Anastasia Forever (19 page)

“You have read the tales about me. Not a single one mentions my demise. Always, I return. I may be tricked. I may be evaded. But no one mentions a plan for my destruction.”

Baba Yaga leans across the table. Her enormous face looms next to mine, our foreheads touching. Her breath makes me want to puke. Bile rises in my throat, burning my tongue as it spills upward into my mouth and burns again when I swallow it back.

“I will not give you the answers you desire. But understand this. Viktor believes himself to be Koschei resurrected. In all ways, this is how he presented himself to me when he was my captive. For a time, I thought him quite delightfully mad. For a while, I hated him. Either way, I was willing to use him and he was willing to be used.

“You already know the folklore. Koschei hid his soul inside a needle, hidden in an egg, stuffed into a duck, placed in a hare, then locked in a box as iron as my teeth, and buried under a tree on an island. That is how the story goes. You, of anyone, should know that stories are only that. Your travels to the past—have they not shown you that memories are malleable? That truth has many guises?

“Viktor thinks himself to be Koschei, but know this, girl, he is not Koschei. Not exactly. He is a man who has found another way to cheat death. And death can only be cheated for so long. The natural order, girl. Remember. You must follow truth. The doll is only part of it. Koschei's story is not truth—it is only a reflection of it. To know how to find Viktor's soul is to understand what he most desires. As I have asked you. As you have answered.”

Baba Yaga pauses for another gulp of tea. She drains the cup, slams it on the table. The sound echoes through the wood. The walls of the hut shudder in and out like they're breathing. Below my feet on the wooden floor, a skittering vibration. The chicken legs must be running. Taking us who knows where.

Really, I want to strangle her. If I could, I would. Questions. Riddles. Circles and circles and what? Tess still bleeding and me still sitting here listening to a crazy witch babbling.

“Here is the rest of it—all I will say. I used Viktor and he used me. I learned what he wanted, but he also saw my failings.” She points to the fireplace. The skull glows; the flames leap wildly inside it, around it. I see my own face, Ethan's, Anastasia's. She walks with her sisters. Her brother. Then the flames darken, the visions dissolve into smoke.

“I missed her,” Baba Yaga says. Her gaze is locked on the skull in the fireplace. “I mourned for her. I had not thought it possible and it was happening. Her memories that I had pulled from her to keep her mind in shadows, I went to them once she was gone. The past, Anne. You are a smart girl. You have already understood that the answers lie there. You must pick the rest of your journeys carefully. Only you can do this.”

I slam my fists on the table. “But you've sent me. First me and Tess, then Ethan and me.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Maybe you have sent yourself.”

In a sudden quick motion, she wraps her fingers around my wrist. Lifts my hand and slaps it against Tess's still bleeding cheek.

“Hey!” Tess yelps.

I feel the magic flood from my body into Tess's wound. When I lift my hand, her skin is smooth and unharmed. I take Tess's hands in mine. Her face is pale and sweaty, and her blond hair is plastered in thin strands to her head.

“You're okay,” I murmur. “I'm sorry it took so long. God, Tess, I'm so sorry.”

“I'm fine,” she whispers. “Really.”

I push my chair back. Stand.

The memories of Anastasia fill me. She is so much a part of this place, a part of what's happening to us, what keeps happening over and over as though it needs to repeat itself until I get it right. I've failed her. I saved her and then sent her back to die. Viktor used her. Baba Yaga used her. Just as they've used Lily. Used me.

I see her sitting on the bed in the corner. Holding her doll. Sweeping this floor. Bringing sweet tea to the witch. Staring into the fire that still burns just inches from where I am now. Why was she here in the first place? Because she thought she could save her family.

In my head, I see her as I once dreamed—talking to Viktor.
I
promise
you
, he says to her.
I
give
you
my
word
.

Where would someone hide his soul? It's not quite the right question, is it? Where would Viktor hide his soul? What memory of Anastasia's would he slip into?

One with which he was already familiar.

One that allowed him access to her, to the Alexander Palace, to the Tsar—the father who kept him hidden like Viktor was about to do with his soul. That's what a man like Viktor would think. Not enough to just hide it. But to hide it in a place that represented everything he wanted but never got.

A place like the room he was coming out of when Ethan and I got zapped to the palace and I decided that my date to the Cubs game was more important.

Really? Is it possible that I'm just that stupid?

Um, maybe
.

