 
CALL OF AFFLICTION

By Lara S. Chase

Copyright 2015 Lara S. Chase

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Scripture quotations are taken from The Holy Bible, English Standard Version (ESV), copyright 2001 by Crossway Bibles, a publishing ministry of Good News Publishers. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

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Cover art & design: Resplendent Media

Edited: You're & Your Editing

Formatted: Lara S. Chase

Promotion: Leigh LePage Promotions

Author Photograph: Daniel Chase

Table of Contents

Dedication

Other Books in The Gamayun Prophecies

Inscription

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

Sneak Peek of Wings of Ash

To Daniel, for being you.

The Gamayun Prophecies

Call of Affliction - Book One

Wings of Ash - Book Two

Crown of Sacrifice - Book Three

Flight of Hope – Book Four

Song of Redemption - Book Five - _Coming November 2016_

I am the man who has seen affliction

_under the rod of his wrath;_

he has driven and brought me

into darkness without any light;

surely against me he turns his hand

again and again the whole day long.

He has made my flesh and my skin waste away;

he has broken my bones;

he has besieged and enveloped me

with bitterness and tribulation;

he has made me dwell in darkness

like the dead of long ago.

Lamentations 3: 1-6, ESV
PROLOGUE

_St. Petersburg, Russia, 1718_

Pyotr Alexeyvich Romanov might one day be known as Peter the Great, but to the little girl staring up at him, he was just Papa.

"Tell me a story," she begged again. Elizaveta didn't often get to see her father, and when she did, he talked only of battles and armies and other things she didn't care for.

"All right. Once there was a soldier," he said.

"No wars." Elizaveta crossed her arms and made her demands. "No ships, either," she said, guessing his next move.

Pyotr closed his open mouth and frowned. He brought his hand to his chin, stroking it and thinking. "Ah, I know one. Have I ever told you about the three great birds?" Elizaveta shook her head, eyes alight. This sounded promising. "The three great birds are the three handmaidens of God, old as time itself. The Alkonost, the Sirin, and the Gamayun."

"What do they look like?" his daughter asked in a hushed voice.

"They're all enormous birds with the faces of women. The Alkonost is as golden as the sun, the Sirin is as black as pitch, and the Gamayun is as vibrant as living flame." Pyotr threw his arms wide to show how giant the wingspans of these creatures were.

Elizaveta's eyes grew wide in wonder. "Will I ever see them?"

"Pray you don't. The Alkonost only appears to take your soul to heaven when you've died. If you've been bad, then the Sirin comes instead to take it to hell."

"What about the Gamayun? Is she nice?"

Pyotr snorted. "She's not terrible, but she's opinionated. It's best she doesn't come visit you, either. She's a prophet."

"What's a p-prophet?" Elizaveta stumbled, trying to remember the strange word.

"Prophets are tricky. You're never sure what you're going to get. They are the voice of God. They must speak whatever God commands them to say. So, if God is happy with you, the Gamayun is not so scary. But if God is angry with you, the Gamayun is just as frightening as the other two great birds."

He patted his daughter on the head. "Enough now, I have to be going." He lifted the blankets on her bed, then tucked them in around her. Elizaveta sighed, but accepted that it was bedtime.

Pyotr left the room, but didn't get far into the hallway before he was stopped by a petite woman with the most unusual red hair. Her locks shimmered with the vivid hues of fire: orange, red, copper, and gold. "Opinionated, am I?" She gave him a sharp look.

"Always," Pyotr said with a smile.

"You shouldn't scare the poor child with those stories."

"Better me than you, Yuna. Or worse, your sister."
CHAPTER 1

Part of me knew it was the dream again. The sensible part of my brain was screaming at me to wake up, but when does that ever work? So I watched the film unspool once more, with me cast as the villain.

The bones in my fists crunched with every blow to her face and torso. She fell, and did not move. Her blood dripped off my fingers and onto the body at my feet. I focused on the slow progression of the red trickle, hoping in vain that I wouldn't have to identify my victim this time.

My breath echoed in my ears as the rest of the world grew still. _Drip. Inhale, exhale. Drip._ The pain in my swollen fists forced its way into my thoughts as I stood over her. Inhale _, exhale. Throb_. I shook out my hands and forced my gaze down. I didn't need to see her lifeless eyes look back at me to know who it was. It never changed. Who could inspire a killing rage from me but my mother?

I squatted lower to study the broken form of Senovia. _Victory_ —the thought rose before I could squash it, and it made me nauseous though the blood had not. I turned from the body with a jerk.

The jerk took me to the edge of my bed, startling me. I awoke screaming and choking, my hair plastered to my face with sweat. I tried to untangle my hair, but the thick waves were strangling me.

"Galine! Galine, it's okay!"

The sound of my sister's voice drew me back from my nightmare. I was in my bed, my sister was safe in the room with me, and our mother, still alive, was several miles across town. My pulse began to come down to a reasonable level. However, now that I could think, the guilt came. Not only did I commit matricide in my sleep, but I woke Katja in the process.

I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes to the sudden light of the lamp between our twin beds. I propped myself up on an elbow to get a better look at my sister. Kat sat on the edge of her bed, her long legs crossed. The oscillating fan shot a burst of air in my face. It didn't make the stuffy air that much cooler, but it brought me out of my stupor.

"Kat, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." The words croaked out, my throat raw from screaming.

"Was it the one about Mom again?" I nodded. Katja ran her fingers through her long dark hair. Her brown eyes studied the tips for split ends with an intensity that betrayed her uneasiness. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"It's okay if you need to cry or something."

After having had the dream for years, I couldn't muster that depth of emotion. With my mother, it was best to strive for indifference. She wanted a reaction, and I refused to give it to her, even dream versions of her. "Really, Katja. Go back to bed. I'm fine." She studied me for a moment and saw that I was at least no longer hysterical. Pulling the sheet over her, she lay back down.

I tried to think about something else, but the nightmare was still banging around in my head. The clock on the nightstand informed me that it was forty minutes until my alarm went off anyway, so I crept into the bathroom and showered. I scrubbed my hands raw. The water began to run cold, and still I remained, shivering until my skin grew numb.

My teeth chattered as I finally stepped out of the shower. I wrangled my mass of curly hair into a towel on top of my head, and stared at Katja's hairdryer with envy. She had straight hair that took five minutes to blow dry, and then she looked perfect. But every time I tried to blow dry my hair, it looked like I had a massive dark red shower pouf attacking my head.

Maybe it was the nightmare, which always put me on edge and made me depressed, but I felt frumpy as I pulled on my threadbare hospital scrubs. They made cute scrubs in pretty fabrics and flattering cuts, but I could only afford the basic blue ones. My scrubs already looked sad with their fraying hems, and they didn't do my ample figure any favors, either. I could almost hear my mother pointing out all of my problem areas—hips, rear end, thighs, stomach. I shook my head to clear it. Nope. The days of listening to Senovia's criticism were over.

I marched myself into our tiny living space that held the semblance of a kitchen and dining area and poured myself a bowl of cereal. I ate standing up, leaning my back against our hideous mustard yellow counters. No one should have to look at that color before noon.

I should have opted for looking at the counters, because what I saw on the wall in front of me was much more disturbing. If I hadn't choked on a stray off-brand Cheerio, I would have screamed. A cockroach the size of a toddler was crawling up my kitchen wall. Guessing that a can of Raid would only anger it, I inched toward the coat closet to locate our broom. As I grabbed my weapon, I kept an eye on the monstrosity. It didn't move. Wait a second...

I marched up to the Guinness world record sized roach. It was a painting of a cockroach. "Katja!"

She stumbled out of the bedroom with narrowed eyes. "What?"

"Why did you paint that _thing_ on our wall?"

"Oh, you mean Zeke?" She smiled at the painting with pride. "Didn't he turn out great?"

Oh good grief. The thing had a name. "Yes, Zeke's very life-like. Perhaps too life-like. His point?"

"Well, you know how sometimes we get roaches coming over from the neighbors? And the landlord is never going to do anything about it? Well, I thought Zeke here might scare them off. You know, like this place is already claimed by the big guy."

"I wasn't aware that roaches were engaged in turf wars. Tell me, is Zeke a Crip or a Blood?"

She shrugged. "Hey, you don't know. It could work."

"What if instead, Zeke becomes some sort of cockroach deity and all the roaches in Durham start making pilgrimages to our apartment? Did you think of that? Huh?"

Kat crossed her arms over her chest and gave me her best defiant teenager face. "Listen, if you want me to paint over it, just say so. You don't have to get all snarky with me."

"Listen, even if it did work, I'd rather see an occasional small roach than Zeke here every day. Paint over it."

"Fine." Her mouth was saying yes, but as she studied her nails, I was pretty sure I was going to pay for my lack of tact.

"Kat, you know I love your paintings. The windows, especially." I threw my arms wide to gesture at all of her work around us. Our landlord was notorious for never returning deposits, so I had given Kat free reign with the walls. I didn't always understand her more abstract stuff, but I did love those windows.

In our entire apartment, we had only two actual windows: one that was a mere foot square in our bedroom, and another one just three feet by eighteen inches in the living room portion of our one big room. The little light the windows let in seemed to highlight just how dismal the place was, so Kat had painted dozens of fake windows all over the apartment. The scenery they displayed changed depending on her mood. Right now, most of them looked out on various Nordic fjords and glaciers. It was supposed to help us think cool thoughts since our window AC unit was struggling to keep up in the August heat.

"Whatever." Kat turned in the doorway and headed for the bathroom to get ready for school.

I sighed and picked up my bowl of cereal, then glanced down at my watch. If I didn't leave in two minutes, I was going to be late. I shouted a goodbye to Katja and ran straight out the front door.

I hustled down the apartment stairwell and headed for the bus stop, careful to avoid the obstacle course of trash and the loose step the super was never going to fix. Once on the bus, sweaty and out of breath, I plopped down on the first available seat and zoned out. I would have stayed that way, but at the third stop a passenger demanded my attention.

She was short and anorexic thin, with light brown skin and eyes so dark they looked black. I would have guessed she was from some place in the Middle East, but her hair threw me off. Man, I didn't even want to think about how much that dye job had cost. I counted at least six different colors in her hair—red, burgundy, copper, orange, yellow, gold, and I swear I saw flashes of blue. As she passed me in the aisle, she reeked of cigarette smoke. She was an odd sight, but as soon as she passed, she fell off my radar. Thinking is not a top priority for me until I've had caffeine.

I closed my eyes and leaned against the bus window in hopes of squeezing in a few extra minutes of sleep, but then I felt someone yank on the corner of my shirt. I turned around and saw the woman with the strange hair gripping my scrubs. " _Medicina. Gorod medicina_ ," she muttered.

I froze. That was not normal bus behavior. "What did you say?" I couldn't believe what I heard. She released my shirt and scurried to the back of the bus.

That woman had spoken Russian. Durham was full of transients, and one of the city's running jokes was that no one was from here. I was one of the few people at work that was born and raised in Durham. Russians were rare, though.

Still, I had made out what she said, even if it didn't make any sense. Who went around muttering Durham's motto— _City of Medicine_? I gave the woman one last hard look. She was still murmuring to herself, or perhaps to an imaginary friend. The rest of the passengers on the bus gave her the wide berth reserved for those reluctant to use deodorant.

I was trying to decide if it was worth asking her what she meant when the bus reached the hospital, and my decision was made for me. I couldn't afford to be late. I had to run a little, but I arrived at Durham Memorial on time and reported to the nurses' station with three minutes to spare.

My best friend Harper Carlisle arrived right behind me, twirling the keys to her silver Audi on one French manicured nail. "You okay, hon? You look wrecked." Her Southern accent drew out the vowels in a sleepy way that made me even more tired.

"Thanks. We can't all be glamorous, you know." I shouldn't have snapped at her. I knew she was just worried, but I always felt frumpy around her. Who wouldn't feel frumpy next to Harper's glossy blonde hair, model-thin physique, and dazzling blue eyes? All that perfection would have made me hate her if she weren't so darn nice.

"I meant you look exhausted." She smiled at me and patted my hand.

"I know. Sorry I'm such a grouch. Rough night."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. Couldn't sleep." I decided not to tell her why.

Harper frowned at me and then began to dig through her Coach purse. When her hand reemerged with her checkbook, I sighed. "It's that horrible bed of yours. I told you not to buy a used mattress. You're probably being eaten alive by bed bugs." She retrieved a pen flashing with gold and filled out my name on the top line. "Let me buy you a decent bed, Galine."

When I didn't disagree with her she smiled and added, "Of course, in that neighborhood of yours even if you do buy something nice, you could have bed bugs again by the end of the week. I don't suppose you and Katja would reconsider moving in with me?" By this point I couldn't help an eye roll, so she added, "You could pay rent. A little bit. If you feel it's necessary."

"No, Harper."

She gritted her teeth, but refrained from pushing the issue of moving. She tore off the check and handed it to me. I didn't bother to look at the amount, but I'm sure it had an excessive amount of zeros at the end. I tore it in half and handed it back to her.

"Galine!"

"I said 'no.' I meant no to everything. My bed is fine."

"You are so stubborn!"

"True. But you're too trusting." I couldn't recall how many times we'd had this argument. Harper had a big heart and an even bigger bank account, and people waited in line to take advantage of that. "Quit flashing your money around." I did a quick survey of the area to make sure no one saw us.

Now it was her turn to roll her eyes at me. "This isn't the Murder Mart, for heaven's sake." I stiffened at the less than flattering nickname for my neighborhood. "We're in one of the nation's top ten hospitals. I think I'm safe. Besides, I'm standing in the _Carlisle Wing_. I think the word is out that my family's loaded."

"You two going to stand there yakking all day, or are you going to work?" Selene, the charge nurse, yelled at us. Little bits of the Bojangles chicken biscuit she was eating spewed out as she talked.

Harper and I made matching faces of disgust as we moved off in separate directions to begin our rounds. Harper followed the line of nurses and I split off with the CNAs when I heard Selene bellow my name again.

"Galine!" She emerged from around the corner looking annoyed. "Gal—oh, there you are. The fourth floor psych ward called for a nursing assistant. Trouble with one of their patients. I thought immediately of you. You're so good with the difficult ones. Kindred spirits and all." Her smile was so wide I thought her face would crack.

"Sure, no problem, Selene. I'll head over now." Psych did not scare me. Compared to living with my mother, it was a cake walk. Selene was still sputtering, trying to figure out how her plan had backfired. I headed for the elevator.

After what Selene told me about this patient, I was expecting things to be hectic when I got off on the fourth floor. Instead, I found the charge nurse sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine. I could hear a TV laugh track coming from somewhere, but otherwise the floor was silent. I pulled my ID badge forward to present it to the nurse at the desk. "Karsavina. I was told you needed help with a patient."

"Karsavina, right. We need a full time babysitter for this one." She slid a chart over to me. "The police just brought in a Jane Doe. Picked her up on Holloway for a 'drunk and disorderly' but tests showed no alcohol. Suspected paranoid schizophrenic with intent to harm herself and others." The nurse rattled all of the information off in a bored tone, but I was alarmed. "Oh, and she speaks Russian."

I looked up from the chart. "Russian?" What was with the sudden influx of Russian speakers?

"Yes, that's why you're here. We think she might just be refusing to speak English, because she seems to understand us when she wants to. We'd prefer to send in someone with medical training instead of an interpreter if possible."

"I don't know what you've been told, but I'm out of practice. There aren't many opportunities to use Russian in Durham, and my family stopped speaking it when my Dad died."

"Well, some Russian is better than none."

I nodded like I was okay with all of this information, but I wasn't sure that was true. I walked down the hall toward the room number indicated on the chart and tried to take some deep breaths. I hadn't counted on an angry woman shouting at me in Russian. The experience was familiar enough that my palms were starting to sweat. Why did I have to have that stupid nightmare last night? I stood up straight in what I hoped looked like a commanding posture and knocked once on the door before entering.

The cigarette smoke choked me. That was familiar, too. I waved my hand in front of my face to clear the air in the dark room, and spotted her leaning against the window ledge staring into space. The cigarette was burned down to her fingers, but she made no move to snuff it out.

For causing so much trouble, she was a tiny bit of a thing, not much more than five feet tall. She was also much younger than I had expected; I would guess in her twenties. At first I didn't recognize her, but then the light from the window caught her hair. The strands were shimmering red, as if on fire. Maybe they were, considering the amount of smoke in the room. She was, I realized, the strange woman I had encountered earlier on the bus.

Apparently my Russian wasn't as rusty as I thought, because all the tirades I used to give Senovia on how smoking was both unhealthy and inconsiderate (and in this case illegal) came pouring out smooth as glass. The woman gave me a condescending smirk, then she trashed the cigarette. In the fake ficus.

"Feel better now that you've gotten that off your chest?" Her English was perfect.

"Yes, thank you. I'll feel even better once you've handed over the rest I'm sure you have squirreled away some somewhere." I held out my hand. She gave me a dirty look, but placed two more cigarettes in my palm. "All of them." I flicked the fingers of my palm, demanding more. "And the lighter." She swore at me, but I got the actual pack this time, with four left in it, and a grungy Bic lighter.

As she stretched out her arm to hand over the contraband, I noticed thin scars running along her wrists. The coloring and level of fading alternated between white and a faint pink, suggesting two distinct suicide attempts—she'd meant business. My stomach lurched. She caught me staring and yanked her hand back.

I cleared my throat and looked away. "Now, why don't you start by telling me your name?" I sat down in one of the hospital's molded plastic chairs. It was a super tasteful chartreuse. If I was going to be here awhile, I might as well get comfortable.

"You can call me Manya." Her lips curled into a sneer. Her tone was as bitter as the word's definition in Russian.

"Something tells me your mother didn't name you that."

She gave one short, coughing laugh. "No. And what is your name, O Sharp Tongued One?"

"Galine."

The effect of that one word was astounding. She turned the full force of her wide black eyes on me and grabbed both of my arms. "What did you say your name was?"

"Ow! That hurts! Ease off my arms, will you?" Her nails left little half-moon marks. She collapsed onto the floor, muttering.

"It's not possible," I heard her whisper. "I gave up. It's been so long. You weren't coming. He said 'no.' I was sure He said 'no.' I was being punished. After everything, why now?"

"Hey, uh, Manya, what's going on? Are you okay?" I got out of the chair and sat next to her on the cold, industrial floor. Her behavior was starting to worry me.

She came out of her daze. Turning her focus back on me, she grew brighter, almost like that crazy hair of hers was starting to glow. She spoke again, and this time the tone was pitched deeper. Every word vibrated through me. I don't know how I knew, but I was certain what she was saying was important, and that it was true, even though it made no sense to me:

" _In the city of healing you will find your rest,_

The one God has redeemed will take your burden from you,

From exile He will bring you,

_And you will suffer no more_."

And now I was freaked out. "Manya, what are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, my dear. I wouldn't wish what is coming to you on anyone, but I am selfish enough to still want it." With that, she kissed me on the cheek and died.
CHAPTER 2

I was so stunned that it took me a moment for my medical training to kick in. Finally, I sprang into action and started CPR. I was so intent on trying to get Manya's heart restarted that I tuned out the rest of my surroundings. Otherwise, I doubt an illuminated golden bird-woman would have been able to sneak up on me.

A searing flash of light startled me enough to stop chest compressions and look up from my patient. The creature hovered in the air, and I had no idea how she got there.

"She is gone, Galine. I have come for her," the bird-woman spoke. Her voice was calming and melodic, like a harp, but the sight of her undid all of that. She had the same multi-hued hair that Manya did, but hers was in blondes, whites, yellows, and golds. From the neck up, she had the head of a woman, but her body was that of a great bird. Her wings, of the same shades as her hair, beat twice as she hovered in the air before landing on taloned feet.

The overall effect made me tremble. I had thought Manya was glowing before, but this creature shone so much it hurt to look at her. Her size was also imposing. With her wings extended to their fullest, they were twice as long as I was tall.

I blinked a few times. She was still there. I closed my eyes, counted to three, and then opened them again. Her molten eyes stared back. What were the chances she was just paint, like Katja's cockroach? I started to reach for her, but thought better of it. She had already spoken to me once. Right. So not paint.

I looked at the door. Someone would hear the commotion and come in soon, right? Following my line of sight, she said, "We will not be disturbed for a few minutes. I do not have much time, though, so I must speak quickly. I am sure you have lots of questions, but you must listen right now."

Oh, was she wrong. I thought I had questions a few moments ago, but I had changed my mind. What I wanted now was escape. My traitorous feet didn't want to move though, nor could I gather up the courage to tell her to stop talking.

"I am the Alkonost, and this was my sister, the Gamayun. We have a third sister, the Sirin, who lives still. I take men to their eternal rest, the Sirin takes them to damnation, and the Gamayun is the prophet that speaks the voice of God. You are the Gamayun now, Galine. I am afraid I cannot offer you much aid, but I can offer some advice. Do not trust the Sirin. She takes too much pleasure in what used to make her weep. She has done unspeakable things."

Yep, I was right. I did not want to hear that. Her words, like Manya's, had the air of pronouncement about them, as if all the world should pause a moment and take note. This proclamation made even less sense than the last one, though. A part of me was dying to ask for clarification, but most of me was mortified.

I was also beginning to sweat. A lot. My scrub top clung to my back. I pulled my hair up off my neck and fanned myself a little. Was the hospital's AC broken or was I having a nervous breakdown? I turned to the bird woman. She didn't seem like the type for small talk, but I had to know. "Is it warm in here?"

"That is the transformation." Again, the words were a graceful tinkling, said in such a peaceful way, but what was happening to me was not.

I was consumed by a suffocating heat. Once, when I was eleven and she was furious with me, Senovia locked me in a closet in the middle of July. Katja discovered me and let me out, but I remember thinking I would die from the heat. Whatever was burning its way through me was much worse than the closet.

I couldn't get enough air in my lungs, and then all of a sudden I had too much air. No matter how much I exhaled, there was always more breath in there. My ribcage expanded to three times its normal size. But as my chest expanded in one direction, it shrank in another. My breasts flattened into nothing as I began to float upwards. My feet could no longer stay planted on the earth, where I wanted them to stay. I'll admit I was more alarmed at first about my loss of cup size than gravity. Still, I could worry about boobs later, after I stopped floating.

I wheeled my arms, but it was no help in keeping me grounded. I pawed at the floor with my feet as everything below my waist began to get shaky on me. My legs felt like jelly, and then I couldn't feel them at all. Alarmed, I wiggled my toes, which to my relief, responded. Well, four of them anyway. My pinkie toe was... it was... missing?

My foot caught something, scattering my panicked thoughts. I peered down to see what had managed to halt my ascent. The sight of four bird-claw toes poking out of my left sneaker had me horrified all over again. My talons were latched to the bed frame. I was thankful they were holding fast since I had no idea how I had managed to make them work the first time, much less do it again.

"Please help me!" My cry to the Alkonost didn't slow her down. She had Manya's body in her arms and had already taken flight again. She still hovered in the hospital room, but I was afraid she'd disappear as suddenly as she had appeared.

"I am sorry, but I do not dwell on Earth. I cannot linger here." She turned to take her leave, but hesitated. She looked at me once again and said, "Look for the boy. He might be willing to help." The last of her messages delivered, she began to grow even brighter. Her feathers became lighter and lighter until she and Manya became a burning orb that seared into my retinas. I squeezed my eyes shut tight. Then, after a moment, I could see through my lids that the room had grown darker again. I cracked an eyelid. Spots still danced in my vision, but the light was gone. The Alkonost and her burden had disappeared.

I didn't have the luxury of panicking about being left alone, because my body wasn't through changing. The heat was receding, but as it retreated, a new light was growing. I shut my eyes again, but even through my eyelids, a brilliant red blinded me. Something was going on with my arms. I wanted to see what was happening, but the light was too bright. All down my arms I could feel shifting, grinding, something hard moving and lengthening. Oh, gross. I was pretty sure it was my bones. It didn't hurt, but it felt revolting. My arms grew and grew, but once again, something else was diminishing. My fingertips sucked into the first knuckle, then into the second knuckle, until they had telescoped right out of existence. My hands followed suit until I was pretty sure I was left with wings. Still, I felt no pain.

I thought the grossness might be over, but then I was seized by a horrible crawling sensation. Every inch of skin—even my scalp—felt as if something was moving under the surface, trying to break free. The pain I kept anticipating finally arrived, and it was breathtaking.

Feathers broke through every pore. I gasped as they covered me in an instant, and then the pain was gone. I opened my eyes. My feathers were not the light colored palette of the Alkonost, but were instead the reddish hues of Manya's hair. Almost as soon as I realized it, I saw my own auburn tresses fall around me, turning to ash and then evaporating into nothing before they even hit the ground. I couldn't see what my hair was being replaced with, but it was light, and it was growing as fast as the feathers had. In seconds it was past my shoulders. My hair was now the same fiery mane as the previous Gamayun.

The heat and light dissipated, and for a few heartbeats there was complete silence. My breath echoed in my ears as I hovered in the air, brand-new wings outstretched, my taloned foot still clinging to the bed post. I slowly moved my wings. The extra joints weirded me out. It was like I suddenly had a couple of extra elbows. I did not feel like they made up for my lack of fingers. I tucked my wings back against my sides, so I wouldn't have to look at them. At the moment, my mind wasn't capable of processing my body's startling metamorphosis.

The silence was cut when reality knocked on the door. Some of the nurses from the floor were outside and wanted to know why they couldn't get inside. Oh sure, now they were here. These were the very people that minutes ago, I had hoped would come, and now I realized were the last thing I needed. I couldn't explain the missing patient, not to mention my bizarre appearance.

I searched the room for inspiration, but my survey confirmed what I already knew. The space had two ways out: the door, which had multiple nurses behind it; and the window, which let in light but didn't open. The room was on the fourth floor, so even if I managed to somehow open the window, how was I supposed get down? I threw up my hands in frustration, and managed instead to whack my head with a wingtip.

I realized getting down wasn't the main problem. Staying down was the trouble. As I observed my claw's death grip on the bed, I noted that my feet were the closest things I had to hands now. If I was going to somehow break the window, I'd have to do it with them.

The nurses became louder and more insistent at the door. One of them called for security. My eyes darted around the room again. I needed something heavy enough to break the window, but light enough for me to lift. Ah! I spotted the ugly chartreuse chair, but it was clear across the room. How was I supposed to let go of the bed and then cross the room to grab the chair without floating to the ceiling?

A loud crack echoed at the door like it was being battered. I gritted my teeth and willed my left claw to let go. It did, and quicker than I expected. Fearing I'd start floating again, I unfurled my wings in a panic, which had the same effect as slamming on the brakes. The abrupt stop was so jarring that I bit my tongue. I flapped my wings again and tried to point myself in the direction of the chair. The wings seemed to counter balance my ballooning lungs, but they were hard to steer. I flapped until I was in the corner and my responsive talons grabbed the chair. At least I could get one part of this body to do what I wanted it to.

I did my best to turn around, flailing and twisting my body, and smacked into the wall. While I wasn't much taller in bird form than I was as a human, the massive wings had to be twelve feet wide. The hospital room was small enough that maneuvering was difficult, but I managed to keep a hold on the chair. Another crack sounded at the door. Panicking, I put as much power into the wings as I could, and hurled my body and the chair at the window. I underestimated how fast I could go, because my wings broke the window as much as the chair.

Pain assaulted me from everywhere. I glanced down to assess the damage. The transformation had decimated my scrubs, and what was left of my clothing was shredded by the glass of the window. Dozens of cuts and gashes made their presence known as blood oozed down my feathers. My wings began to sting and burn as I flapped into the wind trying to figure out how to fly. Those creepy extra elbows seemed to be helpful after all.

Staying up wasn't as hard as turning, I discovered as soon as I was in open air. The hospital parking garage loomed in front of me, and I grazed it with my right side. I gasped and fell a few feet, dropping the chair. I sputtered up again, beating my wings to gain enough height to clear the buildings.

I managed to get above the tree line, but I didn't slow down. I flew like I was being chased, although I don't know who could have been after me. Some of my shallower cuts had stopped bleeding, but I could still feel the deeper gashes oozing blood. I knew bruises were forming on my right side where I had hit the parking garage. If I were sensible, I would've landed in a field somewhere to tend to my injuries and rest.

I couldn't get over the feeling, though, that it wasn't safe. My new body seemed to come with an inner compass, and deep inside my chest I felt a gentle tug west. When I flew to the west, I felt the teensiest bit calmer. I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I wasn't there yet. And that was all I knew.

Was I dreaming? Of the possible scenarios, I hoped for that one. If not, I also wondered if maybe those weren't cigarettes Manya had been smoking. Maybe I was still in Manya's room, lying on the floor, caught in a bad drug trip. If so, any minute my head would clear and I would begin to hear the beeps and hums always surrounding me in the hospital. That possibility wasn't as nice as dreaming, but I'd still take it over the third option—I was awake, sober, and screwed.

Thinking scared me, so I tried to concentrate on counting wing beats. When I grew tired of that and the city gave way to countryside, and then to mountains, I began counting houses. Interstates, tobacco farms, forests of pine trees—they all blurred into tiny landscapes that didn't feel real.

The wind grew colder as it glided over and under my feathers. I had plenty of time to experiment with what wing movements would make me ascend or fall, go faster or slower. I banked to the left and right. If I hadn't been so petrified, it might have been fun.

The mountains let me know I had wandered far into western North Carolina, but beyond that I didn't have a clue where I was. I hadn't been out of the three cities that made up the Triangle area much since I didn't own a car. One of the last good memories I had of our whole family, though, was when my father took us all camping near Asheville. The leaves were turning and we roasted s'mores. Senovia had laughed a lot. I also remembered that it took us a long time to get there from Durham—several hours. How long had I been flying? My watch was gone, along with my clothes. Neither had survived the combination of transforming and smashing through the window.

I was tired and I hurt, and the panicked, frightened feeling was back. My head was spinning and my stomach was nauseated, which wasn't good. The blood loss was taking its toll. I was amazed I hadn't fallen out of the sky yet.

I kept going, but I got slower and had to dodge loblolly pines as I lost altitude. My vision started to blur around the edges, and the small part of my brain that was still thinking like a rational person told me to find a clearing and land before I passed out and crashed. But the frantic part of my brain was winning, and it kept telling me I had no idea how to land.

I flew below the tree line and hit the upper branch of a tree, which knocked me into another branch. The trees were too close together, and I wasn't good enough with my wings yet to maneuver between them. I continued to fall, hitting more branches than I missed. My eyes weren't focusing anymore, either. I was trapped in a forest pinball machine as I bounced from one unyielding object to another until I landed on my back in a small clearing. I was almost certain I could add a broken rib or two to my list of injuries.

I stared up at the small patch of sky overhead and tried to gather the will to get back in the air, but I couldn't. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't even summon up the energy to do that, so I lay there in the dirt taking shallow, painful breaths.

The sky above got darker and I blinked, trying to figure out what had changed. The outline of a man's face came into focus. The sun was bright behind him, casting him in silhouette, so it was difficult to make out his features. Soft waves of long black hair tumbled into his face as he leaned over me. As the hair fell, it cast a shadow that made it easier to see at least part of his face. He was young, close to my age, and had the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. He looked angry. Correction: he looked furious.

I tried to summon the energy to get away from the man, or at least put up my wings for protection, but I couldn't do it. The adrenaline that had kept me going was spent, and I hurt too much to move. Plus, I couldn't get over the feeling that I had arrived. It was ridiculous; I had been flying for hours to some unknown destination where I would be safe, and that same intuition was telling me that safe place was a person. How could the man standing above me, full of wrath, be the refuge I sought?

"You're not her." He spoke with a cold quietness that frightened me more than if he had shouted. He crouched so that his face was inches from mine. Now that he was closer, I could see that he had one of those faces that made you ache. It wasn't just the chiseled jaw line and well defined cheekbones that were the hallmarks of any guy that was generically good looking. It was those eyes and his lips. How could they tell so much? His lips were mashed together in anger but trembled in fear. His eyes haunted me with the type of sadness that had been carried so long it had turned to grief. The stranger's features might have made him handsome, but it was his vulnerability that made him beautiful. This somehow made me more afraid of him.

"She's dead, isn't she?" The muscles in his perfect jaw worked up and down, and those icy blue eyes drew even closer. He was inches from my face now, so there was no way to mistake the hostility.

I wanted to explain that I had nothing to do with it. I wanted to scream that I didn't want any of this. I wanted to plead with him not to hurt me because he was angry that Manya was dead. Instead, I blacked out.
CHAPTER 3

Sasha asked again, desperate for this girl to deny what he already knew to be true. "Is she dead? Is Manya dead?" He grabbed a fistful of feathers near where her shoulder would be if she were in human form. He had every intention of shaking her until her teeth rattled.

His palm slipped, slick with the girl's blood. He brought his hand in front of his face. The blood was tacky and began to dry in the creases of his fingers. Sasha stood up, took several steps back from where the girl lay, and closed his eyes.

The world shrunk to no larger than his breath. So many things clamored to expand it, but he forced his brain to focus on the air moving through his lungs. His fists unclenched with his sixth exhale. After a couple of minutes, the ringing in his ears was gone. He opened his eyes again and trudged back to the stranger. She had passed out. Had that happened while he was shaking her or while he was trying to regain control? He hoped the latter.

She was a mess. He stooped to better assess the damage. Her feathers were matted with blood and dirt, and he could see shards of glass lodged in her sides. Sasha reached out and ran his fingers over her body, searching for other injuries. As his fingertips ran through her feathers, they began to fall out in great clumps, disintegrating before they touched the ground.

"No, no, no. Don't you go naked on me." A new sort of panic gripped him. Sasha scooped her up and ran towards his cabin. He kicked open the door with his foot, and surveyed the room for a place to set her down. He headed for his bed.

He lowered the girl down onto the mattress, then he whipped her back up. "Nope, nope. Not there." She was bleeding like a stuck pig, and Manya had made the quilt on the bed. She had stitched the log cabin pattern by hand over several months. He couldn't look at the tiny prints on the brown calico and the red ticking without getting angry all over again. This stranger was not ruining her quilt.

He turned and headed for the couch, but this time didn't even start lowering her before he realized it wasn't going to work, either. The delicate settee was an antique from the 1840s. His gaze swiveled to the kitchen table. Eh, no. His father had hand carved it from mahogany.

Sasha sighed and shifted the girl in his arms before deciding to head back out the front door. He glanced down and saw that her feathers were falling out even faster, and her talons were now feet. Picking up the pace, he made a beeline for the barn. The door to the converted bathroom on the first floor was more secure than the cabin's door, so he had to balance her in one arm to get it open.

By the time he got her laid in the deep soaking tub, she was more woman than bird. He grabbed a stack of towels and threw them across her with his eyes half closed. The situation was bad enough. He didn't want her waking up naked and accusing him of leering over her. Once she was covered and in a place where clean-up would be easy, Sasha leaned back against the sink.

He bonked the back of his head against the mirror above the sink a few times. Feeling generous, he allowed himself a full thirty seconds of his best cursing. Then he walked over to the nearby cabinet, pulled out his medic kit, and sat on the edge of the tub to study his patient.

Sasha put on the thickest pair of gloves he had to offer some protection against the glass. He pulled her hair back and away from her face with care. Even so, a shower of small pieces of glass and dirt fell to the floor. He shook his head, stood up, and went over to where he kept his shaving and hair supplies on the counter. Grabbing the cutting shears, he returned and began to hack off her hair as close to the scalp as he could get. Only the debris hit the wooden planks below. Like her feathers, her hair seemed to evaporate.

Sasha rose again to grab some washcloths from the linen closet and wet them at the sink with warm water and soap. When he turned to wash down her scalp, he found her hair had already grown back past her shoulders. He sighed. It had been so long since he had done this for Manya, he had forgotten how fast it grew back. Well, she'd have to shampoo it good later.

He used the cloth instead to wash her face. Now that she wasn't covered in dirt and blood, he could get a good look at her. She was striking, with strong features, but she wasn't beautiful. Her nose was a little too big and her upper lip was thinner than her lower lip. In fact, the right side of her lips rose a bit higher than the left, giving her mouth a slight crooked look. Her skin was very pale, although the blood loss wasn't helping that. It did highlight the freckles across her nose and cheeks, though. She had to have some Slavic ancestry in her, because she had the prominent cheekbones common of Russian women. Sasha was glad the girl had at least one nice feature. She wasn't going to win anyone over with her new crazy hair.

He felt something brush his shoulder. Before he had even thought about it, the washcloth was on the floor, and Sasha had a wing caught between his fists. He stood, digging his boots into the wood as the wing he had captured thrashed against him.

"Alexsandr Harris! You will release me this instant!" The Alkonost gave Sasha a good whack to the head with the wing that wasn't being restrained.

Sasha did as she commanded. "I have told you not to creep up on me."

"I do not creep." She sniffed at him as she tried to smooth down the feathers on the wing he had grabbed.

"You're the Angel of Death, Alkie. Creeping's in the job description. Say my name or something when you enter a room."

"You know I do not like to be called either of those things."

"Yeah, well, I don't like finding out Manya's gone by a stranger crashing on my lawn. When did you intend to tell me?"

"I had other matters to attend to. I did not think she would find you this quickly. That is excellent, though. It means the link between you is still working." She smiled at him. It was one of her shining, beatific smiles that made him want to punch her.

"No. Not excellent. I don't have a link with this person. I had a link with Man...ya." His voice wavered. After a pause he continued, "Do you understand? Manya." Sasha looked straight into the Alkonost's clueless expression and tried to will her to get it. His words were proving ineffective.

Her expression softened into one of pity. "My dear boy. I am sure you will miss her, but you have to know this is better for her. She has been so unhappy for so long. There was no pain. I took her in my own arms."

Sasha began to rub his forehead with his thumb and middle figure. He did it a few times, trying to find the words to make her understand. "Let's say for the moment I agree with you. Manya's better off, whatever." He clenched his jaw, but then was able to go on. "That still leaves the problem of the—the _child_ in my bathtub!" He paced over to where the girl was still lying unconscious. "Look at her! What were you thinking?"

The Alkonost obliged by studying her for a moment. "She does not look much younger than you. Besides, your anger is misplaced. I did not choose her. I only told her to find you."

"Yes, see, that's a problem, too. I'm out. Done."

For the first time since she arrived, the Alkonost seemed to be listening. She frowned at Sasha and flapped a few feet closer to him. "Alexsandr, you do not mean that."

Sasha placed a hand on the golden skin of her cheek. As much as she frustrated him, he knew she did care about him. "I'm afraid I do."

"You are aware of the consequences of this decision?"

"I am."

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Six months."

"What?"

"It is the best I can do. He will not let me agree to sooner. If you still feel the same way in six months, I can grant your request, but not before."

Sasha sat on the edge of the tub and grabbed two good fistfuls of his hair. He stared at the grain that ran through the planks of the floor. Eastern white pine. He remembered the tree he had harvested for the lumber. Must have been—

"Alexsandr?"

