The Miranda Contract (7 page)

“No kidding.”

Miranda looked like she didn’t want to be there either, but with images of her all around and her music piping through the walls, she was a required presence. Her eyes were still shielded behind shades, but he thought she was sizing him up – the classic head to shoes assessment. It made him uncomfortable and reminded him that he wasn’t a part of this manufactured and polished world. Still, he wasn’t too ashamed of his look. After spending half an hour getting his hair just right and slipping the jacket Alsana bought for him over his Gyroscope t-shirt, he figured he looked pretty good. He told himself that the t-shirt was his attempt to juxtapose real music with whatever it was Miranda did.

“Watch yourself,” she said softly. Dan read the lips more than he heard the words. No matter how he acted to her face, he couldn’t help but be impressed with her beauty, her curved mouth and glimpses of teeth, seemingly intent on cutting him down. He felt a little intimidated by it, kind of like facing a Venus Fly Trap. Part of him wanted to jump in and be devoured. Instead, he flipped his thumb behind him, gesturing to the cameraman who was hovering nearby.

“Seriously,” he said. “And here I am without my very own film crew.”

She frowned at him. He could see the disappointment there, something he’d become used to in his seventeen years of dealing with people. The cameraman whirred at Dan’s side, capturing Dan’s profile and Miranda’s full celebrity luminosity beyond.

He felt trapped. The young people at the edges were smirking into their glasses, sharing words through cupped hands. Sully remained serious but he was out of reach. Dan slipped around the cameras and made his way towards the front door, dismissing himself from the strange girl. He’d done what Alsana wanted – he’d met with the client and received his specific instructions. He’d even let them chain him to a designer briefcase full of nothing. He didn’t want to spend any more time in the company of celebrities. Sure, he’d thought it would distract him from his boring, suddenly-homeless life, but they weren’t half as interesting as they pretended to be. Even the quiet, watchful, hateful Miranda Brody. The party was okay but he’d gone through the hoops, now it was his time.

Behind him the crew filmed his retreat, while cutting back to Miranda’s classically unimpressed profile. Her people picked up their chatter, the waiters continued to navigate through with refreshments, and soon Dan Galkin was forgotten.

He edged his way around the dance floor, the music calling him one way while the need to get out pulled him the other. His head hurt: the lightshow strobing to the beats, piercing; the edges of his vision blurred with pin pricks of light.

Suddenly Evie, sparkling eyes of mischief, took his hand in the dark as one song morphed into the next. Dan felt the press of her fingers around his and took in a breath. She was unexpected, a surprise which sent his skin tingling. His head calmed as he focused on the hand. She moved herself around him, close, slipping between Dan and the door, one slender hand encircling his, while the other reached out and under his jacket.

Their faces were close and he studied her more than before, the press of her body against his. Behind him the protective circle of Miranda Brody’s documentary crew had forgotten him, but their words and glances were still stinging even though he told himself he didn’t care what they thought.

“Let’s get out of here, sparky.”

Chapter 10

The Mad Russian

T
he time was
close. He could sense it building outside, the storms whipping up in the west, pushed towards them by pressure systems out in the southern oceans. The Russian drew together his most trusted associates, from across the globe and across time, it seemed. None of them were as strong or as young as they had been. Looking around the room, sealed beneath the trembling sounds of Chinatown in the center of Melbourne, the four of them had seen better days.

Grandfather Time stood in a corner, as straight and tall as a grandfather clock, dressed in a tuxedo and top hat. Even though he remained mostly insulated from the physical ravages of time, the old man seemed less animated. Beside him, at one end of a divan, Grim cradled a glass of scotch. He was fat now, his scraggly beard a forest joining with the hair which burst from the neck of his open shirt. It was shot through with grey and white, like a winter coat. In contrast, Pearl retained her elegance, although she seemed to have shrunk further into herself over the years. Her cheekbones were more pronounced, her eyes little black beads in the creases of her face. Against the Russian’s wishes, Pearl had brought her nephew, and he stood loyally at the rear of her too-large chair. Luke Ma was barely twenty, a strong young man, with watchful eyes and a thin mouth. He knew the boy well enough and had almost brought him into the exclusive fold of the Small Gods. Instead he had settled on the boy’s cousin, Lily. Looking at him now, Galkin wondered whether he should have persisted with the boy. Behind those thin lips were multiple rows of jagged, deadly teeth. Pearl’s nephew was no ordinary chaperone.

They had been waiting for twenty minutes. At first they were polite and enquired about each other’s family. Grim complained about his decaying lungs, his fitful sleeping and the terrible state of national politics. Pearl relayed news of her sister’s death and the birth of a new grandchild – neither one making much of an impact in her expression.