“Yaga!” I shout. I grab Tess's hand. “Are you telling the truth? I can go where I want? Come back as I choose?”

“Always,” she says, her dark, skull-filled eyes still focused deep within the fireplace. “Do you not understand, daughter, how much of myself I have given to you? Are you so afraid of your own power that you would deny having mine?”

“Why wouldn't I? Viktor's done the same to Ethan, you know? Stuffed him full of something dark. Why should I trust you?”

Baba Yaga turns then, her face huge and lined and hideous. “If this has happened as you say, then you have even less time than I thought. He is not me, child. Believe or not. That is your choice. You think I have taken choice away from you. I have not. Go. Do this thing that needs doing. But hurry. The darkness stirs everywhere, in everything. It cannot be contained much longer.”

She stretches her hands to the fire. I grip Tess's hand tighter.

“You ready?” I ask her.

“Oh no,” Tess says. “You've got to be kidding me.”

“Close your eyes,” I tell her. “And hang on.”

My own eyes are open when the hut contracts and folds. When Tess and I move forward into time and space.

And when we land on our asses in the snow—in front of the Alexander Palace.

“Face-to-face?” I echo Dimitri's words. “And exactly how do you plan on achieving that?”
Just
yesterday
you
seemed
shocked
that
Viktor
was
alive. Perhaps not so shocked after all
.

“There are ways, Ethan.”

“A tracking spell?” We'd used them over the years—with varying degrees of success—as we searched for the girl who could save Anastasia. Now, of course, I know that only I was really trying.

“Something like that. It's the modern age now. Magic takes its own fascinating forms.” He reaches into his pocket. Pulls out an iPhone.

“There's an app for this?” Ben peers at the phone.

Dimitri chuckles. “It's magic, boy, not the movies. My guess is that he hasn't strayed far from us. I don't know if he can't, or if he won't. Don't you feel it, Ethan? You should, Brother. It's how I found you here, you know. What can track one can track the other. Whatever magic he's given us, it's sensing its source. You two can stand here in this parking lot and wait for the little woman and her friend. Or you can come with me and push this thing into motion.”

“But they'll be back soon.” Ben's voice is steady but his tone urgent. “You end up where you start, right? So what—they come back and we're just gone? No way. You want to leave? Fine. I'll swing by Anne's and Tess's. Check on their parents. Then I'll come back here and wait. When I've got them, we'll find you.”

“Not safe, Ben,” I tell him.

“For who? Me? You? Don't you get it? We're already screwed. All of us. Just by this whole situation. Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong. Tell me this is all going to work out. It's a lie, man. You think you love her. But you let her go without you. And then you stand here and give me this bull about how going would be more dangerous. Dangerous for who?”

Ben turns to Dimitri. “So what the hell is the phone for?”

Dimitri grins. “This.”

He taps a number. Presses the phone to his ear. “Brother,” he says. “It is I. Dimitri.” He pauses, listening. Then: “Of course. You had prepared me last fall, yes? That when you returned, I would know it. Feel it. You are well, then? I am glad to hear it. I have waited for you, Brother. It is a relief to know that you are alive and well.” Dimitri listens again, nods. “The usual place, I assume?”

He listens some more, then ends the call. Gestures to me and Ben.

“One of you or both of you. I have no particular preference. He'll meet us downtown by the Art Institute. During the past few years, he's gained a fondness for that park—the one with the curved steel sculpture. A public space with lots of people so as not to call attention to ourselves. And don't look so shocked, Ethan. I still want him dead. I'm just a pragmatist. Did you think our meeting meant that Viktor and I had broken ties? Even you couldn't possibly be so naïve. Contingency plans, Ethan. Did you honestly believe I wouldn't have one?”

Ben's eyes widen. “Just like that? You called Viktor. What kind of idiots do you think we are?”

The kind that have no choice but to go with him
, I think.
And he knows it.

“He still trusts you, then?” I ask Dimitri.

Dimitri shrugs. “I took a chance. He did not sound surprised. Other than that, I have no idea. After I met with you, I started to check his old haunts. He has an apartment here, you know. But it was empty. Still, I felt his presence. So I took a calculated gamble. If indeed he believes himself to be invincible, it may explain why he'd take the chance of showing himself. Of talking to me. Why not? We can't harm him.”

“I'll go,” I say. “Just me.”

Ben nods—a quick jerk of the chin.

“Keep them safe,” I tell him. “Bring her back to me. I have to do this, Ben.” But it is not what I want to do. And if I am certain of nothing else, I know it will go badly. How could it not?