"Hmm?" Sasha looked up to see the Alkonost still hovering in his bathroom. "Oh, I assumed you'd already left me. You do that..." He waved a hand in the air trying to imitate her sudden appearing and disappearing.

She frowned at him and used a wing tip to force him to look her square in the face. "Mourn your dead. Help the girl." Sasha scowled. "And do not retreat."

"You don't have to live here."

"It seems to me you do very little living here, either." She narrowed her golden eyes at him. Then, faster than his gesture could ever indicate, the Alkonost was gone.
CHAPTER 4

I woke up in a tub buried under a stack of towels—like a couple laundry baskets worth of towels. It was weird, but didn't come close to ranking as the worst thing that had happened to me today. I tried to excavate my limbs from under the mountain of linens, and jostled my ribs in the process. It hurt so much I couldn't even get air to yell about it. Slower this time, I resumed my original position and took stock of my surroundings.

I gazed at the ceiling to discover it was made of stained wood. Moving my head as little as possible, I gave the room a once over. There was a lot of wood—the floors and walls matched the ceiling. It gave the room a rustic feel, but the gleaming white bathtub and the vanities looked expensive. I peeked over the edge of the tub and saw a large red and navy area rug. It reminded me of the kind Harper had in her house, so I assumed it was pricey, too. The place had to belong to the angry guy. I was disorientated by the time I landed, but I could remember seeing a cabin out of the corner of my eye.

Having found nothing threatening around me, I turned my attention to my body, stretching my limbs and testing them one at a time. I was sore and not certain my bleeding had stopped. Even without looking, it was a good bet I was filthy, too. I probed around my ribs with my fingertips to figure out where the worst of the damage was. Once I stopped gasping from that, I had a revelation: I had fingertips!

I shot my hand out from under the towels so that I could see it with my own eyes. My body groaned in pain, but I ignored its protestations and sat up, so I could get a good look at whether I was man or beast. I hefted as many towels over the side of the tub as possible to get visual confirmation. I was back to normal! Well, I still had the fire colored hair that weighed less than the thick curly hair I had before, but I could deal with that later. I had never been so glad to see two arms and two legs and two feet. Hey, and my boobs were back, too! The return of my limbs almost made up for the fact that I was stark naked.

Oh, that was not good. I was naked in some strange guy's bathroom and he was very, very angry with me. I had to get out before he came back. I climbed out of the tub and moved so fast it made me dizzy. In my haste, I stumbled over a duffel bag on the floor. A roll of gauze fell out.

Intrigued, I peered into the bag. In my first bit of good luck all day, I realized it was full of medical supplies. As eager as I was to make my escape before Tall, Dark, and Moody came back, I also saw the benefit of taking a few minutes to patch up my cuts. I'd already passed out once from blood loss. My grand escape would be less impressive if I keeled over halfway through.

I grabbed a pair of forceps and stepped back into the tub. Starting with the largest pieces of glass first, I took a deep breath and yanked them out one at a time. I gritted my teeth and did my level best not to make any noise louder than a whimper. When I got down to the slivers, I decided that was good enough and let the forceps clang to the bottom of the tub. The blood was flowing faster again. I leaned over the side and slung the medic bag into the tub with me. Jerk or not, those were lovely floors, and I refused to bleed on them.

I dug around in the bag until I found several large gauze pads and cloth tape. I covered the biggest gashes, and then tried to bind my ribs as best I could with an Ace bandage. I knew I needed stitches, but the thread and needle for sutures wasn't among the supplies, and I didn't know how to do them anyway. Once I was tended to, I stepped over the side of the tub and headed for the door.

I caught my reflection in the mirror on the way out. Shoot. Still naked. I started opening cabinets. The first set was empty, which was probably the normal home of the towels he had buried me in. The third set of cabinets revealed some old gray sweats, a plain white t-shirt, and a pair of slippers.

I threw them on over all the bandages and dashed out the door, running across a lawn towards a gravel drive. I was halfway down the drive before I realized that I couldn't run away into the night in the middle of the woods. I had to think this through better—I didn't even know where I was.

As much as I hated to return after a taste of freedom, I ran back to the barn that I had come from. There might be a phone in the cabin, but angry dude could be in there, too. I knew the bathroom was no help, so I circled the outside of the barn.

No lights illuminated the area, so I took a few precious seconds to let my eyes adjust to the dark. The barn was much larger than the cabin, two stories with multiple entrances. Most were normal doors like the one to the bathroom, but I spotted another in back that was much larger and headed for it. Lifting the iron latch, I swung open one of the wooden double doors. It creaked louder than a bullhorn. I froze, but no one came running.

The inside of this part of the barn was even darker, but I could make out a blue pickup truck. I let out yelp of relief and opened the other barn door. I might have gotten my hopes up over nothing, though. As I approached the driver's side door, I realized how old this truck was. I don't know anything about cars, but this relic appeared in movies, not on actual highways. There was no way it could still run. I tried the handle anyway, and found that it was at least unlocked.

I slid onto the bench and started to look for keys. I was about to flip down the visor, when I realized they were already in the ignition. Two pieces of luck in one day. I needed to buy a lottery ticket. Although, it was more likely he never thought anyone would ever want to steal this rust bucket. Boy was he wrong. I turned the ignition over and laughed with delight at the sound of the throaty rumble. I floored it.

My driving, at first, didn't have much more purpose than my running had—it was just faster. I barreled down the drive and took a series of turns on dirt and gravel roads that I hoped would lead to something paved. My sense of direction is terrible, and when I was in the air and should have been paying attention, my thoughts were otherwise occupied.

I tried to make note of the few available landmarks to make sure I wasn't going in circles. After about ten minutes, I came to a T in the road. This new road was paved, and bore a sign with the magic words, "To I-40." If I could get to I-40, I could get home.

To my great relief, I saw the truck had a full tank of gas. I was going to need all of it. In fact, I might need more than a tank if I was as far west as I thought, especially if trucks were the gas guzzlers they were rumored to be. As soon as I had that unpleasant thought, another one was right on its heels: I couldn't park a stolen truck in front of my apartment. I had been so concerned with escaping and so excited that I no longer had wings, I hadn't realized how serious my situation still was.

I had no money and no phone, and was driving the vehicle of a man I already knew was upset with me. Considering how well things were going today, I probably also took his favorite pair of ratty old sweats. Oh, and I was bleeding on them. Geez, I was still bleeding! Even if the angry guy didn't track me down, now that I had committed grand theft auto, the police might come after me. Plus, there was the window that I broke at the hospital. I couldn't pay for that. I couldn't even explain that, much less how Manya had disappeared. How would I explain escaping through a fourth floor window and surviving?

One answer came to mind: I needed Harper. I needed a bulldog disguised as a southern belle, and I needed her on my side. As if the universe agreed with this assessment, almost as soon as I came to this conclusion I reached my first sign of civilization: an old mom-and-pop gas station. I veered into the parking lot and shut off the engine, looking in vain for a phone booth. I didn't see one, as they're an endangered species these days.

I rummaged through the glove box and the cushions of the truck for spare change I could offer to make a phone call inside. I came up with a dime, three pennies, a gum wrapper, and a peppermint. It was paltry, but it would have to be bribe enough.

As I pushed open the glass door and a chime announced my presence, I caught my reflection in the glass and let out a yelp. While my hair and face were cleaner than anticipated, the rest of me was grimy, and blood was seeping through the sweats. Looking like a zombie movie extra was not going to help my cause. An older man sat at the counter reading a newspaper. I approached him and tried not to look guilty.

"Excuse me, sir. I wondered if I could use your phone." I stopped, not sure how to continue. Where did I go from here? _I'm driving a stolen truck and I need a friend to pick me up and help me ditch it?_

The man gave me a long, hard look and put down his newspaper. "Honey, you been in some kind of accident?"

"Yes!" Crap. That sounded way too gleeful for an accident victim. He had thrown me a lifeline, though. Wait, but I didn't want him calling the police. "Um, I can still drive my truck okay, and I... uh... didn't hit anybody, but I'm a little shaken up, so I wanted to call a friend to come meet me." After another second's thought I added, "I lost my cell phone, though." There, that sounded plausible.

He narrowed his eyes at me. "You sure you don't want me to call the police or nothing?"

It's times like these I wish I could cry on demand. Harper says it's a great tactic for getting out of awkward situations with men. Fake crying always felt manipulative to me, but I was starting to warm to the idea. "No, I just need the phone real quick. Please." I tried to look pathetic, but not pathetic enough to need police interference. I scrunched my face up with the effort, and realized I probably looked constipated.

He sighed and shook his head, then shoved the phone in my direction. I dialed Harper and crossed my fingers that she'd pick up a call from a strange number. The phone rang once before I heard a breathless, "Hello?"

"Harper, it's me," I leaned against the counter, overcome with relief hearing her voice.

"Galine! Thank God. Where are you?"

"I'm, uh—" I put my hand over the mouthpiece and asked the man behind the counter, "What's the name of this town?"

"Morganton."

"Morganton," I repeated to Harper. "I'm pretty far west in the mountains."

"What! Why are you there?"

"Listen, Harper, this is not a good time to explain." I noticed the attendant was listening to every word. I wracked my brain for a halfway point where Harper could pick me up. "Remember that one time we were in Greensboro and we went to that diner place with the good ice cream?"

"The Steak 'n Shake?" Harper sounded confused.

"Yeah, that's it. Can you drive there right now? I'll meet you there and explain what happened. Bye, Harper. You're a lifesaver." I hung up before she could ask any more questions, and could still hear her sputtering right up to the click. I thanked the man and then hightailed it back to the truck.

I drove another two hours before I pulled into the parking lot of the Steak 'n Shake and spotted Harper's silver Audi convertible. The whole time I was driving, I had debated whether or not I should tell Harper the truth about what happened. Besides the obvious problem that it sounded more like a lie than an actual lie, I was also afraid of getting her in trouble. I was pretty sure I could lose my job, and I didn't want her to lose hers or go to jail.

The decision was easy, though, when I spied her sitting at the counter at the front of the diner. She wasn't alone. Coleman Worthington III sat next to her, wearing a Brooks Brothers suit and his ever present look of disdain.

Harper bolted from her barstool and threw her arms around me in a crushing bear hug. "Ribs," I managed to croak. She understood and released me from her embrace, steadying me with her hands.

"Sorry, sorry." Once I was no longer in danger of toppling over, she stepped back to assess me. Her eyes grew wide, then her lips pursed in determination. "You, to the car, now," she ordered. "Cole, honey, it's time to go." She placed a hand on her boyfriend's shoulder.

"Finally." He threw some money on the counter and stood up to leave. I noticed that he brushed the back of his pants where the inferior vinyl had touched his posterior. I tried, but not very hard, not to snicker. He glared at me, and I changed it to a cough.

"March!" Harper reiterated, pointing to the door this time. Cole and I both obeyed and filed out to the parking lot. "Cole, baby, you drive. I'm going to sit in the back with Galine." She flipped the keys to him, then paused as a thought occurred to her. "Wait. How did you even get here?"

I tried not to look at the truck I intended to leave in the parking lot. "I Hitched?" I meant it to sound like a statement, but I'm so terrible at lying it sounded more like I was asking if she believed it.

Cole looked at me again, even more revolted, then turned his gaze to the white leather interior of Harper's car. "Harper, maybe we should put a sheet down or something. She's disgusting. And you just had your car detailed a few weeks ago." That was the level of sensitivity I'd come to expect from Cole, so it didn't bother me. In this instance I didn't disagree with him, either. Harper was livid, though.

"Coleman!" Uh, oh, full name. He was in trouble now. "Do you have any idea what Galine has been through today? She was taken hostage by a mental patient, drug halfway across the state, and beaten. Somehow she has managed to escape with her life, and you're worried about a stupid car? Shame on you!"

"Hostage?" I sputtered out the word I still wasn't quite sure I had heard.

This angered Harper even more. She turned on Cole again, "See, now you've upset her. The police said that if they ever managed to find her that she'd likely be in a fragile state, and you had to go and be rude!" She whipped away from him, her blond ponytail almost catching him in the face. "I told you I should have come alone."

"And I said you should have let the police pick her up, which I still think we should do." He rubbed his nose where her hair had tickled it and scowled at me again.

"No police. I want to go home." I turned to Harper. "I don't care if he was rude. Rude is Cole's default setting. Can we leave, please?"

She patted my face. "Sure, sweetie, give me a minute to get my medical supplies out of the trunk." I noticed she shot one last nasty look in Cole's direction as he climbed into the driver's seat. I slid into the back seat and tried to think clean thoughts while keeping the bloodiest parts of the sweats off the upholstery. Harper slid in next to me with a medic kit.

I eyed the kit. "Can't that wait until we get home? I'm going to need to shower, and we don't have a lot of room back here." Plus, I'd already done this once, and I knew I'd have to do it a third time in Durham where we could do sutures.

"No," she said as she began pulling out alcohol swabs and gauze. "Shirt off," she ordered. "Let's tackle the top first. I can see you're still bleeding a couple of places there."

I froze and glanced at Cole in the front seat, then leaned closer to Harper and whispered, "I don't have anything on under these sweats. I don't care to give your boyfriend an eyeful."

Harper took both my hands in hers, her eyes full of concern. "Galine, honey, do we need a rape kit?" Her voice was low and calm.

I wrenched my hands back, shocked by her question. "No! Gosh, no. I just—" How did I explain that I was naked for a period of time and was now wearing a man's clothes? "Harper, I appreciate the concern, but I promise nothing like that happened." I hoped that was enough of an explanation.

It must have been, because she barked towards the front, "Cole, Galine's got to get a little naked back here, so keep your eyes on the road, okay?"

"Fine. It's not like I'm even tempted," he said.

"Love you, too!" I shouted back.

Harper, accustomed to our back and forth, ignored the sniping and helped me out of the shirt. Her lips pressed into a thin line again as she saw my slapdash attempt at tending to my wounds. Most of the gauze I had applied to the larger cuts had soaked through with blood again, and there were still dozens of small cuts and slivers of glass I hadn't bothered with. As she unwrapped the Ace bandage, she discovered the dark purple bruises covering most of my chest and abdomen. "Did they come at you with a bat?" She already had tweezers in hand and was trying to get out the remaining shards of glass.

I thought of the trees I had run into. "Something wood."

"Is the glass from the hospital window?"

"Mmm-hmm." I nodded through gritted teeth. The disinfectant she was using burned in my cuts.

"You're going to need stitches in several of these. We'll have to x-ray the ribs, too, to make sure they didn't splinter. I'm almost positive there's a couple broken, and I don't want something puncturing a lung. We can check the GPS for the nearest hospital."

"No!" I had a horrible vision of x-rays showing inexplicable bird parts. I had no idea what was going on with me, but a thorough hospital examination sounded like a bad idea. "Harper, I want to go home. I'm breathing fine, I promise. Cole can do the stitches."

"Forget it." Cole turned around to give me a patronizing look. "I'm a cardio-thoracic surgeon; I'm not wasting my talent stitching you up." I did not like that guy. For all of Harper's excellent qualities, she had a colossal blind spot when it came to men.

"Coleman, if you don't do Galine's stitches, I'll tell your mother about what you did last year at Pinehurst with you-know-who," Harper threatened.

"You wouldn't." He glared at her using the rear view window.

"I would and I will." I knew that tone. It wasn't a threat; it was a promise.

"Fine." He proceeded to give us both the silent treatment, which is what I preferred from him anyway.

Harper paused briefly in her bandaging now that the worst of the cuts were tended to. She grabbed a strand of my new hair and held it up. "Why did they dye your hair? It feels different, too. It's soft and fluffy, like a baby chick."

I laughed, but it was forced. "Who knows? I mean, maybe one of the voices in her head told her I needed hair like hers." I studied Harper's face to see if she was buying it.

She shook her head and continued to tend to me, and despite the sharp pains and stinging that accompanied her ministrations, I fell asleep. I didn't wake up until we pulled up to a downtown Durham loft.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Cole's place." Harper helped me ease out of the car.

"Why?"

"Stitches, remember? His bag is back here, and I don't have the stuff to do it at my place." I nodded and followed her into the swanky lobby, where the doorman gave me some serious side-eye. I still looked terrible, but at least I wasn't bleeding on anything anymore. Heck, at my apartment complex, I could wander around in my current state and it wouldn't have been the strangest thing I'd seen. One of my neighbors apparently felt that pants were optional when stepping outside of her front door.

The three of us got on the elevator and Cole pushed the button for the fifth floor. "Try not to touch anything, all right?"

"I'll be good." I decided goading a man that was about to use sharp instruments on me was not a good idea.

We arrived at his apartment, and he marched me straight to the bathroom. He turned to Harper and instructed, "Try to get her as clean as possible," and then marched out, closing the door behind him.

After a good thirty minutes of scrubbing, then another fifteen minutes of rebandaging some of the cuts, I sat clean and in a warm bathrobe. "Okay, I think he'll allow you in the rest of the apartment," Harper said. Before we left the bathroom, she hugged me again, much gentler this time. "I'm so sorry, Galine. I can't imagine what it was like for you." She pulled away with a half smile. "C'mon, let's get this finished so we can get you home before the sun comes up again."

Cole instructed me to sit on a kitchen chair. Harper helped me maneuver the robe, so that I could maintain as much privacy as possible while he stitched my six large gashes. He rolled his eyes at my attempted modesty. "It's nothing I haven't seen before, you know."

"Oh, stitch and be quiet." By the time Cole was done, I could see morning light through his two story windows. No three foot by 18 inch windows for Cole. "What time is it?"

Harper consulted her watch with a yawn, "It's about 5:30."

I groaned. "I have to be at work in an hour and a half."

"I think you can take a sick day, Galine. At some point you're going to have to go in and give a statement to the police and to the hospital, but I think they'll give you a day." She made a correction, " _I'll_ make sure they give you at least a day."

"Thanks," I said with relief. I needed some time to sleep and figure out what exactly my statement was going to be. "Can I go home now? I want to crawl into my own bed."

"Sure."

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep again on the ten minute ride from Cole's place to mine. Harper had to prod me awake to help me up the steps to my apartment. My poor sister was probably frantic. "You didn't happen to call Katja, did you?"

Harper nodded. "I called her as soon as I heard you'd been taken. Once you called me from Morganton, I phoned her again and let her know you were okay. And I had Cole call her when we were in the bathroom."

"Was he nice?"

"I told him to be." She sighed, not any more certain of Cole's manners than I was.

We stood in front of my door. I realized my keys, like my clothes and phone, had scattered somewhere during my flight from the hospital. Harper had to open the door with the spare I had given her a while back.

"Katja?" I called. She sat on our lumpy couch, but when she heard my voice, she hopped up and raced towards me. Harper managed to grab Katja before she got her arms around me.

"Easy, Katja, she's got some broken ribs. Be gentle." She used her best nurse voice.

My sister's eyes were red and puffy. I felt lousy for making her worry so much. "Hey, Kiddo. I'm fine, really." I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I was so scared. We thought you were dead." Katja looked like she might start crying again.

"Yes, Galine, you had us both worried." My eyes flew to my bedroom door where the voice had come from. In the doorway stood my mother.
CHAPTER 5

"You look like hell," Senovia said. Well, hello to you, too.

Senovia looked like she always did: like a middle-aged woman trying to pass for twenty-nine. Her lipstick was a little too red, the leopard print dress a little too tight and a little too short, and her dye job was a little too coal black in an effort make sure her grays were covered.

I felt Harper stiffen next to me. I glanced at her and saw her eyes were flashing, and her hands were balled into fists. She was primed and ready to give this woman a piece of her mind. I reached out and touched her arm so she would look at me, and I shook my head. She nodded that the message was received—not worth it.

"Why are you here?" I asked in the calmest voice I could muster.

"How could you ask? Katja called yesterday me. Telling me crazy person had maybe killed you. I could not alone leave her. What if you dead?" Senovia clutched her chest with one hand and threw the other to her brow. Her English was still terrible, but her acting skills were fantastic.

"She's been good, Galine, honest. She even smoked outside," Katja said. Senovia put her arms around Katja and patted her in what I suppose was meant to be a comforting way. She might have even been able to pull off the attending mother bit if she hadn't been smirking. Sweet, innocent Katja turned around and beamed at her.

I noted she was still in the tank top and floral boxers she wore to bed. "Katja, don't you need to get ready for school?" The conversation I needed to have with Senovia was not one that I was going to be able to have with my sister present. She had this annoying habit of taking Senovia's side.

"Mom said I didn't have to go to school today. She said she was going to call and tell them we had a family emergency."

"Senovia is not your legal guardian, Kat. She can't call in for you. I have to do that, and I think it would be better for you to keep your normal routine. I'm fine, and there's no reason you should fall behind." I tried hard not to come across as a battle axe. I don't think I succeeded, because my sister began to turn an interesting shade of purple.

Before Katja was able to launch into whatever tirade she had planned, Harper, who had been observing all of this without comment, decided it was time to step in. Senovia might've been an unknown commodity, but my sister she knew how to handle.

"Katja, dear, if you hurry, I could drop you off on my way to work," Harper said. "Oh, and you have to wear that blue sundress I saw you in the other day. You were darling in it. You know, I think I have some nail polish in my purse that would look nice." As she was talking, Harper steered Katja to the bathroom and she was gone before she even knew what hit her.

"Oh, she is good." Senovia said as she eyed Harper's retreating form with grudging respect.

"She is great. What's even better, she cares about Katja. She's not playing an angle."

"I care about Katja." Senovia sniffed with her best insulted air.

"That's funny. Abandoning us on three separate occasions would suggest otherwise."

"You are so hateful, how you have always been, no?" Her lower lip started to tremble. "Why you think I had to leave always?"

Great, here came the accusations, accompanied by the waterworks display. Everything was always my fault. "Aw, don't bother. I'm not buying it, and Kat's in the shower." I needed to make her leave, but for that, I needed to get dressed first. I was done feeling vulnerable in a bathrobe.

I left her to fake cry at my kitchen table and headed to our bedroom to change. Senovia went outside to smoke—ha! Our room reeked of cigarettes. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed, but I was going to have to wash my sheets and blankets before I could get any sleep. I nearly wrenched off my closet door handle I was so mad.

"What are you doing?" Senovia called out. Deprived of an audience, she was getting curious. I ignored her and pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, then stomped back out to the main living area.

"You still look terrible. Would it kill you to be looking sexy, Galine? And why did you dye hair silly colors? Your hair was already ugly red, but this worse." She made a face like she had either eaten a lemon or smelled something bad, or both.

"Oh, you know me, Senovia. I'm hopelessly tacky."

"Well, that is true." She might not have heard the insult in my voice, but I could make out the disappointment in hers.

"Well, we're all ready to go now." Harper made the pronouncement in a loud voice to let us know she and Katja had reentered the room. "Galine, I'll give you a call after you've had a chance to get some sleep. Mrs. Karsavina, it was—" She paused. I could tell her etiquette training told her to say one thing, but she wanted to say another. "Interesting," she settled upon.

Katja still managed a "Bye, Mom!" before Harper pushed her out the door.

I was alone with Senovia, which was what I had wanted. But I wasn't any more ready to have a conversation with her than I had been when my sister was there. At twenty, I was fully grown, but I still felt like a frightened little girl under Senovia's disapproving glare. Katja gave me courage to stand up to her, and my sisters presence also provided Senovia with incentive to be better behaved. "You need to leave," I told her, and I hated my voice for shaking.

"I am here comfortable." Senovia smiled and took a step towards me.

"Leave, or I'll call the police."

"I think no. Katja invite me, and I not hurt anyone."

"I asked you to leave and you won't. That's enough." I hoped it was anyway.

"That is not why you want me gone. You hide something. They saying you were kidnapped yesterday. Everyone thinks you are hurt, but I know. You screw-up. I bet it your fault. Why else you not call police?" She began to circle where I stood in the kitchen. "What happened, Galine? Who did you make angry? What stupid thing did you do?" With each question she jabbed at me with her two inch acrylic nails.

"Stop it," I said. It should have been a demand, but it came out as a whisper. I crossed my arms over my chest and curled inward, trying to become a smaller target.

"Is true, no?" She laughed and jabbed me again.

I stumbled away from her, but the kitchen counter was behind me, and I had nowhere to go. "Please."

Instead of retreating, she came even closer, grabbing my wrist and twisting it. She leaned in until her breath was hot against my ear and I could smell the stale nicotine. "I know you. I will show sister what failure you are. You wait. I get her back." She gave my arm a yank. It sent tremors of pain through my ribs and pulled at some of my stitches. A cry of agony escaped my lips.

"Let her go. Now." The command came from the door of the apartment. I knew that voice. I had found him frightening before, but I had no idea how menacing he could be. Senovia dropped my wrist and turned to face this new threat. I had never seen my mother afraid before, but as she beheld the stranger at the door, she was terrified. She backed away from me.

I couldn't blame her. He looked like an avenging angel, dressed all in black. I had only caught a few brief glimpses of him the day before, and I was half conscious at the time. I remembered the dark hair and those ethereal blue eyes, but from my position in the dirt, I hadn't been able to appreciate his imposing presence. He towered above Senovia, and she was a tall woman at 5'8". He was lean and muscular, more like a swimmer than a body builder. I'd seen much bigger built guys who didn't scare me half as much. The intensity of his eyes and the set of his jaw dared you to test him. He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, and his hands came up in front of him in a boxer's stance. This guy wanted to hit something.

"She asked you to leave. If she wants you to do something, you do it." He stepped inside to clear the doorway and gestured with his hand that Senovia should make her exit. She did as she was told and left without another word. The stranger closed the door and locked it, then frowned at me and chided, "You should keep this locked. It's not safe."

I nodded. In their haste to leave, Harper and Katja must have left the door open. I continued to stare at him. I tried to back away again, forgetting I was already cornered.

The man walked over to me, but stopped at a respectable distance when I brought my hands up to ward him off. "You okay?" I gave another wordless nod. He tried to approach me again, but I cringed. "I'm not going to hurt you. I swear." I gave him a doubtful look. "Listen, if I wanted to hurt you, I could have left you with that woman." He had a point. He couldn't be all bad if he'd gotten rid of Senovia.

"Who was that?" He didn't seem angry anymore. His tone was warmer and he had stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets.

"My mother," I said, then lapsed back into silence.

His eyes widened at my response. "She's a piece of work."

I laughed, which prompted a smile from him. My breath caught and I stopped laughing. His whole face transformed when he smiled. Even when he was angry, he was beautiful, but happiness was stunning on him. I forgot to be afraid of him and flat out stared.

"Your eyes are green," he said.

A true statement, but I felt it came out of left field. What did I say to that? "Yes."

He yanked off the ratty ball cap he had on and shoved it into his back pocket. His long fingers raked through the shoulder length hair that fell down once the cap was off. "Yesterday you were unconscious. I didn't see them. Your eyes."

That made more sense, but I still wasn't sure what I was supposed to add. As a rule, guys that good looking weren't quite so awkward with women.

"You've got some meat on you, too." He nodded at me and smiled again.

Oh wow. "Excuse me?" I took a step towards him.

"No, that's great. Really great. That means you could stand to lose some weight."

He wasn't just awkward, he was insulting. I was going to punch him if he kept talking. "I think you need to shut up. I don't appreciate you stalking me back to my home to come tell me I'm fat."

"That's not what I meant." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You met Manya, right?"

I nodded, unsure where this was going.

"She was thin, skeletal. Remember?"

"Yes." My defenses crept back up. "I know some people are into that look—"

"It wasn't a 'look.' It wasn't even a choice, not completely. You look nice now, but you might start getting thinner, and I hope you'll take better care of yourself than Manya did."

I didn't want to cause him physical harm quite as much, but I was still confused. "Who _are_ you?"

"I'm sorry; this isn't going well, is it? I'm Sasha. Sasha Harris." He extended his right hand to me.

I studied it for a minute, trying to determine whether I wanted to take it. There was a curious line across his middle finger, ring finger, and pinkie below the knuckle. Above the line his fingers seemed different from the rest of his hand, but I couldn't quite distinguish why. I shook his rough and calloused hand. Nothing about those fingers felt different.

I was close enough that I could also smell him. He smelled of wood smoke and something spicy I couldn't identify. It made me want to lean in, maybe even lean against him. Embarrassed, I dropped his hand and took a step back. "I'm Galine Karsavina."

His reaction was as profound as Manya's had been. He closed the gap between us and looked like he was going to grab me. When my eyes got big, he caught the expression in time and brought his hands back to his sides. "I'm sorry, did you say 'Galine?'"

"Geez, what is it with my name? Manya freaked out when she heard it, too."

This time he did grab my hand. Okay, I was back to being scared again. "You've seen Manya? Did she say anything?"

I took in the haunted look on his face, remembered the fury of yesterday, and something clicked into place. "You loved her, didn't you?"

He uttered one sharp, brittle laugh and shook his head. "Yes, I loved her, for all the good it did me." Sasha dropped the hold he had on me, and paced across the dingy carpet to the other side of the living room.

Once I understood what Manya meant to him, his anger wasn't as frightening as it had been before. In fact, it seemed more than justified. I felt bad for him, but how did I answer his question? Did he want to hear about the rantings of a crazy woman? Thinking of Manya dying with her lips still pressed to my cheek made me shiver. I had experienced patients dying before, but never that intimately.

"She said some stuff about rest and exile. Honestly, it didn't make a whole lot of sense."

" _In the city of healing you will find your rest_ ," Sasha began.

"Yes, that's it!" Wait, city of healing... that's what Manya had been muttering about that day on the bus. Durham was the City of Medicine—city of healing.

"It's a prophecy Manya was given a long time ago." He continued from memory, " _The one God has redeemed will take your burden from you_." Sasha stared at me a bit perplexed. "Do you not know the meaning of your name, Galine?"

"No. It's Russian, I know that. My father picked it out."

"It means 'God has redeemed.'"

Now I was having a strong reaction. "So you're telling me all this is happening to me because of my name?"

"No, it doesn't work like that. You were likely chosen for some other reason, and Manya's prophecy offered a clue to your name." He smiled.

"Well it wasn't my religion. I don't even believe in God." I got excited for a moment, figuring that gave me an automatic out. You couldn't be a prophet if you didn't believe, right? I plopped down onto the couch.

Sasha decided to take a seat as well, but instead of joining me on the couch, he drug a kitchen chair over and placed it near the wall opposite the couch. Before he even sat down, though, he looked at the door, moved the chair again, and then sat. Sort of. He perched on the edge of the chair. I shook my head. This guy was so strange.

"I don't buy that."

"What do you mean, 'you don't buy that?' My beliefs have nothing to do with you."

"I don't think belief is the problem. Most people believe in some god or higher power."

"Well, I'm not most people," I said.

He laughed at my response. "Yes, I'm beginning to see that. Still, how do you explain everything you've experienced and seen?" He arched an eyebrow at me.

Well, he had me there. "Just because I don't have an explanation, doesn't mean yours is correct." I was almost yelling. Oh, but this man was infuriating.

"True, but isn't it possible your feelings have more to do with being angry at God than doubting He exists?"

The conversation was taking an uncomfortable turn. I was supposed to be getting answers, not questions. I decided a subject change was in order. "How did you find me?"

"Where's my truck?" He wasn't back to looking scary, but he was bordering on irritated. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to give him a good stare down. Instead of backing off, he grinned at me. "That's adorable. Are you trying to be intimidating?"

I could feel my blood pressure rising. "I drove it into a lake. It's fish food," I said.

He stopped smiling. "You didn't really, did you?"

I let him stew for a few seconds. "Your truck's at the Steak 'n Shake in Greensboro. I left the key in the visor. Now, how did you find me?"

"I found you the same way I imagine you found me. I know where you are all the time. I mean, I couldn't point to where you are on a map, but I know the general direction, and I keep going until I'm there."

That described what I felt the day before on my flight to the cabin. "And why do we have this odd connection? I assume it has something to do with me being Gamayun and you being... what exactly?"

"Well, it's complicated." He squirmed on his chair. "I'm the guardian or protector of sorts for the Gamayun, or at least I was."

"I need a protector?"

"Prophets aren't very popular. Nobody likes to be told they need to change their lives or be judged. Whenever you go to deliver a message, it's good to have some backup."

Great. So there could be pitchfork and torch wielding mobs awaiting me wherever I was sent. Now I felt even queasier about the second thing. "And you said 'was' not 'am.' If you're not the guardian anymore, who is?"

He shifted in his chair. When he couldn't settle, he got up out of the chair and started pacing the kitchen. If he didn't stop that pacing, he was going to wear a hole in our crappy floors.

"I haven't quit yet, so I guess I still am. I agreed to do it for Manya. I didn't realize it would transfer to the next Gamayun. I haven't even been helping Manya all that much. She made it clear she didn't want me. The only times I've seen her in years were when I was bailing her out of jail or a psych ward."

He stood still to face me. "You understand, right? Don't get me wrong, you've got the worst of it, for sure, but being the guardian isn't easy, either. You seem nice enough, and I'll help you until you get the hang of it, but I'm not sure I'm willing to dedicate the rest of my life to someone I don't even know. I mean, you don't need me, right? You strike me as the strong, independent type."

Sasha looked miserable by the end of this statement, but I still felt like the last one picked for dodge ball. Nothing he had said was unreasonable, and if the tables were turned I'd say the same thing. If I could walk away from this mess I would, so why did I feel so betrayed if he did what any sensible person would do? I had thought I was alone in this before, and that had been bad, but knowing that I didn't have to be was even worse.

"I'm sorry," he said. He sat back down, but scooted his chair so he was sitting right next to me.

"No, it's fine." I lied and plastered a smile on my face. "I do understand. I mean, it's one thing to put yourself out there for someone you love, but you're right, you don't even know me. I appreciate you helping me out for however long you're willing." Geez, why was I getting so worked up? I just met the guy. Was I that much of a sucker for a pretty face?

He let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks. I'm glad you get it."

I felt the exhaustion creep back up on me. My curiosity had kept it at bay for a while, but now I was discouraged and overwhelmed. Sleep sounded better than answers I didn't want to hear. I tried to stifle a yawn, but was unsuccessful.

Sasha was apologetic again. "Hey, have you been to bed at all? You're probably tired."

"I could sleep."

"Listen, we can continue this later. You need to sleep and heal, and think some stuff through. Do you have paper anywhere?" I pointed to the magnetic dry erase board and marker on the fridge. He scribbled his name and a number on it. "That's my cell. Give me a call when you want to get together again."

"I will." I got to my feet and walked him to the door.

Sasha hesitated in the doorway. "Lock this after me."

"Yes, I know." What was he waiting for? A handshake? A wave?

He stepped over the threshold to leave, then changed his mind and turned back. Before I even had time to react, he pulled me into an embrace, resting his chin on top of my head. "It will be okay, Galine, I promise," he whispered into my hair. Then he released me and was gone.

Where had that come from? I gave my head a shake, but the dopey grin on my face remained.
CHAPTER 6

I was too tired to wash the sheets, but I regretted it later. Senovia's cigarette smoke permeated my dreams, which were full of burning feathers. I awoke still feeling wretched, and I was also famished. My hands were slow and unresponsive, but I managed to get down a bowl and the box of Cheerios from the kitchen cabinet. At first, my hunger was so overpowering it was able to drown out everything else still swirling in the back of my brain demanding attention. After the Cheerios came a sandwich, then some grapes and yogurt. Still hungry, I heated up a can of chili. I realized I hadn't eaten at all yesterday.

I tried to take that thought back, as it started me down the rabbit hole of yesterday. Chili, chili, chili, I repeated like a mantra as I watched it rotate in the microwave. As soon as it was ready, my mantra became chew, chew, chew, but I was losing my grip. The cooked meat reminded me of the smell of burning feathers that had filled my nostrils all last night, and my hands began to shake.

The shaking feeling was threatening to spread, so I shook my hands on purpose, hoping to get out what needed getting out once and for all. But instead I brought my arms into it, and the rest of my body was soon trembling along with them. I made another desperate attempt to shove it all down. My brain insisted ignoring feelings works, that always works, that's supposed to work! But there was already too much down there—father lost, mother who haunted me, sister I had to take care of, job, money worries. My soul was crammed too full to swallow down concepts like prophet, shape-shifting, and the misery they would bring.

My whole body shuddered as I slid to the floor. I hugged my knees to my chest to still the tremors and waited for the inevitable sobbing to commence. But it never came. The shaking subsided and I was left feeling empty, numb, and alone. I sat there for a while, studying the fake wood grain on the plastic cabinets until I heard a phone ring. The ringing roused me from my stupor and sent me into a panic. I couldn't talk to anyone. All of a sudden, I felt claustrophobic. I needed out, away.

I grabbed my keys and bolted out of the apartment. I almost didn't lock the door, but a certain voice in my head made sure I at least took the time to do that. I saw a bus coming up the street, so I ran for it. I didn't even know where it was going, but it would take me away, and that was all I cared about.

I was triumphant when I caught the bus, but it didn't last long. Once I was sitting, it was too quiet and too familiar to me to be distracting. I needed to move, to not think. I got off at the next stop on Duke University's campus. Miles of sidewalk greeted me, so I headed in a random direction.

I didn't even raise my head to take in the scenery. I had seen it all before anyway, so I concentrated on the sidewalk and putting one foot in front of the other. Every so often I came in contact with a herd of students, but I refused to deter from my straight line course. Laughing and carrying on as if I wasn't even visible, they would flow around my stubborn position without even brushing me. This should have pleased me, but it made me angrier. I continued until I ran out of sidewalk at a set of large stone steps.

I knew the steps. I turned around, determined to put as much distance between me and those steps as possible, when I felt a sudden surge of defiance. Fuming, I spun back around and glared at Duke Chapel. I had always thought the name was ridiculous. A chapel is a cute little wooden building. What stood before me was an immense cathedral of stone and stained glass. The sun shone on it, giving the building a supernatural glow that made it even more imposing.

"Call a spade a spade!" I yelled at the towering wooden doors. "It's a cathedral, for crying out loud." Emboldened by my little outburst, I marched up the steps, yanked open the heavy doors and stamped into the church. I was going to give this God a piece of my mind.

While I had passed the church countless times, I had never gone in. What I saw gave me a bit of pause. It was a Tuesday, so the inside was deserted, and the silence transformed the beauty of the architecture into a hushed sacred space. Everyone likes to picture themselves as a bit of a rebel, but I'm a rule follower. I don't like to make waves or offend. On any other day, seeing this scene would have been enough to get me to calm down and walk back out.

Today it fueled my rage. I kicked a pew a couple of times and let loose with a yell. It echoed in the empty church. "I don't want this! I didn't ask for this! I don't deserve this!" I shouted as loud as I could and the anger was so overpowering I began shaking again. "Haven't you done enough to me already? Why can't you leave me alone?"

I paused in my rant a moment and listened as the echoes faded. The hushed silence returned, and I thought about filling it with yelling again, but I didn't. Instead, I waited in the quiet. With alarm, I realized that a part of me was expecting an answer. More silence was all I received.