The Russian lost interest. And so did the others. Their glances turned to the room itself, their eyes trailing across the impressive bookshelves and the dark but subtly lit room. It was only when the door opened and the last of their number arrived that the energy returned. The Russian felt his chest expand as he stood from his own chair and walked quickly across the room to meet his dear, old friend.

Seraphima wore a young body to the meeting, sheathed in a black dress and impossible heels. He hadn’t seen her in a very long time, but the Russian recognized her
glas myortvy
, the deadness in her eyes. She watched him approach, a smile curving across her lips.

“Sima,” he said, taking one of her hands in his and kissing it lightly. “To have come all this way honors me,” he continued in Russian.

“You don’t seem so mad to me,
mal’chik
,” she said in English. “I had come to witness your demise, but it seems you are not nearly as gone to the dogs as I was led to believe.”

She smiled across at Grim. The Russian followed her gaze, straightened himself up, and then folded his hands behind his back. He wasn’t sure how much she played with him, toying with their shared history, teasing him with her very mixed up chronology.

“Yes, this time concerns my family. Each of you earned my love, my trust, and now payment is due.”

“Straight to business, then,” Sima said.

Grim shuffled from the divan and clumsily kissed Sima’s hand after she moved from the Russian. She tilted her chin at Grandfather Time and Pearl, but completely ignored Luke who stood behind his aunt. With hands on her hips she surveyed the group and from her expression it was clear she was amused by what she saw. The Russian understood her perspective. Seraphima was able to shed her skin at will, always living her life physically as a young woman if she chose to do so. The Russian, also, was accustomed to looking at the world in long drawn-out canvasses of time. When he was a younger man, the world was a very different place.

“You have been gone a long time, old friend,” Sima said as she sat on the divan next to Grim. “Some of us thought you were finally dead.”

“You make me blush,” the Russian said.

“Where have you been?” Grim asked, coughing at the end of his words and scrambling to regain control of his lungs.

“Other places,” the Russian said, waving his hand to dismiss the talk. “No need for this in our current discussion. Returned I have, and need for you to assist me with my … matters of succession.”

“But it has been five years,” Grim said, refusing to give up the conversation. “You were gone. No trace of you.”

“I am here now, good friend,” the Russian said. “Come, come…”

He gestured to the door, but Grim coughed again and waved his hand. Pearl’s lips twitched.

“We searched the world,” Pearl said softly. “From above and from below, from the sides too. You were not here, Galkin. We wish to know where it was you went.”

“Some things will be revealed tonight,” he said. “And others shall remain my business, Pearl. Grant me this audience, dear lady, and I can promise you that you will not be so worried about my absence. Other things I have planned for us. Come, come…”

He led them out of the library and into a corridor, lined with metal and nothing like the comfortable and warm room they had left. It was a shielded passage, well beyond detection and strong enough to withstand uberhuman assaults. It led further down into the earth and as they passed through a thick vault-like gate Galkin felt like the old times had, at least partially, returned.

“A safe room?” Grandfather Time noted as he bent his balding head to enter. When he straightened his body he returned his top hat to its rightful place and looked with rheumy eyes around the state of the art room. Surveillance was the name of the game, Galkin knew, and from the secret room he was able to monitor everything and everyone.

“Is that my house?” Grim asked, squinting at one screen.

“I would keep you all safe,” Galkin said.

Grim itched at his beard but said nothing more.

“And is that your charming grandson, Russian?” Sima asked.

She was always the one to bring them back into focus, to cut through the human ties, the useless prattle. Galkin allowed himself to enjoy simply watching her, her dark eyes, giving away nothing but the hint of humor.

Behind her enigmatic face was a grainy picture of a hotel room. A boy was sleeping face down, his leg hanging off the side of the bed, his hair tussled and unruly.

“Da,” he said.

“And this is the successor?” Sima continued, eyebrows arched. “You would have us assist you in crowning this boy the next Mad Russian? Surely you jest, old man. He is nothing but a
shchenok
.”

Galkin pressed a finger to his lips, a smile breaking around each side. Sima held his gaze while the others in the room waited silently. He could tell they were all doubtful, that in his absence they had forgotten just what kind of power it was that he wielded.

“He is blood of my blood,” he said softly, nodding. “After many years apart we come together again now. And you here tonight, my friends, my people. I ask you to play your part.”

“You know we will, Galkin,” Grim said. “We all have debts.”