I scan the sky. Nothing. They're in Baba Yaga's forest still; I'm sure of it. The link between me and Anne weakened, and I knew she'd crossed the boundary. It takes every ounce of control that I have to go with Dimitri rather than wait for Anne to return. But we need to take the fight where it belongs.

I move to go. Then find myself hesitating. There is no time, but I do not trust him and I will never trust him. And so I ask, “Why? Why help me?” If that's what he is doing.

The expression on his face is strange and undecipherable. The combativeness leaves his voice. “Yesterday I told you that I believed in happy endings. Maybe once.”

“What changed?”

“Viktor took the only thing I ever cared about. The only person I ever truly loved.”

I wait for him to finish, suddenly knowing what he is going to say.

“Anastasia,” Dimitri says. “You want to understand why I'm willing to join forces with you? This is why. She didn't only trust Viktor. She trusted me. I told her someone would come for her. When it was all over and the Romanovs were saved. That Viktor or I or you would come. Only after did I understand what we'd done. By then it was too late. And the worst part? I never told her. Just accepted what he promised me. That if I helped him do this thing, then he'd bring us together. She was his sister, after all. And she cared for him. What cause would I have not to believe him? Later, he told me. Later there would be time.”

He laughs, a bitter sound. “Funny, eh? Time was what we ended up with. All the time in the world, but no one to share it with.”

Has he told us the truth? Maybe. At least this part of it.

“Go,” Ben says. “Go. I can't fight Viktor. But you can. Go. I'll be here. And Anne and Tess? Not even that wicked witch can stop those two. Trust me. When they get back, I'll keep them safe until we can meet up.”

“I'm counting on it,” I tell him.

“We are seriously going to die, aren't we?” Tess brushes snow off her butt. I do the same. We're both wearing jeans and T-shirts and flip-flops. In the snow. It is entirely possible that we will freeze to death before we manage to do anything of value.

“Would you stop saying that?”

“Only when you stop dragging me into life-and-death situations. It was bad enough to smack my face in the dirt when we thought the Cossacks were chasing us. But that was like a walk in the park compared to letting that crazy witch slice open my face.” She runs a finger over her cheek. “Do you have any idea how much I wanted to scream? But I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction.”

I kiss Tess on the cheek. “You're the best. And I'm sorry.”

“Talk is cheap.” Tess rubs her hands over her arms. Stomps snow off her feet. “So where to? Inside, I hope. I can't feel my toes. Leave it to us to get here in the winter.”

“Actually”—I point to some flowers poking their tops out of the light covering of snow—“it looks more like spring.”

“Whatever. What are you now, a meteorologist? I'm assuming you've got a plan. So why don't you share it? And maybe poof up some boots for us while you're at it.”

I study the enormous palace sitting a few hundred yards away, its white columns shining in the sun. Not exactly where I'd aimed for—which was inside. But it will have to do.

“You were right, Tess. At least I think you were.”

She smiles, then her forehead wrinkles. “Right about what?”

“Ethan and I should have stayed. Whatever it was that Baba Yaga wanted to show me—I need to see it. I need to finish the visit. Anastasia was talking to Viktor. I need to hear what they said. I need to know why he was inside the palace. It may not be the whole answer. But I think it's important.”

Of course, I could know already, if I hadn't gotten all pissy and stopped Baba Yaga from sending me here. But I was on a date. We were kissing! We had peanuts! Ethan's tongue was in my mouth! Who thinks straight at a time like that?

Tess rubs her arms. Her goose bumps have goose bumps. “Beyond my general brilliance and all, could you make this a little less vague? What exactly are you thinking besides, ‘Hey, time travel—there's some fun we need to have again'?”

“What I think is that Baba Yaga missed Anastasia. And maybe she compensated by bringing up memories of her in the fire. You know—in that creepy skull. So there's Viktor, right? Trapped in the hut watching Baba Yaga do this day after day. Who knows how long it felt like to him there. Maybe like centuries. And at some point, he figures it out. How to do what we've done—go back and forth in time. Stick his soul in Anastasia's doll one trip. And hide it somewhere during another. That's why he's trying to stop us now, I think. Because there's a chance that we might figure it out too.”

“So somehow he butted into one of Anastasia's memories while Baba Yaga was looking at them in her fire? Took the doll and hid it here in the past? This is what you're telling me?”

“Yeah. Too crazy?”