My anger evaporated and was replaced with hurt. I realized I was crying. I wiped at the tears with the back of my hand and ran out of the Chapel. This time I wasn't following sidewalks, but was running half blind. Instinct or memory must have taken over, because when I started paying attention, I discovered I was on East Campus.

I saw the Bivins Building off to my left. My father's office had been there, but I knew that was not what had drawn me to the East Campus. He had a desk and file cabinets and other boring things that had never captured my attention as a child. I doubted it would hold much interest for me now, either, since his office had been occupied by someone else for over a decade. No, I knew why I was there, and as I glanced to my right, I saw it.

The building looked like an old white house with three stories and a front porch. Generic green bushes grew out front alongside a couple of trees. The unassuming exterior gave no hints to the wonders I had observed inside. I was standing in front of the Ark Dance Studio. It was where I had seen my father fly.

With hesitant steps, I climbed the narrow walkway that earned the studio its name, forcing people to enter two-by-two. I remembered skipping up the entrance with my dad, holding his hand. I would swing both our arms over my head, and he always laughed. He would remind me for the umpteenth time as we entered to be quiet and good while he was teaching. It was unnecessary. Once the class started, I was always transfixed. I would sit cross-legged in the doorway and marvel as my father and his students leapt into the air and hovered there longer than gravity should allow.

I stood outside that same doorway. The studio looked the same, and students inside were still leaping in ways that caught my breath. The professor was even a tall muscular man with dark hair. He held himself with the same graceful air that my father had, and he smiled and shouted encouragement to his students. My chest constricted at the sight of it.

The music was chaotic and discordant, and it expressed well the frenzy of my mood. I recognized the piece—Stravinsky's The Firebird. My chest clenched tighter, so much so, I was finding it hard to breathe. The Firebird had always been one of my father's favorites, and mine, too. I had forgotten, but in the studio with the familiar music enveloping me, I remembered my father dancing to it with me in the role of the mystical bird. He would hurl me into the air, and I would shriek with delight, begging for him to toss me higher and higher. I would dissolve into giggles, and he would kiss my nose and cheeks calling me his pet name for me—ptichka, little bird.

I watched the ballerina dancing the title role. My eyes saw the strangers in their tank tops and shorts, but my brain was stuck on my encounter in the past. Was it possible my father had known? He had believed in God. In fact, he had been devout. But if he had any inkling of what was to come, he would have told me. Wouldn't he?

"Excuse me..." The voice of the professor broke through my reverie. "Can I help you with something?" He had spotted me in the doorway.

"N-n-noo," I stammered as I backed out of the studio. I turned and ran.

My broken ribs didn't let me run very far. I slowed to a walk and wandered until I hit Ninth Street a couple of blocks away, then ducked inside a coffee shop. I realized that in my hurry to leave the apartment I had left my purse at home. No coffee for me, but I sat anyway at one of the tables in the far back corner. I must have made too much noise, because I got a dirty look from a couple of people studying. The level of frowning indicated to me they were Ph.D students instead of undergrads. Durham has more Ph.D's per capita than any other city in the country, so I was always running into disapproving intellectuals. Coffee shops were fraught with them.

I knew I should go home. Katja would be home from school and worried. I was sure that Harper had been at the other end of the call that had set me off in the first place, so she would be worried, too. I needed to be responsible.

I was so tired of being responsible. I had been both mother and father to Katja for so long, sacrificing all of what I wanted for her. What got me through was the thought that one day she would be an adult, and I might get to do some living on my own terms.

But freedom was no longer an option. Nothing would be on my own terms ever again. I was now the puppet of a pitiless deity, pulled wherever he wanted me to go. I was sulking, and I knew it, but I felt entitled.

"It occurs to me I should have asked for your number, too."

I looked up from the scarred tabletop to see Sasha standing in front of me. Geez, I needed to pay better attention. People just kept creeping up on me. He wore a cheeky grin, and I couldn't help but smile.

"I don't have one at the moment," I told him. "I think I lost it somewhere over the Blue Ridge Mountains."

"You've got to watch those Blue Ridges. They're plum ornery." With a wink, he stuffed his long frame into the too small chair across from me, then dug into his jeans pocket. He retrieved a small black flip phone and pushed it across the table towards me. "Here you go."

I eyed it like a dead animal and didn't pick it up. "I can't take that."

"Boy, she wasn't kidding when she said you'd be a bear about it."

My eyes flashed with irritation. "What are you talking about? Hey, aren't you supposed to be picking up your truck and heading back to your cabin? Why are you still here?"

"Nice to see you, too. You're in a mood." He fixed his blue eyes on me and said, "I would love to be home right now. In fact, I was putting the truck back in the barn when I got a frantic phone call from your friend Harper."

"Harper? How does she even know your number?"

"I wrote it on the fridge, remember? She came over to check on you because you wouldn't answer the phone. All she could find pointing to your whereabouts was my name and number, so she called it."

"What did you tell her?" I couldn't think of a single explanation he could give her that she would believe.

"I told her not to worry, and that I was on my way to meet you."

"But you didn't know where I was." I pointed out the flaw in his plan.

"Yes, but I knew you were back in the direction of Durham, and since she didn't know where you were either, she wasn't in a position to call my bluff. I knew I'd find you; it was a matter of getting there." He looked proud of himself. "Granted, it would have been a whole lot easier if you had a cell phone, so I could have called you instead of driving another three hours back here to find you."

"It doesn't mean I would have answered it." I still refused to pick up the phone from the table.

He leaned forward, placing his hands over mine. "Listen, you've been through a lot, and I get that. You have every right to be upset, but don't take it out on the people who are trying to help you." His forehead creased as he spoke. Having said his piece, he withdrew his hands and leaned back.

As Sasha looked down, I was distracted by his eyelashes. They were so long, the kind every girl wants, but, by some perverse twist of fate, end up belonging to men. Every time I would start to get good and mad at him, he would do something nice or I'd notice some new gorgeous feature of his, and it would fluster me. I knew he wasn't doing it on purpose, but I wished it would stop.

I sighed and tried to clear my head. "You're right. I'm sorry." I took the phone and put it my pocket. "What's the number?"

He looked up surprised. "That's it? No more fighting me?"

"I was having a bit of a pity party, but I'm done now. What's the number?" I repeated.

"It's programmed in there under your name. I put my number in there already, too."

"Thanks. For the phone, and for driving back again. You didn't have to do that. I would have gone home eventually." A thought occurred to me: "How did you explain how you knew me to Harper?"

"Family friend. I said our families knew each other from the old country."

"Old country?" I couldn't help but laugh. "I was born here, and from the sounds of it, you were, too."

"I didn't say we were from the old country, I said our families. I picked up on your mother's accent at the apartment. St. Petersburg?"

I nodded, impressed. Most people weren't able to pinpoint her accent. "Yes, both my parents were from there. Yours?"

"My mother spent most of her life in Russia, and she always loved St. Petersburg. My father was an American, though."

I noticed that he had referred to both of his parents in the past tense. "Are neither of your parents still living?" I hoped the question wasn't too tacky.

"No."

"I'm sorry." I was apologizing for both for the unfairness of it and for bringing it up. We sat in silence, until my stomach gurgled loud enough for both of us to hear. "Sorry," I apologized again, embarrassed.

Sasha studied me with the full focus of his gaze. As his eyes continued to linger, I started to blush. "Stand up," he commanded. I obeyed, but was confused. He twirled his finger in the air. "Turn around." I became uncomfortable as he continued to scrutinize me.

"Why?" I kept my feet planted on the scuffed wooden floor.

"Would you just do it, please?" He huffed at me with impatience.

I glared at him, but turned one rotation. He placed one warm hand on my waist, and with two fingers of the other hand he pulled at one of the belt loops of my jeans. I froze, very aware of how close he was to me. My throat felt dry as I looked up into his eyes.

"These jeans are loose." His hands slid along my arms, sending involuntary shivers along them. "You shirt looks big, too. You haven't been eating enough." His voice was heavy with accusation.

"I didn't eat anything yesterday. I was busy," I said. "But I ate a bunch of stuff around noon." Why was I explaining myself to him?

He looked at his watch, "Galine, it's eight pm! Are you telling me you haven't had anything to eat since noon? And you didn't eat at all yesterday?" He was bent out of shape about this.

"Sasha, what's the big deal? You pointed out yourself I have plenty to spare. I promise, I'm a good eater. I wish that wasn't the case, but it is."

"The problem is you are more bird than human now in a lot of ways. That means your metabolism is a lot higher. You have to eat roughly 13,000 calories a day to maintain your weight."

My eyes grew wide. "Seriously?"

"Yes. You have to increase your food intake, or you'll lose those nice curves of yours." He said this in the same tone as he had conveyed the rest of the information, so I almost didn't catch the last part. I didn't have much time to react, though, as he started steering me up the stairs by my left elbow.

"Where are we going?"

Sasha ushered us right out of the coffee shop and on to Ninth Street. The sun had gone down, and the retail shops were beginning to close. The sidewalk was still busy, though—full of undergrads in search of cheap tacos and beer. "We're going to get you some food. Is there a burger place around here? They have lots of fat and protein."

"Finally, something good to come out of all of this. I can eat whatever I want!"

Sasha's serious face cracked a bit and he laughed. "Well, I'm glad you found a silver lining. Now, burgers?"

"I left my purse at home." I could feel my cheeks start to warm with the confession. "I can just catch a bus back home and eat something there."

"No, you're eating now. It's already been too long. I'll buy." I started to protest, but he gave me the scary face, so I shut up.

"Dain's Place has a good burger, and it's down there." I pointed to the other end of Ninth Street.

"Let's go," he said, grabbing my hand and hauling me down the street.

"You're really worried about those curves, aren't you?" I was joking, but he must have thought I was being serious.

"Yes." His voice deepened, and he gave me a look that took me in from top to bottom. My face blazed hot, and I'm sure turned cherry red. No one had ever looked at me like that before. He saw me blushing and his face became more casual again with a lazy smile. "You get embarrassed easy, huh?" I couldn't manage to get anything out in response. "Relax," he assured me, "I'm not going to eat you or anything."

Sasha opened the door to Dain's and we walked into the small bar. We took a seat in one of the few booths. Sasha observed the cramped, dim atmosphere and raised his eyebrows.

"It's basic, but good," I told him. I hoped the positive recommendation would reassure him. He still didn't look impressed.

The server appeared to take our drink order. "Diet Coke."

"She'll have a regular Coke," Sasha corrected.

"Oh yeah, regular."

"And bring us a basket of fries to start with," Sasha interjected before the server could escape.

I looked over the menu, squinting in the bar's meager lighting. We had come in for a burger, so I supposed that was what I was getting. "Are you eating, or is this solely a mission to stuff me?"

"I'm eating. I haven't had a chance to have anything." He glanced up from his menu. "Oh, and you're ordering dessert."

"Yes, sir." I gave him a mock salute, feeling happier than I had in a while. Granted, the downsides to my current situation still outweighed the positives, but I was getting to eat junk food with a hot guy. For at least the next hour, I was going to make the best of it.

"So you're saying because of this whole weird metabolism thing I'll lose some weight unless I eat like a linebacker? You're not pulling my leg are you? 'Cause that would be mean." I took a big gulp of my Coke. Man, it was good. I had forgotten what the real stuff tasted like.

"I'm sure you already weigh a fraction of what you did before. I'm guessing you're around fifty, fifty-two pounds."

I nearly snorted the soda through my nose. "All right, now I know you're pulling my leg."

"Get on the scale when you get home if you don't believe me," he said. "You've got hollow bones now. Your muscles are different, too. The Gamayun's body is designed to be lightweight to make flying easier. The bone and muscle changes are permanent, even though you don't technically need them all the time. When you transform, you also get the air sacks and the feathers."

"I think I remember reading about birds having hollow bones in freshman biology. What are air sacks? Is that why my chest got all balloon-y and I floated?"

He laughed at my description. "Yes, those are the air sacks. They're similar to lungs. You don't ever fully exhale all the air you take in, though, and the buoyancy helps keep you aloft." He continued, "I remember Manya telling me that the air sacks transform before the wings, and that makes you float until you have the feathers to help you counteract the sacks."

"Oh, that part was very distressing!" I remembered holding onto the hospital bed for dear life.

"She said it was helpful once you got the hang of it. Then you're already in the air when the feathers come. It makes for a quicker take off."

"I find that no less distressing. That implies the need for a quick take off—say because someone's chasing you."

Before I could ask another question, our waiter approached with the basket of fries. This wasn't the type of conversation you wanted people to overhear. After he left, I started to open my mouth to begin talking again, but Sasha stuffed a fry in it.

"No more talking. Just eating."

I made a face, but I ate. I thought I might get a chance to ask more questions after the fries, but then the burgers arrived. Sasha shot me a look that made it clear that the ban on talking had not been lifted. I didn't dare to let out a peep until dessert, and that was in response to a direct question.

"What in the world are you doing?" Sasha was mystified as he watched me deconstruct my dessert.

Dain's was the only restaurant I knew of that let you order Oreos and a glass of milk as a dessert option, which was one of the reasons I liked the place. The cookies—in all their processed glory—had a special place in my heart. My dad had taught me the proper way to eat an Oreo, which I shared with Sasha. "You twist them open, lick off all the icing, and then put the two halves back together. Then you carefully dunk them in the milk until they are so saturated if you dunked them one more time, they'd fall apart into chocolate mush at the bottom of the glass. That's the tricky part. You have to know when to stop with the milk and put it in your mouth." I slurped up my current chocolate cookie halves while demonstrating.

"I'm not sure if I should be impressed or disturbed."

I ignored his comment and continued my Oreo ritual until all eight were gone. "I'm so full."

"Good. Now I'll let you go home. I'm parked in the lot across the street. I'll give you a ride."

After Sasha paid for our meal, I followed him out of Dain's and across the street. I searched the lot for his old Ford, but didn't see it anywhere. "Where's the truck?" Ninth Street had one parking lot. Maybe he parked on one of the side streets?

"I didn't drive the truck." Sasha pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and jangled them in his hand. "I mostly use it to haul stuff because it's so old. I told you I put it back in the barn."

"Oh, I guess I didn't think about you having another car." As someone who didn't even own one vehicle, it was hard to imagine someone possessing two.

He smiled that heart-stopping smile of his. "How did you think I got to Durham when you stole the truck?"

"I dunno. Bus?"

He laughed and a woman passing on the sidewalk turned and looked at us. "Yeah, the Watauga County to Durham Line runs every fifteen minutes. I hopped on the next one."

"All right, you've made your point." I started to blush again. "I guess that makes more sense, too. You had to be driving something when I stole the truck, huh?"

"Why did you bolt anyway?" The teasing tone disappeared from his voice. "I've been meaning to ask you that. It doesn't make any sense. You flew all the way out there to find me, and then when I went into town to get more medical supplies and clothes for you, you left."

I had hoped we weren't ever going to talk about this. I was already horrified when I had thought about it in the privacy of my own home, but forming the words while he stared at me made it worse. "I was scared," I mumbled, and hoped that was enough.

"Of what?"

He wasn't going to let this go. "Well, for one thing, I didn't know who you were, and you weren't exactly nice before I passed out."

Sasha nodded. "Yeah, I was upset. I'm sorry about that. You took me by surprise." This seemed to be enough for him, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I thought the subject was closed, but then he added, "Oh, I still have the clothes if you want them. I don't have any use for them."

The mention of clothes had me flustered all over again, and I began to turn beet red. I couldn't even respond. I tried to recover before he noticed, but Sasha was much too observant for his own good. He was especially keen when it came to my embarrassment.

"Oh. Oh! I get it. You think I saw you naked, don't you?" To his credit, I think he was trying to keep a straight face, but he wasn't succeeding. I was so mortified that I started walking away from him. He caught me by the wrist, though, and wouldn't let me escape. He pulled me back towards him and using his other hand, forced my chin up so I had to look at him. "Galine, I didn't see anything, I swear."

"You promise?" I whispered.

"Promise."

I was still embarrassed that we even had to talk about it, but overall felt a great deal better. "Where's your car?" I was desperate for a subject change.

"I didn't drive a car." He pointed to the vehicle right next to us, and I took in the sleek black lines of a Ducati motorcycle. It was a beautiful bike. My father would have loved it.

"Absolutely not." I crossed my arms and took a step back from the motorcycle.

"What do you mean?" Sasha opened a storage compartment on the back of the bike and pulled out a battered leather motorcycle jacket. It was dark brown with a red lining, and as he shrugged it on it molded to his body. The jacket was so worn, I wondered how it could still offer him any protection. He pulled out a helmet and offered it to me.

I made no effort to take it. "I don't know how I could be any clearer. I will not get on that thing."

"Why?" Irritation gave a hard edge to his question. His quicksilver mood flipped again, and he smiled. "Are you scared?" Sure he had figured it out, he offered me the helmet again. "There's nothing to worry about, Galine. Hold onto me and lean into the turns."

I took another step back to make it obvious I was not taking the helmet. My voice was like ice as I informed him, "I do not ride motorcycles. Ever." Sasha wasn't the only one who could do cold fury.

"Well, that's too bad. You're going to have to get used to it." He shoved the helmet at me a third time.

"I don't see why I should."

"Because they're the best escape vehicle there is. They're fast, you can go a long time on one tank of gas, and you can evade people trying to kill you a lot easier by going places a car can't follow. You might be able to fly away after your message is delivered, but I can't!"

I froze, speechless, as Sasha loomed in front of me. His eyes seemed to have grown a shade paler, and his jaw muscles clenched in anger. His arms were trembling and his hands gripped the helmet so tightly the knuckles were turning white. Sasha's earlier statement about how being the guardian wasn't easy came to mind. Yes, I supposed it wasn't. It didn't help when the Gamayun was being a brat.

Ashamed, I explained, "My father was killed riding a motorcycle." After visiting the studio earlier, the wound had been raw, hovering right under the surface. I could feel the tears threatening, so I took a couple of deep breaths.

Sasha was calm again. I was astounded how fast his anger came and went. He placed the helmet on the back of the motorcycle, and took me in his arms. I stiffened, unprepared for him to touch me. When he held me close, it made me want to cry more. Plus, now I could smell him again. I wasn't sure if the scent was cologne, or soap, or just him, but whatever it was, it did a number on me. I relaxed and eased against him for a couple of minutes. Then, realizing I was playing a dangerous game, I pulled away. That didn't help much, because my focus shifted to his eyes, which were full of concern. I took a full step back, so I could think.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." He started to reach for me again.

Whoo, but was he a toucher. If this kept up I was going to have to talk to him about it. I'm sure it meant nothing to him, but it messed with my head. I put my hands behind my back so he wouldn't be tempted to hold them, then took a deep breath and tried to focus on what we'd been talking about. "It's okay. I should have explained first instead of pitching a fit. I ought to be getting home, though."

"So the bike is out for transportation. How did you get here?"

"A combination of bus and walking, but at this point we're about a mile from my apartment."

"It's a nice night. You want to walk?"

"Yeah, I'll do that. Thanks for dinner. I'll see you later." Having said what I felt was a sufficient good-bye, I started in the direction of home. I didn't get far before Sasha grabbed my hand.

"You know, you're going to pull my arm out of my socket doing that. If you aren't done talking to me, you could say my name."

"You could also stop walking away so abruptly. Have you ever tried saying goodbye properly to someone?" I noticed he had made no move to let go of my hand. "When I said 'you,' what I meant was you and me. I'm walking you home."

"You don't have to do that. It's already going to be late by the time you get home." I looked down at our joined hands. Yep, I was going to have to have that touching talk. I opened my mouth to start it, but something got lost between my brain and my lips and nothing came out.

"I am not going to let you walk a mile alone at night in the neighborhood you live in."

"What's wrong with my neighborhood?" I was well aware of its deficiencies, but he wasn't allowed to make fun of it any more than Harper was.

He cocked one eyebrow. "Really? You're going to try to argue this one?"

I sighed. Sasha was right, and we had done enough fighting for one evening. "I guess not." I started off in the direction of home again, this time with Sasha at my side. He still refused to let go of my hand. The contact was warm and comforting.

When we arrived at my apartment complex, I was surprised to see Harper's Audi parked in front of the stairs. "Harper is still here," I mentioned to Sasha as we headed up to the apartment. I dug my keys out of my pocket and unlocked the door.

"Glad to see you locked it this time." Sasha had to comment. I shot him a look. As soon as we were in the door, Harper pounced on me.

"Galine, for heaven's sake, where have you been? You can't—" She cut off her tirade in midstream as she got her first look at Sasha. Her mouth formed an "O" as she took in all of him. I was already uncomfortable enough with her staring, and then she gave him the once over again.

"Harper!" I hissed, horrified at her lack of manners. She was usually so polite.

"I'm sorry," she said in her most genteel Southern accent, "I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you. I'm Harper Carlisle."

I immediately became aware of how frumpy I looked in my jeans and plain blue cotton tee. I had been so upset, I wasn't even sure I had brushed my hair before I left the apartment. Harper, on the other hand, looked spectacular. When not forced to wear scrubs, she opted for dresses or skirts, and today was no different. She had on a turquoise dress that was embellished with tulle rosettes and made her eyes look that much bluer. A slim white belt accentuated her small waist, and a bold cream and gold floral necklace completed the look. She had her hair down and curled so it fell in soft waves over her bare shoulders.

Harper sashayed over to Sasha and extended her hand in such a way that he could have either bowed over it or kissed it, or both.

He did neither, preferring to keep his hand clasped in mine. "I'm Sasha Harris. We spoke on the phone earlier."

"Yes, of course. Funny, I had pictured you much older. And shorter. And not as good looking." What had gotten into her? I tried to communicate with a pointed look that she needed to behave. "Old family friend, did you say?"

"Yes, although I haven't seen Galine in a long time," he lied.

"Hmm." Harper chewed on her bottom lip. "And how did you find her after all this time?" I noticed that she wasn't looking at his face when she asked this, but at our joined hands. Feeling like I'd been caught doing something I wasn't supposed to, I dropped his hand.

Sasha glanced at me, surprised at my reaction, then turned to answer Harper's question. "I found her as lovely and stubborn as she's always been." I noted a hint of frustration in his tone.

Harper laughed, clearly satisfied with his answer, and turned her grilling to me. "And what did you think you were doing today, young lady, running off like that? You didn't even take the phone or your purse. We thought that crazy lady had come back and taken you."

Sasha and I both flinched at her description of Manya. I glanced in his direction to make sure he was okay, but he had already composed himself again. "Harper, you're right. It was irresponsible. I had a nightmare, panicked, and had to get out."

She stopped scowling at me, and her eyes grew wide. "Oh." Disappointed at being deprived of a full lecture, she couldn't resist adding, "Well, don't pull this nonsense again, or I'll be madder than a wet hen."

Sasha leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Wet hen?"

"She's Southern." It was the quickest explanation I could give in a stage whisper. I was Southern too, but Triangle Southern didn't count when compared to Winston-Salem Southern, which is where Harper was from. Mountains Southern, which I guessed Sasha must be, was yet a third breed. It was a wonder we could all communicate. Harper was giving me a forced smile and narrowed eye combination that let me know she did not appreciate our murmuring, so I focused back on her.

"Someone pointed out to me today that I shouldn't be so hard on people that are trying to help. You've been amazing, and I appreciate it," I told her. I walked over to give her a hug.

"It's all right, honey," Harper said, giving my shoulders an extra squeeze.

"I should let you two talk. I still have a walk and a drive ahead of me," Sasha reminded me.

"Oh yeah, you need to get going. Thanks again for dinner and walking me home."

I decided at this point that a good bye hug was appropriate. We were supposed to be old family friends, after all. I went in for a quick embrace, but when I let go, Sasha didn't. He kept his arms around me, and then he kissed me softly on the cheek. "Goodbye, Galine." He chuckled at my dumbstruck expression. "Proper goodbyes are much nicer, don't you think?"

I still hadn't quite recovered after he had left. I was staring at the closed door when Harper's squealing brought me back. "Ooooo, Galine! That man is hot!"

I turned to face her, blushing for what felt like the millionth time that evening. "You!" I wagged a finger at her. "What was all that nonsense before? The flirting, and then the leading questions?"

She rolled her eyes, "Well, I had to know."

"Had to know what?"

"Whether he liked you or not."

I sighed. "It's not like that, Harper."

She snorted in an unladylike fashion. "I beg to differ. That man only had eyes for you. He wouldn't even spare a glance in my direction. He's got you pegged, too—stubborn."

"I'm telling you, he's made it clear he isn't interested in a long-term commitment." At least, that was the simplest way I could explain it to her. She still looked skeptical. "Besides, his girlfriend just died." At least I thought Manya was his girlfriend. She wasn't his wife, was she? I hadn't thought it appropriate to ask.

"Oh wow, really? Well, then maybe you should be careful. You don't want to be the rebound girl." She sighed. "That's too bad. He's good looking."

"Yes, I believe that's been established."

"Hey, even though I have Cole doesn't mean I can't appreciate a pretty face. I'm always on the lookout for you, after all."

"Gee, thanks."

"Well, don't thank me too much. I couldn't buy you more than one day off at work. You're expected to come in tomorrow and explain what happened. I think the Durham Police are going to be there to take your statement, too."

My stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles. I was going to have to face the music.
CHAPTER 7

I tried sleeping, but at 4 am, after I had bitten my fingernails to the nub, I gave up and started pacing. My route started as a small circuit in the living room, but grew larger to include trips to the kitchen to eat. After dinner, I figured I wouldn't be hungry for a while, but it hadn't taken long for me to be famished again. At the rate I was eating, our grocery bill was going to double. That thought made me pace faster. We didn't have a lot of extra cash to spare.

I was also trying to concoct my story for the police. I began to dial Sasha's number three times to ask his advice, but managed to stop each time. He had mentioned bailing Manya out of jail, so I was sure he had some experience with the police, but I didn't want to drag him into this. He had made it clear that he wanted a minimal role, and he'd already been more than kind. Sooner or later, I was going to have to learn how to deal with this Gamayun stuff alone.

The problem was I'm a wretched liar. I also wasn't sure if lying was allowed. As a prophet, wasn't that against the rules or something? I mean, the whole gig was about truth-telling, wasn't it? Hmm, maybe telling outrageous lies would get me fired. I brightened at this idea, but then figured it would only lead to punishment. The worst punishment I could dream up was keeping my job as the Gamayun, so that would, of course, be my sentence. I sighed and continued to pace, wracking my brain for an explanation I could give to the police that would be both workable and believable.

I decided to run with the story that Harper had already provided me: that Manya had taken me hostage and was responsible for the injuries I had sustained. I felt bad for Sasha's sake. It felt tacky telling lies about Manya when she wasn't alive to defend herself. I knew the cops were going to want details, though—the stickiest one being how we had escaped from a fourth floor window. The police would also want to know where Manya had taken me. Harper might have told them I had called from Morganton, which was too close to Sasha's place for my liking. I didn't want any suspicion falling on him, since there was liable to be some evidence tying him to Manya.

Inspiration dawned from an unlikely source—Senovia. She always had an excuse for her disappearances. The first time she left us was on the anniversary of my father's death. I was eight and Katja was four. I remember she was at the stove making us macaroni and cheese. We were all sad remembering the day, and she was trying to cheer us up by making our favorite dish. The noodles were done and she was adding the cheese when she set the wooden spoon down on the counter and walked out the door. She returned four days later.

Katja had spent most of the time crying and asking me what to do. I was eight; how was I supposed to know? Our grandparents and the rest of our extended family still lived in Russia, and Senovia had isolated herself so much after my father had died, there weren't even any family friends to call. Their friends had reminded her of my dad, so she had cut them out of her life. We were on our own. With no one to turn to, we ate what was in the house—except for the macaroni, which we were too terrified to touch. I kept telling Kat that Senovia would be back any minute, even though I had no idea if that was true.

When my mother finally returned, she was wearing the same clothes as when she left, except the sleeve of her blouse was torn, and she had somehow lost a shoe. Her hair was mussed and she wore a vacant expression. She went straight back to the stove and picked up the wooden spoon where she had left it and went back to stirring the macaroni that was crusted to the pan. The whole episode put me off mac and cheese forever.

We were so relieved she was back, and so afraid she would leave again, that it took months before I asked her where she had gone. Her forehead had wrinkled in concentration, and then she offered the only explanation I ever received: "I do not remember." Even then, I found this answer frustrating, but there wasn't much I could do to get any further details. When I think of that look on her face when she returned, though, I'm willing to believe her.

However, when she used the same excuse the second time she left, I was no longer willing to buy it. This time we were thirteen and nine, and Senovia was gone for seven weeks. Our situation was much the same. We still had no family or friends to help, but I was older and a bit more practical. This time only Katja cried, and I got about the business of living. I taught myself how to cook, and when Katja would ask if Senovia was coming back, I told her the truth. "I don't know."

We were once again faced with financial hardships. When Senovia returned this time, it was to find us in the dark huddled in the same bed for warmth. It was February, and the electric bill was past due, so the heat had been cut off. Thankfully North Carolina doesn't get that cold, or we would have frozen in our beds. We'd eaten all the food that was left in the house, and I had been forced to start shoplifting. I was so angry at Senovia for leaving us that I wanted to scream, but I bit my tongue for Katja's sake. As much as I hated to admit it, we needed her, and I didn't want to scare her off again. I was old enough at this point to know that if child services had learned of our situation, Kat and I could have been sent to a foster home. Or worse, separate foster homes.

So instead, I plotted. I knew it was only a matter of time before she left us again. I researched my legal rights and what it would take to live on our own. To make sure we wouldn't have to steal, I took baby-sitting jobs, and when I was old enough, I got a part-time job at the mall. I opened a bank account and saved every penny.

Senovia left again when I was seventeen, and I had the forms for emancipation filed by the end of the week. When she still hadn't returned by my eighteenth birthday, instead of celebrating, I spent the day with a lawyer filling out paperwork to get legal custody of my sister. By the time she did come home, Katja and I were no longer living there, waiting for her to return with her pitiful excuses.

Still, Senovia's "I don't remember" had worked the first time. Katja even believed it the second time. I didn't have any better ideas for my current situation, so I'd have to hope the excuse would be enough for the police. I had, after all, been unconscious for a while from blood loss. I tried to convince myself it was almost the truth, but I wasn't succeeding.

I heard Katja stirring in the bedroom. She joined me, still half asleep, at the kitchen table. As she picked up the box of Cheerios to pour some, four Cheerios plopped into her bowl. "Hey, what happened to all the cereal? The box was almost full yesterday."

"Sorry, I was hungry. I'll pick up some more today."

"What am I supposed to eat this morning?" she grumbled.

I did a mental inventory of what was left in the fridge and cabinets. There wasn't much. "Pop-Tart?" I hadn't bought them in ages, but I thought there were some lurking in a cabinet somewhere. They had so many preservatives they never went bad, right?

She narrowed her eyes. "The frosted kind or plain?"

I got up to root through the cabinet for them. "Aha!" I yelled as I spied the familiar foil package, box nowhere to be found. "Mystery flavor." Katja didn't look enthused. I sighed and opened them. "Frosted and. . ." I took a cursory sniff. "Strawberry, I think."

"Okay." She sighed, doing her best impression of a martyr, and put them in the toaster.

I changed the subject, hoping I wouldn't have to explain why I ate an entire box of Cheerios. "Hey, I'm sorry for making you worry again yesterday. I got a new cell phone, though, so you can have the other one back. I programmed my new number into yours."

I was successful in distracting Katja, but I steered her towards another topic I didn't want to talk about. "Oh, it's okay. Harper told me you were on a date." Katja wiggled her eyes at me over her Pop-Tart. "She said he was some old friend or something, but I didn't remember him."

"You were probably too little." I hoped the lie sounded convincing. "And it wasn't a date."

"Did he pay?"

"Yes, but—" I began.

"I thought I heard him bring you home, right?"

"Yes."

"Did he kiss you good night?"

"On the cheek. That doesn't count."

"It was a date."

"Oh, and you're the expert."

"In this household, I am. When was the last time you went on a date?" The little twerp sounded so smug. I tried to remember, but it had been a long time. "You don't even know!" She laughed at me around a mouth full of preservatives.

"I do too. Give me a minute." I thought about it and came up with one. "Last New Year's Harper set me up with that awful cousin of hers, Freddy what's-his-name."

"Galine, that was eight months ago. You're proving my point. I've gone out with lots of guys since then."

"Yes, and don't think that doesn't keep me up at night. I should have stuck to my original decision and not let you date until you were forty." I frowned at my too beautiful sister. She had inherited my father's dark hair and Senovia's brown eyes. She was also blessed with a dancer's tall and slender frame. Unlike my unruly curly hair, hers was straight and fell in a shiny curtain around her, framing her high cheekbones. I should have resented her, as I had at first with Harper for being so perfect, but it had never been that way with Kat.

My first impulse with her was always to protect and shield her from my mother. Senovia was forever looking for a weakness to exploit, and with me, she could always find one, be it my hair, my weight, or my face. But even my mother had to admit that Katja was flawless, so she left her alone.

Katja rolled her eyes at me. "So, is he cute? I want details."

I stuffed some stale Triscuits in my mouth and shook my head. I was not going to have this conversation. Katja and Harper were delusional. Guys like Sasha were never interested in me. Yes, he had been nice, but he felt responsible for me. He was the guardian, so most of his actions had probably been motivated by habit. Maybe he felt guilty because he was leaving me on my own.

"Oh, he is cute, isn't he?" Katja teased. "You're turning bright red." I continued to chew in silence, and she laughed. "Fine. Be that way. I'll ask Harper. She'll tell me."

Well, I was glad one of us was in a good mood. After I sent Kat off to school, I caught the bus to work. I wasn't sure if I was there to talk or if I was going to be assigned a shift, so I put on scrubs like normal. I was still moving slowly thanks to my ribs. My cuts looked better, but my bruises had turned an ugly purplish yellow, so I looked worse than I had two days before. I didn't want to even think about what Selene would have to say about my appearance.

When I stopped at the nurses' station, she didn't let out a peep, though. In fact, she wouldn't even look me in the eye. "Selene," I said louder, hoping to get her attention, "I think I'm supposed to talk to someone. Do you know if that's now, or where it is? Am I supposed to work until they come get me or what?"

Still not looking up, she managed to get out, "Conference room, twelfth floor. They're waiting for you."

The twelfth floor was the where the hospital administration was, which meant I was likely in trouble. With great trepidation, I stepped onto the elevator and pressed the button for the floor. On my way up I took some deep breaths and then tried saying "I don't remember" a few different ways to see which sounded the most sympathetic. No matter how I said it, it sounded fake to me. The ride didn't take as long as I'd hoped, and then I was stepping out onto the twelfth floor.

The absolute quiet that greeted me was eerie. I had never been up there. The floor didn't even feel like a hospital without the patients and constant beeping of monitors and alarms. My shoes sunk into the thick carpet in the long, paneled hallway dotted with dark wooden doors. I read the placards next to the doors, trying to find the conference room, but it made me more nervous. The people in the offices had titles like CFO, VP, and other intimidating acronyms. I found the conference room towards the end of the hall next to the Legal Department, which didn't make me feel any better. I knocked and was answered with a gruff, "Enter."

I opened the door to find a couple of uniformed Durham police officers and a number of men in expensive suits. The suits were likely affiliated with the hospital in some way, and I was betting they weren't there to help me. They would throw me to the wolves the instant it looked like the hospital might be blamed for something. I sat down in the nearest chair and tried not to hyperventilate.

"Miss Karsavina, I'm Officer Bishop. Thank you for coming to talk with us." Officer Bishop extended his hand to me and rose from his chair, as a good Southern gentleman does when a lady enters a room. He had a kind face, which helped calm me down. I tried to focus on him and ignore everyone else in the room.

"Hello," I said in a whisper. I waited for the others to introduce themselves, but no other names were given.

With what little pleasantries there were finished, Bishop began his questions. "Can you please tell us what happened with the Jane Doe in room 4123?"

"I went in to check on her," I began. That much everyone knew already.

"And how did you find her?" he continued, taking notes.

"Agitated." That also was true, so it was easy to say. "She grabbed me," I said, less sure. Again, Manya had done that, but I knew I was saying it in a way so that they would believe the lie I was about to tell. "She attacked me." There, that was the first lie. Telling it was easier than it should have been. Bishop didn't question it, but added it to his notes. I paused, not sure if I should continue.

He looked up from his paper. "Go on, please. What happened after that?"

I looked down at the shiny top of the conference table, unable to meet his eyes. "I don't remember."

"You don't remember?" he repeated.

Twisting my hands under the table, I tried to give a few more details. "I remember the window crashing, and being cut by the glass. I remember something hard hitting me." No reason to mention that it was a series of trees. "But I don't remember much. I lost a lot of blood and blacked out."

The other officer spoke. "That does corroborate with what Dr. Worthington told us about her injuries." He nodded as if he believed me.

I was glad someone was buying my story, but I was furious with Cole. That punk! He couldn't resist talking to the police, could he? "Dr. Worthington talked to you?" I tried to ask with an air of indifference.

Bishop nodded. "Dr. Worthington gave a statement yesterday. He wanted to make sure everything was above board. He mentioned he treated you for injuries, and that he had a few concerns."

"Such as?" It was becoming more difficult to be nonchalant. I don't know what Cole had done at Pinehurst that he didn't want his mother knowing about, but I would make damn sure that woman had the full details by sundown.

"Well, he said you were reluctant to involve the police," Bishop began. "You called from," he looked down to consult his notes, "Morganton and wanted a Miss Carlisle to come pick you up in Greensboro. He mentioned that you hitched a ride there, and then you refused to go to a hospital to get medical attention. Admittedly, Miss Karsavina, you have been through a lot, but that is odd behavior. Most people who have been kidnapped, if they're lucky enough to escape their captors, seek security. That usually comes in the form of lots of police, a trip to the hospital, that sort of thing. They don't immediately hitch a ride with a complete stranger. That's the last thing they'd do." Bishop looked at me with a skeptical expression on his face. I glanced around the room to see that most of the other people in the room wore the same look.

Their accusing faces made me angry. I was tired of being afraid and worried and being bullied by a room full of people I didn't even know. I might've look like a scared girl, but that wasn't all I was. I stood up and closed my eyes for a minute, trying to picture myself as the giant bird-woman whose feathers looked like they were on fire. I opened them again and glared at the men seated before me.

"How dare you!" I raised my voice, demanding their attention. "Look at me!" I threw my arms wide, giving them a good view of my bruised and slashed skin. "Why do you think I didn't go to a hospital? This happened to me at a hospital!" I raged, pointing to the suits at the far end of the table.

"Why do you think I didn't go to the police? Because you were the people who sent her to us in the first place!" I continued to yell, now pointing the blame at the officers in front of me. "If you had kept her locked up, I might not be in this position!" I was trembling, and my legs threatened to give out on me, so I sat.

"You have no idea what happened to me." I dropped my voice to a whisper. I didn't think they could even hear me. "I'll never be the same again."

The room was quiet. I didn't look up, afraid if I did a new round of questioning would begin. Finally, Bishop spoke again. "I'm sorry, Miss Karsavina. What happened to you was unforgivable. You're free to go."