“Ah, the locksmith speaks, and without the attendant cough,” Sima said, moving away from the main monitor. “I see your handiwork has already entered the picture.”

Grim blushed but it was difficult to tell because of his ruddy complexion. As a tinkerer there was no equal in his time, but with the advances of technology and the millions of pathways innovation had taken in the past decade, it would only be a matter of time before Grim and his skills were rendered redundant.

“Grim has crafted a device,” Galkin said, pleased.

“A leash, perhaps?” Sima added. “Something to control the child until coronation? Yes, I recognize the wolf’s handiwork there on the screen. But how, dear, old friend, did you deliver it to him?”

“There is a man,” Grim said.

“Always, there is a man,” she teased.

“And a well placed man,” Pearl added, although her sunken eyes remained on the screen rather than the people in the room. “An Englishman on your payroll, Isangrim, and one beyond even my influence.”

Grim shrugged but wouldn’t face Pearl or her nephew.

“I thought your inheritance had all gone to the bottle, old friend,” Sima said.

“I have done as you requested,” Grim said to Galkin, bowing his head.

“Even though you doubted me?” Galkin asked. “No matter, you have shown your hand, Grim. And it pleases me.”

Galkin reached towards the screen and touched it gently. A flicker of static heralded a change in picture, the hotel room replaced instantly with an image of the Melbourne skyline.

“And Pearl has given me eyes across the city,” Galkin said, smiling. “Electronic eyes, and the living ones.”

“The seed is sown within the girl’s entourage,” Pearl said, and for a second she allowed her arrogance to filter through her usually impassive face.

“But what of the heroes?” Galkin asked the roof, hands spreading in question. “What of the Celestial Knights?” He turned back to the group with a look of mock horror on his face.

“Distracted,” Grandfather Time said, ignoring Galkin’s melodramatic pose. “And the local derivatives scattered to the winds, at least in a temporary capacity. Certainly long enough for this move you hope to make. But tell me, Russian. Why the American girl?”

Miranda Brody’s face appeared on the central screen and the Russian smiled, impressed with his own ability to manipulate the images through the smallest thought. Silent video clips of her concerts flashed across other screens, but the central one remained static, her young face half-smiling for the camera. She was a little older than Danya, but a good match, he thought.

“Why this girl?” he echoed the question. “This girl is the big thing, my friend, the sensation. All the world has eyes for her and soon for my grandson. Once this thing is done, once he has come back to me, there will be no return to … to the flipping burgers, to the shame he brings me. The world will watch and the world will be fearful.”

“It makes no difference to me,” Sima said. “You could have your boy kill a politician or a business CEO, it doesn’t matter. You’ll get him back, one way or another.”

She touched his shoulder and he smiled at her, bowing his head in gratitude.

“Which leaves us with but one more element,” Galkin said, turning to look back at the others. “No protection, no hope of escape, but there needs to be the match. Fire to bring about change.”

Sima smiled.

“And that’s where I come in, isn’t it?” she asked. “After all this time, all you needed was an assassin. A part of me is insulted.”

“Never,” Galkin mocked.

“It’s possible. Although you do know me better than most. I’ll do this thing for you, for all the times we’ve had together in the past. But there must be a line.”

Galkin nodded. There was always a line but most of the time no one acknowledged it. The storm outside, threatening but not breaking: it was the warning that things would never be the same again.

An age was coming to pass.

“After tomorrow, you will not hear from me again,” Sima said. “None of you.”

She looked at Grim, his head down, cheeks twitching. Pearl was shadowed by old age and death too. It was so clear to them all.

“Our time has passed,” she continued. “There is a new world here and if you won’t embrace it you will be crushed by it.”

“We have not been blind Seraphima,” Pearl said. “Contingency plans have been put in place, for years.”

“And yet the old man has been gone
for years
. Perhaps he missed the memo.”

“It matters not,” Galkin said. “You each have empires to run or ruin, and I have my grandson. For that I thank you, but now you leave.”

He stood in the center of the room, flanked by the constant hum of monitors surveying the city above him. Pearl and her nephew left first, without farewell; followed by the shambling Grim. Grandfather Time simply vanished, disappearing in between the blinks of an eye.

Sima alone remained.

“You have pretty speech,” Galkin said, half in question.

“A warning, perhaps.”

“Go on,” he said.

She closed the door to the secret room, cutting herself off from those who left before. Galkin could ‘see’ her in ripples of electricity. She always burned brighter than regular humans, perhaps due to her symbiotic nature, her essence held in place with borrowed skins.

“It is about the wolf.”

“Ah,” Galkin said, and there was sadness there.