“Is that even possible anymore? This isn't because of the Ben thing, is it? Because you know, I took psychology. You could just be acting passive-aggressive or something and making me suffer.”

I roll my eyes. Even my eyeballs are cold. The expression on Tess's face shifts from joking to serious.

“Omigod, Tess. No. Is that what you—no.” The idea of Ben and Tess had slipped from my mind in Baba Yaga's hut, but now it's back full steam ahead.

“'Cause it's weird, right? I know we haven't had time to talk about it. But I want to talk about it. Okay, maybe not right now because I'm freaking out that someone is going to suddenly notice two strange American girls and run us through with a sword or throw us in a dungeon. Did the Romanovs even have dungeons? Whatever. He's nice, Anne. And God, he's smart. You know I like smart—not that you could tell with Neal. Which probably should have been my clue that that whole relationship was doomed. But Ben is—”

I rest my hand on her arm. “I know. He really is. And it really is okay. I told you that at IHOP. It's more than okay, actually. I think it's great.”

“Honest? Because I've been worried that this makes me look totally lame. Like all I can do is take your leftovers or something. Plus, there's the whole blonde thing. People stereotype, you know. Barbie and Ken or whatever. Not that I'm a Barbie. I'm way too flat-chested and—”

“Tess. You could never be lame. Trust me.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Well, okay, yeah. It's just that—I was totally not expecting to feel like this. And I only gave myself permission to feel like this when you told me that it was over. I mean, he drove back for me in the middle of the night. I'm standing in my bedroom so scared that I think I'm gonna pee my pants, and then I hear his car on the driveway. And I run down and open the door and realize that I've never wanted to see anyone so much in my entire life. You should have seen his face when I leaped on him and kissed him. I was all ‘Thank God almighty, you're here and at least I don't have to die alone in the suburbs.' And then I looked at him. And he looked at me.”

She blushes. “If it wasn't a cliché, I'd have jumped his bones right there in my foyer. Only that would have been slutty. Right?”

“Um, yes.” I change the subject. “And did I tell you that when Baba Yaga first became a witch she chowed down on a little boy? Like swallowed him whole, bones and all. I saw it in her head. Correction—I lived it in her head. If you ever hear me say that I wish I knew what someone was thinking, just slap me, okay?”

“Ewww.”

“You don't really have to hurt me.”

“Not that. The other thing.”

We schlep through the snow as I explain the rest of my plan to Tess. Find the room that Viktor was coming out of when Anastasia saw him. Go inside. See what we find. As long I don't body switch with anyone, we'll be in good shape. Unless, of course, this is the wrong year. Or Viktor didn't actually tell Anastasia anything relevant because he was already an evil, conniving bastard who could anticipate a need for future secrecy. Or any one of a trillion depressing possibilities.

We could seriously be here forever.

I picture Ben and Ethan still standing in the IHOP parking lot waiting for us to—I don't know—fall from the sky or something. Maybe they'll end up eating more pancakes.

We make it to the stone pathway by the palace. Various groups of people stroll by us—guards, an older woman who looks like she could be a nanny or governess or whatever they would have had, and two guys in long black coats, both wearing gloves. My heart jumps every time one of them comes close. One of the coat guys actually brushes against Tess's arm. He stops and she lets out a soft gasp. But he just says something in Russian to the other guy and then walks on. No one seems to sense our presence.

Everyone looks slightly cold and more than slightly anxious. The political tide had already begun to turn, I know. I guess everyone was aware. Except the Tsar.

“So.” Tess stops and turns to me. “If we're looking for the matryoshka doll—at least maybe—where do you think Viktor would have put it?”

“That's what we have to figure out.”

“I shouldn't have asked, should I?”

A tall dark-haired guy with a mustache, wearing what looks like a guard uniform, steps out of the palace. We slip inside before the door closes.

It's gorgeous. And ornate. And really, really huge. Crystal chandeliers. A fireplace. Groupings of tables and chairs.

“This is crazy,” Tess whispers. “We're going to see them, aren't we? Anastasia and her family.”

“It would be easier if we didn't, but, maybe. Yes.” And if we're lucky, they won't see us. At least that's my plan.

Tess sucks in a breath through her nose, exhales through her mouth. “Okay, boss. Where to? And let's do this fast, okay? Your parents are still in the middle of their freak-out, remember? I really don't want to get back and see your dad going medieval on Ethan because neither of them knows where you are.”