My head whipped up and I stared at him, shocked. "I am?"

"Yes, you can return home. I'm sure you'd like to rest."

"I think I'd like to go back to work, if that's allowed." I looked in the direction of the suits. Furious whispering erupted from that end of the room, but then one of them gave me a curt nod. I took that as a yes, and flew out of the conference room and back to the elevators before anyone could change their minds. Much to my relief, I was not going to get arrested or fired.
CHAPTER 8

My life settled back into a normal routine over the next couple of weeks. I went to work, came home, drilled Katja on her SAT words, and participated in other boring tasks that I now found comforting. Despite her threat the last time I saw her, Senovia had even left us alone. If not for the fact I was still eating us out of house and home, I might've been able to imagine none of it had ever happened.

Even the physical reminders were vanishing. My bruises faded and the stitches had dissolved, leaving long pink scars that itched. Only my ribs still gave me fits, making my chest burn and ache all the time. Life was letting me burrow into a cocoon of denial, and I was grateful for it. Sure, I still had lots of questions, but I hoped if I ignored the whole Gamayun thing it would go away. Avoidance had always been an excellent coping mechanism with Senovia. Why couldn't it work now?

Harper, however, was still hovering like a mother hen. Every time I coughed or wheezed, she was sure I was developing pneumonia. I had to talk her out of a chest x-ray twice in the last three days.

I discovered she suspected more than pneumonia, though. The fourth time she followed me into the bathroom, I began to wonder if something was up. As I exited the stall and washed my hands, I decided it was time to say something. "I know going to the bathroom is often seen as a social thing with women, but I promise I can pee without you holding my hand."

She darted a glance at me, but continued washing her hands without saying anything. "Harper, what gives? Why do you keep following me into the bathroom?"

"I'm not following you." She said this to her shoes.

"Yes, you are," I insisted. "You never let me out of your sight." Once the words were out of my mouth, I realized what the problem might be. "Hey, listen, you're not worried that woman is going to come after me again, are you? Because she's not."

Harper sighed and looked at me. "That's not it. Well, yes, I'm worried about that, too. I can't believe the police haven't found her yet. But that's not why I've been stalking you."

"Then why?" If that wasn't it, I was confused.

"I've been trying to see if you've been... you know." She squirmed.

"No, I don't know."

"Tossing your cookies!" she said, throwing her arms into the air.

I still wasn't following her. "You mean getting sick? Why would I be vomiting? Even if I had pneumonia, I wouldn't be doing that." My mind was trying hard to make the connection with what I knew she was worried about and our current situation.

"Galine, this has nothing to do with your ribs. This has to do with how much weight you've lost. Your clothes are hanging on you, yet every time I see you, you're eating something. And it's not just carrot sticks. I'm talking Krispy Kremes and fried chicken. How is that possible unless you're bulimic?"

I saw how worried she was, and I felt bad. "Hey, Harper, I swear it's not like that." Was this what my life was going to be like now? Was I going to be faced with constant situations where I either sounded like I was lying or was lying to the people I cared about? "I think my metabolism has sped up or something."

She crossed her arms over her chest and squinted at me. "I did not just fall off the turnip truck, Galine."

I fixed her with a hard glare and demanded, "Do you think with how my chest feels I would take up an eating disorder that involves puking?"

"Well, Galine, you have to acknowledge it's weird. You look like you've lost over twenty pounds in a couple of weeks, and it's definitely not anorexia." She paused a minute and then snapped her fingers. "Laxatives! That's it, isn't it?"

"No!" I was beginning to feel less sorry for making her worry and more angry with her. "Harper, I don't have an eating disorder!" I stormed out of the bathroom and ignored her for the rest of the afternoon.

I wish I could say that was the oddest thing that happened to me that day, but it wasn't. Right after lunch I went to check on one of our cancer patients, Mr. Natterly. He had not been doing well, and his oncologist didn't think he had long. As I entered his room, I called a greeting to him, but he didn't respond. While he could be sleeping, I feared the worst, and dashed to his side. His wrist was cool to the touch, and I wasn't surprised when I couldn't find a pulse.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and massaged my temples. It wasn't the first time I'd discovered a body, but it was always unnerving. I looked out the window and took a moment to collect my thoughts before calling it in.

A sparrow perched on the window ledge outside. I saw it out of the corner of my eye, so I didn't pay attention to it at first. I was about to get up when the bird pecked the window. The sound made me study it, and I almost screamed.

It was a sparrow, but it wasn't. It was small and brown with feathers and a beak. It hopped a bit on its bird feet and cocked its head sideways looking at me like birds do. But surrounding the sparrow was the faint specter of Mr. Natterly.

He didn't have his glasses anymore, or clothes, either, but as he was so hazy, that wasn't much of an issue. I could still make out his eyes, nose, and mouth, though. All the color had bleached out of him, so he was jellyfish-like with indistinct borders.

I don't believe in ghosts, but even so, I could have maybe written off what I saw as Mr. Natterly haunting me, but he was attached to the bird somehow. Every time it hopped or flew a bit, the apparition of my former patient bobbed right along with it.

I strode over to the glass for a closer look, hoping to convince myself I was hallucinating. In doing so, I must have startled the Mr. Natterly sparrow, because it flew away. With shaking hands, I called down to the nurses' station and told them that our patient had passed.

By the following morning, I was sure what I had seen had to be from all the stress I had been under. I had also cooled down and was talking to Harper again. If I was cracking up, I couldn't afford to lose any friends.

Harper didn't bring up bulimia anymore, and I was more careful around her. She still hovered, and when she was nearby I tried to eat healthier, so my weight loss wouldn't appear so suspicious. Anytime she wasn't around, though, I stuffed my face with as much fat and sugar laden food as I could find. Thank goodness for the drug reps and their constant stream of goodies in the break room, or I don't know what I would have done. I knew I was still losing weight, but I couldn't consume enough calories. Even the one thing I had been excited about was turning against me.

Katja was less observant. As long as I kept the pantry stocked, she didn't notice the way I hoovered down the food. She didn't even wake up during my ice cream ritual. Right around 2 am, my stomach would wake me up, and I would tip toe from my bedroom to the kitchen to grab a carton of ice cream and a spoon. Then I would sit in the dark in the living room and eat the whole thing. While I did need the calories, having ice cream in the middle of the night was at least eighty percent emotional eating.

While the rest of the world slept, I sat curled up on the couch with my mocha fudge ripple and thought. I'd like to say I pondered life's great mysteries or at least devoted some brain cells to figuring out how to keep being Gamayun from ruining my sister's life, but in reality I was trying to puzzle out why Sasha hadn't called. I blamed Kat and Harper for planting the idea that he might.

For one brief moment, I had hoped that maybe he enjoyed being around me. And for a few days after we had dinner, I had thought he might call and say hi or check up on me. But then days turned into weeks, and I still hadn't heard from him. I felt stupid, and was even more convinced that anything he had done for me had been out of some sense of obligation or guilt.

Every night I mulled over the likelihood I would never see or hear from him again. One day he would quit being the guardian and vanish altogether. He had told me as much. Yet each night I couldn't help but end this self-lecture the same way.

I would close my eyes and concentrate on Sasha to feel where he was. Could I still find my way to him? Every night I could feel the gentle tug west toward his cabin in the mountains. I didn't know much about our connection, but I did know that as long as I could find him, he hadn't relinquished his role yet. His refusal to quit confused me even more. He made no effort to communicate, yet he had not abandoned me, either.

Sooner or later I would get tired and full enough to fall asleep. But at 2 am the next night, the cycle would repeat all over again.

So when I agreed to have dinner with Harper and Cole on Friday night, I blame the sleep deprivation for my lapse in judgment. Harper had been seething mad when she found out that Cole had talked to the police. When I recounted for her how my interrogation went, it wasn't hard to figure out that he hadn't painted a very flattering picture of me. For a couple of days there I had the delightful feeling they might break up.

I never did find out what he did in Pinehurst. Harper hinted that it involved a certain prizewinning hunting dog, a missing Mercedes, and explosives. However, she assured me that his mother now knew every last gory detail, and that brought me a lot of joy. I had never met Mrs. Worthington, but from the stories Harper told, it sounded like Cole's nastiness was hereditary.

Ever since then, Cole had spent a great deal of time groveling. A new flower arrangement arrived daily to our floor, and I had noticed Harper wearing more than one new piece of jewelry. However, what Harper wanted him to do was apologize to me, something neither Cole nor I wanted to sit through. Somehow she still managed to get him to invite me to dinner, and in my moment of weakness I agreed.

On Friday afternoon, and as Harper and I changed in the locker room, I did my best to wheedle out of it. "I haven't been sleeping well. I'm super tired." I thought I'd play to her sympathies first.

"Save it, Galine, you're not backing out of dinner." She saw where I was going with my excuses.

"Can't Cole write me a note or something?" I knew I sounded whiny, but I wasn't above pleading to get out of this dinner.

"No. You two need to learn how to get along. You're the two most important people in my life, and I'm tired of you fighting all the time."

"I have a better idea. Why don't you break up with him? You could do so much better, Harper."

"Galine, I am not going to have that conversation with you again."

"We could stop having that conversation if you could give me a single good reason why you're still dating him."

"It's complicated. My family has certain expectations about the sort of person I should date."

"Rich jerks?"

Harper sighed again. I decided to try a different tactic. "Where is he taking us?"

"Magnolia Grill."

Ha! I knew it would be someplace like that. Magnolia Grill was the fanciest restaurant in Durham. It had award winning chefs and had been written up in newspapers like the _New York Times_. "I don't have anything I can wear to a place like that." My entire wardrobe consisted of scrubs and ratty old jeans and t-shirts.

Harper reached into her locker and pulled out a dress in a dry cleaning bag. The fabric was a beautiful dark green satin. She held it out to me. "Here. Take this."

"You bought me a dress so I couldn't back out of dinner?" I asked, too shocked to reach for it.

"No, I'm loaning you a dress. I want this one back. Oh, and here's the shoes to go with it, and a clutch, and some earrings," she said while piling goodies into my arms. "You're still taller than me, but that won't matter in a dress. I doubt you'll have trouble fitting into it either." She gave me a disapproving look with this last comment, but didn't push it further. "No more excuses. Go home and get dressed. We'll pick you up in an hour."

I was still hoping I could weasel out of it somehow when I got home. "Katja?" I called as I entered the apartment. Maybe she would need me to stay home for some reason.

"In here!"

I followed the sound of her voice into the bathroom and found her gazing into the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She had on a tiny little skirt and a couple different layers on top. I'd never figured out how to layer clothes. I wore a turtleneck with a sweater once, and Kat made me go back and change before I was allowed in public with her.

"You look nice," I observed. "Are you going out?"

"Homecoming, remember?" she said, then slipped on a couple of sparkly bracelets. "A bunch of us are going to the game, and then I'm going to the dance with Tad afterward."

"Oh, right. You told me about this at breakfast a couple of days ago. Tad's picking you up... no wait, Jodi's picking you up. Tad's bringing you home. Is that right?" I should know this. I was so tired I felt like I was moving through a fog.

"Yep." She spied the dress slung over my arm and all the accessories I was juggling. "That's pretty. Are you going on a date?" She hopped from foot to foot with excitement. "Did that Sasha guy call you?"

Kat's question stung, but I tried to keep my features composed. "No, I'm going to dinner with Cole and Harper."

She made a face. "I'm sorry."

"That makes two of us. I was hoping you might be able to rescue me."

The doorbell rang. "That's probably Jodi." Kat draped a scarf in her hair and headed for the door. "Good luck with Dr. Butthead. At least you'll look good," she said, trying to comfort me. She gave me a quick hug and left.

I took my time getting ready, since I didn't care if I was late or not. A victim of my own efficiency, I was dressed and ready to go before Cole and Harper arrived. I was in a better mood, though. I didn't own any nice things, so putting on the fancy dress was fun. It was still snug in the hips and bust, but Harper was right, it did fit me. The color complemented my eyes, and I had even managed to get my hair to behave. Providing I didn't break an ankle in the four inch heels, I felt I looked respectable enough that I wouldn't embarrass anyone.

The doorbell rang again, this time for me. When I opened the door to let Harper and Cole in, Harper began gushing with complements. "Galine, you look fabulous! I knew that would look good on you. Cole, doesn't she look great?"

Cole gave me a cursory glance. "She doesn't look bad," was the best he could muster. Harper gave him a look that said he needed to try harder. "Galine, you look nice," he said with such monumental effort you'd think he was passing a kidney stone.

"Thank you." I decided I would at least start the evening being polite.

We walked down to Cole's Jaguar. I was taken aback when he opened my door for me. He always did that for Harper, but he didn't even like me to be in his car. "Thanks," I told him. I couldn't remember ever thanking Cole twice in a week, much less in one night.

Harper smiled like a Cheshire cat. My shock continued once we were en route as Cole asked, "Galine, how was your day?"

"Er, fine," I managed to get out once I recovered enough to answer. "And yours?"

"Good, good," he said. After that he was out of pleasantries, and we rode the rest of the way to the restaurant in silence.

When we arrived, he opened the car door for Harper. I hesitated before getting out because I wasn't sure if he was going to do the door thing again for me. He took Harper's arm and headed straight for the entrance, though. I figured since he had earned his brownie points I was back to opening my own doors.

I shimmied out of the car in the dress, which was shorter than I was comfortable with. Unsteady on the heels, I followed after them as fast as I could go. Before I could reach them, they were being led to their reserved table, so I continued hobbling after them. Harper realized I was lagging behind and gave Cole a perturbed look and instructed him to wait a minute.

By the time we sat down, my chest was burning again. I aimed a silent curse at the heels while I wheezed. Harper opened her mouth and I could tell whatever her next sentence was going to be, it would include the words "chest x-ray."

"I'm fine," I said, before Harper had time to speak. She narrowed her eyes at me, but didn't say anything.

I turned my attention to the menu, which posed a new set of problems. In theory it was in English, but I didn't know half the words describing the food. What the heck was a confit or a carpaccio? I recognized a steak, so decided I'd have that. Besides, it was the most expensive thing on the menu, and if Cole was paying I was going to try to do some damage. I looked over the dessert section to see what the most expensive item there was. They were all the same price, so I decided to go for the donut popover since it sounded the most fattening.

Once we ordered I was faced with the unpleasant task of having to make conversation. I knew at some point an apology was coming, and I hoped Cole wouldn't make me dread it all evening. He must have felt the same.

Cole took a big gulp of water from his glass and cleared his throat to get our attention. The gesture was unnecessary, as none of us were talking, but I knew how he hated to be ignored. "Galine, I have been told that I might have spoken out of turn." He drummed his fingers on the table as he spoke, betraying his annoyance.

"Oh?" I tried my best wide-eyed innocent look.

Cole's lips began to curl into a sneer, but Harper did a little throat clearing of her own, and he corrected the expression. "Yes, I suppose I might have said some things to the police that they took the wrong way."

"A misunderstanding, is that it?" My voice was saccharine sweet.

"A big misunderstanding." He smiled, missing my sarcasm. The poor oaf thought I was agreeing with him.

I weighed my options. A part of me wanted to push him and get him in trouble again. This was the most fed up I'd ever seen Harper, and she'd been dating him the entire time we'd been friends. Another part wanted to keep my head low and just get the dinner over with. I was still deciding when he spoke again.

"I'm glad you're being so reasonable about this. You're usually so high-strung and ridiculous. The overemotional female thing can get so tiresome."

Good ole Cole. Give him enough rope and he'll hang himself. "Yes, we women get crazy when we've been insulted." I made a swirling gesture with my finger near my temple to emphasize how hysterical we could be.

I thought surgeons were supposed to be smart, but apparently there weren't any exams on reading social situations in medical school. Cole kept on digging. "Yes, you're all so touchy." He also wasn't paying enough attention to Harper, who at this point was turning red she was so furious.

I leaned back in my chair to get a better view of the two of them, and grinned in anticipation of Mount Harper erupting. I could almost feel the heat radiating off of her. In fact, I _could_ feel the heat, but I realized with alarm that it wasn't coming from Harper. It was coming from me.

What began as a general warm feeling was becoming a suffocating temperature. And I knew what this level of heat meant—I was transforming. Panicked, I kicked off the crazy high heeled shoes and shoved my chair away from the table. "I gotta go!" I yelled over my shoulder as I sprinted for the exit. I was not going to change in a crowded restaurant.

As soon as I was outside, I bolted around the side of the building and into the shadows of a nearby alley. The heat was beginning to recede, which meant the light and feathers were coming. My lungs were already expanding with a great whoosh of air.

All I could think about was Harper's pretty dress I had on and how I didn't want to ruin it. I knew if I still had it on when the feathers came, I'd tear it like I had my scrubs. In my hurry to get it off, my fingers fumbled with the zipper. The dress was half off when I started floating, which made disrobing that much more difficult. Still, I managed to get it all the way off. I had a few seconds to worry about someone seeing me in my underwear before the feathers covered me. I tried to lay the dress on the ground without the benefit of hands. It landed in a somewhat clean spot. I hoped Harper would find it.

"Galine!" I heard Harper call out my name from the front of the restaurant. I wanted her to see the dress, but not me. For the first time, I agreed with Manya. Already being in the air for a quick takeoff could be useful. Using all those extra elbow joints, I extended my wings fully, then snapped them straight down to my sides, which shot me upwards with a jolt. I repeated the motion twice in quick succession, until I was a good two hundred feet in the air. Even if Harper spotted me, I doubted she could make out my features in the dark.

Once I had some height, I leveled and tried for speed. I kept my wings flapping with a bit more of an up and down motion, but still extending and retracting them towards my body. The extra joints might've weirded me out, but there was no doubt they were useful for flying. What wasn't aerodynamic, however, was my head. My face burned and my eyes watered as the wind smashed into it. I didn't really want a pointed head that ended in a beak, but I began to see its advantages. I supposed carrying around goggles all the time just in case would be hard to explain.

Flying was less bewildering this time since I knew what to expect and was better at steering. I was over the tree line faster, so I had fewer obstacles to avoid in the dark. Not everything was familiar, though. Instead of a gentle tug to the west that would lead me to Sasha, I felt a shove northward. I didn't know what awaited me there. Frightened, I tried to fly west, but it was physically painful to head any direction but north. I tried landing, but the same unseen force that pushed me forward didn't want me stopping, either. I was good and scared as I realized this was it. I was being sent to deliver a message.

At first I was so anxious that even with my increased lung capacity, it was difficult to breathe. Then the panic gave way to anger, and I yelled in frustration, trying again and again to turn around and go back home. Each time I tried, a searing pain shot down my spine and all the way through my wingtips. I never got more than a few hundred feet before I was gasping and turning northward again. Hours passed and the fury drained out of me. I was left feeling hopeless, tears streaming down my face and blurring my vision. Still I flew.

Every so often I would spot a flock of birds, but they always steered clear of me. I must have looked like an enormous predator to them. I found I could overtake them. The one time I saw a plane in all of its frightening enormity it was moving much, much faster than I was. The cars on the road below me were my closest competitors for speed. I had no trouble keeping up with them, and could sometimes pass them. What did that translate into miles per hour? Was I doing sixty, seventy?

The shoving sensation began to take me east, and I caught glimpses of the moon reflecting off the Atlantic. For a moment I panicked that I might have to fly across the ocean, but I was allowed to hug the coastline. I passed city after city underneath. I tried to remember some of the cities of the Eastern seaboard, but I didn't know the skylines well enough to recognize them in the dark.

I spotted another city, and this skyline I did recognize. Though I had never been there, I had seen enough movies to know what New York looked like. The skyscrapers loomed in front of me, imposing and cold. I tried to fly higher to go above them, but pain shot through me again. The message was clear—I needed to fly lower. I dove back down and slowed my pace, sensing that I was getting close to my destination. The panic had returned in full force, but I knew better than to try to retreat. Avoidance wasn't going to work.

I weaved between the tall concrete and glass buildings, unsure of what I was looking for. I was struck with the sudden thought that my destination was a who, not a what. I was a messenger, after all, and messages were delivered to people. How was I supposed to get to them? What if they were inside? Was I supposed to break another window? I didn't have a chair handy this time, and I didn't want to get cut up again.

Chairs didn't end up being necessary, though. As I soared past another building to my left, I spotted her. She was standing alone on the balcony of a penthouse apartment. I couldn't make out the woman's features, but my whole body thrummed with a recognition that made no sense. I had no idea who she was. Along with the thrumming came a blistering fire in my throat that made me wonder if I my message would appear in flame.

I glided down to the balcony, and with no trees to hinder my descent, I managed not to botch the landing. My talons latched onto the railing, and I got my first good look at her. She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She wore a skimpy red dress that left little to the imagination, and had inky black hair that was so dark it shone with glints of blue in the moonlight. Her skin was the same warm brown that Manya's had been, but hers was luminous, begging to be touched. An air of sensuality enveloped her, drawing my eyes to every small movement she made. At that moment she tapped one dark red fingernail on a wine glass.

She studied me as well, and took a lazy sip of the wine. "You're new," she said in a voice as seductive as the rest of her. "Did my sister finally figure out a way to off herself?" The words were ugly, but that voice was so beautiful I wanted to do whatever it instructed.

The situation was worse than I could have imagined. Not only was I being sent to convey a message the recipient wouldn't enjoy, but I had been sent to the one person I was told to avoid: the Sirin. Though she was in her human form, I knew she had to be the bird that ushered men to hell. Manya had but two sisters, and I had already met the Alkonost.

I tried to flee again, but I couldn't move even an inch, and the burning in my throat was becoming unbearable. In the vain hope that I might breathe fire, I opened my mouth. But it was words of judgment that rained down on Sirin.

Your mouth speaks only in lies.

Your hand rises only to strike.

Your mind conspires to kill and destroy,

And your voice steals men's souls.

I made you for justice, but you have built a kingdom of wrongs.

Even so, if you return to me, I will pardon you.

Celebrate no more in the destruction of man, and I will spare you.

I had never spoken as the Gamayun before, and the voice that came out of me did not sound like mine. It was a deep, mournful cry. I didn't speak the words of prophecy, I sang them. Where the Alkonost's voice was calming and beautiful, mine sounded harsh and discordant, as if sorrow and rage had been intertwined. As I uttered the last word, the burning in my throat subsided, and I felt a great weight lifted from me. Still, I hesitated before taking off again, remembering the pain of trying to return home.

Sirin took full advantage of my hesitation. She grabbed the purse that was sitting next to her glass of wine and strode over to where I was perched. Sticking one hand in the purse, and grabbing a fistful of my feathers with the other, she hissed right into my face. "You stupid girl. Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? Even Manya had the good sense to stay away from me."

Thunder cracked in a deafening roar, and rain began to pour on both of us. I paid little attention to the rain. Something hard and cold was pressed against my chest. I looked down to see that she had retrieved a gun from her purse and was shoving it against me.

"I know this won't kill you," she said. "But it will certainly make you think twice before you come to tell me one of your little prophecies again." She pulled the trigger.

I heard the deafening boom and fell backwards off the balcony. I spread my wings as far as they would stretch to help break my fall, but I was unconscious before I hit the ground.
CHAPTER 9

Sasha let out a sharp yelp of pain as he cut his finger for the second time. Frustrated, he threw the paring knife into the sink so hard it bounced back out. He stuck his bleeding thumb under the faucet, not bothering to retrieve the knife. Slamming the water off, he glared at the potatoes he was peeling as if it were their fault he was acting like an idiot.

He knew it wasn't the vegetables that had him so messed up he couldn't think straight. Simple tasks like making dinner were beyond him now. He sighed, replaced the dropped knife, and went to the bathroom in the barn to get another band-aid from the medicine cabinet. After the bandage was applied, he sat on the top of the toilet lid a minute to collect himself. He stared at his two fresh wounds on the thumb and third finger of his right hand. Sasha bet Galine had a great bedside manner. Sure, she had a wise crack for everything, but that was a defense mechanism. She was so caring with her sister. He was sure that was what she was like with her patients.

Sasha clenched his fists, once again frustrated. He couldn't go two blasted minutes without thinking about her. This was ridiculous. Maybe he needed some fresh air. In a few quick strides, he was out of the barn and into the woods. He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and tramped along a well-worn path, trying to think of anything but the feisty redhead with startling green eyes. It was like telling someone not to think about pink elephants. Of course, all you can think about is pastel pachyderms after that. Escaping the cabin didn't mean Sasha was able to escape his thoughts of Galine.

He remembered her hair, of course, the same as Manya's had been. He wondered what her hair had looked like before the transformation. Was she a blonde? A brunette? Had it curled in the humidity like it did now? Had she always fought those stubborn flyaway strands that fell in front of her face? His fingers itched to tuck her hair behind her ear. But that wasn't all he wanted to touch. He thought of her pale skin, with the slightest dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. It looked so soft. Sasha wanted to cup her face, bring her close, close to those perfect pink lips.

He groaned and kicked the closest loblolly pine. Then he kicked it again. And again. The stiff leather of his logger boots kept him from hurting his feet, but he was busting up the tree where the steel caulks dug into the bark. Confronted with the scarred tree, he hurried further down the trail.

Sasha was so intent on not thinking about Galine that he didn't realize where he was headed until he was in the small clearing. He froze, and for a minute he didn't have a single thought about her.

The gravestone was old and simple, with only a name and a date etched into its surface. His mother hadn't been in a state to tell him what she wanted on it, and Sasha hadn't known how to sum up the man that was buried there in a brief epitaph. He had never been good with words.

"Hey, Dad," he said. Sasha visited his father's grave on occasion, but it had been awhile. He crouched so he could trace his hands over the letters on the surface: Jeremiah Harris. A few weeds were growing at the base of the headstone. Embarrassed, Sasha uprooted them. "Sorry about that. Shouldn't have let those pop up." He looked again at the name, remembering the man, missing him with an ache in his chest. Weary, he slid from his crouch to sit in the grass, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. He leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes.

Sasha felt the weight of his father's death, and it made the situation with Galine worse. He wished he could talk to his dad, ask his advice. He knew he wouldn't get a response, but the words tumbled out anyway. "I met someone. She's... infuriating." He laughed. "I don't know if I've ever met a more bull-headed woman. Well, except for Mom, of course." He could almost hear his father's booming laugh at that comment.

"You'd love her. Puts me in my place, that's for sure." Sasha paused, pondering how to put Galine into words. He hadn't gotten any more eloquent since his father had died. Words still tripped him up, but he tried. "She makes me laugh, Dad. Real belly laughs. I thought I had forgotten how to do that. You should see her eat an Oreo. It's stupid and disgusting, but somehow adorable at the same time. When you tell her bad news, she scrunches up her nose like what you're saying stinks, and I don't think she even realizes she's doing it." Sasha chuckled, remembering. "She's so young and alive. I feel like I should leave her alone. I mean, what can I bring to the party? I'm the most crotchety, embittered twenty-one year old on the planet."

Now he felt restless. Sasha opened his eyes and stood up so he could pace. "But I can't stop thinking about her. I don't get it. It's not like I've never seen a woman before. And she's not even that pretty. Oh hell, that's not true." Remembering how his father felt about swearing, Sasha tacked on, "Sorry. That's another thing, I haven't felt the need to curse so much in years as I have in the weeks since I met her."

Sasha rested his hands at his waist and thought for a minute. "She creeps up on you. When I first saw her, I didn't see it. But... She's... She's... _velikolepnyj_." He turned back to the gravestone. "Have you picked up Russian in the afterlife? Probably not." How did he translate all that _velikolepnyj_ meant in English? "Stunning? No, that doesn't really capture her."

"Do you think it's possible this is a test, Dad? Me and women never... we never... I can't seem to make them..." Sasha sucked in a sharp breath. "It doesn't seem to work out. But it gets worse, Dad. She's the Gamayun!" Sasha was shouting, and he wasn't quite sure when that had happened. "It's a test," he repeated, firmer now. "She's got to be some sort of test, because we both know how that ends."

He crouched low again and placed a hand on the grave. "I was supposed to be done. I told myself after Manya, I was out. I can't do this anymore, Dad. Look at me," he exclaimed, face twisted in disgust. "I'm talking to you, because I don't have anyone else. I don't want the burden of being the guardian anymore."

Sasha had already had this internal argument. Speaking it out loud to his father's grave didn't make it any different. He had tried to reason his way out of this fascination with Galine at least a dozen times. None of his attempts had made a lick of difference. He was still carving up his fingers while cooking and lying awake at night thinking about her.

Sasha sighed, fed up. "Who am I kidding? Like you'd give me reasonable advice anyway. You were a romantic fool." He wasn't judging, but teasing. "How long did it take you to fall for Mom? Two minutes? Or did you wait a whole day?" He shook his head at his father. "You had to pass that on, didn't you? Is being a complete idiot when it comes to love genetic?"

The sky had grown dark, and his stomach gurgled, reminding Sasha he hadn't eaten dinner. Feeling no more resolved than he had been when he left, he slowly tramped back to the cabin. He ignored the sink of half peeled potatoes and poured a bowl of cereal. He ate it without tasting and turned in early.

He woke at four, haunted by a certain pair of green eyes. Sasha punched his pillow and then threw it across the room. He lay there, taking heaving breaths for a few minutes until he decided he wasn't going to go back to sleep. In fact, he was going to cure himself of this middle school boy mooning. Galine couldn't be as fantastic as he remembered her. Loneliness and isolation must have made him blow out of proportion the few encounters he had had with her. The best way to cure him was to go see her.

His path decided, he felt better. He showered, dressed, and was headed out the door when he remembered how much Galine hated the motorcycle. _Her opinion didn't matter_ , he thought as he stared at the Ducati keys in his palm. He wasn't going to talk to her. He needed a quick peek to prove the Galine he was obsessing over wasn't real, and he could return home. She wouldn't be riding anywhere with him. _It doesn't matter_ , he repeated, right before he hung up the Ducati keys and took down the ones for the pickup. He closed his hand over the Ford keys, furious as they dug into his palm, but he still headed for the truck. Sasha was even more convinced this trip was needed.

The truck was so old it was impossible to speed in it, but he tried anyway. When he arrived in Durham, it was still early morning. Galine was at work, so he drove to the hospital. Durham had multiple hospitals, but he knew where she worked. Because, of course, he had looked it up. Now that he was here, though, he wasn't sure how to go about this. He couldn't just march up to her floor.

He ended up hanging out in the cafeteria. Sooner or later he figured she had to eat lunch. He didn't want her spotting him, so he sat in a far corner with a newspaper to hide behind. It occurred to him that his plan had a fatal flaw. What if she felt him? No, she wouldn't. He might check where she was through their connection a half a dozen times a day, but he was sure she didn't spare him a thought.

The wait was long. She didn't eat until almost two in the afternoon, and Sasha was getting angry with her by that point. Galine got to work at 7am. She might have fit in a snack somewhere, but that still meant she hadn't had a meal in at least seven hours. That was way too long. He had lectured her about that once already. When she did finally appear, she was shaky and pale, evidence that his hunch was right and she hadn't eaten. Her fingers were clumsy as she reached for food to put on her tray.

Sasha wanted to shake her, but she looked so fragile he was afraid to even breathe on her. Her clothes hung on a smaller frame. Just a few weeks had passed since he had seen her, but she had lost a drastic amount of weight. He had never been good at guessing the odd weights of the bird women, but if Galine was a normal woman, he would say she'd lost around forty pounds. He gripped the edges of his chair, he was so tempted to leap from his seat.

Galine inhaled her food she was so hungry. The sandwich and bag of chips were gone in a heartbeat, and it was clear they weren't enough from the way she clutched her stomach. "Go back and get more," Sasha grumbled from behind his paper. "You need about four times that."

Galine looked in her wallet, then at the cafeteria line, and back to her wallet. She sighed and started to gather up her trash. Sasha covered his face with his hands. She didn't have enough money. He knew money was tight for her. It had to be, or she wouldn't live in the neighborhood she did. He hadn't thought her so hard off that she wouldn't be able to afford the calories she needed to consume, though.

She dumped her trash in the container on the way out, and it took everything in him not to chase after her and buy her a proper lunch. He had to be able to accept this. If he was going to walk away, then he had to be able to let these things happen to her.

"I don't care. I don't care," he repeated. Just saying it made him feel ill. He was a terrible liar. He did care. He cared way too much.

Sasha dropped the newspaper that had been his disguise and crumpled it into a ball. Then he flattened it back out, tore it into pieces, and crumpled all the paper bits in his fists. The exercise did little to calm him. He felt downright savage. This trip was a complete failure, and he knew it. This was the part where he was supposed to get back in the truck, convinced that he didn't have any feelings for her, and drive home.

Instead, Sasha followed the signs to the hospital gift shop. He bought another paper and then walked out of the main lobby, where he spied the shelter for the bus that Galine would have to take home. About a hundred yards away was a bench. He sat on the bench, opened the paper, and waited. The practical part of his brain was screaming at him. His actions weren't only stupid, they were dangerous. This logical side railed at him for hours, and he was almost persuaded to do the smart thing and go home when he spotted Galine.

She was carrying a fancy green dress in a clear plastic bag over her shoulder. She would look fantastic in it. He was already imagining her in the gown and smiling before he wondered why she would have it. He crunched his paper again. Was she going on a date? Sasha felt jealousy rip through his gut, and he had a sudden need to punch someone. Repeatedly.

As soon as she was on the bus, he made a dash for the parking garage where he had left the truck. That practical part of his brain called him a stalker, but he was beyond reason. He parked in the street a couple blocks from her apartment then jogged to the complex, hiding in a stairwell across from Galine's. Her bus didn't arrive until fifteen minutes later. She disappeared into the apartment without even a backwards glance. A half an hour later, a Jaguar pulled up and a man in a suit got out. He looked to be about thirty, and was decent looking. Sasha had never hated someone so much in his life. He couldn't help laughing. How had he ever thought he could walk away from Galine?

The man from the Jag went to the passenger side door and opened it. Harper Carlisle stepped out, and Sasha immediately felt twenty pounds lighter. The man was with Harper. He wasn't there for Galine. Relief poured into him, making him giddy as the couple entered Galine's apartment. They reemerged a few minutes later, Galine with them. Sasha got a good look at her as she descended the apartment steps. He was right. She did look amazing in that dress.

The car was moving, so Sasha had to sprint to the truck to catch up. He thought he had lost them, but spied the Jag again parking at a restaurant. The man didn't open Galine's door, and he could hear her wheezing from across the parking lot as she tried to catch up with him. Her broken ribs must not be healed yet. Sasha once again felt the need to punch the man. Harper turned around, though, and noticed Galine. Then the three of them disappeared from sight.

Sasha sat in his truck and thought. Okay, so leaving her wasn't a viable option anymore. Lurking around in the shadows following her was stupid, too, though. He should come clean. After her dinner he would knock on her apartment door and... and... say what? _Hey, I think I might be falling for you?_ He rolled his eyes. Yeah, that was not the best approach. _So, I've reconsidered and I would like to be your protector. Bring on the physical injuries and isolation!_ She wasn't going to buy that, either. _Despite my better judgment, I can't stay away from you even if it leads to my eventual death._ That one was truthful, but wasn't going to land him a date. How did you ask someone on a date? He hadn't asked anyone in so long, he wasn't sure he remembered how.

Sasha was so lost in his musings that he almost didn't see Galine race out of the restaurant. She was barefoot and headed for the alley on the other side of the building. Her eyes were wide with terror. Sasha wrenched open the door of the truck and ran for her. He ducked into the alley in time to see her unfurl her gigantic wings and take flight. The green dress was on the ground by his feet, and he could hear Harper coming up behind him. He knew Galine wouldn't want Harper to spot her like this, so he lowered his head and ran past Harper, bumping into her.

"Hey, watch it!" Harper yelled as she placed a hand on the wall of the building to steady herself. Galine was gone, so Sasha kept running. He didn't want Harper to recognize him, either.

He climbed into the truck and started the engine, cursing his last minute decision to leave the Ducati behind. Galine was flying northeast. He felt their bond tug in that direction. Sirin lived in New York. He tried to think about the many states between here and there. Galine could be delivering a message to anyone. She would be fine.

He was lying. She wasn't going to be fine, because he was certain she was going to New York. Galine was being sent to Sirin, and he wasn't going to make it in time.

Sasha drove as fast as the truck would allow him, but it wasn't fast enough. He recognized the apartment building as he pulled the truck up in front of it. Sirin lived in the penthouse.

The sky opened up, dumping great sheets of rain. He pulled his coat up over his head as an impromptu umbrella and opened his door. He left the truck running in the street, not caring about the line of cars honking behind him. His hand was on the door of the building, but he caught a flash of red to his left before he could enter.

Galine was in a side alley, a service entrance for the apartment building. By the time Sasha found her, her feathers were beginning to come out in clumps. She would be left naked soon. Somehow that enraged him the most in that moment—that she would be vulnerable and naked. The rain poured down on her still form. Sasha slipped off his coat and wrapped her in it. It was too big. It shouldn't have been so big on her. It shouldn't have been able to cover so much of her. Her weight, like her nakedness, distressed him more than it should in the moment. He had to concentrate on the small things, because he couldn't, absolutely couldn't, think about the blood that was soaking through his coat.

He lifted Galine off the ground, holding her close. So much blood. Oh God, so much blood his hands were slick with it. "Dear God." He said it out loud this time—a prayer, not a curse. He could hear her struggle and gasp for breath. She had a collapsed lung. He knew what that sounded like. Worse, he knew what that felt like.

She was immortal. He knew this with his brain. His brain was telling him she would be fine. Whatever Sirin had done to her could be healed. He would take her to the hospital, and she would recover. But what his brain knew in theory made no difference. Sasha suffered as she suffered.

The rain poured down on them, mixing with Galine's blood. She shivered, and Sasha placed his lips to her ear. "It's okay, I've got you." She stilled. "That's right. You're safe."

She was safe, but he was not. If Galine had been a test, he had failed. Sasha had made his decision, and the consequences be damned. He was an idiot. He was in love with her.
CHAPTER 10

My first realization was of intense pain and nausea. The sensation was so overwhelming, I begged for a return to unconsciousness. Once that I was awake, though, I didn't see how I could sleep when I was in so much agony. I opened my eyes, and spots swam in my vision. Hmm, maybe I was going to get to pass out again after all. But after a few seconds and a couple of blinks, my surroundings came into focus.

I wasn't crumpled on the street outside Sirin's apartment building as I had expected. As I stared at the florescent lighting above me and absorbed the familiar sounds, it became clear to me that I was in a hospital. That wasn't good.

Who knew what questions awaited me? I had no idea whether I had been brought to the hospital in human form or bird form. Either way, I had come in with a gunshot wound to the chest. That meant x-rays and surgery. And even in my "normal" form, I wasn't normal anymore. I knew I should try to move, to form a plan—something—but I was still hoping for passing out.

My body refused to give me what I wanted, though, so instead I tried to take stock of my injuries. My entire chest throbbed with each breath I took, but most of the pain was confined there. I didn't think that I had broken any bones in my fall from Sirin's penthouse balcony. I had managed to get my wings out and hold on to consciousness long enough for that anyway. In addition to the pain in my chest, my right hand felt like it was in a vise. I raised my head to see what was wrong with it.

