them right up to one of the carts.

“Here,” he said, after a moment spent talking to the small woman hawking her wares. “Have some piroshki. It is very good.”

“What’s in it?”

“Cottage cheese, meat, and vegetables.”

Artur paid for two large, steaming cakes wrapped in thick wax paper and handed one to Elena. She took a bite. It was indeed very good. As she ate, she watched Amiri and Rik wander through the station platform. Several old women made a special effort to talk to them in broken English, and the two men obliged with quiet responses—although Rik was the more hesitant of the two. He still seemed rattled by Amiri’s anger. Elena thought it was good that there was someone around whom he respected, a strong personality who could keep him in line. She liked Rik. She thought he was a good kid. And yes, being in that facility had damaged him. She could give him some leeway on that. But she sensed that more had happened to him even before the Consortium, and that his occasional outbursts—that hardness—were continuing symptoms of something more than just his captivity.

“I’m worried about Rik,” Elena said. Artur followed her gaze. “There are times when he just seems…”

“Broken.”

“Or bent. He’s hurting.”

“Everyone hurts.” His tone surprised her; it was devoid of emotion, almost cool. “Some have been hurt far more than Rik. I think, however, that he was taken from an easy life, and that his experience was more painful because of that.”

“Start out young with the pain and you toughen up? This isn’t Sparta, Artur.”

“No? Tell that to the children I grew up with. Tell that, even, to yourself. You have not had an easy life either, Elena.”

“Do I deserve a medal for that? I don’t think so. Life is what it is, and some people are better equipped than others to handle it. The ones who fall behind shouldn’t be punished.”

“Sometimes they should,” he said grimly. “After enough time, that’s all they understand.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. “Why do I get the feeling you’re talking about something more than Rik’s lapse in verbal judgment?”

Artur shrugged. He ate his piroshki. Elena wanted to kick him. She was getting tired of the silent treatment from the men around her. She did not want Artur to get any bad habits.

“Artur,” she said. She gave him ten seconds to respond to the warning in her voice. If he did not, she was never sleeping with him again. Elena touched his cheek with her fingertips.

You got that?

“I do not like bullies,” he said immediately, scowling. “And no, I do not mean you. Although threatening to deny me your body almost makes you cruel enough to qualify.”

“Desperate times,” she said. “So you think Rik is a bully?”

“I see the potential. He is young and angry, and sometimes has poor restraint. Lashing out as he did at you can become a habit.”

“I did goad him,” Elena said. “He’s actually very sweet sometimes.”

“If he is so sweet, he should have chosen a different way to respond.”

“You’re just mad because he insulted me.”

“Yes.”

“All right,” she said. “Just don’t let it turn
you
into a bully.”

“And you?”

“I have carte blanche to act any way I want,” Elena said. “For I am both lovely and cruel, and you like me just the way I am.”

He tried not to smile.

They went to gather up Amiri and Rik. According to Artur, the train stayed at each station for only ten or twenty minutes at a time, and the conductor would give no warning before leaving. Love ‘em and lose ‘em, that was the way the Rossiya ran. Elena saw Attendant Gogunov peeking out one of the windows, giving her the dirty eye. Elena waved cheerfully.

There was a line to get back on their section of the train. The American couple from Vladivostok stood in front of Elena. The woman turned to look at her. She was small and nondescript: unremarkable brown hair on an unremarkable face. Nice enough, though—at least from Elena’s limited observations.

“I’ve seen you around,” said the woman. Her voice was smooth, soft. She seemed less bubbly than before. “Is this your first trip to Russia? You must be having a wonderful time.”

“Um, yes,” Elena said, well aware of her male companions watching with some amusement.
First time to Russia, thank you very much. Oh, how did you get here? I was kidnapped by a major criminal organization and forced to undergo human experimentation under the threat of torture and lifelong imprisonment. How about you? Gee, United Airlines? How horrible
!

“This is my third time,” said the woman. “Fred and I never get tired of the scenery.”

“Oh,” Elena said. “That’s nice.”

“Yes,” agreed the woman without a hint of arrogance. The people in front of her shuffled forward. The man at her side—Fred, presumably—tugged on her sleeve. He barely touched her, but that brief contact might as well have been a baseball bat. She tripped and collided hard against Elena. Both women went down to the ground just as something small and fast rasped the air where Elena had been standing.

It was not her imagination; out of the corner of her eye Elena saw a small iron dart bloom from the duffel bag of a soldier in uniform, one of many who had disembarked from the cheaper cabin of the Rossiya. If the young man felt the impact, he did not show it. He kept moving, doggedly trying to get back to the train.

Artur grabbed Elena under her arms, hauling her off the ground. The American woman, who was being helped up by her husband, kept apologizing for her clumsiness. Elena did not hear a word of it. She was too busy looking through the crowd at the Quiet Man.

Whatever it was with which he had shot at her was now tucked away, out of sight. He stood less than thirty feet away, one man among a hundred, his gaze sharp and keen upon Elena’s face. Elena, in a burst of madness, held up her hand, palm out, and wiggled her fingers.

Remember this
? she mouthed, counting on him to read her lips. He smiled and placed his hand over his heart, like a benediction. Apparently he had gotten over his near-death experience. Elena was willing to go another round, to put him back in his place. Or underground, if she could go that far. No fear. She was an army of one. Her own heart pounded—loud, a thunderous drum and she thought,
I can do this. I can finish it. Just give me a chance
.

Ugly thoughts, murderous. But this was survival, and the one thing she had learned since being taken from that hospital room was that sometimes if you wanted to survive, a little ugliness was needed. A little craziness. That she could heal the sickness from a person’s body was a beautiful thing—and if she wanted to keep doing it, if she wanted to stay free and alive long enough to reclaim a life where she could once again help others, she would have to fight, and fight to win.

Don’t be ruthless
, a part of her whispered, still staring into that face of death.
Don’t be so hard or cold. What’s the price of that, Elena
?

She did not know, only that right now she was willing to pay it.

“Get on the train,” Artur said. “Elena, right now.”

“Not without you or the others,” she said.

“Elena.” Amiri wrapped his hand around her wrist. Rik looked torn between running and fighting. The American couple was gone, presumably already on board.

The Quiet Man walked toward them.

Charles Darling
, she corrected herself.
You give him too much power when you call him the Quiet Man
.

Artur began to step in front of Elena, but she grabbed his arm and held him still. She felt as though they were back inside the facility, in that first moment of their meeting, except now Elena knew what she was capable of and that made all the difference.

“Hello again,” said Charles, stopping less than five feet away from Elena and the others. “It is good to see your face, Elena.”

“I can’t say the same for you,” she said.

He smiled, and it was eerie the way he never looked at the others. It was as though they did not exist—as if the only person in the world who mattered was her. His focus still terrified her, but Elena swallowed down the fear with the memory of his heart, so fragile beneath her will. She wondered if she could kill him without even a touch. She did not try. She was not that far gone yet. But soon, maybe.

“Are you alone?” Elena asked.

“I had companions,” he said. “They lasted until Vladivostok, and then I got an itch.” He finally looked at Artur. “You remember what that’s like for me, don’t you?”

“I hope you made it quick,” he said.

“Quick was all I had time for. You’re good, Mr. Loginov. Surprisingly so. It’s rare for people to give me the slip.”