I discovered that it was being clutched between two larger hands. I followed the hands up the arms to the shoulders and to a face so altered, it took me a moment to recognize it. He had grown a beard as black as his thick, long hair. The shadows under his pale blue eyes were so dark, they were the same purple of bruises. He wasn't looking down at me, but staring at nothing beyond me. He still wore all black. My throat was so dry, it was difficult to get his name out.

"Sasha?"

At the sound of his name, his vacant expression vanished and was replaced with a laser focus on me. "Galine," he uttered with a sigh of relief, leaning over to press his lips to the hand he was grasping. "For my sanity, could you at least wait until the last round of injuries heal before getting new ones?" He smiled a lopsided smile, but it was shaky and forced.

"I was almost healed," I offered in my defense.

"Your ribs weren't. The bullet hit one of your cracked ribs and sent bone splinters into your lungs." He wasn't smiling anymore and some of the desperation had crept back into his eyes. "Galine, you were shot at point blank range in the chest. If you were anyone else, you'd be dead."

When he put it like that, it was hard not to be overwhelmed. My brain was having a hard time trying to process the thought that I could have died. It took me a few seconds to realize there was something odd about the second part of his statement. _If I was anyone else_... what was that supposed to mean?

I didn't get a chance to ask, because Sasha bolted from my curtained area as a nurse appeared. "Oh, you're awake! Welcome back. You're a very lucky young lady." She started the process of checking vitals.

"Lucky how?" I wanted some details. Something was going on here.

"Well, for one thing, an off-duty paramedic found you and brought you in."

"Mmm-hmm." I nodded, encouraging her to continue. Odds were, that was Sasha. He did seem to have some medical training. I filed that away under question number 178 I wanted to ask him.

"And your injuries were quite severe. Now it was a .22, but even so, a bullet to the chest like that." She tutted at me. "There were bone splinters, and both your lungs collapsed. Your surgeon is still talking about what a marvel you are. I believe he even said something about writing a paper."

"Great." I gave her a weak smile. "He has to have my permission for that, correct?"

"Well, don't you worry about that right now. He can talk to you about it later." The nurse got out my chart to make note of my newest set of vitals.

"Can I see that?" I reached for the chart. She frowned at me and clutched it to her chest like a newborn child. "It's okay; I have a medical background. I work in a hospital. I promise I'll give back when you take my next vitals." She wasn't happy about it, but she handed over the file.

As soon as the nurse left, I spread the chart across my lap and started reading. Twenty minutes later I was facing a hard truth. I should be dead. Not "it was a close one" or I had "a low probability of making it," but I had a great surgeon. The fact of the matter was, I should be dead. My doctor wanted to study me further because he knew I was a walking miracle. Well, that and because once he cut open my chest he also found my air sacks and those had creeped him out. Oh, he put it in scientific speak, but the bottom line was that he was freaked.

Sasha's words kept ringing in my head. While he was worried about me, he expected me to not be dead. For that matter, even as Sirin was shooting me, she had said something about how it wouldn't kill me. At the time I thought it was because she was going to aim for my arm or something. Once the bullet went in my chest, I was sure I was a goner. Now I was wondering if Sirin had meant to aim for the heart all along. Yet she was sure it wouldn't kill me.

"Hey."

I looked up to see that Sasha had returned. "Can I be killed?"

His head bobbed back in surprise. "No."

"I can be injured, but I can't die? Ever?"

"You're immortal, Galine." He sat on the edge of the bed, pushing the papers I had been studying to the side. "I'm sorry, I assumed you knew."

"How could I have known that? I became the Gamayun because the last one died in my arms."

"All of the great birds are immortal—the Alkonost and Sirin, too."

"But Manya. I saw her die." Sasha flinched, and I felt bad for hammering on that point, but he had to be wrong. I couldn't be immortal. I didn't care what my chart said.

"There were extenuating circumstances with Manya. Even so, she was thousands of years old. Or older. She couldn't even remember anymore."

Living that long was too much for my brain to process, so I focused again on the problem at hand. I tried to gather up my chart papers that Sasha had scattered. "My doctor wants to write a paper about me. How am I going to explain all of this?" I held up two fistfuls of medical records.

"You're not." Sasha said. "Trust me, in these sorts of situations, it's best to leave as little trace as possible. I've been here awhile, and I've done some digging..."

"Wait, how long is awhile?" I realized I had no idea how many hours or days had passed since Sirin had shot me.

"About a week."

"A week!"

"Shh!" he warned. "Don't draw attention. The nurses can't find me here with you. You're a Jane Doe. Jane Does don't have visitors."

I lowered my voice, "Sasha, my sister..."

"I took care of it. She thinks you have tuberculosis."

I remembered not to yell, but it was difficult. "You told her I have TB? For heaven's sake, why?"

"Well I couldn't tell her the real reason. I thought TB was ingenious," he said, looking smug. "Your condition needed to be serious enough for you to be gone awhile, and contagious so no one would come see you during that time. Plus, I assume with the ribs you'd already been coughing and having trouble breathing. Also, you've had significant weight loss." With the last symptom, he glared at me. "I thought we talked about you eating more, by the way."

"I have. It's a lot more difficult than I thought it would be." Eating the 13,000 calories a day my weird bird metabolism required had initially sounded great, but even it had become burdensome.

"Well, lying here unconscious for a week didn't help matters," he admitted. Suddenly, he stiffened. "Someone's coming again," he whispered. "I can't get you out of here until they move you to a regular room. Until then, you don't remember anything," he instructed. Sasha gave my hand one final squeeze, darted behind the privacy curtain, and was gone.

I didn't even have time to collect my thoughts before a doctor was standing in front of me. "I heard you were awake. I have some questions for you." Thus began a full scale interrogation.

I continued to repeat a litany of no's, I don't remember's, and I have no idea's. In between all the questions there was lots of poking and prodding until finally I had reached my limit. I was exhausted, I was in pain, and I wanted to be left alone. I closed my eyes and stuck my fingers in my ears like a petulant child and refused to engage with anyone. When I peeked out several minutes later, I was relieved to discover my little tantrum had worked. I had hoped to enjoy the peace and quiet, but I was so tired, I fell asleep.

I awoke to Sasha's cool palm on my cheek. "Morning," he said by way of greeting.

"Are you busting me out of here?"

He shook his head. "Not yet. It's too hard while you're still in the ICU. There's more security and staff hanging around."

"I'm not sure how long I can play dumb."

"You shouldn't have to much longer. Your condition is more stable now. I wouldn't be surprised if they move you tomorrow."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Your fingers in the ears trick worked well," he said grinning.

"You saw that?" I had been looking for him off and on all day, but had never spotted him. Of course, Sasha would be witness to another of my embarrassing moments. I covered my face with my hands so he couldn't see me blushing.

Sasha tugged on my hands until he could see me again. "Hey, no need to get embarrassed. It worked, didn't it? They were badgering you, and you got them to stop. That's a win in my book." He gave me one of his breathtaking smiles. "Besides, half the fun of teasing you is getting to see you blush."

I was glad someone enjoyed seeing me turn red, because I was still mortified. "How are you going to get me out of here, anyway?"

"Don't worry about it."

"Sasha, I don't want you to get in trouble because of me. Is it even legal, what you're planning to do?"

"It's nothing," he repeated, his mouth drawing down into a firm line.

"You can't out stubborn me. It's impossible."

This managed to illicit a quick grin, followed by a sigh. "Well, that's true," he said. "It's not a big deal. There's a few medical supplies you'll need that I can't buy, so I lifted them. Other than that, it's some lying, and a little light forgery and computer hacking. Nothing to get worked up about."

"Light forgery and hacking?" Remembering not to yell, I hissed at him, "What does that entail?"

"Relax, Galine, it's mostly just deleting your records. Stop worrying."

I didn't get a chance to grill Sasha further. He froze for a split second, like a dog startled by a strange sound. Then he slid out of the chair in a half crouch, and made a beeline for the slit in my privacy curtain. He was so stealthy the curtain didn't even ruffle with his exit. A few seconds later, a nurse came into view.

Sasha's absence didn't keep me from worrying about what he was up to, though, in the few moments I had alone over the next day. I thought he might make another appearance, but I didn't see him again for almost thirty-six hours. By that time, I was in a regular room and considering making a break for it on my own. The questioning had gotten more aggressive once I started improving.

I was making my first attempt to see if I could get out of bed when I heard a sharp reprimand from the door. "What do you think you're doing?" I heard Sasha say, before adding a "Ma'am," just in case anyone else was listening. I turned on shaky feet to see Sasha dressed in scrubs with a hospital ID badge dangling from the front of his shirt. Ah, there was the "light forgery" he had been talking about. He had a wheelchair with him, which he left in the doorway as he took a few quick strides across the room to my side. "Lie back down," he ordered.

I did as I was told, since standing for those few seconds had exhausted me. "I don't think I'm going to be able to walk out of here."

"I never thought you would. I can't believe you're ridiculous enough to have entertained that idea." He handed me a robe I hadn't seen him carrying. "Here, this will cover you better than that hospital gown. Once we get out of here, I'll get you some real clothes." He then began the process of disconnecting me from all my monitors and the IV. I watched, impressed with his efficiency. He knew what he was doing.

"You've done this before."

"Yes," was all he said as he continued with his tasks. Soon I was free of all my high tech leashes and snuggled into the over-sized robe he had brought. Sasha retrieved the wheelchair from the doorway and pulled it next to the bed, then hesitated for a minute. "I'm sorry, but I don't know a way to move you that's not going to hurt some."

"It's all right. It has to be done." I hurt just lying down and breathing, so I knew my breakout wasn't going to be easy. He leaned over and lifted me out of the bed, placing me as gently as if I were a newborn in the wheelchair. The transfer still hurt, but I held my breath and gritted my teeth so I wouldn't make any noise.

Once I was settled, he wheeled me down the hospital corridors. I had no idea where we were going, but Sasha was marching with a purpose. I felt sure every nurse we passed would stop and ask us where we were going, but no one did. I never paid attention to all the people walking the halls of Durham Memorial, either. To anyone passing by I'm sure we looked like a nurse and a patient switching rooms or heading to radiology. Still, I was afraid my guilty expression, or at least the occasional yelps of pain I couldn't smother would give us away. Sasha pushed the pace a fraction faster each time I made a noise, trying to make the journey shorter for me. I appreciated the effort, but it made me even more anxious that we would attract notice.

We managed not to draw any undue attention until the parking lot. At that point we began to look odd. With each curious glance, Sasha began to move even faster. I spied his ancient Ford, and breathed a sigh of relief. We were almost there. When we reached the truck, he opened the door and began looking for something inside the cab. Why wasn't he scooping me up and roaring away?

"Let's go," I said, half rising from the wheelchair. I didn't like the looks one of the security guards at the hospital entrance was giving us. Sasha's hand clamped onto my shoulder and pushed me back down. He held a syringe in his other hand and tore an alcohol swab open with his teeth.

"That sort of makes it less sanitary," I pointed out.

"Shut-up," he grumbled, but he touched my cheek for a brief second as he said it, so it was hard to be insulted. He threw the first swab to the ground, opened another one, and rubbed my arm with it. He stuck me before I could even ask what he was giving me.

"What was that?" I tried to ask while he hustled me out of the chair and into the truck. The security guard had gotten concerned enough that he was coming over to investigate.

Sasha slammed my door shut without responding, then jumped in on the driver's side. He didn't answer me until the truck was moving and turning onto the road. "Morphine. A lot of it. I thought it best that you sleep through most of this trip."

I gave him a hard look for the first time today. He still looked as haggard as the first time I woke up a few days earlier. "When was the last time you slept?" I guessed we were driving back to North Carolina, and if the look of determination on his face was anything to go by, we were doing it without stopping.

"I'm fine," he insisted, not answering my question. "Why don't you try to lie down as best as you can."

I wanted to push it further, but my eyelids were already drooping, so I did as he suggested. I put my head in his lap and tried to scrunch up to give him more room, but he made a growling sound when I got too far away, so I returned to my original position. He rested his right hand on top of my hair. The drugs pulled at me, and I gave in to sleep.

I didn't wake until several hours later, but when I did, I wished I hadn't. At first I thought I was transforming again. I was so hot my chest felt like I was on fire. I could hardly breathe, which was good, because if I had enough air, I would have been screaming. I wasn't aware that the truck had stopped until I felt Sasha's cool hands pulling my tangled and sweating hair away from my face.

"Shh, shh." His voice was calm, but his hands were tearing through the bag of medical supplies. I felt the prick of another injection of morphine, and then he coaxed a thermometer into my mouth. He swore when he saw the read out, but didn't tell me what it said. "Galine, I know it hurts, but I need you to sit up a bit and take some pills."

I felt him lift my head and shoulders, and I couldn't help but whimper. The first attempt ended in choking, but on the second try I managed to swallow everything. I was crying and gasping by the end of it, and Sasha was swearing. I kept thinking that something about it sounded odd, and not just because I hadn't heard him use those words before. I recognized why before I drifted to sleep again—he was cursing in Russian.

This cycle repeated several more times. I would wake up in horrible pain, half delirious, and Sasha would pull over and tend to me, sometimes tight-lipped and silent, other times swearing quietly but colorfully in Russian. I wondered if he even knew what he was saying, or if he had picked it up from Manya. Then I remembered he had said his mother was Russian, so maybe he knew more of the language than I thought. Either way, I wasn't able to devote too much brain power to it, and I found it comforting in an odd way.

It felt like weeks had passed before Sasha lifted me out of the truck. I expected to see my apartment building, and was already worried about how Katja would react when she saw me. Instead of brick walls and dingy stairwells, though, I saw the logs of Sasha's cabin. I could smell the pine trees and the faint trace of wood smoke that I remembered from the last time I was there. He strode through the front door, careful not to jostle me in the doorway, and tucked me into the bed.

I lay there a minute, feeling glad I that wasn't bumping around in the cab of the truck anymore. Sasha's bed felt so soft I wanted to cry with relief. I didn't get to enjoy it long, though, before he was back with the dreaded bag of supplies and a glass of water. He took my temperature again, which if his expression was any indication, was still too high for his liking. I was given another handful of pills to swallow, but no shot this time.

He also sat a can with a straw in it on the bedside table. "Drink." I was beginning to notice that he became more curt the more upset he was.

I took a sip and made a face. "What is it?"

"Ensure. It's got about a million calories in it. If you're awake, I want you drinking it. Even after we get you eating better again, this needs to be your new best friend." I didn't see how it was possible for him to look as exhausted as he was and still be conscious.

I nodded and kept drinking. I should have thought of Ensure. We gave it to elderly patients that had trouble keeping up their weight. "Please go to sleep, Sasha. You know very well I'm not going to die, and there's only so much suffering you can prevent." I took his hand and gave him my best stern look. While I still wasn't sure if I one hundred percent believed this immortality stuff, Sasha did, and I wasn't above using it against him.

He nodded and started to stumble towards the couch. He didn't even try to argue, which meant he must have been truly tired. "Don't be ridiculous," I told him. "Sleep in the bed. I know you're not going to try to ravish me or anything."

Sasha continued toward the couch, never pausing. "I don't want to jostle you." He collapsed into a heap, and was asleep in an instant. I knew he was asleep because his face relaxed, his forehead no longer creased in worry. The hard line of his frowning lips softened, too.

I drank my Ensure and watched Sasha until my eyelids grew heavy. My last thought was the hope that I wouldn't be too much of a bother for him, so he could get some sleep. My fever seemed to have gone down, so I hoped that I wasn't getting an infection after all. I was wrong. That was my last lucid thought for days.

My fevered perception made it impossible for me to tell when I was awake and when I was dreaming. At first, I had the nightmare about the burning feathers again. In the dream I transformed over and over again, but my feathers didn't just look like fire, they were fire. Every so often I would feel strong arms holding me down as I thrashed around trying to escape my pyre, but my brain was unable to process them as Sasha's arms, so I would fight and scream and claw at him.

Then it was visions of great black birds that hunted me. I had never seen Sirin in her bird form, so my imagination kept creating more and more gruesome beasts to chase me. They would catch me and hold me down, clawing and pecking at my chest until nothing but a great hole was left. I felt so cold. I would tremble and my teeth would chatter, despite Sasha piling blanket after blanket on top of me.

At last, my nightmares played the scene with Sirin on the balcony over and over. I would hear the boom of the gun and begin to fall. The dream played like that at least a dozen times, then it changed and Sasha was with me. At first, I was relieved. I wasn't alone. He stood beside me as I confronted Sirin, and I was convinced the nightmare would change. It did, but it was much, much worse.

Instead of shooting me, the bullet lodged in Sasha's chest. I watched in horror as blood spread across his shirt and his eyes closed in death. I grabbed at the gun still in Sirin's hand.

"Shoot me! Shoot me!" I begged her, turning the point of the gun towards my chest. "You were supposed to shoot me." I was the immortal. I had always thought of Sasha as so strong, but as I looked down at his lifeless body, I realized how fragile and human he was.

Sirin looked and me and laughed. "You wanted him to be your protector."

I woke screaming and wild with panic. I chanted Sasha's name over and over like a prayer. My nightmare had been so real it took a few minutes before I was even able to focus and realize that I was staring into his face.

Sasha had one hand on each of my burning cheeks, forcing me to look right at him, and he repeated, "I'm right here. I'm right here, Galine."

I was relieved when it registered that he was alive and breathing, but I was still panicked. "Sasha, you were right. You should stay away from me. You shouldn't try to protect me."

"No, I was stupid. I should have been there. I came as fast as I could, but I was too late. She had already—"

"No!" I interrupted, too distressed to think that my nightmare might have been reality if he had been faster. "You can't. She'll kill you. You have to promise me you'll stop."

His eyes flashed with anger. "I will not."

"Please," I pleaded, desperate now. "You can't keep helping me. I couldn't bear it if she killed you. Even if it's not Sirin, it will be someone else. You have to—"

"Galine, listen to me. No one is going to kill me." He pulled me against his chest and tried to calm me by rubbing my back. I tried to protest again, but he held me so tightly against him, I couldn't get anything out. As he spoke again, I could feel the vibration against my cheek. "I'm a hundred and seventy-one years old. If I haven't died yet, I'm not likely to."
CHAPTER 11

When my fever broke and I came to my senses, a different Sasha awaited me.

"You're not wearing black," I said. I suppose I should have started with "good morning" or some other pleasantry, but I couldn't remember seeing him in anything but black jeans and a black t-shirt or Henley. He still had on jeans, but they were a nice dark blue rinse. His t-shirt was a light green, and he had a long-sleeved blue and green plaid shirt on over top of it. He had rolled up the sleeves to about half way up his forearms. The whole effect made him look so normal. Correction, in black Sasha looked good; in colors that complemented him, he looked amazing. But he no longer looked so somber.

I was so taken with the wardrobe change, it took me a couple minutes more to realize the beard was gone, too. "And you shaved." That jaw line that made me want to weep was back. Hmm, maybe these were not good changes while we were in such close quarters. I didn't want look like a fool mooning over him.

"Forty days have past. I have mourned Manya in the outward ways for the traditional length of time. I could do the full year, but I find I want to be about the business of living again." He sounded surprised, but maybe I misinterpreted the tone.

"What tradition is that?" I didn't know anyone that still dressed in black when someone died, and I never had heard of any prohibitions on shaving.

"Russian Orthodox."

This made me raise my eyebrows. "You're Orthodox?"

He nodded. "Is that a problem?"

"No, no. Your religion is your business."

He frowned at me. His mouth opened, closed, opened again, but he shook his head and stayed quiet.

"My father was Orthodox," I told him. "I went to church with him as a little girl. It was kind of nice." I'm not sure why I offered that information. Then Sasha smiled at me. Oh, maybe that's why I had done it. Once I realized why, then I was irritated.

"So, what is there to eat around here?" I knew one surefire way to distract Sasha from something I didn't want to talk about was to let him feed me. However, he still wouldn't let me out of bed to go eat it at the table.

"Absolutely not," he had decreed. "I took you out of the hospital too soon. This time we are moving at a snail's pace."

"You know, you can be very bossy." I kept my voice light, trying to make clear I was teasing.

"I don't want a repeat of the last few days."

I had hoped my joking would help jar the dower, exhausted man before me into a better mood. I didn't know what I had been like while I had been fighting the infection, but it must have been bad. Sasha wouldn't even go as far away as the couch anymore, and slept in an uncomfortable looking chair next to the bed. The first day I was awake, he took my temperature every fifteen minutes. Even now, every time I twitched funny he was there making sure nothing was wrong. In short, he was driving me crazy.

I tried to cut him some slack after talking with Harper, though. After twenty-four hours without my fever returning, I was allowed a quick phone call to my sister, where I had to leave a message, and a brief conversation with Harper. Sasha had even gone outside to give me some privacy, but I could see him right outside the window, hovering.

"Hi, Harper."

"You sound terrible."

"Thanks."

"I knew I should have made you take that chest x-ray." Harper wasn't one for I-told-you-so's, but I had scared her.

"Yeah, probably." I knew I had made the right decision, but since I was supposed to have tuberculosis, I thought it best to sound contrite.

"Why did you run out of the restaurant like that? And for mercy's sake, why did you strip down in the alley?"

Magnolia Grill felt like years ago. "Oh, did you find the dress? Was it okay?"

I could almost hear her roll her eyes over the phone. "The dress is fine. Why did you take it off?"

"I was hot." I knew it was a feeble excuse, but it was also sort of true. "I was delirious. I wasn't thinking clearly."

"Yeah, it sounds like you were in a bad way there for a while."

"Why, what did Sasha tell you?"

"It's not so much what he told me as what he wouldn't tell me. And the calls got shorter and shorter. He was supposed to call me every day with an update, but earlier this week he went two days without a word, so I called him. He was frantic, Galine."

"He was?" That would have been during the worst of my nightmares.

"He had kept telling me not to come, that it was unnecessary and I'd risk being exposed. I was willing to listen to him since it was clear he was fretting enough for the two of us. That night, though, he was beside himself."

"I think I had a bad couple of days."

"That's putting it mildly. He said your temperature spiked to 106, and you were screaming and thrashing, and he couldn't calm you down for anything. He almost let me come because he thought I might be able to help you somehow. Weren't the nurses at the hospital doing anything?"

"Uh... yeah. But you know how it is. There's only so much they can do," I lied.

"Well, I'm glad he's been with you."

"He's been great."

"Galine, you do realize he's in love with you, right?"

"Don't start that again." I groaned into the phone and did a quick check to make sure Sasha was still outside.

"Denying it isn't going to make it go away. I have never heard the level of concern in Cole's voice that I have over the last week and a half in Sasha's."

"I think that says more about Cole than Sasha."

"Stop changing the subject. Do you not like him?" Harper was determined to get the truth out of me. "Because if his girlfriend hadn't just died, I'd say he's a keeper."

"It's not that. He's amazing."

"Then what is it?"

"I think you're reading into things. You don't know the whole story."

"Because you haven't told me," she said. "I know there's something going on with you, and sooner or later you're going to have to tell me what it is. I mean, Sasha seems like a good guy. He stood up to your mother and he's taken care of you while you're sick, so he's earned some brownie points, for sure. But when you're being so secretive about everything, it's hard for me to trust him with you." Harper was frustrated, but as her volume increased, I realized she was close to angry.

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, taking deep breaths. I didn't want to have this conversation with Harper. I had wanted to let her know I was okay. The exercise didn't help compose me, though, because my wheezy lungs weren't cooperating. I heard the door open and Sasha entered the cabin again, looking displeased.

He took the phone from my hands and let Harper have it. "You're upsetting her. Don't call back until you promise to be a calming influence." This order delivered, he hung up on Harper and pocketed the phone.

"Sasha!" I yelled at him. Well, I tried to yell, but I couldn't get enough air, so it came out more like a squeak.

"Calm down, or you'll never catch your breath," he said. "You can holler at me all you want when you're at full lung capacity."

I glared at him, but did as I was told. Stupid lungs. Each breath brought searing pain to my chest. Still, the painful breaths were better than when I couldn't get air at all, which scared me spitless. Sasha placed a hand on my shoulder and took slow deep breaths, reminding my panicked brain how it was done. After a few minutes, my breathing returned to as normal as it was going to get.

I stopped glaring at him, but continued to study him. He still looked like death warmed over. Well, it was Sasha, so he still had a face you'd write sonnets about, but he looked bad for him. The circles under his eyes were so dark, he was beginning to look like someone gave him twin black eyes.

"Sasha, go take a nap. I'm fine."

His response was to stick the thermometer back in my mouth. The device beeped and he had it in his hands before I could get a good cross-eyed look at it. "Well?"

"It's normal."

"See. I'm fine." He ignored this statement and started fussing with my blankets and pillows. "Sasha, if you don't go across the room and lie down and get some sleep, I'm going to strangle you. I don't even care so much about your health any more as I want some peace and quiet!"

This coaxed the barest hint of a smile from him. "I haven't been able to sleep. Nightmares," Sasha confessed. "I'll leave you alone for a while if you're tired of me, but I don't think I can sleep."

"You don't have to leave. Just stop fussing over me." I patted the chair next to the bed. "Sit and talk to me for a while and try to resist the urge to take my temperature."

He nodded and eased down into the chair. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Well, there's the matter of you being over a hundred years old. I don't think I can wait any longer for you to explain that." When I was first coming to, I was sure that my exchange with Sasha had been another one of my delirious dreams. But as I thought about the various nightmares, that moment had seemed so real. Once I had decided that I hadn't dreamed what he had said, I was dying to know what it meant.

"You remember that? You were upset, and still so hot, I thought for sure you had forgotten. Telling you was the one way I was able to get you to calm down."

"Then it's not true?"

"No, it's true. You don't have to worry about me. I'm as immortal as you are."

"And you never thought to share this with me before now?"

"I wasn't sure I was going to stay that way."

"You're not making a great deal of sense." The man needed an "Elaborate" button somewhere I could keep pushing until I got all the information I wanted, so I didn't have to coax every tiny detail out of him.

"I'm sorry. I keep forgetting that no one has explained all of this to you. Manya knew how things worked. Immortality's part of the Covenant."

"And what, pray tell, is a 'Covenant?'" Maybe the button should go right between his eyes. No, I didn't want to mar that beautiful face. The ribs, perhaps?

"It's a sacred binding contract. I agreed to watch over the Gamayun and to live by a certain set of rules. In return I would always know where to find her, and I would share the same immortality. Wouldn't be much help if I was more fragile that the person I was supposed to protect. Mine works like yours; I can still get hurt, but I don't die."

"But you're not thousands of years old like Manya was?"

"No, I was born in 1841. I stopped aging at 21, when I agreed to the Covenant." He said it like it was nothing, but my mind was racing. Would this new life of mine ever stop being so strange?

"You said you have to follow certain rules, what does that mean?"

"The basic stuff. Don't murder, don't lie, don't steal, that kind of thing." He shrugged like none of it was a big deal.

"Did you get a list or something?" I tried to clarify.

"No, it was vaguer than that. The actual instructions were that I be 'a man above reproach.'"

"That sounds appropriately intimidating."

"It can be. I make mistakes. A lot. I'm still alive, though, and I can still find you, so God must be satisfied that I'm holding up my end of the bargain."

Sasha might have been unconcerned that his immortality could be revoked on the whim of a vengeful deity, but I was plenty worried for him. "But at the hospital you stole and lied, and who knows what else." I twisted the blankets in my hands, taking my frustrations out on them.

"Yeah, I've had a bit harder time obeying since I met you. I'm more willing to bend the rules." He had his blue eyes locked onto me. "Things with Manya were difficult, but she protected me as much or more than I ever did her. She would never let me do anything that would put my soul in jeopardy."

"I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me, either." Sasha was so close I was having another one of those moments where I was having trouble thinking.

"God's not like that, Galine. I know you think He's ready to smite me the moment I step out of line, but you'll see. There's much more good in Him." He said it with conviction, but I wasn't sure who he was trying to convince—him or me.

I was angry, no longer distracted by Sasha's beautiful face. "I don't want to talk about God."

He looked like he might press the issue a minute, but then he relaxed and leaned back against his chair. He closed his eyes, tired again. "Fine. What else do you want to talk about?"

"What did you mean when you said you weren't sure you were going to stay immortal? If it's not because you're afraid you're going to do something to get it taken away, then what is it?" I was still struggling to make sense of all of his cryptic statements.

He opened his eyes again, but didn't answer right away. I tried to be patient as he collected his thoughts. "Watching over the Gamayun is a choice. I've explained that to you before. I chose to do it for Manya, and I wasn't sure I wanted to continue to do it. If I chose to end the Covenant, I would begin to grow old, and eventually I would die."

Sasha's words sucker punched me. Before, when he had said he wanted to quit, it had stung a bit, but I didn't think it was personal. Being the guardian was a difficult job, and I didn't blame him for his decision. But now that I knew he would choose dying over protecting me, I was devastated.

"I see," I said, my voice trembling. I began to draw inwards, and as far away from him as possible on the other side of the bed.

"No, you don't see." He caught my hand before I could scoot out of reach. "How old are you, Galine?"

"Twenty," I answered, unsure of how that was relevant.

"And other than your father, have you lost many people close to you?"

"No."

"Remember what it felt like when he died?"

I nodded. It felt like having your guts ripped out and yet somehow being enveloped in a cold numbness at the same time.

"Imagine going through that again and again. And again. Until everyone you've ever loved is gone." He rubbed his palms over the front of his jeans twice, then dug them into his knees. "Immortality is lonely, Galine. Bone-crushingly lonely. Humans weren't meant to live forever."

"You had Manya, though."

"Manya left me a long time ago. I wasn't enough for her."

I tried to understand what Sasha was saying. Life without my sister or Harper was hard to picture, but I knew what he was telling me was true. One day they would be gone and I would still be here.

"So you decided you wanted to live, even though it meant being shackled to me?" I could see the shock on his face. I had stumbled onto the heart of it.

He was so startled, his clenched hands fell to the side. "Are you that blind?"

"Blind?"

"You are, aren't you? Who convinced you that you were so unlovable, Galine?" He pulled me back so I was close to him again.

His words didn't make any sense. The conversation had begun to bewilder me, and Sasha's face was right next to mine again, making it difficult for me to puzzle out what he meant. All I could focus on was his eyes and those crazy long eyelashes.

"I don't understand," I mumbled.

"I didn't choose to remain the guardian in spite of you, Galine. I chose it _because_ of you. I tried to give you some space, let you do this on your own, but I'm afraid you're stuck with me." He leaned in even closer, his lips a breath away from mine. "After a few millennia, you can order me away if I'm pestering you."

"Because of me?" I echoed. I thought maybe saying the words out loud would help me decipher them. I was as confused as before, though. "Why? Do you still feel obligated? Am I that much of a lost cause?"

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "No. I mean, I might have felt that way at first. Actually, that's not true. At first I was annoyed with your existence. Then I moved to obligation."

"Oh."

He grabbed a fist full of his hair in aggravation. "This isn't coming out right. That's not how I feel anymore, Galine. You don't need me. You're so fierce."

I shook my head. That was laughable. "No I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You've had to deal with so much in your short life, and you've met it head on with grace and bravery, and, well, a good deal of stubbornness, too. Heaven help me, but I even like that. And you're funny. I don't think you mean to be all the time, but you make me laugh, Galine."

His words began to penetrate my thick skull, but they still didn't make any sense to me. Sasha sounded like he was saying that he wanted to be with me, but that still didn't seem possible. He was too handsome, too good, too selfless to be interested in me. But even if I couldn't believe what he was saying, there was no denying that he was about to kiss me.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," I whispered, thinking of Harper's warning not to be the rebound girl.

"Oh, I'm sure this is a colossally bad idea. I just don't care at the moment." He pulled me to him even closer, and then he kissed me.

Sasha's mouth was warm and soft, and at first he took great care to be gentle with me. I didn't want gentle, though. As much as I had tried to deny it, I had wanted to kiss him for a long time. With one hand, I clenched the front of his shirt into a fist, and with the other I snaked up his neck until I could tangle my fingers in his thick, dark hair. He responded to my eagerness in kind, bringing one hand up to the base of my neck and the other arm he used to crush me to his chest. He deepened the kiss, and when I at last gasped for air, instead of releasing me, he loosened his grip and turned his attentions to my neck. He trailed a line of kisses down the delicate skin there, making me shiver.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice rough.

I gasped as he switched from kissing my neck to nibbling on it. "I am most definitely not cold." I felt his shoulders shake in quiet laughter. I knew how to put a stop to that. I drew his face back up to me, so I could reclaim his lips, silencing him.

At last my wretched chest protested that I had partaken in enough recreational activity for one day, and my ragged breathing gave me away. Sasha withdrew, frowning at me. "I'm hurting you, aren't I?"

"I'm fine," I lied, ignoring the pounding ache in my chest. I tried reaching for him again, but he placed my hands back at my sides.

"You're still a terrible liar. I'm not going to injure you so I can enjoy myself."

"What if I was enjoying it?"

Sasha grinned, full of pride. "Yes, you did seem to get some benefit out of that, didn't you?"

All my brazen attitude left me. I was embarrassed at how I had thrown myself at him. "I'm s-s-sorry," I stammered.

"Oh no, don't you apologize. This one's all on me. I'm taking full credit. If I wasn't afraid I'd hurt you, I'd kiss you senseless again, so you'd stop talking nonsense." He took my hand in his. "Galine, I don't know how to make this any more plain to you. I'm crazy about you."

I shook my head at him. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Why?" he demanded. "Why is it so hard for you to believe?"

"You're too perfect."

He laughed a dry, sarcastic laugh. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm nearly as bull-headed as you, I have a quick temper, and as you've already pointed out, I have an annoying habit of hovering. And that's just the tip of the iceberg."

"But you're so good looking, and I'm..." I trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence. Wasn't it obvious? Hadn't I been told for years that my looks were subpar at best? Compared to Katja, Harper, Sirin, or Manya, I was nothing.

That quick temper Sasha had mentioned blazed to the surface. "Galine, look at me," he commanded, taking my face in his hands as he had after my nightmares, forcing me to look straight into his eyes. "You. Are. Beautiful," he declared, emphasizing each word. As if to solidify his point, he kissed me on the lips once. "I will not tolerate anyone who says differently, even if it's you," he said, hugging me close.

"Are you sure it's not the hair?" I asked.

He eased away from me so he could get a better look at my face. "Your hair?"

"Well, it's the same as Manya's. I thought maybe that's what's attracting you."

Sasha looked at me, confused. "Why would a resemblance to Manya make me attracted to you? Yes, the hair is similar, but otherwise you don't look anything like her." As an afterthought he added, "Thank goodness."

"Would it be painful for you if I looked like her?"

"Not so much painful as weird."

I thought about that for a minute. "I could see how it would a bit odd if your new girlfriend looked like your old girlfriend."

"Girlfriend?!" The word came out sounding strangled, and Sasha turned pale.

I was horrified again. I had jumped to conclusions. Sasha had told me he liked me and had kissed me, but that didn't make me his girlfriend. I began to backtrack as best I could. "You don't have to call me that. You're right, it's probably too soon."

He sighed. "I'm not talking about you. I would be delighted if you considered yourself my girlfriend. I'm talking about Manya. Why do you think that she was my girlfriend?"

I was so pleased with the statement that I didn't answer the question. "For real?" I asked, my face alight.

Sasha smiled. "Yes. In fact, I'm going to insist that you tell people that you're my girlfriend." His voiced deepened with that statement. Was that a hint of possession in his tone? The mere idea of it baffled and pleased me at the same time. "But please, answer my question. I'm dying to hear how you came to that conclusion about Manya."

"Oh, is that not right? Was she your wife?"

"No!" he shouted. "Where are you getting this?"

"When I told you she was dead, you were so angry, and you said you loved her. You dedicated your whole life to her."

I could almost see Sasha's brain churning, attempting to recall our conversation, trying to follow my logic. I was doing the same, struggling to figure out how I had gotten it so wrong. From his reaction, I was way off base.

"You would have done the same for Katja. I loved her, but that doesn't mean I was _in_ love with her."

"So she was your sister?" That didn't make any sense, either. I knew Manya had two other sisters, but both were mythical bird women created thousands of years ago. Sasha had been born a human.

"No, Manya was my mother."
CHAPTER 12

"You almost done in there?" Sasha called through the bathroom door. As much as I wished I could make the trek from the cabin to the bathroom unassisted, I wasn't quite there yet. I could have leaned on Sasha, but he always scooped me up and carried me. I confess; I was enjoying it.

"Mmmhmm," I said. I crept on tiptoe to the door, and snapped the bolt home.

"Galine, did you lock the door?" His voice had already gone up in pitch.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I need a real bath. I refuse to do any more washcloth and basin nonsense."

"You'll get your dressing wet. We talked about this."

"I can feel myself. It's disgusting. I know how to keep a dressing dry." I walked back over to the tub and started to fill it up, then fiddled with the temperature until it was perfect.

"Galine, please unlock the door. What if something happens and I can't get to you?"

I sighed and walked back over to the door. "If you swear to give me a whole twenty minutes to take a bath, I will unlock the door."

I heard a great deal of shuffling and perhaps some soft cursing from the other side of the door. "I promise."

I unlocked the door and peeked out. Sasha's hair was sticking out in a few odd directions, a sure sign he had been pulling at it with his hands. "You worry too much. Do you know how many people I have given baths to while avoiding dressings, casts, all sorts of things?"

"I know, I know. You don't need me." He stared at his boots.

"Silly man." I yanked him close by the front of his shirt and kissed him. "I need you. Just not for this." He grinned like a schoolboy. "Now go grab me some clothes to change into and supplies to rebandage."

I slipped into the water and almost wept with joy. Sasha was going to have to give me more than twenty minutes. I spent some time submerged in the bath, enjoying the feel of the warm water on my skin, then I studied the line of bottles on the shelf by the tub. For a guy, Sasha was well stocked in the toiletries department. It was nice stuff, too. At home, I used Suave apple shampoo and Dial soap, but he looked like he had the full line of Kiehl's men's products. I began opening bottles and sniffing, trying to pinpoint that spicy scent of his. While everything was nice and clean smelling, his scent didn't come from his shampoo.

I scrubbed until I was bright pink and even managed to wash my hair, but that was a bit harder. By the end of it, I was exhausted and wheezing. I could also hear Sasha doing a little impatient dance outside the door. I put my robe back on and let him in.

Not only did he have the things I asked for, but he also had a black office chair on wheels. He pushed it into the room. "Sit."

I sat without argument. "Where did that come from?" Everything in the cabin was an antique.

"The office upstairs."

"There's an office in the barn, too?"

"When I put in the bathroom, I also took out the hay mow and put in an office. That's where I keep my computer, some books, other stuff."

I nodded, still trying to breathe at normal rate. I'd wondered where he had been hiding his internet connection. The cabin didn't even have electricity.

Sasha started to come towards me with a clear intent to hover, but I managed to wave him off. "Give me a minute."

He shuffled over to the sink instead and brushed his teeth. It was still early, so I guess he hadn't gone through his morning routine yet. Then he got out a piece of leather and a wicked looking blade of some sort. He scraped the blade up and down the leather.

"What is that and what do you plan to do with it?" I edged backwards in my wheelie chair.

Sasha looked at the expression on my face and laughed. "It's a straight razor. I'm going to shave with it."

"You got something against the good people of Gillette? Geez, Sasha, that thing looks like a weapon."

He chuckled at me again. "You worry too much," he said, doing his best to mimic my voice. "I've been shaving like this for over a century."

I watched in fascination as he went through the whole ritual. First he made a shaving lather because, of course, he couldn't use that new-fangled shaving cream in a can, either. He applied it with a brush, and then shaved at an alarming speed with the straight razor. Once he was done, he splashed on some aftershave. "See, not even a nick." He lowered his face towards me for inspection.

I felt the smooth skin of his cheek. "Mmm, nice." Leaning in closer, I brushed my cheek against his.

"Hmm, you think so, do you?" He nuzzled my ear, but we didn't get much further.

"That's it!" I grabbed a hold of his face and gave him a good sniff. "It has to be your shaving stuff. What is that scent?"

"The shaving soap or the aftershave?" He was confused, and I didn't blame him.

"Both. Either. I don't know."

"The soap is a sandalwood and the aftershave is a bay rum, I think. Why does it matter?"

"Please don't ever change it, okay. I love it."

"As my lady commands." Sasha leaned in to retrieve the sweet kiss he thought he was getting before I started after him like a bloodhound.

Once he pulled away, I realized how unnecessary my request to not change had been. The man still shaved with a straight razor. I looked back at the line of Kiehl's products along the bathtub and noticed the prominent "Since 1851" tagline on all of the bottles.

"Sasha, have you always used Kiehl's?"

"Yes. Do you like how they smell, too?"

"They're fine." I waved my hand, trying to indicate that wasn't my point. I looked down at his jeans. They were Levi's. They were always Levi's. I laughed. History wasn't my forte, but I thought that Levi Strauss was the person credited with inventing blue jeans. "And your jeans—have you always worn Levi's?"

"Yes."

"You aren't much for change, are you?"

"I'll have you know my wardrobe has changed a lot. I used to have to wear suits all the time. With these awful starchy collars. And ties and uncomfortable shoes." His brow furrowed, remembering.

"Well, I stand corrected. You have embraced t-shirts. Now if we can just get you to use modern appliances." The cabin didn't have an oven, microwave, or even a fridge. All it had for cooking was a large Laurel wood burning stove. The Laurel was a black monstrosity with a pipe that vented to the outside. The stove top had six disks that served as burners, but they heated just as unevenly as the tiny oven below them. To the left of the oven was the metal door where you stuck in the wood. The whole thing hissed and spit, and scared me half to death.

"Not all new things are better," he said.

"Of course, of course." I gave him a dramatic sympathetic look. "You, for example, while technically geriatric, are a fine specimen of manhood."

Sasha drew his mouth into a line, refusing to joke with me. "I'm serious. Older things can carry great meaning and significance."

"Okay." I dropped all pretense of teasing or flirting. I'd hit a nerve, but I didn't know what it was or how to make it better.

"I'll leave you to change." He left the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He returned to carry me back to the cabin, but then he left me alone again as soon as I was settled.

I was left to stare at the walls. I'd been in the cabin a week, and although I didn't remember the first few days, the room was familiar to me from my perch on the bed. The top left corner of the kitchen was anchored by the big black stove. Next to it was a sink with a faucet you still had to hand pump to get the water flowing. There were no traditional kitchen cabinets attached to the walls. Sasha's few dishes were kept in a glass fronted hutch. He had informed me it was, in fact, called a secretary. The bottom half had drawers for linens and a pull out surface for a desk. The last of the kitchen oddities was a pie safe, another new word for me. Again, I thought it a squatty pantry or something, but Sasha pointed out the punched tin front. He claimed it was the predecessor of the fridge, but I was having a hard time buying that.

The top right corner of the cabin held the kitchen table, a solid wood piece with drop leaves and massive curling feet. The chairs that went with it were more delicate, with leaves carved into the back rungs and cane weaved for the seats. I was afraid to sit on them, but then I remembered because of bird weirdness I only weighed around fifty pounds. Sasha weighed at least three times that, and he hadn't broken a chair yet.

The furniture to the left of the bed was arranged in a living room seating near the fireplace. There were two chairs, one larger and with no padding of any kind. The other was petite, with an olive green velvet cushion. They looked for all the world like Momma Bear and Poppa Bear's set. There was also a settee with the same green velvet upholstery. It didn't look comfortable, and it was only about four feet long, but it was where Sasha had been sleeping. A large trunk served as a coffee table.

Right next to the bed was a small end table with carvings so intricate, I had spent a good amount of time staring at it. The wood was a dark rosy color and full of tiny details, swirls, and whorls. To the right of the bed stood a dresser and a wardrobe. I had already peeked and found that the dresser was full of Sasha's things. In the wardrobe I had found some dresses and a few odd items that were so petite, they had to have been Manya's. Discovering them had made me sad, so I had ceased my snooping.

All said, the cabin was cozy, but it was not the vibe I would go for if I was decorating a space. Sasha had taken good care of the furniture, so it still shone in the firelight, and all the drawers and cabinets opened with ease. I was even impressed with how well he was able to turn out meal after meal on that ancient stove. Still, I didn't understand why he went to such effort. I had assumed it was because he was old and liked old things. But after our conversation in the bathroom, I tried to take another look at what was around me.

The creaky pump faucet was in my line of vision. Why did he keep using that, even though he had one of the most luxurious bathtubs I had ever seen in his barn? He drove an old truck, but the motorcycle was sleek, fast, and top of the line. He had a computer, but the only clock in the cabin was an old pocket watch propped on a wooden stand. The pocket watch was on the bedside table, so I picked it up. I had never noticed how beautiful it was before. The face was silver, with elaborate scroll work in the middle. The watch hands, decorative edges, and back were made of gold. I flipped it over and saw the names of the watch makers engraved in the back, "Vacheron & Constantin," as well as "Geneva," which I assumed was where the watch had been made.

I heard the cabin door open and close, but I was so taken with the watch that I didn't look up. Sasha planted a kiss on the crown of my head. "Sorry." He murmured the word into my hair.

"For what?" I looked up at him. He cocked his head to the side, confused. "You didn't yell. You didn't say anything mean. I said something that upset you, so you took some alone time. Why are you sorry for that?"

He sat down on the bed next to me. "You're not mad?"

"No. I am curious why you were upset, but I think I might have a guess." I held up the pocket watch. "Tell me about this."

Sasha took the watch from me and cradled it his hand. "This is a wedding present. Manya gave it to my father." He clasped it in his fist and closed his eyes. "No." The word was a whisper so soft I almost didn't hear it. "My mother, Mama..."

He said the word the Russian way, and there was so much love expressed in those four little letters. I couldn't remember ever saying Mama like that to Senovia, not even before Papa died.

"Mama gave it to Dad as a wedding present," he said. "He loved it. Wore it every day. It came to me when he died. I wore it for a while, but clothes these days don't have anywhere to put it."

"It looks lovely on the stand." I put a hand to his back and leaned against him. "How old is it?"

"They were married in 1837." He handed the watch back to me.

I looked at it again, now aware of its history. The watch was always off by at least six minutes, and Sasha had to wind it by hand. "If you show me how to wind it, I can help you."

He stared at me, his brow creased so hard I thought he was going to leave a dent in his forehead.

"Unless you're afraid I might break it. I'm sure it's priceless."

He nodded. "Last I checked, one that old can go for over a million dollars these days."

That wasn't what I had meant, but the shock of that number almost made me drop the silly thing. "No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant." He stared at me again, and I couldn't make out what he was thinking.

Had I guessed wrong? I thought perhaps the old things Sasha clung to must have had stories and meaning behind them. For him to adopt something new, I figured that it had to provide an advantage greater than what he had to give up. The silence stretched on, so I put the pocket watch back on its stand. I didn't say anything else.

Finally, Sasha spoke. "Galine?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

I turned to look at him, and he raised a hand to cup my cheek. "For what?"

He shook his head. " _Vse, vse_." He kissed my cheek and stood up and went to the kitchen to make dinner.

I sat trying to puzzle out his meaning. He had said _vse_ —all, everything. How had I given him that?

Tell-me-about-this became a game for us. I would point to something, and he would give me the history. Over the next few days I discovered that Sasha's father Jeremiah had not only built the cabin from the pine of the forest surrounding us, but he had also built every single piece of furniture. For that, he'd traded pine with another logger further south to buy a load of flame mahogany. Sasha's mother had loved the rich, dark wood with the reddish hue. With great care, Jer had joined together each piece of furniture and added the carvings that made them works of art.

The trunk in the living room turned out to be the steamer trunk that Manya had used on her transatlantic voyage when she emigrated from Russia. Over the years the leather covering had begun to wear thin, so Sasha's father had removed it and varnished the wood underneath. Even the funny little knobs along the bed frame had a reason. The bed had originally been a rope bed, and that's where the ropes had lashed to the wooded frame. Sasha had converted the bed to hold a modern mattress, but he couldn't bear to remove the knobs that had taken his father so long to craft.

Watching Sasha tell these stories, I would have had to be both blind and deaf to not comprehend how much he loved his parents. I enjoyed hearing him tell stories about them, but at the same time, it was painful. As clear as his fondness for them was, so, too, was how much he missed them. I could ask about two or three things a day before his mouth became pinched and his eyes grew tired. Once I made the mistake of pushing for four stories in one day, and he had to chop wood for an hour before he could come back inside and settle. He was quiet the rest of the evening.

I kept asking, though, and the cabin began to look different to me. I took greater care with everything I touched, and didn't complain about its inconveniences anymore. They didn't seem as important. Sasha noticed the change. One day when I was folding the quilt on the bed with great concentration, he kissed me with such enthusiasm he nearly knocked me over.

His melancholy mood seemed to be lifting, too. At times, he was even giddy. On a particularly beautiful fall day, my warden noticed that I was getting stir crazy in the cabin and had approved letting me lie on a blanket in the grass behind the back porch. I wasn't allowed to walk to and from the blanket, but I was so glad Sasha had agreed to that, I wasn't going to fuss about being carried. The carrying had led to kissing, which still ended with me gasping. I stared up at the clouds and tried to catch my breath.

Sasha, of course, laughed at me. "I think you're getting better. That one was much longer before you ran out of air."

"If you have the presence of mind to be timing us while we're making out, then I'm doing it wrong."

"I can assure you, your technique is fine," he said, still chuckling. He pulled me close so that my head was resting against his shoulder and put an arm around me.

I was so full of emotions I thought I would burst. At the surface, my hormones were racing, making me aware of every place Sasha's skin touched mine and every time he shifted even a millimeter. And underneath that, I was so happy I couldn't stop grinning. I would have been more embarrassed about that if he wasn't having the same problem. Deeper still was a feeling at first I didn't even have a name for; it had been so long since I had felt it. I hadn't had the luxury of this emotion since before my father had died. It had taken me days to be able to put it into words. In Sasha's arms I felt safe.

I turned onto my side so I could get a good look at him. He was fiddling with something in his jeans pocket. "What have you got?" I asked, curious.

"Nothing," he said, removing his hand and lacing it with my own.

I frowned, unsure why he wouldn't tell me what he was hiding. Then he flashed me one of his dizzying smiles, and I forgot everything. I knew Sasha was gorgeous, but so much about him was a mystery. "Talk to me," I said.

"What about?" His eyes were closed when I turned to look at him.

"Doesn't matter. You're so stingy with your conversation," I accused. If I didn't pepper him with questions, he didn't ever talk.

"I'm not stingy. I'm just out of practice. I've talked to you more in the last couple of months than I have in the last few years."

"That can't be true!"

"Who would I talk to, Galine?"

"Manya?"

"The last conversation I had with her was over a year ago," he said. "It consisted of her telling me that I wasn't too old for her to turn over her knee if I kept following her around."

"What about people in town? Surely you have a few people you know and talk to."

"No. I don't age, remember? I try to limit my interactions so no one gets suspicious. Otherwise I have to move all the time, and I like it here."

"But don't you have to go to town for food and stuff?"

He shook his head again. "I live much the same way I did a hundred years ago. I hunt, fish, plant a big garden every year, and can things for the winter."

I couldn't help giggling at this. I got a mental image of Sasha in a frilly pink apron canning tomatoes on the stove.

"What's so funny?" he demanded, eyes flying open.

"The only people I know who can things are little, old, gray-haired ladies," I said, still snickering.

"I am old."

"I'm sorry," I said, trying not to grin. "Continue. You hunt, you fish..."

Sasha narrowed his eyes at me, then lay back down and started talking again. "I try to be as self-sustaining as possible, but you're right, there are some things I have to buy. The Internet has been a godsend. It made ordering clothes for you much easier. I think me wandering around a woman's department store in Boone would have left an impression."

"Sasha, you going to the grocery store for a loaf of bread would leave an impression."

He propped his head up on his elbow so he could get a better look at me. "I'm glad you fell for my charms, but I don't think my appeal is as universal as you think it is."

"Yes it is," I said. "You should have seen all the women staring at you when you took me to dinner at Dain's."

"You're making that up."

"I am not. Harper thinks you're hot, too, and she can have any guy she wants."

He honestly looked surprised. "So Harper is the standard of beauty these days, is she?"

I nodded. "She's a goddess in men's eyes. Why, what's wrong with her?" He was making a strange face.

"I like Harper well enough. She seems like she's been a good friend to you. She doesn't do anything for me. She's too skinny, and..." He hesitated a moment trying to find the right word. "Angular."

"Angular!" I hooted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"That's not quite the right word. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but women are supposed to be soft and have breasts and hips, and look like—you know—women!" he said, exasperated.

"Is that so?" I gave him my most solemn tone, but ruined it by laughing a moment later.

Sasha growled at me, but I could tell he wasn't mad. He kissed the end of my nose and laughed with me.

"Well, I can't say I'm upset you don't find Harper attractive. Now if I can just keep you away from my sister, there might be hope for us yet."

"Why, is she as ravishing as you?" he whispered into my ear.

"No, much more so, I'm afraid."

Sasha rolled away from me and onto his back and groaned. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Hey, it's a legitimate concern, Mister. It's happened before."

That had him sitting all the way up. "Explain."

"I don't date that much, but a couple of times I made the mistake of introducing my dates to Katja. They weren't as interested in me after that."

"Idiots."

"Don't judge them too harshly until you've seen my sister."

"I don't care if she has a face like Helen of Troy, it's not going to change how I feel about you." He was fierce in his insistence.

"Well, I guess if you think Harper's too 'angular,' you would feel the same about Kat," I admitted.

He calmed down but was still disgruntled. He lay back down next to me, pulling me into his arms again. "I shouldn't complain about the stupidity of the men in your life. They make things easier for me." He turned to face me. "Have you got your breath back?" There was a certain gleam in his eye I was beginning to recognize.

"Yes," I said, leaning in.

"Can we stop talking now?" he asked, but he didn't wait for my response, which was fine by me.

We fell into a routine over the next several days. It still involved way too much sleeping and eating and not enough kissing and talking to suit me. Lying didn't do any good, though, as my body was always giving me away. If my stomach wasn't growling, my eyelids were drooping. I'd insist I was fine, but Sasha was resolute. "Galine, you're like a toddler," he'd complain. "Quit fighting sleep. You need to rest to heal."

"I want to spend more time with you."

"I'm not going anywhere. Go to sleep."

So I was taking yet another nap when Harper called back. Sasha had left his cell phone on the nightstand, and it rang like a siren in my ear. I grumbled for him to pick it up, but after the second ring, I sat up and realized he wasn't in the cabin. I spied him through the back window bent over in the garden. The phone kept ringing, so I answered it.

"Hello," I said, giving my best Oscar the Grouch impression.

"Galine?"

"Oh hey, Harper." Hearing her voice put me in a better mood.

"So, how's the weather?"

"The weather?" Sasha had told her I was in a hospital in Raleigh, the city next to Durham. "Uh, I imagine it's the same as where you are."

"So it's nice, then."

"Harper, why are we talking about the weather?"

"I'm working from a list of calming topics. After the weather we've got," she paused while she consulted the list, "Well, it's pretty much weather, so you're going to have to work with me here."

I laughed. "Harper, you can throw your list away and start in on the I-told-you-so's."

She let loose a shriek so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. "I knew it!" she crowed. "So he finally told you how he felt, huh?"

"Yes. You were right."

"What about the ex? Did you talk about her?"

"Yeah, I was way off base there. She's not an ex."

"Oh, was she a friend or something?"

I winced. "Relative." I hoped that was enough. I didn't think I was going to be able to explain how I could mistake a mother for a girlfriend without a discussion about how neither Sasha nor his mother aged.

"Wow, when you're wrong, you're wrong."

"Yes, my blindness has been pointed out."

Harper laughed again. "And what was your response to all of this?"

I tried to remember what I had said, but I couldn't recall a lot of talking, just me attacking him. "I didn't say much."

I heard Harper gasp on the other end. "You kissed him, didn't you?"

"Technically, he kissed me."

"Honey, I'm excited for you, but you can't be doing that."

"Why?"

"You'll give him TB!"

I kept forgetting our cover story. "Oh, right. Well, he'd already been exposed. He's been with me the whole time."

"There's exposure, and then there's exposure, Galine," she said. "Well, it's been a few weeks, I suppose. You've had antibiotics long enough you might not be contagious anymore." A new thought occurred to her. "Hey, maybe I could come visit now."

"No, not yet. I'm still under quarantine," I rushed to inform her. I was doing better, but it was going to be another week before I could come home and convince her I wasn't a gunshot victim.

The door to the cabin opened, grabbing my attention. Sasha strolled back in, his arms full of acorn squash and sweet potatoes. In fact, he was so loaded down with vegetables, he had decided to use his t-shirt as an impromptu basket. He held the edge of it up so nothing would spill out, which afforded me a peek at his abs. That little glimpse was so distracting that I didn't realize Harper was still talking to me.

"Galine? Galine!"

"Sorry, Harper. Sasha came in," I said. "To my hospital room," I added. Sasha dumped the vegetables onto the kitchen counter, and I tried to focus on the conversation again. However, the show was only beginning. The squash and potatoes must have been dirtier than he realized because his shirt was streaked with dirt and mud. He stood by the kitchen sink, and I figured he'd try to wash it, but instead he peeled his shirt right off.

I couldn't help it; I stared. His chest was as lovely as his face. I watched as Sasha tossed his wadded up t-shirt into the hamper, then he began to walk towards the bed. I was about to hyperventilate when I realized his destination was not me, but the dresser next to the bed. He pulled out another shirt and slipped it over his head. At this point, he did approach me. I felt him come around to my right side, but I was too chicken to look at him.

"Galine, dear," he whispered into my ear.

"Yes?"

"You dropped the phone."

I turned to look at him and his whole body was shaking with laughter. I chucked a pillow at the back of his head as he walked back into the kitchen.

I picked up the phone, half expecting that Harper had hung up on me. "Harper?"

"I'm still here."

"Sorry. Sasha was being infuriating."

"Oh honey, you've got it bad, don't you?"

"Yeah."

I hung up not too long after that, as Sasha began to motion that it was time to feed me again. Once my stomach was full, I got sleepy once more, so I didn't get to talk to him until I woke later that evening.

The nights had started to get cooler, so Sasha wrapped me in a quilt and took me out to the porch swing. "I feel like a burrito," I grumbled.

"A cute burrito."

His little bit of flattery worked, and I stopped complaining. I rested my head against his shoulder and enjoyed the quietness of the night for a while. I couldn't see the mountains in the dark, but I could make out the brilliance of the stars. The sky held so many more of them out in the country than in Durham. I couldn't stay quiet, though. My burning curiosity got the better of me.

"Tell me about Jer," I said.

A wistful smile spread across Sasha's lips. "He was a good man."

"Do you look like him?"

"I'm practically a carbon copy."

"Well, I can see why Manya fell for him, then." I looked up at him with pride. "How did your parents meet?" This was the story I wanted to hear.

He laughed in a short burst. "It wasn't too different from us. She crash landed where some of the cows were grazing. Scared Dad half to death."

"What did he do?"

"Same thing I did. He took her inside and cleaned her up. She had a bad run in with some slave owners she had some choice words for."

This startled me a bit. I kept forgetting how old Manya was. She had been delivering unpleasant messages for so long.

Sasha continued, "After he got over the shock of all of it, he was gone. He says it took him a week or two, and it was a done deal for him. I wish you could have seen them together, Galine. They were so in love, and she was so happy."

I tried to picture Manya as he described her, but it was so contrary to the woman I met, it was hard to reconcile the two images of her. "She was happy?"

"Yes, very much so. Manya wasn't always like how you knew her. She wasn't always bitter. She went by Yuna in those days. No one would have dreamed of calling her Manya."

"Yuna? Where did that come from?"

"It was a pet name, a shortened version of the last letters of Gamayun."

"Well, I like that better. When did you stop calling her Mama?"

"After Dad died, she wouldn't respond to anything but Manya. I eventually gave up."

I waited for Sasha to continue the story, but he clammed up. He began to fuss with the quilt again, which meant he was thinking about hustling me back inside and into bed. For once, I wasn't tired yet, and I still had more questions.

"And when did you come along?"

He left the quilt alone, although his shoulders were still hunched and tense. "They had been married four years. It was a quiet time for Mama. She hadn't had to leave but a few times since they had been together. They were surprised, to say the least."

"Why?"

"Well, they weren't sure it was possible to have children. I mean, genetically speaking, she wasn't anything like Dad."

I hadn't ever thought of that. I had so many other concerns about being Gamayun, whether or not I could still have children had never entered my mind. I decided that was too much to think about and slammed the door closed on that idea.

"So when she found out she was pregnant, Mama was happy but worried, too. They had no idea what I was going to be."

"Which was?" I thought I had pieced things together, but considering my track record, I figured I'd better make certain.

"A prince among men," he teased.

"Har, har."

"A perfectly normal, human baby boy. If Mama hadn't carried me for nine months, you would swear I was no relation."

"I don't know. You may not look like her, but that bossiness of yours is all Manya. I'm guessing you picked up that colorful swearing from her, too."

Sasha gave me a rueful look. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"So, do you have any brothers or sisters I don't know about?"

"No, just me. They wouldn't still be alive anyway. Immortality comes with the guardian gig, not because of who my mother was, remember?"

"I know." I couldn't forget. I was still worried about the conditions of Sasha's arrangement, even if he wasn't. I didn't want to have that argument again, though. "How long did your parents have together?"

He grew tense again and clenched his fists. "We better get you back inside. It's getting cold out here."

"Sasha, I'm plenty warm."

"No, it's too cold," he decreed. Brooking no further argument on the subject, he scooped me up and carried me back into the cabin. Once he had deposited me on the bed, he stomped back towards the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go chop some wood. We might need a fire tonight." He was out the door before I could remind him that he had at least a cord of wood already stacked against the fence outside.

I waited for him to come to this realization and return to the cabin, but instead I heard the crack of wood being split with an ax. That stubborn man was going to chop wood so he didn't have to finish our conversation. I wanted to crack a few things of my own, starting with that thick skull of his. I tried to stay up until he was done, but after an hour the repetitive thud of the ax lulled me to sleep.

I wasn't as angry in the morning. Talking about my father was still hard for me at times, too. I resolved to not push Sasha so much for information about his parents. His mother's death was still fresh in his mind, and it was clear from what he had told me that their relationship had not been a good one at the end.

Sasha was in a better mood, too. After feeding me enough eggs, bacon, and pancakes for three people, he agreed to let me walk from the bed to the couch. I even got to eat lunch at the table. I was munching on a sandwich when I began to realize that he was trying to butter me up.

"Galine, I want to talk to you about something, and I want you to hear me out," he began.

"Uh-oh. When Katja starts a conversation like that, she's usually in trouble."

"I'm serious," he said, taking my hand. "You're doing a lot better, and soon you're going to be back in Durham. I don't know when you'll have to leave again to deliver a prophecy. But if you're sent back to Sirin, I don't want you to go."

"Okay," I said, returning to my sandwich.

"That's it? I thought you were going to be difficult," he said, his mouth hanging open.

"Why would I want to go back to someone who shot me? Besides, I said my piece; I'm done now, right?"

"That's not how it works. You focus on one person for a while until they either repent or the promised judgment comes to pass."

I pushed the sandwich away. I wasn't hungry any more. In fact, I was afraid I was going to be sick. "So I'll have to see Sirin again. I don't have a choice."

"Yes you do. I know it's hard, but Manya was able to train herself to do it."

I gaped at him in shock. Manya began to make a bit more sense to me. "Sasha, didn't she ever tell you what it was like to resist once you've been sent to someone?"

"She said it was uncomfortable," he offered, looking a bit confused. "A bit of discomfort is better than being shot again, isn't it?"

"Resisting is not 'uncomfortable.' It's excruciating. Manya must have lived in unrelenting pain. I have no idea how she managed it." No wonder she lashed out at everyone around her. "Getting shot was terrible, but at least once it was over, I could start the process of healing. There's no way I could live always resisting the call to go where I was sent."

Sasha grew pale, and gripped the edge of the table until his knuckles were white. "I didn't know." He shoved away from the table and began pacing. "Well, I'll go with you. Could you at least try to fly slower? I'll have to take the bike. I know you don't like it, but it's the best option."

"But I never know when I'm going to have to go. And you can't be with me all the time."

"Why can't I?"

"You live here. I'm hoping you'll make the trip to Durham on weekends, of course."

"Oh, I'm getting an apartment in Durham. I'm sure there's one available in that ghetto you live in."

"Hey, no hating on my neighborhood!"

He rolled his eyes. "I'm willing to live there, aren't I?"

"Don't be silly. You love it here. I'm not going to let you sell the cabin."

"I didn't say I was going to sell the cabin. I'm going to get an apartment close to you. I need to be near you to be able to protect you."

"But don't you need to work?" I realized I had no idea what Sasha did for a living. "What do you do for money, anyway?"

"I still own all my father's land. I let a lumber company log it. The revenue is plenty for me to live on. I don't have a lot of expenses anyway."

"Well, I need to work. I've maxed out my sick days. What are you going to do while I'm at the hospital all day?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Drink coffee in the cafeteria? Make sure you're eating enough?"

"In other words: hover." I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I could get a job at the hospital," he offered. "I was a medic in several wars. I've taken good care of you, haven't I?"

My eyes bugged out. So many secrets he held. "I think medicine has changed a bit since then. Besides, how would you list that on your resume?"

"Resumes," he waved his hands like it was nothing. "That doesn't even count as forgery. Everybody embellishes a bit on a resume."

"Sasha," I moaned, exasperated with him. "You're talking about completely changing your life for me."

He fixed me with one of his laser focus stares. "Don't you understand? My life has already changed. I'm like my father, Galine. It's a done deal for me. I love you."
CHAPTER 13

I sat on the front porch of the cabin and breathed in the cold mountain air. It was early, and Sasha was still asleep. I was proud of getting to the porch on my own, and I'd managed to keep my breathing normal enough to not wake him. My chest still ached and I couldn't stay awake more than about five hours straight, but I was making progress. Then I ruined my private, peaceful moment by screaming like a banshee.

Seeing a monster before your first cup of coffee can inspire that. Perched in the tree nearest the cabin was a hawk that was not a hawk. Much like the sparrow that was also Mr. Natterly, this hawk was carrying something else with it. The sparrow had been jarring, but the hawk was terrifying. The shadowy apparition that surrounded the hawk wasn't a kind older gentlemen. It was a creature with dozens of eyes, no nose, and row upon row of sharp teeth. That combination of features was frightening enough, but they also kept moving. Nothing was stationary; the eyes and teeth flowed freely in the black misty substance that surrounded the hawk. As I watched in horror, the creature opened its beak, and the normal deep-throated cheeping sound of a sparrowhawk was not what came out. Instead, I heard an eerie insect-like clicking.

I screamed again.

Sasha burst from the cabin, and in one stride he was in front of me. His long hair was swept up in a tight ponytail. He crouched with a gun in his hand and searched for the threat. He didn't change his stance, but asked me, "Is it the hawk that scared you?"

"You can see it? Its fangs and everything?" I tore my eyes from the creature to make sure Sasha saw what I was seeing.

"Yes. It's not here to hurt us. Just to spy on us." He rose from his battle crouch to a normal standing position. "This is the wrong weapon for it."

I looked at the gun he was holding. It looked like a hand cannon. "What is that?"

"It's a Sig GSR. The way you screamed I thought someone was right on top of you. I wanted to make sure I could stop them with one shot."

He said it the same way he asked me if I wanted bacon or sausage with my eggs. "That scares me, Sasha."

"It should." He went back into the cabin.

Before I could process either this new frightening side of Sasha or that fact that he had left me alone with the freaky hawk again, he reemerged, this time with a kind of rifle.

"This is what we need." He started loading darts filled with a clear liquid into the barrel, one by one.

"What is that?"

"Tranq gun." He lifted it to his shoulder and took aim at the hawk. "I've adapted it a bit." He pulled the trigger and the hawk fell. The insect clicking reached a piercing level. I clapped my hands over my ears and watched as the black mist froze, then it shattered like glass, teeth and all. As the shards hit the ground, they hissed and disappeared with a poof of gray smoke.

"Did you kill it?"

"Exorcised it. Demon's dead, but the hawk'll be fine in a minute." He motioned in the direction of the bird. Sure enough, though dazed, the hawk shook its wings and took flight. The apparition was gone.

"Are you trying to tell me that bird was possessed by a demon?"

"Yep."

"And you shot it with?"

"Holy water. I have my priest keep me well stocked. Course I don't tell him what it's for. He'd think I was nuts."

"Uh-huh." I closed my eyes and leaned back against the rocking chair. "So let's say at the hospital I saw a recently deceased patient hitching a ride on a sparrow. Was that a demon, too?"

"Nope. That was just a soul."

_Just_. I wanted to snort at his nonchalant word choice. "I don't suppose you'd like to explain this to me in an organized fashion instead of me continuing to ask stupid questions?"

"When someone dies, their soul is carried by a sparrow to these weigh stations of sorts to await the Alkonost and the Sirin."

"Weigh stations?"

"It's not practical for the two of them to retrieve each and every soul personally. There are too many people. So, the birds get them to a place to be picked up. I don't know a lot about it, but my understanding is that the places where you wait for the Alkonost to take to you heaven are like gardens. The places for Sirin are more like cages."

"How do the birds know where to go?"

He shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'd guess maybe the same way you know where to go to deliver a message."

"Okay, that explains the sparrows, but what's the deal with the hawks?"

He curled his lips in disgust. "Sirin. She's not supposed to do it. She lets demons come out through the hell portal and possess various birds of prey. She uses them as a network of spies."

"How is that even helpful? It's not like she speaks bird. Right? Please tell me she doesn't speak bird."

"No, but she does speak demonic. She can communicate with the demons fine."

I didn't even have words. I sat in my chair and kept my eyes closed.

Sasha kept talking. "I used to shoot the birds, but I felt bad for the hawks. I eventually figured out the holy water. I don't know why she keeps sending them out here. They never make it back to New York. I'll make sure I bring the gun to Durham. Sirin might not know who you are yet, but I don't want her to find out because we got caught unprepared by one of her spies."

I nodded, but I still couldn't answer. I felt a cool hand on my cheek. "Galine?" Sasha was nervous, close to worried.

"I need some time to adjust. Give me a little bit, 'kay?"

He gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Come find me when you need me."

It took a few hours of sitting on the porch, but I eventually collected the scattered pieces of me. Sasha wasn't in the cabin, so I headed to the barn. I didn't hear any stirrings in the bathroom, nor was he with either of the vehicles. I opened another door I hadn't been through before and discovered a washer and dryer, fridge, and large chest freezer. "Cheater," I said aloud, smiling. Across this room was another door. When I opened it, I found a set of stairs. I figured it was probably the way to the office he had mentioned.

I climbed the stairs at snail's pace. It was the first set I had attempted in a month. My legs shook, and I had to stop every other step to gasp for more air. I rubbed my chest where the bullet wound was still healing. Was it ever going to stop hurting? It was starting to itch around the edges, which was a good sign, but maddening when I was trying not to scratch it.

I made it to the top, and a large loft-like room opened up before me. There was indeed a large desk with a computer, and I also spotted the wheelie chair I had used once before. I pulled it out and made use of it again as I examined the room. Every wall was covered with built in bookshelves, and every shelf was crammed full of books. I figured you could read a lot in a hundred and seventy odd years, especially if you didn't have a TV.

When Sasha told me about this room, he'd mentioned the computer and books and had also alluded to some other "stuff." It was among the "stuff" I found Sasha. I smelled the incense and saw him kneeling. He must have heard me enter, but he stayed where he was, finishing his prayers. I studied his _krasny ugol_ —his red corner. He kept his icons on a black lacquered shelf. The bottom shelf held his vigil lamp, a simple red glass vessel filled with clear oil. It was one of the simplest red corners I had ever seen. Families were proud of the beautiful pieces they collected and placed there. Yet it did not surprise me that Sasha's was not flashy.

He had three icons. The first I recognized as it had been in my father's corner as well. It was a copy of Rublev's Old Testament Trinity. It depicted the three angels that came to tell Abram and Sarai that they would have a child and would become Abraham and Sarah, the parents of a great nation. I hadn't seen the icon in a long time, and found that the wings on the three figures now bothered me.

The other two icons were of bearded men. Icons were often of bearded men, so I stepped closer to read the labels, to figure out which two saints they might be. The one on the left was Jeremiah and the one on the right was Hosea. My father hadn't had either of those, so I didn't know the story of either of those men. I did notice that while Hosea looked as old as Rublev's Trinity, Jeremiah looked new.

I squinted at the picture of Jeremiah. I knew Sasha's father's name was Jeremiah, but I also knew he was supposed to look just like Sasha. The man in the icon didn't look anything like Sasha. I suddenly felt foolish for thinking there might be any connection between the two, but it certainly wouldn't be the weirdest thing I had found out about his family.

"I got him for you," Sasha said.

I turned around to see that Sasha was back on his feet, his prayers finished. He leaned over and blew out the vigil lamp.

"What?"

"Jeremiah."

"Why?"

Sasha looked down and said nothing for a moment. I was beginning to learn that meant he was taking extra time to decide what to say, not that he was embarrassed. "You have been asking me to tell you a lot of stories. I like that you have done that. It hasn't been easy, but it has meant a great deal to me that you want to know more of me." He crossed over to a bookshelf and retrieved a leather bound volume. "A lot of your questions I have to answer, because I'm the only one alive who can. But the story of Jeremiah is not mine, and I will not tell it best."

He handed me the book. I knew before looking it was a Bible. Ah, so this particular Jeremiah was definitely someone from Scripture, not Sasha's family tree. I didn't want to take it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"He wrote Lamentations, too. You might find you like it even better than Jeremiah." He gave the Bible another nudge in my direction.

I took the blasted thing, because I didn't want to hurt Sasha's feelings. "Why Hosea? Is that for me, too?"

All of the pleasure that had lit up his face when I took the Bible vanished. "No. He is for me."

"Do I have to read that story, too?"

"If you must. It is not a happy tale." His shoulders drooped and he began to rub his face with exhaustion.

"Why aren't you Baptist?"

"Excuse me?" Sasha had been staring off into space. I wondered where he went. I assumed it was somewhere in the past, and nowhere good. My abrupt question had him back to his normal ramrod straight posture.

"Was Manya Orthodox?"

"No," he said.

"I assume Jer wasn't." He shook his head. "There can't even be a Russian Orthodox church anywhere around here."

"There's one in Asheville. It's about an hour. There's an Antiochian Orthodox church a few minutes away in Boone."

I didn't even know what an Antiochian Orthodox church was, and I didn't care. "Yes, and how long have either of those been there?"

"Since '95."

"I'm guessing that's 1995, not 1895." He nodded again, but it was slight. "The South is crawling with Baptists. Why in the world are you Orthodox?"

"I was raised Baptist; you're right. It was the main church around here at the time. I became Orthodox when I lived in Russia."

I thought about all those wars he had fought in, but I couldn't think why any of them would have taken him to Russia. "Why did you live in Russia?"

"That is not a happy tale, either." He brushed past me and descended the stairs.

I followed after him, but I had a hard time keeping up. He exited the barn, and I could tell he was headed for the woods. "Sasha!" I called out. He paused, but didn't turn around to face me. "Please don't run away from me. I can't run after you yet."

He stood there for a good minute before he turned and walked back to me. "You aren't going to like every story I tell."

"I wouldn't expect to."

"Some of them I'm not sure I'm ready to tell."

That was harder. "Why?"

"If I could tell you why, then I could just tell them to you."

He had his hair stuffed up in his Appalachia State baseball cap. I wondered if he had ever attended, or if it was just good camouflage around Boone. School pride or not, I hated the thing. I pulled it off his head so I could touch his hair with my fingers. He wouldn't look at me, but he let me run my fingers through the ends of that beautiful jet black hair.

A few nights earlier when Sasha had told me he loved me, I was too afraid to respond. I had never said those words to a man before. As I looked at him now, I couldn't remember why I was scared.

"I love you, Sasha."

His response was not what I had expected. He looked at me, but his face was creased in pain.

"What's wrong?" He had already said the words to me. In fact, he had said them every day since. How could my returning his feelings be bad?

"I was hoping you were just tolerating me."

I was so speechless I couldn't get anything out but a strangled sound.

"I thought maybe it was a combination of hormones and your weakened state that was letting me steal so many kisses." His tone suggested he might be teasing, but the skin around his eyes and mouth bunched until his eyes were squeezed shut and his lips trembled.

"Sasha, will you please tell me what's going on?"

"No, forget I said anything. I love you, too," he rushed, trying to end the conversation by kissing me.

I pushed him away. "You will explain." I was using my parent voice, the one that never failed to scare Katja.

"No," he repeated. "You'll try to push me away like she did."

He didn't have to tell me who he was referring to. "I'm not your mother, Sasha," I said a bit softer.

"It doesn't matter. The result will be the same. You'll be unreasonable. You won't listen to me. You'll make choices for the both of us," he ranted. He took my hands. "Please, Galine, let it be. We were happy. Let's keep being happy, okay?"

I jerked my hands away, shaking with fear as well as anger. "What aren't you telling me, Sasha?"

"Please," he pleaded again. "I've already made my decision. It's my decision," he insisted, almost desperate.

"If it's about us, it's not your decision alone. Don't I have a say?"

He raked his hands through his hair, and I saw the first hint of wavering. "I never abandoned her, and I won't leave you either," he warned.

"Why would I want you to leave? I love you."

He looked pained again, but he motioned for me to follow him to the porch. Once we were sitting side by side in the rockers he started the conversation again. "Promise me you won't leave me, Galine."

"Sasha, you're scaring me. Tell me what's wrong."

"Promise."

"I swear!" At last some of the panic left him, but it fled into me. Sasha wasn't afraid of anything that I had seen. What did he have to tell me that was so horrible?

"The Gamayun has always been separate and apart from the rest of humanity. She had to be. To say the things that have to be said, Manya had to be detached. If she got too close, it was difficult. To be objective, she had to remain alone. She had her sisters, of course, but the Alkonost doesn't live on earth, and Manya couldn't go to her. Sirin was here, and it's my understanding she wasn't so bad to start off with, but she's been evil for a long time. I don't know if Manya would have chosen to be Gamayun, but she was still honored to do what she did. She felt it was important, but she was lonely. Then she met my father."

He paused a moment to look at me to make sure I was still following. I nodded for him to continue. "She knew it was a bad idea. She knew it went against the rules, but she loved him so much."

I felt a coldness creep over me. What had Sasha said right before he kissed me that first time? That it was a colossally bad idea. And that he didn't care.

"Even if nothing else went wrong, she knew it would be hard because he would grow old and die. She knew her time with him was limited. Then she had me, and she had two people she couldn't bear to part with."

The coldness inside me was hardening into fury. I could see where this was heading. His story would end like mine had.

"What did He do?" My anger was overwhelming. I could feel my body flood with adrenaline, but there was no one to hit. "How did your precious God take his vengeance?"

For once, Sasha didn't try to argue with me. I was spared the lectures about how I needed to see things from a different perspective. He looked hopeless, and that made me even more upset.

"Manya always wanted it to be her. She said that would have been fair. She was the one that broke the rules, so she should have had to pay the price." His voice was so low it was hard to hear him.

"She paid." I thought of the haunted woman that died in my arms. "She paid dearly."

"We found my father in the woods behind the cabin, not a scratch on him. He was the picture of health. Struck down in the prime of his life. Autopsy couldn't find anything either. He was just dead." Sasha fell silent, letting his words sink in.

There was no need to say anything more. I understood the ramifications of what he told me. The Gamayun was not allowed to fall in love.

With only one option left to me, I didn't hesitate. I leaned in and kissed Sasha with all of the love and regret I was feeling, and then I broke my promise. Tears had already begun to form as I stood up to leave him.

He leapt up, understanding immediately. "Galine, you promised!"

"I will not have your death on my conscience." I stormed into the cabin to collect my things, tears streaming down my face.

"My parents had over twenty years together before anything happened to them," Sasha protested, right on my heels. "I've lived two lifetimes already. I'd rather have twenty years with you than continue to live forever alone."

I began to understand what Sasha meant when he said it was his decision. "You weren't ever going to tell me, were you? You were going to let me find you dead in a field one day, weren't you?"

"You don't know that it will end that way."

"The hell I don't!" I wasn't sure if I was going to scream or sob. "After watching what that did your mother, you would have let me go through that?"

"I'm not going to die. I have the Covenant—"

"A covenant that depends on you following the rules! Stop it. I will not risk your life, Sasha."

I had already started packing a bag for our return to Durham. I grabbed it from the top of the dresser and ran out the back door. Most of the anger had left me, and I was sobbing so hard I was having trouble navigating the path to the barn in the dark.

Sasha caught up with me. "Galine, stop. Come back to the cabin and we can talk about it."

"And say what?" I shook his hand off my arm, and kept walking towards the barn. "I'm going home."

"Not tonight. I'll take you home in the morning."

I stopped and turned around to face him. "I'm going home _alone_. This has to end, Sasha." I began to cry even harder.

"You are not going to drive when you are this upset." The muscles in his neck were straining he was so angry. His anger reminded me of when I first met him, which made me feel worse.

I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, that I had to get away now, while I was still strong enough to leave him. Instead, I kept crying and walking forward. I made it to the truck. I put my bag in the cab, and hopped up into the driver's seat. My hands shook so hard I couldn't even get the key in the ignition.

Sasha had reached his breaking point. In a burst of fury, he jumped up next to me, pushed me over to the passenger side, buckled me in, and took the driver's seat.

"No!"

"I'm not going to drop dead in the time it takes me to drive you to Durham!" he screamed.

Sasha naming my worry out loud brought on a new round of sobs. I scooted as far away from him as I could, and stared out of the window, trying to ignore the sound of his breathing.

The drive to Durham was long, made longer by the tension between us. Sasha refused to look at me, radiating fury and betrayal with every sharp intake of breath. Every so often he would pound the dash, making me jump. He tried to talk to me a couple of times, but I refused to respond. I wasn't even sure what he said. The masochist in me was wrapped up in my own little world, eyes closed, replaying every tender moment we had shared over the last month in the cabin. I savored every teasing grin, the heat in his eyes before he kissed me, the frown he gave me if he didn't think I had eaten a sufficient amount. I knew the moment I stepped foot in Durham, it would all be gone. For my sanity, I would have to box all those memories up and stuff them down deep so I could function.

As soon as I had that thought, it seemed like the truck sped up. I didn't have time to hold each memory close like I wanted. I felt rushed, and when the truck lurched to a stop, panic threatened to smother me. My eyes flew open to the familiar sight of my apartment building. I turned to Sasha, and my throat began to close up.

The night was dark, but I could still make out the beautiful lines of his face, and his pale blue eyes. My heart ached at the sight of him. I couldn't say good-bye, so I grabbed my bag and got out of the truck. I raced up the steps, but I could hear him behind me, taking them two at a time.

I had my keys out and didn't fumble with them this time, but Sasha was still too fast. He was in the apartment before I could shut the door. Defeated, I sat down at the kitchen table, put my head down, and cried.

"Galine, please," he said, his voice soft.

The pleading was almost my undoing. If he had still been angry, it would have been easier. I kept my head down, not trusting myself to look up.

"What's going on?" I heard Katja's voice coming from the bedroom, and the light in the apartment came on. I looked up to see her emerge in her pajamas.

Sasha spared her enough of a glance to ascertain she wasn't a threat, and then went back to pleading his case. "Galine, if you'd just talk to me."

He was good at his word. I had found someone immune to my too beautiful sister's charms, and it didn't even matter. This was the final nail in the coffin. Sasha was officially perfect, and I couldn't have him. I felt hollow, like someone had carved out my insides. I didn't have the energy to yell or cry or argue any more. "Please go," I whispered.

The finality of it must have shown on my face, because the pleading stopped. The Sasha I loved was replaced by the cold angry Sasha that scared me. "Fine. We'll do it your way." He stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door so hard it made me jump.

Katja stared at me with eyes as big as saucers. "What happened?"

"I told him I loved him."
CHAPTER 14

"That was out! What are you blind, ref?" I screamed from my seat on the third row of bleachers. The referee ignored me, showing me his black and white striped back. This made me wild with anger. I got out of my seat and started shoving my way down to the front. I managed to step on a woman's hand in the process.

"Ow! Hey watch it!" she yelled at me.

"Oh get over it!" I called back, still in hot pursuit of the offending referee. He had moved a few feet to the left so he could get a better view of the girl who was serving. This didn't help his poor eyesight, because he missed her stepping on the line as she threw the volleyball into the air for her overhand serve. I waited for him to blow the whistle and call the penalty, but he didn't. I was enraged. I had had it up to here with life's injustices. I grabbed his shoulder and wheeled him around.

"Do you need glasses, or are you on the take?" My hands shook. I couldn't seem to hold them still.

"Ma'am, you need to calm down and return to your seat."

"No, not until you fix your mistakes. This isn't fair! You're abusing your position of authority, and I won't stand for it!"

He gaped at me with his mouth open in shock. "You do realize this is a high school volleyball game, not the Olympics, right? And that your team is already winning?"

"It's the principle of the thing!"

"If you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he warned.

"Oh, you'd like that wouldn't you?" I felt a good rage coming on, and I was enjoying it.

"Galine!" Katja called my name, horrified. I turned to see her jogging toward me in her volleyball uniform, ponytail bouncing behind her. "Will you please stop? You're embarrassing me."

"But this guy is robbing you blind." I pointed both my hands at him, because a finger was not enough.

"That's it, you're out!" the ref said. "They don't pay me enough to deal with crazies like you."

I took in a deep breath so I would have enough air to give this guy a piece of my mind, but Katja stopped me. "Galine, just leave, okay? I'll see you at home." She slunk back to her side of the court, half covering her face in embarrassment.

I clenched my jaw to keep from turning my anger on my sister, and stormed out of the high school gym. I decided to walk home, even though it was drizzling. I wasn't fit to be around people. By the time I got home, I was soaked and shivering. I took a hot shower and crawled into bed, hoping I was exhausted enough to fall asleep.

Katja refused to speak to me for two days after that. Worse, Zeke the cockroach was back. Kat had been changing over our windows as it got cooler outside. The first four were places she hoped to visit—Paris, Barcelona, London, and Berlin. After my little temper tantrum, she stopped painting European destinations and started painting roach tableaus. One was just Zeke peeking in one of the fake windows, then she started to get more creative.

Our largest make believe window now had a recreation of a _West Side Story_ fight scene, only the Sharks and Jets were all roaches. Maria stood in the middle, her antennae entwined with her Tony, who was, of course, played by Zeke. I could tell because he was so much larger than the rest of the cast. Kat even had a window with Zeke sitting at the base of a temple. Tiny lines of cockroaches stretched for miles, laden with gifts of food and jewels. The closest ones were bowing in homage to Zeke.

I wasn't stupid enough to comment on the roach art this time. Instead, I apologized for my temper and did a lot of pleading. Still, Katja wouldn't allow me to come to the rest of her volleyball games. She said if I could control my temper, I might be allowed back to watch her cheer when basketball started. That was no good. The hospital was letting me work some extra shifts, but they told me I couldn't work seven twelve hour shifts every week. Katja's activities helped me fill some of my non-working hours.

In my desperation, I turned to exercise. The hospital had opened a whole wellness center a few years back, and as an employee I could use it. In fact, in an effort to lower employee health care costs, they begged us to use it. Harper was always lauding its merits to me, but I was uninterested. If I wasn't working, I was busy in my role as fill-in parent. Since Katja's decree, I had large swaths of uninterrupted time where I had little to do but think. Quiet alone time was to be avoided at all costs, even if I had to sweat to do it.

As I was being shown around the gym's facilities, the helpful man with no neck asked me, "So what are your fitness goals? Do you want to build muscle, lose weight, or are you trying to improve your overall health?"

_I'm trying to avoid losing my mind_ didn't seem like an appropriate response. I spied a punching bag in the corner near the free weights, and inspiration dawned. "I would love to hit something," I said.

"Excuse me?" Despite being twice as big as me, the man backed up.

"Do you have any boxing or kickboxing classes? Anything like that?"

"Oh," he said, relieved. "Yeah, we can do that. We have some self-defense classes, too."

"Excellent. Sign me up."

Life was almost manageable for while after that. I worked, and when I wasn't at work, I was punching and kicking the living daylights out of whatever they would let me hit at the gym. All that activity also helped me with the part of my day I dreaded most—sleeping. Once I started going to the gym, I was so exhausted that I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. I couldn't do anything about the dreams, but at least I wasn't lying awake.

Over the next month my body began to get used to the extra physical exertion, and I stopped falling into bed dead tired at the end of every day. On the upside, I was getting stronger. I felt more confident about fighting my own battles without the aid of a guardian. On the downside, sleep was becoming more and more elusive. If I was awake, I was militant about not thinking of Sasha. But when I closed my eyes, all the defenses I had constructed came crashing down. The memories I kept such tight control over in my waking hours replayed in vivid detail while I slept. Dreaming was exquisite torture as I saw his lovely face every night, and then woke in a cold sweat to realize I was alone.

Katja caught me at three in the morning after one such episode. "What are you doing?" she grumbled from the doorway of the bedroom.

"I'm making bread," I said with false cheerfulness from the kitchen.

"In the dark? In the middle of the night?"

"Well, I didn't want to wake you up." I answered the first question while ignoring the second.

"Maybe you should have thought of that before you started making such a racket."

"Well, I had to knead the bread. It is a bit noisier than I thought it would be."

"Galine, _why_ are you making bread at three in the morning? Why are you making bread at all? They sell it at the store!"

"I've always wanted to learn."

"Since when? You don't even like to cook."

"Since now!" I snapped back.

"Look, I'm trying to be understanding. I know you've had a rough time of it, but you are driving me crazy."

"I know. I'm sorry, Kat. I am. I'm trying. The nights are hard."

"I give up. Harper can sort you out." With that pronouncement she went back to bed. She must have meant it, too, because from that point forward Kat ignored me with a vengeance.

Her indifference worked for me. I gave up all pretense of trying to sleep and embraced the baking. I was always hungry anyway, and it was one of the few activities that occupied me. I didn't have the patience to read or watch TV. If I sat too long, there was a danger of falling asleep. Sleeping couldn't be avoided forever, of course, but I felt like I had found the holy trinity of coping: working, punching things, and baking. Yep, I was fine.

I was sliding a loaf of pumpkin bread into the oven one Saturday evening when the doorbell rang. A quick glance through the peephole revealed it was Harper. I opened the door, grinning. "This is a nice surprise. I made brownies. And cookies. Oh, and there's bread in the oven."

"Well, if it isn't the Demon Baker of Fleet Street," Harper said.

"For that, I'm eating all the brownies." I noticed she had an overnight bag with her. "Oh, are you staying over?"

"Yes. I told Katja to crash at my house tonight."

"Why?" If we were out late, Harper would sometimes stay over, so her bag wasn't unusual. Kicking Katja out of the apartment was weird, though.

"The poor kid needed a break, and we need to talk." Uh oh, she was using her voice she used with patients when the prognosis wasn't good.

"Why is this starting to sound like an intervention?"

"Probably because it is." She dropped her bag on the floor, and took a seat on the couch. She patted the spot next to her. "Come on, have a seat."

I remained standing. "This is unnecessary. I'm—"

"If you say 'fine,' so help me, Galine, I will punch you in the mouth."

"Does your mother know how violent you've become?" I frowned at her. "All that money for etiquette training at your cotillion down the drain."

"Sit!" Harper commanded again. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me. In fact, I'm not leaving until I've seen you sleep at least 8 hours with my own eyes."

"You have to work. You'll have to leave sooner or later."

"Nope. I checked with Selene. Neither of us is scheduled until Tuesday."

I felt faint. "That can't be right. I can't be off two days in a row!"

"Why not, Galine? Is that a problem?" she asked, batting her eyes at me with fake innocence.

"I'm going to check on my bread." I paced to the kitchen. I knew it was still batter in the pan, but I needed to move.

Harper followed me. "I have been patient with you, Galine. When you were kidnapped, I gave you space and didn't ask questions. You said you wanted to forget and move on. Fine. I could understand that, even though you've been acting weird ever since then. I thought maybe you were talking things through with Sasha, so I let it be."

I couldn't help it. When she said his name, I flinched. I paced back to the living room, but she kept following me.

"Then you got so sick, and you didn't want me there. Again, I let you have your space. I tried to believe you were looking out for me. Plus, this time I knew Sasha was supporting you," Harper continued.

The second time she said his name, I responded with more than a flinch. I closed my eyes and I made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan. I mashed my teeth down on my lower lip to stop any further sounds from escaping. Why couldn't I hold it together? Harper had to know I was coming unraveled, but she kept talking.

"I'm talking to you on the phone, and you're so happy, so in love, and I was so excited for you. You tell me you're coming back and he's moving to Durham and everything's great. Then I get a call from Katja telling me that you and Sasha had a fight and you're sobbing in your room and you won't come out."

"Stop it." I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn't have to listen, but that just made me think of him. The contact of my fingertips on my ears scalded me, so I dropped my arms as fast as possible.

"I've tried asking you what happened. Katja's tried asking, but you won't talk to either of us. And now you're getting ejected from volleyball games. Katja says you never sleep, and when you do half the time you wake up crying."

I hadn't realized my sister had heard that. I also didn't know she had been tattling to Harper.

"Not to mention, you're starting to scare Jason."

"Who's Jason?" Harper had lost me there.

"The trainer at the gym. He's sure every morning when he reads his paper over breakfast that you're going to be on the front page for going on some killing spree."

"The big guy with no neck?" Harper nodded. "He's huge. Why is he afraid of me?" I asked, confused.

"Because, hon, you've come unhinged." She patted my hand to try to soften the disturbing comment.

"I... am... coping," I said, trying to remain calm.

"I don't think you're doing so great. I think maybe if you talked it out, you'd feel better."

"No, I don't think that would help."

"Will you at least tell me why you broke up?"

"Religious differences," I stated through clenched teeth.

"Oh." Her eyes widened in surprise, but then she gave me a smile. "Now surely that's something you could work out?"

"I don't have any control over the rules." I ground my teeth and tried to refrain from hitting the closest object.

"Rules?" She wrinkled her forehead at me.

"Do you believe in God, Harper?"

"Yeah, sure. I mean, don't you?" She twirled a strand of her golden hair, still perplexed with the direction of the conversation. "I know you don't go to church or anything, but most people believe in God, don't they?"

Her response shouldn't have surprised me, but it did. I knew Harper went to church on the Sundays she didn't work. We did live in the South, after all. However, she never talked about God. Sure, she mentioned a church function she'd been to once in a while, but never God.

"And why is that? Why do you believe there's a God, Harper?"

"Probably because that's how I was raised. I grew up in church."

I nodded like I understood, but I didn't. "And that's enough?"

"Galine, where is this coming from?"

"Do you know what a prophet is?"

"You mean like in the Bible?"

I hadn't ever read the Bible, so I had no idea if it was like that at all. "Sure," I said to move my point along. "Do you think those still exist?"

Harper frowned at me, and put her hand on my arm. "Hey, was Sasha in a weird cult or something? Did he follow one of those wackos who claim to be a prophet predicting the end of the world or aliens or something?"

Wacko. Yeah, that about summed me up. "No, he wasn't in a cult. Forget it. It just didn't work, okay?"

"I still don't understand why you're so angry, Galine. That's what is scaring us. We never know what's going to send you into a rage. And if you're not angry, you're desperately sad. Then there's the manic baking." She gestured to the pile of cookies on the kitchen counter. Harper looked at me with real compassion, and it was my undoing. If it had been a look of pity, or if she had been fed up with me, I could have kept my mouth shut.

"He won't leave," I said, and grabbed her hands with all the desperation I felt. "I can feel him. He's in the apartment across the hall. I saw the Ducati in the hospital parking lot last week. I know he's sitting in the cafeteria drinking coffee, like he said he would." I knew I was babbling, but now that I was talking, I couldn't shut up. "Last week, when I was in the Food Lion buying more flour and sugar, I swear he was in the frozen foods section. He never gets close enough for me to see him, but I know he's there, and I can't take it anymore."

Harper was growing more and more alarmed as I talked, I could tell. "Sweetie, take a breath."

"He has to leave," I insisted, and I knew I looked as wild as I felt. "I can't function knowing he's so close. Knowing if I..." I stopped talking as I saw the compassion leave Harper's eyes and become replaced with genuine fear.

"Galine, honey, maybe you should talk to a professional about this," Harper was speaking to me in the tone you reserved for small children and the elderly. She had pasted a calming smile on her face.

Her response helped me see myself as she saw me. It was true: I had come unhinged. I wasn't fine, and I knew that I wasn't going to be able to cope until I did what I had been unwilling to do for the past month. I also knew I had to do it alone.

"Harper, the truth is, I'm not doing so well. I am angry, and sad, and afraid to sleep. I wish I could tell you everything, but I can't. You're right; there is someone I need to talk to. I can't promise it will fix things overnight, but it might help me be less crazy, okay?"

Harper looked skeptical, but she at least didn't look like she was ready to have me committed anymore.

"Look, if you give me tonight to work out some stuff, I promise to sleep a full eight hours." Swearing to stay in bed that long was painful, but I knew I was going to have to be drastic to get her to leave.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she warned through narrowed eyes.

"That's fine."

Harper made some grumbling noises, but I could tell I had won. After a hug and more assurances I would get actual sleep tonight, I had her out the door.

I still managed to put off my task for another hour. I waited for my bread to finish baking, and then I cleaned up the kitchen. I considered making some muffins for breakfast, but acknowledged I was being a coward.

I stepped out of the apartment and closed the door behind me. I took the five steps across the hall, and then I stood in front of the door. My palms were sweaty, so I wiped them on my jeans before making a fist to knock on the door. I paused with my hand in midair. I couldn't do it. I retracted my hand and smashed my palm against my face instead. I was in this pitiful position when the door opened.

"Galine?"

His voice was enough I felt as if I would shatter, and then he reached out a hand for me. I side stepped out of reach. "No, please..." I didn't finish the sentence, but Sasha understood that touching was too painful. I stole one good look at him before returning my gaze to the concrete floor of the apartment landing.

"You haven't changed your mind then."

I shook my head.

"I haven't either. I won't leave you, Galine."

"Please, I can't do this. You've been watching me, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Then you know what a mess I am."

"It's because you won't let me help you." He started to reach for me again, but managed to stop himself.

"No, it's because I know you're right there, and your presence is torture, Sasha."

"You think it's easy for me?" His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"Then make it easier on both of us. Go home."

"No."

"I'm becoming angrier and more bitter every day, Sasha. It's not enough that I can't have you. I have to fall asleep every night knowing you're fifty feet away and I can't have you. Either you go back, or you can start calling me Manya!"

Sasha staggered back as if I had delivered a physical blow. I despised what I had done, but I didn't know how else to get him to leave. I still didn't understand why he loved me, but I knew hating me was a lot safer for him. I left him there, still reeling in the doorway, and escaped to my apartment.

I heard the roar of an engine in the parking lot, and then felt my tie to him tug to the west. With each hour that passed, Sasha was further and further away. Knowing he was safe, I slept my promised eight hours.
CHAPTER 15

My life became easier after Sasha left. I slept more and yelled less at complete strangers. Katja and Harper stopped tip-toeing around me quite so much, but things were still uneasy. I tried to repair the damage, though. Katja was easier to bribe. I'd been working so much overtime at the hospital we had some cash to spare. I bought her and Jodi concert tickets and let her stay out late. That was all it took to get back in her good graces.

Harper was a harder sell. I knew what she wanted, and I still wasn't willing to give it: information. I might have been in the doghouse for months if it hadn't been for good ol' Cole. He gave me a present, but for Halloween, not Christmas.

I was at the apartment, inundated with trick-or-treaters. Harper had invited me to a party with her and Cole that night, but I had declined. I still didn't feel up to being around a lot of people, so I stayed home and answered the door every ten minutes to hand out candy to another round of superheroes and princesses.

When the doorbell rang, I opened the door and held out my candy bowl, expecting to see a flurry of tiny hands grabbing for treats. Instead, I found Harper dressed as Scarlett O'Hara (of course) minus her Rhett. She was crying.

"Harper, what's wrong?" I asked, giving her a hug and bringing her inside.

What came out was a mixture of sobbing and swearing. Well, Harper's version of swearing. "Fiddlesticks" is about as hardcore as she gets. I sat her down on the couch, and went to the bathroom to retrieve a box of tissues. I handed her tissue after tissue and made soothing noises until I could begin to understand what she was saying.

"She was dressed like a play-boy bunny, the tramp! I mean, really, have some self-respect."

"Mmm-hmm," I murmured, though I had no idea who we were talking about.

"She was all, 'Oh, you're a surgeon-how impressive!'" Harper continued in a voice that made clear what she thought of the woman's intellect.

"The nerve!" I exclaimed. I was getting the feeling I was supposed to be outraged.

"I thought he'd never fall for that act, but then I saw them kissing..." At this point, she dissolved into tears again.

I was beginning to get the picture. Cole had been caught red handed with another woman. I couldn't say I was surprised. I had been friends with Harper for only a couple of months when I discovered him in a compromising position with a first year intern, and I was forever coming upon him flirting with cute nurses and residents at the hospital. I had tried to tell Harper, but she insisted I was reading the situation wrong. I was amazed he had managed to go this long without being found out.

Cole's infidelity was one of the reasons I hated him so much. My spying was also why he found me so irritating. He knew if he was fooling around at work and I caught him, the news would make its way back to Harper.

I sighed, and hugged Harper again. I let her cry it out, and bit my tongue, so all the I-told-you-so's wouldn't come rushing out. I hurt for my friend, but I wasn't sad to see that jerk go.

Like everything else in her life, when Harper dumped someone, she did it with style. The next day I helped her gather up the odds and ends Cole had scattered around her house and put them in a box. "You want me to go set these on fire?" I asked, hoping she'd say yes.

"No, I have something else in mind."

"You going to hurl them at his head?" That would be almost as much fun.

"Galine, you have no sense of showmanship."

I thought setting his things on fire could be very showy, especially if you then hurled them at his head. Showmanship wasn't my problem, though. I had no clue how things worked in the moneyed South. My people were too poor and too fresh off the boat. Once I saw how Harper's plan unfolded, though, I had to admit it was much more devious than mine.

First, she returned Cole's box of things not to Cole, but to Cole's mother. Harper struck while Cole was still groveling, under the delusion he might win her back, so she knew he hadn't told his parents anything. She made a lunch date with Mrs. Worthington at the country club, handed her the box, and told her how her son had managed to let Harper Carlisle, heiress to not one but two fortunes, slip through his fingers.

Then, wearing honest to goodness white gloves, she had tea with Birdie Wilson, who had been President of the local Junior League since before Harper was born. Miss Birdie was 83, still wore a hat to church every Sunday, and was one of the biggest gossips in all of the Southeast. Harper told her the whole sordid story, lace hanky in hand to dab her eyes at the right moments for emphasis.

Once Miss Birdie got out all of her gasping and "well-I-never's," Harper swore her to secrecy, which of course meant that Miss Birdie had called every mother she knew with a daughter of marriageable age by sundown. Harper came out smelling like a rose, and every Southern family of note had been warned to keep their daughters away from Coleman Worthington III.

Harper was still cackling about it a week later. "He'll have to marry some loud Italian girl with big hair from Jersey!" She was laughing so hard, she almost choked on her chocolate chip cookie. I noticed there weren't as many snide comments about my "baking problem" once she began drowning her sorrows in chocolate. "Could you imagine her at the Junior League Annual Gala?" This sent Harper into another fit of giggles.

"I'm glad you're getting so much pleasure out of this, but I still think we should have set something of his on fire," I told her. I sort of understood that in her world what she did was much worse, but I was too lowbrow to appreciate it.

"I wouldn't be sad if all his teeth and hair fell out," she admitted, while reaching for another cookie. "Oooh, or he could get bubonic plague."

"Piranhas?" I suggested.

"That's good, too."

As simple as that, my problem with Harper was solved. We got to mope around together, and at least for the moment, she stopped asking questions I didn't want to answer. She was more than willing to fill the time with Cole bashing, my favorite sport. And thinking up new and inventive insults for Cole helped me not dwell on Sasha.

I still didn't much care for long stretches of alone time, though, so I wasn't happy to discover I wasn't scheduled to work either Saturday or Sunday. As soon as I saw the schedule, I tracked down Harper. "Hey, what are you doing this weekend?"

"I'm working Saturday, and I have a family thing all day Sunday, why?"

"Can you get out of the thing on Sunday?" I begged.

"Not likely. Why?"

"They don't have me on the schedule."

"Galine, you're going to have to get less squeamish about alone time sooner or later," she lectured. "Or better yet, why don't you try going out on a date?"

"Why don't you go out on a date?" I mimicked in my best seventh grader voice.

"Well, it's a sure thing I'll get back out there before you will."

Katja was no help either. One of her friends was having a birthday sleepover, so she wasn't going to be home all weekend either.

I shouldn't have gotten so worked up about my stretches of free time, because I spent most of the weekend covered in feathers. I was in the kitchen, baking of course, and grousing about being abandoned. I felt the change start to come over me, and at first I started to get mad. "I just put a cake in the oven!" I shouted to the empty apartment. After my outburst, though, I realized getting mad wasn't going to make a bit of difference. I turned off the oven and put the cake pan in the fridge. I stripped down naked so I wouldn't ruin any of my clothes. Then I cracked open the door of my apartment while I still had hands. The feathers came right after that, so I flew out, doing my best to close the door behind me with my claws. I couldn't figure out how to lock the door, but I was comforted by the thought that we didn't have much worth stealing.

I was pretty sure where I was headed. I thought for a moment about resisting, but in the end I decided it was better to get it over with. I could fight it, but it would be painful and I'd only postpone the inevitable. Sure enough, I felt the shove north and then east as I followed the coast.

While I flew, I tried to remember some of the kickboxing and self-defense moves I'd learned at the gym. If I was going to face Sirin, I wanted to be as prepared as possible. While I hovered hundreds of feet in the air, it occurred to me that I didn't have feet in this bird body. Or hands for that matter. All my training was for nothing. I felt like an idiot. I was going to get shot again for sure.

As the familiar New York City skyline came into view, I assumed I was headed back to Sirin's apartment building. Swooping between skyscrapers, I spied her building in the distance, but as I started to veer in that direction, I felt a shove on a different bearing. I was almost relieved until I discovered my destination: a packed nightclub called The Blackbird. The door was small and two giant bouncers guarded it, keeping order over the long line of people waiting to get in. I had a bad feeling about this. I hesitated, hovering in the air, and pain shot down my spine, reminding me that backing out wasn't an option.

I gritted my teeth and circled the building, looking for a way to get in. I found a large window open on the second story in the back. Right before I dove inside, I saw another demon hawk perched on the ledge. It was as awful as the one at Sasha's cabin. The hawk studied me with its floating eyes and screeched at me. I shuddered, but realized I couldn't do anything about it.

I flew inside and hovered over a dance floor filled with a mass of sweaty bodies jumping and undulating. I could see people laughing and talking below, but all I could hear was the booming sound of techno music. The space was dark, with colored lights and lasers crisscrossing the club, and the bar was lit with neon. To my horror, one of the giant green lights found and illuminated me for the entire crowd to see.

Suddenly hundreds of eyes were upon me. Some were afraid, but most were glazed and filled with wonder. Several hands reached out, trying to touch me. I spread my taloned feet until the claws were pointed down and displayed as a warning to the crowd to keep their distance. Something about these people felt wrong.

It took me a minute, but I placed where I had seen the look in their eyes before. The few times I had done a rotation in the emergency room, I had treated patients on drugs. These people were all high as a kite—ecstasy, most likely. I flew higher so I was out of the reach of their grasping hands.

What was I doing in a nightclub? I looked around and tried to find whoever it was I was supposed to talk to so I could do my business and go home. And then I saw her, on a landing above all the chaos on the dance floor: Sirin. I had not escaped her after all. She gave me a cold look, and then disappeared into a room. I followed after her.

When I reached the landing, though, I found my way blocked by another pair of giant bouncers, and these two had guns as large as their forearms. I drew up short. I added up all the bullets between them and thought it would take me a good year to recover from this little visit. I realized I had a message not only for Sirin, but for one of them as well.

I turned to the man on the left. He was the more menacing of the two. He had a face tattoo—an honest to goodness face tattoo. I could feel the words burning up my throat as they had before. I could taste the holy anger on my tongue as I sang:

It is not your privilege to number the hours of men.

You steal their breath before the appointed time.

God chooses the day and hour of a man's death,

_And yours has been selected_.

The words frightened me as I spoke them, for it was clear the hour for him was soon. My fear was nothing compared to the panic of the bouncer as he received the message. He ran from me, and the other man followed after him, leaving me alone with Sirin. She appeared again as the men fled.

"They've been with me for over a decade," she sighed.

I was still hovering in the air, trying to stay as mobile as possible.

"Oh will you land already!" she snapped. "I'm not going to shoot you."

"You're not?"

"Would it do any good?"

"Probably not."

"I rest my case," she said, and walked back into what looked like a large office. I flew in after her and landed.

Inside was an office as well as a sitting room, perhaps for meeting clients. Against the left hand wall, a long table held an assortment of firearms and dozens of small plastic bags holding pills and powders. Well, I guess I knew who was supplying the wasted masses downstairs.

"You don't even try to hide it," I couldn't help exclaiming, flabbergasted. "Don't you even worry about the police?"

Sirin followed my line of sight to the table of illegal goodies and laughed. "No. I have another business that helps people in power remember it's best to keep me happy."

I was sure I didn't want to know what that was.

"Would you like a drink? I have vodka and wine up here, but if you'd like something else, I can have something sent up from the bar."

I narrowed my eyes at her. This was weird. What was she playing at? "I'm underage," I said. "Although serving a minor would be the least of the illegal activities you're engaged in." I flapped my wings at her, exasperated. "Then there's the little matter of me not currently having _hands_."

Her eyes widened a bit, and a smile spread across her face. "Well, my dear, you've had a lot thrust upon you, haven't you? I'm sure this isn't what you had planned for your life. You should be in college, not sure what to major in, flirting with boys."

I had a hard time not laughing at her. Even if I wasn't Gamayun, I had given up those kinds of dreams long ago. Those were the sorts of things I hoped for Katja, but I knew they'd never happen for me.

Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, she continued, "It's not too late, you know. You could still have those things. I could make it happen. I have money, influence. Name your price. I could get you into any college you want. I'll pay for it. You can still go give your messages to other people if you desire, just stop pestering me."

Several things were becoming clear to me. First, if Sirin thought I would make any sort of deal with her, no matter how tempting, she must've thought I was galactically stupid. She shot me. That's not something you get over. Secondly, thanks to Manya's inhuman tolerance for pain, Sirin was suffering from the same delusion that Sasha had: that I had a choice whether or not I kept "pestering" her. Finally, despite her air of indifference, I was beginning to realize that Sirin was afraid of me, or at least the words that I spoke. Why else would she go to the trouble of bribing me when violence failed? No matter how far she strayed from what she had been created to be, Sirin still feared her Creator, and believed that what I said would come to pass.

"No," I said, thrusting out my chin and glaring at her. "I will not make deals with you."

"Stubborn child."

"So I've been told. Repeatedly."

"Everyone has their pressure points. Manya did. I'll find yours, and you'll wish you had accepted my generosity."

"What is wrong with you? Why are you so nasty?" As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. _Filter, Galine, filter!_ I flapped a few feet back, certain she would retaliate against me for the insult.

Sirin threw back her head and laughed until I thought she would cry. "Oh, you sweet young thing. Ask me that question again in about seven hundred years. Manya understood. Maybe not at first, but she came to know what I know. Let's hope you're not the slow learner my sister was."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I was fed up with her and wanted to go home, so I did what I came there to do. I opened my mouth and let the blazing words spill out. Like before, I sang the words, overwhelmed by equal parts grief and wrath:

I loved you as a father, and you as my child.

I entrusted you with many more of my offspring.

You felt the sorrow of the lost, and we wept together.

Your grief has turned to plotting, and you steal my children from me.

You grow rich swallowing evil, and your soul rots.

Twin heirs I gave to you, but they will serve another.

In their betrayal, you will learn to mourn again.

Sirin screeched at me and scrambled for the table that held all the weapons, but I was already making my escape. I flew over the writhing dance floor one more time and out the second story window into the crisp November air. I shot straight up, trying to put as much distance between me and a bullet as possible. I pumped my wings as hard as I could, and I was out of the city in a matter of minutes.

As far as I could tell, no one was following me, so I slowed down a bit. I didn't know how long I would stay in bird form once my message had been delivered. The two times I'd changed before, I had been injured and passed out afterward. I hoped I'd have enough time to get home.

To my relief, the debirding process was timed almost to the minute. I began to shed feathers right about the time I hit Durham city limits, and I had barely enough left to touch down on my apartment landing before my wings collapsed into arms. I was back to normal. I was also back to naked, so I scurried into my apartment.

I stepped inside and found the clothes that I had left in a heap on the floor, so I put them back on. That reminded me of my cake in the fridge. I was trying to bake it for the second time when Katja got home from her sleepover.

"Hey, Galine." She greeted me while yawning at the same time. "Did you do okay with your alone time?"

"Uh, yeah. I baked," I informed her, pointing to the cake in the oven.

"Chocolate?" She perked up.

"Of course."

"Hmm, I might have some later. I'm going to go take a nap. I didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night."

"Yeah, I think I need a nap, too."

I did get some sleep, but not much. I kept waking up, and for once it wasn't because I was haunted by a particular pair of gorgeous blue eyes. Instead, I was worrying about what my "pressure points" were and what Sirin was going to do to them. I didn't have to be a genius to realize one of them was sleeping in the bed next to me. What would Sirin do to my sister?
CHAPTER 16

The sun was setting earlier and earlier, and we had entered that depressing part of the year where I left for work in the dark and I came home from work in the dark. November in North Carolina is a nice month. Usually all I needed was a light jacket, and I'd even been known to wear shorts on occasion. We were having a cold snap, however, which meant that I was bundled up in my winter coat with hat, mittens, and scarf. I hated the cold, so this had put me in a foul mood. Taking all my layers on and off multiple times throughout the day was tedious. I kept them on while waiting at the bus stop, and took them off while riding in the heated bus. Then I'd shove my hat and mittens back on, button back up my coat, and wrap the scarf around my neck so I could walk ten feet in the cold. Once I entered a heated building, I had to peel everything off again. Senovia always used to make cracks about how I'd never survive a Russian winter.

I trudged up the stairs to my apartment, already dreaming of drinking hot cocoa in my flannel pajamas. Unlocking my door proved to be a challenge with mittens. In my frustration, I wrenched everything off—the mittens, the hat, the scarf, even the coat. I was about to be inside anyway. The lock surrendered, so I opened the door, and threw in my pile of stuff. As I began to enter the warmth of the apartment, a hand grabbed my shoulder.

I didn't even hesitate. I grabbed the wrist attached to the hand and flipped my attacker onto his back. He hit the concrete landing with a loud thud. While I still had the element of surprise, I adopted my boxing stance with both fists raised. "Stay down!" I ordered as I took a good look at the guy.

Once I saw him, I was even more impressed with my flipping skills. He was at least six feet tall with wide shoulders. His hair was dark blonde, even brown in spots, with streaks of lighter blonde. The highlights could have been from the sun, but my guess was an expensive dye job once I got a look at what he was wearing. He had on Diesel skinny jeans, and I recognized the polo player on his shirt pocket as the Ralph Lauren brand. If I wasn't already convinced of his wealth, the Omega watch on his wrist sealed the deal. Cole had an Omega, and he got fussy if you called it a watch. It was a "timepiece."

The surprise was clear in my attacker's hazel eyes. He stayed down, but raised a fuzzy red object. "You dropped your hat."

I peered down at what he was holding and saw that it was indeed my hat. "Oh. Thanks," I said, taking it from him. "I guess I overreacted, huh? I've been taking all these self-defense classes and instinct took over." I looked down at my shoes, uncertain how to proceed.

"I'm Alex," he said, still lying on the ground as I had ordered.

"Galine," I responded. "Are you lost? Duke's that way." I pointed in the direction of the university.

"No, I moved in across the hall. Why do you think I'm lost?"

My eyes darted to the apartment in question. That was Sasha's apartment. If someone else had rented it, then that meant he wasn't coming back. I returned my gaze to Alex. "Well, you don't look like the type of person who would live in this complex."

"I see. Wait, no, I don't see. However, I wonder if I could get up now? The ground is cold and hard, and I think I'm bleeding."

"Geez, I'm sorry. Yeah, here, let me help you up." I grabbed one of his arms and helped steady him as he got to his feet. As he turned around, I saw he was bleeding where his head had made contact with the concrete.

Alex put a hand to the back of his head, then looked at it, streaked with blood, and began to wobble. "Could you call an ambulance?"

"Unnecessary," I assured him. "Head wounds bleed a lot. I'm sure it's not that bad. Come inside and let me get a look at it. If it does need stitches, I'll get you to the hospital. Ambulances are crazy expensive." I led him into my apartment and sat him down at the kitchen table. I pressed my cleanest looking dish towel to his head and had him hold it there.

"I'll be right back. Let me go grab my first aid kit." I returned and plopped my duffel bag sized first aid kit on the table and started pulling out supplies.

"Wow, are you a paramedic or something?" he asked.

"No, nursing assistant." I hoped he thought it was normal for nursing assistants to have massive amounts of medical supplies at home. Not that long ago, our first aid preparedness included a box of band-aids and a tube of off-brand Neosporin. After I became the Gamayun and broken bones, stitches, and gunshot wounds became par for the course, I decided that it would be prudent to beef up my medicine cabinet.

I removed the kitchen towel and went at Alex with some gauze and antiseptic. He started to yelp.

"It's not that bad," I insisted.

"It stings."

I looked down at my antiseptic again to make sure I hadn't grabbed the wrong thing. No, it was just basic non-stinging Neosporin. What a baby. "Listen, if you can let me fix this without whining, I'll give you a treat at the end."

"What am I, five?"

"I don't know. I've had some five-year-old patients who made less noise." That shut him up. Once I got the bleeding stopped and the wound cleaned, I thought he would be fine without stitches. I put some butterfly closures over the wound, and told him he was done.

"Where's my treat?" Alex said.

I grabbed the nearest plate of baked goods off the kitchen counter and offered it to him. "Here."

"What are these? Lemon bars?"

"No. Much better. They're gooey butter bars."

"I've never heard of them." He looked at my baked goods with suspicion.

"They're not poison. Well, unless you have heart disease or diabetes. They're essentially butter and sugar held together with cream cheese and a cake mix."

He took a small bite of one. Then he took a large bite. In about thirty seconds he finished the first one and was half way through the second. "These are awesome!"

"Told you."

He scarfed another one down before slowing enough to address me again. "So why don't I look like the kind of person who would live here? And why did you assume I was affiliated with Duke?"

"Are you affiliated with Duke?"

"Yes. I'm in the Cross Continent MBA program. They send you all over the place and most of it is distance learning, but every so often you have to come to Durham for a class."

"So, you rented the place sight unseen?"

"Yes. There weren't a lot of options available since we don't run on the normal semester schedule. Most the good places were taken or wouldn't rent to me for the few months I'm going to be here." He scrunched up his face, still perplexed. "But how do you know all of this?"

I looked down at his watch again. It was even fancier than Cole's. It had gold and exposed gears, maybe a special edition. "You're wearing at least a $5000 watch. Do you know how much my watch cost?" I didn't wait for him to hazard a guess. "It was fifteen bucks at Walmart. You stick out around here. The people in this area of Durham dressed like you are usually Duke undergrads. Those paying over $50,000 a year to go to school might not blink dropping $200 on a pair of jeans, but most people who live here don't have that kind of money."

"Well, you're observant. How do you know the price tag of everything I have on?"

"My best friend is an heiress. She was dating a jerk who liked you to know how much he paid for stuff. I think he was intimidated because no matter how much money he made, he was never going to be as rich as she was."

"You're interesting," he announced, reaching for his fourth butter bar.

"Thanks, I think." I wasn't sure how to respond to that.

"Hey, Galine! I think something happened outside our apartment. There's blood on the..." Katja's voice trailed off as she made it through the doorway and caught sight of our visitor. She was still dressed in her cheerleading uniform, which did not escape Alex's attention. He was at least subtle about it, but I caught him giving her an appreciative look.

"Katja, this is Alex, our new neighbor from across the way. The blood is his. We had an accident earlier, but he's all cleaned up now." I turned to Alex. "This is my sixteen-year-old sister," I said, emphasizing her age and making the warning clear.

"Galine," Katja hissed at me. "Hello," she said to Alex. "I see she's at least been feeding you."

"Yes, other than the whole body slam thing, she's been pretty welcoming," he said with almost as much sarcasm as I'm capable of.

Katja's jaw dropped. "Galine, what did you do?"

"He grabbed me! What was I supposed to do?"

"I didn't grab you. I was trying to get your attention to give you your hat back," Alex said as he stuffed more baked goods in his mouth. He was on at least his sixth bar. I looked him over again. His jeans and shirt were form-fitting, I would guess on purpose, to show off his underwear model worthy body. I hoped he worked out a lot, because he had consumed well over 2,000 calories of butter bars.

Katja started to apologize for what I felt had been reasonable behavior. "Alex, I'm so sorry. She's not been herself the last few months. She's been even worse since the break-up. She's been so angry. I thought she was getting better, but—"

"Kat, stop it. That's none of Alex's concern." I didn't need my sister airing my dirty laundry to the next door neighbor.

"Fine. You handle it," she stated and stormed into the bedroom.

"So, you recently got of a relationship, huh?" Alex prodded as soon as I returned my attention to him. This guy was unbelievable.

"That's not any of your business."

"Hey, sorry. I thought maybe you might like to talk. Most girls I know won't shut up after a break-up. But I'm fine not talking about it." He shrugged to emphasize how much he didn't care.

I did have one thing I wanted to talk about, though. "Don't try anything with my sister, okay?"

"Sixteen? Are you kidding me? She's jail bait. I swear, I won't come near her," he promised.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why do I not feel reassured?"

"I'm serious. I can respect you wanting to protect your sister. I've got a sister I'd like to lock up and throw away the key."

"Really?" For the first time, Alex didn't seem quite so bad.

He nodded. "Siblings would be a lot easier if they were ugly, huh?"

"Is your sister fantastically good-looking, too?"

"Unfortunately."

"What's her name?" I asked.

"Sera."

"With an 'h' or without?"

"What?" His forehead wrinkled.

"Does she spell her name with an 'h' at the end or not? I have this weird theory about Sarahs with an 'h' versus Saras without."

"This I must hear." He already sounded amused.

"It's a common name, so I've known a lot of people with it. I've found that all the Sarahs with an 'h' are good people, and the Saras without an 'h' I've known are obnoxious." I paused a moment. "Of course, since I said that, your sister will be S-a-r-a and I'll have insulted her."

"No, she spells it S-e-r-a, so I don't know how she fits into your theory."

"Hmm, I've never met a Sera with an 'e.' She's a wild card."

He laughed at that. "Wild card is a good description of Sera in general. What about Katja? Is she a wild child?"

I shuddered even hearing the words. "No, thank goodness. She's very responsible. I'm a bit overprotective."

"I noticed. Does she live here with you?" He surveyed our one bedroom apartment, puzzled.

"Yes. We share the bedroom."

He frowned in concern. "Where are your parents?"

I started to bristle at his line of questioning again, but I paused and tried not to get angry. I was sure Katja was listening from the bedroom, so I needed to control my temper. Besides, it was a legitimate question, and one I got a lot. As soon as people realized I was Katja's guardian, the questions about our parents always followed.

"My father passed away when we were young. Our mother is not a fit guardian." I always said that last part with a nasty look to discourage follow up questions.

"So she is still living then?" Alex asked, immune to my glaring.

"Yes," I said through clenched teeth. He was making it difficult to not get angry.

"Does she live nearby?"

"Yes." I made the one word as hostile as I could.

"Wow, that must be rough. My dad was some deadbeat, but I never met him, so Sera and I never had to deal with him. No wonder you're so overprotective. You've got to keep your sister from boys and an unfit parent who could pop in at any moment."

I stared at Alex with my mouth hanging open. "You get it. I have people I've tried to explain that to for years and they still don't get it."

"I'm observant. Plus, like I said, I have a similar situation, so it's easier to understand."

"What's your mom like?" I asked, now curious about him.

"She defies description," he laughed. "She's not without her faults, but she's a great mom. There's nothing she wouldn't do for Sera and me."

I tried to imagine what that would be like, but I couldn't wrap my head around it.

"Say, where's a good place around here to get sushi?" he asked, changing the subject.

"I'm not sure. I don't eat sushi."

Alex looked offended at that statement. "Have you tried it?"

"No. Isn't it raw fish?" I wrinkled my nose.

"Some of it is, but they have sushi that's cooked, too. You should let me take you."

"I don't think so." That sounded like a bad idea, and not just because I'd have to eat sushi.

Katja chose this moment to reemerge from the bedroom. "She'd love to go," she told Alex. "Sushi Love is good. It's near Duke on Erwin." I knew she had been eavesdropping.

"How do you know that?" Katja had never eaten sushi with me.

"Trevor took me. He's right, Galine. They have cooked stuff, and it's good."

"Great!" Alex said. "Does she get home at 7:15 every night?" He wasn't even addressing me anymore, but working out the details with Katja.

"Yes. Oh, and so you're prepared, I should tell you that she eats a lot." Katja shot me a look, in case I didn't already understand that she was paying me back for embarrassing her earlier.

"All right, I'll pick you up tomorrow at 7:30 then," he said, looking back at me. I couldn't see how he could mistake the disgruntled look on my face, but he chose to ignore it anyway.

"Alex," I began.

"Bye!" he cut me off, rushing out the door.

I turned around to glare at my sister. "What was that all about? Now I'm going to have to go eat raw fish with that guy."

"You're welcome," she said.

"There was no 'thank you' in that statement!"

"Well, there should have been. You assaulted him in the hallway! You're lucky he didn't call the police or sue you. It seems like a good idea to try to make friends with him and smooth things over."

Well, she had a point there. "That's not unreasonable."

"Besides, he's super cute. You've been attracting the hotties lately, Galine. You made him bleed, and you still got a date out of it." She shook her head in disbelief.

"This is not a date."

"Whatever." She waved her hand, dismissing my concern.

"I'm serious, Kat. I've sworn off dating." She didn't look any more convinced. "Anyway, I'm not attracted to him."

"Well, now I know you're lying."

"Why?" I took a mental inventory of Alex's features again. I supposed he had a certain frat boy appeal, if you were into that sort of thing. I was not.

"Galine, he's the most attractive man I've ever seen."

"Oh, come on. Quit exaggerating. He had very douchey hair. Those highlights were ridiculous. You know he spends thirty minutes and a crap-ton of gel to get that perfectly tousled look." Maybe I needed to have a talk with my sister about the types of guys she needed to stay away from. If she was this drawn to the rich party boy look, I needed to pencil in a discussion before she left for college. And with four universities in the area, maybe sooner was better.

"Listen, I know you're still hung up over Sasha, but you have to admit Alex looks like a Greek god." Katja was dumbfounded at my complete lack of interest.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but he doesn't do anything for me. I will go eat sushi tomorrow and make nice so he doesn't sue us, but it's not a date."

"Fine," she huffed, but she let the subject drop. Or so I thought.

When I arrived at work the next morning, Harper was waiting in the locker room ready to pounce. "So, I hear you have a big date tonight. I thought I'd be dating again before you, but I'm pleased to be wrong."

"Did you bug my apartment, or is my sister tattling again?"

"She's not tattling. We text, and if certain aspects of your life come up, they come up."

"Mmmhmm." I wasn't buying that.

"Does he really look like a younger, hotter Brad Pitt?" she asked.

"Katja seems to think so."

"Is the story about you body slamming him true?"

"I think maybe I should reevaluate whether Katja needs a text plan."

"Oh, don't be so grumpy. Let's talk wardrobe. I've seen yours, and I know you don't have anything date worthy, so I brought something." She swung open her locker and pulled out a dark red silk halter top.

"No."

"Why not? You haven't even tried it on. It will look nice with your hair."

"Why not? You mean other than it's forty degrees outside? This isn't a date. I don't have to look nice."

"But I brought a whole outfit, and you'll look fantastic in it." Harper stuck out her lower lip in a pout that I'm sure had many a man on his knees, but I was made of sterner stuff. She pulled out a pair of jeans that looked as expensive as Alex's and form fitting. I spotted another pair of ridiculous heels, and I'm sure there was jewelry lurking in there somewhere if I knew Harper.

"Nope. I was thinking of wearing my scrubs. Or maybe sweats."

"You are impossible, Galine!"

"Aw, but you know you love me anyway." I smiled and headed back out to the floor to start my rounds.

I wasn't sure I was feeling loving toward Harper, though, by the end of my shift. My sister was skating on thin ice, too. I was finishing up my notes on my last chart when Selene informed me I had a visitor.

"Who?" I wasn't expecting anyone.

"Says his name is Alex. He said he's here to pick you up." Selene looked displeased. "Your shift doesn't end for another two minutes."

I refrained from rolling my eyes, just barely. "Yes, I know. I won't go meet him until I'm finished with this chart."

As soon as I was done, I headed to the floor lobby, curious why Alex was at the hospital instead of back at the apartment. I was beginning to smell something fishy. I spotted him sitting in one of our uncomfortable chairs. He stood when I entered. Even if I didn't think we were going a date, he clearly thought we were. He looked like he had just come from an Abercombie and Fitch photo shoot, although I'm sure his shirt and slacks probably cost even more than that. His shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal a glimpse of tanned, chiseled chest. He flashed me a blinding white smile. Were his teeth bleached?

"These are for you," he said, and handed me a fat bouquet of flowers. The heady aroma of roses and lilies assaulted my nose. I also identified orchids and hydrangeas, but I didn't know the names of the more exotic flowers. They reminded me of the lavish arrangements Cole would send Harper when he was in trouble, and nothing like the handfuls of wildflowers Sasha used to stick in mason jars and set on the bedside table for me.

"Uh, thanks," I said, but I wanted to dump them in the trash. "I thought we were going to meet back at the apartment."

"Oh, your sister came over and let me know that Sushi Love was right next to the hospital, so I should pick you up here. She said you brought clothes to change into," he explained.

"She did, did she?" I said, fuming. "Well, let me go put these in some water and grab my purse, and I'll be right back." He nodded and took his seat again to wait.

I marched back to the locker room and found Harper lying in wait. The moment I walked in, she threw a giant cup of coffee all over me. It was cold, but that proved she had been planning the maneuver for a while.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, honey. That was clumsy of me. I guess you'll have to wear the outfit I brought home." She didn't even try to sound repentant.

"I'm not going home. He's already here. But then, I bet you knew that." I was seething.

"Is that so? Well, that explains the flowers. They're lovely. I hope I didn't get any coffee on them." Harper wasn't good at feigning surprise. Her aim was impeccable, though. While I was drenched head to toe, there wasn't a drop of coffee on the flowers.

"You can have them." I shoved the offending bouquet in her direction.

"I'll go put these in some water while you change," she said, scooping up the flowers. She had already laid out the clothes on a bench, and there was, in fact, jewelry to go with it.

I sighed, but I knew when I had been beaten. I peeled off the soaked scrubs. Harper had even laid out a washcloth and towel, anticipating I would need to get coffee off me. I grumbled, then cleaned up and got dressed in what she had laid out. I had to shimmy into the jeans, though I had to admit the finished effect was jaw-dropping. If Harper ever decided to give up nursing, she could be a stylist. She definitely knew how to accentuate the positive. I didn't want to look good for Alex, though. There was one person I would have worn this outfit for, but it wasn't him.

I stalked out of the locker room as best as I could in four inch heels. I met Harper coming back with the flowers. She squealed with delight when she saw me. "You look A-mazing!"

"The both of you are in big trouble," I warned, pointing at her. "Make sure you text my sister that." Without another word to her, I returned to the lobby where Alex was still waiting. Much to my dismay, I got the reaction that Harper was hoping for.

"Wow, Galine you look... wow," he repeated.

"Well, let's get going," I said, already depressed.

He steered me towards the elevator, with his hand on the small of my back. I flinched at the contact, but I don't think he noticed. He hit the button for the garage and we rode down in silence. I didn't look at him because he was staring, and I didn't know how to make him stop. As soon as the doors opened, I was out and moving, even though I had no idea what his car looked like. At a certain point I had to slow down and let him take the lead. He stopped in front of a bright red sports car.

"Is that a Ferrari?" I asked, aghast.

"You know cars?" He sounded pleased.

"No. I've seen Ferris Bueller, though."

"This is a newer model than the one in the movie," he informed me, while holding the door open so I could get in.

"It has the same horse logo, though."

Alex found this funny. He chuckled as he got in and started the engine. The Ferrari purred like a cat as he put the car into gear and drove us the whole eighth of a mile to Sushi Love. If I had been wearing appropriate clothing, we could have walked.

I got out before he could walk around and open my door for me. "Are you one of those girls that doesn't like that?" he asked, noting my preference.

"No." In the South it wasn't so much about a power struggle as it was simple politeness. Women held doors for me as much as men.

"So it's me then," he observed, a bit miffed.

"I don't want you to get the wrong impression."

"Well, then you shouldn't have worn that," he said, giving me another once over.

We had arrived at the front of the restaurant, so I didn't get a chance to say more as the hostess showed us to a table. I looked around and didn't feel any better about this not being a date. The place screamed date restaurant. The lighting was dim with candles on the table, silverware wrapped in napkins, and water glasses with an automatic wedge of lemon. I was so distracted by the ambiance, I didn't realize at first that the waitress hadn't left us any menus.

"Miss," I called after her, trying to get her attention.

"What is it?" Alex asked.

"She didn't give us any menus."

"Oh, I ordered ahead of time."

"You what?" I didn't mind my doors being opened, but ordering for me was a bit heavy handed.

"You said you'd never had sushi before, so I ordered a bunch of different things so you could try a variety. Plus, your sister said you ate a lot, so I figured more was better." He smiled, enjoying bringing that up again.

"What if I don't like any of it?" I was feeling difficult.

"You will."

Well, that was smug. I didn't have too much time to be irritated, though, because they were already bringing out appetizers. They weren't sushi. In fact, I recognized a few things from Chinese restaurants I had been to. I figured it was best to fill up on known foods before the raw fish started arriving.

"Boy, you are an eater." Alex snickered as I reached for another crab wonton.

"You were properly warned." I hoped stuffing my face was going to be a deal breaker for him.

"It's cool."

Dang. Maybe I should've started scratching inappropriate places or picking my nose or something. I'd never had problems repelling men before. Why the sudden interest in me?

The sushi arrived after that, and a staggering amount of it. The waitress rattled off what each item was, but I couldn't keep track.

"Did she say one of those was eel?" I gulped down a few swallows of water and tried not to think about slimy things.

"Don't worry, we'll work up to that. Here, start with a cucumber roll." He plopped an innocuous looking piece of sushi on my plate. "There's not even any fish in it."

I took a bite. "It's not bad. A little bland, but fine."

"That's what the soy sauce, wasabi, and pickled ginger are for," he informed me. And so began my sushi tutorial. Alex even showed me how to use chopsticks. By the end of it, not only did I try and like the eel, but I even ate some of the ones with raw fish.

"I still like the cooked ones better. The raw ones taste okay, but the texture is too weird."

"That's legitimate. At least you tried them."

I was surprised to discover that I liked sushi, and I was even more shocked to realize that I was having a good time. I still didn't want to date him, but I didn't think I would mind having Alex as a friend. I just needed to make the boundaries clear up front. He wasn't helping, though.

When the check arrived, he had it scooped up so fast, I wasn't even able to get a look at it. "I want to pay my half," I said. I was adamant. He had ordered so much food that I was terrified about how much it was going to cost, but I needed to make clear that it wasn't a date.

He placed a credit card in the black check holder, not even bothering to look at the total. "Nope."

I made a grab for it, but he had it in the air and in the waitress's hand before I was even close. "You are infuriating," I told him.

"Hey, you're the one that's already pointed out that I'm loaded. It seems fair that I pay. Although, you're the one in the $200 jeans tonight. Not that I'm complaining, mind you." He winked at me.

"They're not mine. Remember my best friend the heiress?"

"Yeah."

"She likes to dress me like her own life-size Barbie sometimes."

"Well, my compliments to her. I feel like I should write her a thank you note. Your heiress have a name?"

"Harper Carlisle. Don't you dare write her a note," I added. "She doesn't need any encouragement."

The bill taken care of, Alex escorted me back to the car, but let me get my own door this time. "The night is young, where to next?" he asked.

"Home," I said. "I have to get up at 5:30 in the morning for work. It's already twenty minutes past my bedtime."

"Hmm, next time I'll have to take you out on a night when you don't have to work."

"Alex, there isn't going to be a next time."

"Why not? I thought you had a good time."

"I did, but I'm not interested in dating anyone. I'd like to be friends." I stuck out my hand for a hearty handshake to make my point even more obvious.

"Is it the other guy? The one that you broke up with?"

I nodded.

"What was so great about him?" Alex wasn't just annoyed, he seemed incredulous. Was it that rare for women to turn him down?

"He's hard to put into words. Sasha was Sasha." I didn't want to explain someone so precious to me to this man.

Alex's response was startling. He laughed, and it had an edge of cruelty in it. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Take me home." I retracted my hand and glared at him. No hearty handshake for him.

"Sure, no problem," he answered, and started up the Ferrari. He didn't say anything else to me the rest of the way home, which was good. I was hovering over that fine line between crying and yelling. While I wouldn't mind yelling at him, I didn't want to cry in front of Alex.

When we arrived home, I stomped up the stairs, not caring if he was following. "Galine," he called after me, wisely choosing not to reach for me.

"What?" I whirled around and gave him a withering look.

"I'm sorry." I studied his face for a trace of dishonesty, but I could tell he was serious. "You're not ready to date, I get that. Can we at least be friends?"

I calmed down at his words. "Yes, I would like that." I felt much better now that he understood.

"Goodnight," he said, and opened his arms for a hug. I hesitated for a minute, but we had established a friendly boundary, so I stepped closer and gave him a hug. Alex wrapped his arms around me and his hands began to wander a bit too low.

"Er, Alex, you can let go now."

"Right," he said. He released me, but he didn't look too repentant.

"Friends," I repeated.

"Friends," he echoed, and walked across the hall into his apartment.

"Not the kind with benefits!" I shouted after him.

I heard him laughing as he shut the door. I swear I heard him say, "We'll see."

I was in trouble, and I knew it.

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Lara S. Chase was born and raised in rural Indiana surrounded by corn fields. Finding her environment somewhat boring, she spent most of her childhood with her nose buried in a book or writing stories in her head to entertain herself. Eventually she decided she should probably start writing some of them down.

She is now kept quite entertained in Durham, North Carolina where she lives with her husband and one misbehaving cat.

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Read on for an exclusive look at the first chapter of the second book in The Gamayun Prophecies: WINGS OF ASH available now.

Getting over a break up is always difficult, but it's worse when your friends and family are plotting against you. I had almost forgiven my sister and Harper for forcing me into that awkward date last night with the cute new neighbor. Almost. I got the nagging feeling, though, they weren't done meddling, and Alex was going to be trouble.

When I arrived home from work that night, I found Katja clearing dishes from the table. "Did you eat dinner already?" Even though I got home late, we tried to eat together.

"No, Alex and I snacked on some of that pound cake you made yesterday."

"Alex was over here? With you? _Alone_?" I frowned. Alex had promised to keep his mitts off my too beautiful teen-aged sister, but I wasn't sure he'd keep his word.

"Oh relax. We just talked. I wanted to know how your date went."

"Does no one have any respect for my privacy around here?"

"No, not so much. It's not like there was much to tell anyway. He said you shut him down with the whole 'friends' talk."

"That is correct. So your and Harper's scheming was all for naught." I thought about sticking my tongue out at her but decided that wasn't mature.

"I don't understand why you won't even give him a chance. You and Sasha have been apart longer now than you were together. I get that you got your heart broken, Galine, but you've got to get back out there. You'll fall in love again." My little sister wasn't supposed to be the one giving me these little pep talks, her brown eyes full of sympathy.

In a normal world where I was a regular girl and Sasha was a regular guy, what Kat was saying would be true. But nothing about our relationship had been normal, and he hadn't broken my heart. The break-up would have been so much easier if we were normal, if Sasha had gotten tired of me. After a few years, maybe I could have moved on. Not with someone flashy like Alex, and not someone who reminded me of Sasha, but maybe a nice short guy who was prematurely balding. He'd have a nice boring office job, and if I wasn't in love with him, there would at least be a fondness there. But the Gamayun wasn't allowed to love anyone, so even my dreams of dull companionship with a mousy accountant were never going to be.

Katja exhaled with a sigh, and it brought my attention back to her. She looked sad and worried, which meant I had probably been zoned out for too long. "So, did the two of you talk about anything else or just gossip about our date?"

She was reluctant to answer, and I thought it was because she wanted to press the dating thing, but that wasn't it. "We talked about Mom."

"Senovia? Why did you talk about her?"

"I don't remember how we got on the topic, but Alex is a good listener. It's not like you ever want to talk about her."

This was true. She couldn't name a topic I liked discussing less than Senovia, and that included when I had to give Katja the sex talk. Kat always wanted to plead our mother's case. She would try to tell me Senovia had changed, or wasn't as bad as I thought she was, or something along those lines.

"So what did you tell him? Or do I want to know?" I almost hated to ask.

"I told him that she had a hard time after Dad died and wasn't in a place where she could take care of us. I said you raised me, made sure I was safe and had what I needed." She shrugged like what she said was no big deal.

Her admission was, in fact, a big deal. I had never heard my sister give me so much credit before. She was always giving me a hard time about how I treated Senovia, not telling me she appreciated what I had done for her. "You said that?" I was still in awe.

"It's true. You're the reason I have a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food to eat—I know all this. And it's not just what you've given me, Galine, it's what you've given up."

"So I go to a few school functions. It's not like I have a life anyway, Kat."

"I'm not talking about an evening here or there. When I took my PSAT last month, do you know what Mrs. Collins asked me when she collected my test?"

"I'm sure I don't know," I said, not meeting her eye. I had a good idea what that blabbermouth guidance counselor had said.

"She asked if I thought I'd done as well as you had. She wanted to know if there were going to be two National Merit Scholars in the Karsavina family. I felt like an idiot because I didn't have any idea what she was talking about."

"The PSAT is the test you take to qualify as a National Merit—" I started, but Katja cut me off.

"Not that part. I'm well aware of how the system works. I'm talking about the part where you could have gone to more than one out-of-state school on a full ride, but Mrs. Collins said you wouldn't apply to a single college. Why didn't you tell me, Galine?"

"Because it didn't matter. Senovia left about the time I could have sent in all those applications. I wasn't going to leave you, too, okay?"

"But college? Growing up all you talked about was when you'd get out of here."

"Things change. I made my decision, and I'd do it again. Besides, once I get you through college and you're making the big bucks, I intend to come mooch off of you." I grinned at her, hoping she'd stop feeling guilty. I was going to have words with Mrs. Collins.

I got a half smile in response. "So is that why you were drilling me with all those flash cards? You were hoping maybe I'd get a scholarship?"

"The thought had crossed my mind, yes. I did remember there were colleges making me amazing offers because I did well on one test. Don't worry, though. Even if you bombed it, we'll figure out how to pay for college somehow." I still wasn't sure how. For all my scrimping and saving, the college fund I had started for Katja was still meager.

"Oh, I already know how I'm going to pay for college," she said.

"How?" I had visions of my sister in a seedy strip club, twirling around a pole. The goal of parenting was to keep your kids off the pole, right? Had I failed my sister? "You're not going to become an exotic dancer are you?" Then I realized there was something even worse. "Or a prostitute?"

"Galine! You've been watching way too many Lifetime movies," she scolded. "It's not so sinister. Harper's family has a scholarship fund for low income families. They give away a ton of money every year. Harper says we meet the income requirements. She said I have to maintain a 3.75 GPA, which I have done, and be in some extracurriculars, which I am. Next year I fill out some paperwork and write an essay, and that's it. She says the money is mine. Harper also said you can't be mad about it because it's an established program that's been around for years with rules and everything, and that I'd be eligible even if you weren't her best friend."

"I can too be mad," I complained. "When were you guys going to tell me about this? Do you know how much ramen I've eaten trying to put away money for your college?"

"Wait, you're not mad because of the money, you're mad because we didn't tell you? That doesn't make any sense. You throw a fit anytime Harper tries to give you anything."

"That's different. It's for you. I had thought about asking Harper to lend me the money. Of course, it would take me at least twenty years to pay her back."

"Well now you don't have to pay her back. It's an official thing, and it's some trust I think her grandparents set up, so it's not even her money," Katja informed me.

"Still, when the time comes, we're both going to write detailed thank-you notes. And you are going to go study this instant. You need to keep up that GPA." I flapped my arms at her, scooting her in the direction of her books.

I was in an excellent mood the rest of the evening, so much so, I was feeling generous when Alex knocked on the door later that night. "Hello," I greeted him cheerfully, not even scolding him for visiting Katja unsupervised.

"Hello yourself," he smiled. "I don't know what you're cooking, but I could smell it from my apartment."

"Cinnamon rolls for breakfast tomorrow."

"I don't suppose I could have a couple?" He gave me what could only be described as a puppy dog look.

"You know, I'm not your personal bakery." I was beginning to feel manipulated, and it was annoying.

"C'mon. Living next to you is going to be torture if I don't get to eat any of the stuff I can smell. I had an idea for an arrangement. That's why I came over." He ducked into the apartment. "Hey, Kat." He nodded to my sister on the couch.

I frowned at him. Katja was already a nickname, short for Ekaterina. Those closest to her got to shorten it even further to Kat. I wasn't comfortable with how familiar he was with her already. "What arrangement?"

"I don't know anyone here besides you two, and it gets lonely over there. Plus, you're such a great cook, I thought maybe we could do a trade. Let's pool our resources and do dinners together. Sometimes you can cook, and on the other nights I can get us take out, or we can go out. I can pay because it's a trade, not a date. Plus, your sister will be there."

"In the interest of full disclosure, she's an average cook. It's the baking she's good at." Katja chimed in this backhanded compliment from the living room.

"Hey!"

"Well, if he's going to pay to take us out, he should know that he's trading for some nights of Tuna Helper."

"That's more than I can manage. I'm useless in the kitchen. I feel like the desserts make up for sub-par cooking anyway."

"You're walking a fine line here already, buster. Insulting me is not going to help."

"How was that an insult?" He asked, confused.

"I think it's a great idea," Katja offered yet another unsolicited comment.

"Of course you do." Traitor.

"Two against one, you're outvoted." Alex grinned in victory.

"Democracy stinks."

I stand by that statement. Ever since getting out voted, Alex became a fixture in our apartment. He was there when I got home, and I had to shove him out the door each night so Katja and I could get some sleep. My sister adored him, and why not? He knew how to tease and flatter in the right amounts until she was putty in his hands. To my great relief, he continued to respect the firm line I drew for him about no funny business with Katja. He still called her Kat, but otherwise, he never did anything I could complain about.

With me, however, he was more than comfortable pushing the boundaries. He found subtle and not so subtle excuses to touch me. Anytime we went to a restaurant, he always sat too close to me. If we were watching TV, his arm always crept from the back of the couch to my shoulders. I'd give him a dirty look, and he'd move it, but twenty minutes later it would be back again. One night at dinner, while I was passing him the salad, Alex put his hand on my knee. I'm sure it was strategic. He thought since my hands were full he'd get away with it. He was wrong; I kicked his shin under the table.

None of this dissuaded him. If anything, it made him try harder. He was extra sweet to Katja. He complimented my hair, whatever I was wearing that day, anything I cooked. "This sandwich is fantastic, Galine. What is it?" he asked, beaming at me.

"Spam."

He choked. "Well, you do amazing things with low-grade meat."

"Liar."

"Galine, be nice." Katja turned red, always embarrassed of my behavior with Alex.

So it was Alex that answered the door the night Senovia visited. Katja was washing the dinner dishes, and I was having a second helping of dessert at the table. Alex sat on the couch near the door, so he popped up and opened it, without bothering to check who was knocking.

"Hello," he greeted her, not seeming to care that she was a complete stranger.

"Hi, I am being Senovia Karsavina, and you are?" she said, sweet as honey. As usual, she was wearing one of her too tight and too bright dresses. A cloud of cigarette smoke and perfume wafted behind her.

"Alex Ramsey."

"Oh, I like you much better than nasty man she had here last time. Little birdie said he was gone." She flashed him her best smile and traced one acrylic nail along his face.

That explained why Senovia felt bold enough to return. I knew she wouldn't have tried it if she thought she might run into Sasha again. "Alex, shut the door," I commanded.

My warning came too late, though. Senovia had already slithered into the apartment.

"Katja, dear, you look beautiful." She zeroed in on my sister. She reached for a hug, which Kat was happy to give her.

"Out, Senovia, I mean it." I pointed in the direction of the door.

"Do not get worked up, Galine. I am not being here to fight."

"Then why are you here?"

"Well, Kat has birthday next week, and I will not be invited to party, no?"

"That's correct."

She glared at me, but continued, "So, I give present now." She retrieved a small box wrapped in bright pink paper from her purse as she spoke.

"That's it?" I was wary. Senovia never had so innocent an agenda, and she'd didn't give anything without a promise of something in return. Even if it was as simple as trying to get back into Kat's good graces, I was sure there was an ulterior motive.

"That's it," she even made the cross-your-heart movement with her finger across her chest.

I sighed, regretting my decision already. "Fine, you can give her the gift, but then you have to leave." I supposed it was possible she wanted to do something nice for Katja. She was known to do that from time to time for my sister.

She handed the package to Katja, who tore it open. I couldn't remember the last time Senovia had given me a present, and it had even been a few years for Katja. She lifted the lid on the box revealing a gold bracelet, its links made of interlocked male and female ballet dancers.

I recognized it immediately. My father was an amazing dancer, but he was never so breath-taking as when he danced with Senovia. They had both been dancers with the Kirov Ballet before they immigrated to the U.S. My father used to tell us girls that he knew my mother was beautiful, but he didn't know he loved her until he danced with her. He had the bracelet made for her as a wedding present, and when he was alive, she never took it off. After he died, I hadn't seen it. Like anything else that reminded her of our father—speaking Russian, Katja and my dance lessons, my father's faith—it had been boxed up and taken away. I thought maybe the bracelet had been lost.

"Oh, Mom, it's gorgeous." Katja touched the links with her fingertips. "Where did you get it?" So Kat had been too little to remember the piece's significance.

"Pyotr gave it to me, and now it yours," she said, her breath catching when she said my father's name.

Katja's eyes filled with tears. "Mom, it's too much," she insisted, trying to give the bracelet back.

"No, my dear, it yours. Wear it and think happier days." She took the golden dancers from the box and fastened them around Katja's wrist. Senovia kissed her on the cheek. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." Katja embraced her again.

I was so upset I was speechless. I turned away, and gripped the grungy beige fabric of our couch. My knuckles turned white, and if I were any stronger, I might have been able to bend the cheap frame beneath the foam. I should be used to Senovia's head games. One minute she was playing the victim and then next she was outright threatening me. She was consistent in her inconsistency. My mother didn't have many rules to her manipulations, but I had picked up on a few. One, she always showed a preference to Katja. Two, whatever was wrong was somehow my fault. But the grand daddy of all was never, ever mention my father. She never brought him up, and if I ever did, she flew into a rage. To do it now convinced me the lengths she was willing to go to get Katja back.

Good to her word, once the gift was delivered, Senovia left without a fuss. "So that was your mom, huh?" Alex commented as the door closed. "She didn't seem so bad."

"She's not," Katja agreed, shooting me a look.

"She's playing at something. I'm sure there's some agenda here." I continued to maim our already pathetic couch.

"That was a nice moment for me, Galine. Why do you feel like you have to ruin it? Let me enjoy it." Katja's face crumpled.

"Sorry, Kat. I don't trust her."

"Maybe she's changed," Alex said.

"You stay out of this."

"I don't want to fight with you tonight. I'm going to bed." Katja collected the box and wrapping paper and headed into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"What's the big deal?" Alex asked once she had departed. "So your mom gave her a bracelet. Did you want it or something?"

In fact, it was one of the few things of Senovia's I wouldn't have minded. Since she never wore it after my dad died, it didn't have the taint of all the horrible things that followed. That wasn't it, though. "I don't care that she gave it to Kat. I worry she's up to something. I wonder how she found out Sasha isn't around anymore."

"Why would that matter?"

"Sasha scares the crap out of her. Kat made the mistake of telling Mom where we live a few months back, but Sasha made it clear she wasn't welcome here. I hope I'm not going to have to move now."

"Maybe you should give her a chance. Or even if you don't want to be around her, it doesn't mean Kat should have to cut off all contact, right?"

"Maybe you should go home."

"Hey, don't be mad. Listen, I have a present for you, too." He danced around with excitement, his hazel eyes flashing.

"Why? It's not my birthday."

"I got one for Kat, too, but I'll give it to her next week. But while I was out shopping, I saw this, and I knew you'd get a lot of use out of it. It's not very romantic . ."

I started to give him a dirty look.

"But since we're _just friends_ , I figured that didn't matter. I'll go grab it and be right back." He bounded out the apartment door, leaving it hanging wide open. He returned hefting an enormous box. It must have been heavy if his grunting was any indication.

"What in the world is that?"

"You'll have to open it and see," he said, placing it on the floor in front of me.

"It's not a puppy, is it?"

"No. Open it."

Against my better judgment, I tore off the newspaper he had used to wrap my present. It was a Kitchen-Aid stand mixer.

Alex hovered over me, excited, "It's one of those fancy mixers!" he announced in case I didn't have eyes. "I thought you could use it for all your baking. Kat said I shouldn't get it because it was 'enabling your obsessive coping strategy.' I told her eating your cookies was enabling, too, so I didn't see why I couldn't give your arms a break." He was delighted with his gift, and hoping I would be to.

Despite my best efforts to stay disgruntled with him and my history of not accepting gifts, I was pleased. In fact, I was thrilled. "It's perfect," I admitted, and gave him a huge hug.

That was a mistake. Alex mistook my gratitude for passion. Before I even knew what was happening, he was kissing me. I tried pulling back, but like all my attempts to dissuade him, this encouraged him instead. Fed up, I resorted to more drastic measures. Using all my strength, I punched him right in the mouth.

Alex yowled and swore at me. "Dammit, Galine, that hurt!"

"It was supposed to!"

"You split my lip! I'm bleeding all over my shirt!"

"Don't yell at me. I could not have been more clear how uninterested in you I am. Why did you kiss me?"

"Girls say they're not interested all the time. It means they want to be pursued."

"Well let me make this crystal clear for you: I do not want to be pursued!"

"Fine!"

"Get out of here, and stop bleeding on my carpet!"