Yet another level of fun in my world.

We begin to wander. Argue about what we'd seen in the various website pictures. We find ourselves in what turn out to be the servants' quarters. Then some kind of sitting room. Another room with a wall covered with religious icons—picture after picture of gold-haloed saints, each one looking more unhappy and tortured than the next. After that, we get turned around and end up back where we began.

Servants bustle here and there, carrying this, cleaning that. Everyone's blabbing in Russian, which doesn't exactly help. Possibly I should have asked Baba Yaga to conjure up a decent Alexander Palace blueprint before we left the hut. I do a mental run-through of Spells I Think I May Know. I can light candles, heal wounds, make the wind blow and plants grow. I can read Ethan's thoughts. I may or may not have been able to put a protection spell around my house. And I've burned a few rusalki and, in one unfortunate incident, Ben's face. But not even Baba Yaga seems to have a spell for how to find the bad guy's soul while time traveling to the past.

“What about that way?” Tess points to our left. “I don't think we've…” Her mouth sags. Her face goes white.

A tall wild-bearded man in black walks toward us, deep in conversation with a regal-looking woman, hair pinned in some kind of updo, wearing a long, cream-colored high-collared dress. She's gesturing with her hands and he's nodding. He says something and she clasps her hands together, almost as though in prayer.

“Is that—” Tess whispers.

I hold up a hand for her to be quiet. Not that they can hear us. Or see us. Just that I need to make sure that—

He stops dead in his tracks. Twists his head left. Right. Tilts his chin up, his gaze skimming the high ceiling. When he looks down again, I see his eyes. Dark. Gleaming. Evil.

I hold my breath. Stand absolutely still.

Father Grigory—aka Rasputin—circles his gaze round and round and stops. He stares directly at me. My heart skips a beat. Then another. The breath I'd been holding freezes in my chest.

Tsarina Alexandra—the woman cannot be anyone else—turns to him and says something.

He ignores her like she's not there. I see her face flush, but she waits for him to do something. Defers to him and I want to scream at her to tell him to get out. To call for the guards or her husband or someone to get rid of him. He's going to destroy her family and she has no idea.

Rasputin walks toward us. Tess makes a strangled sound in the back of her throat. I stand very, very still. He stops just inches from me, smelling rank, his beard greasy. His close-set eyes darken to black.

Everything in the room seems to hold its breath.

And then he bursts into Russian and laughs.

“Holy shit,” Tess whispers when he finally, finally walks away.

He knows, I think. He knows there's something. But even he can't figure it out. Point for our team.

Neither Tess nor I move another muscle until Rasputin and Alexandra both walk out the door toward the park.

“How could she trust that guy? Just looking at him makes me want to hurl.” Tess's eyes are wide as I motion toward the direction from which the Tsarina and her creepy priest have just come. The family must have rooms there; maybe one of them is the right one. If not, we'll have to try upstairs.

“She was desperate,” I whisper. Rasputin didn't see us, but I have no idea if maybe he could manage to hear us. Whispering is good. “Anastasia's brother was so sick. Father Grigory promised her answers. I think that's really all there is to it.”

Tess makes an ick face. “So she trusts the king of the creepers and Anastasia trusts Viktor. I feel like I need to do an intervention or something. Don't you? I mean it's sort of your family and all. Well, more than sort of. Don't you wish you could go back in time and—oh. See? This is how grossed out I am right now. We are back in time. Never mind.”

I nudge her toward the wing we haven't explored. How many hours have passed since we've been gone? How long has it been since I've actually slept? A day? Two? I'm oddly alert—the magic maybe? Maybe just adrenaline. Was it only yesterday that Ethan and I were sitting at Wrigley Field?

Ethan
.

Tess touches my arm. Only then do I realize I've said his name aloud.

“Hey.” She gives my shoulders a quick squeeze. “You know you're really brave, right? Bravest person I've ever met. Okay, maybe not the smartest sometimes.” She grins, but her eyes are serious. “It'll be okay, Anne. Even if it's not. Do you understand what I mean? This whole crazy thing—it's going to end soon, one way or the other. And it may not be the way we think. Or the way you want it to. But don't ever believe that the outcome is about you. That whole destiny bullshit? You know what I think? I think we make our destiny. And I think you're amazing. If you weren't, I wouldn't be your friend.”

So there we stand, me and Tess, crying our eyes out in the middle of the Alexander Palace. She's right, of course. Tess, it turns out, is almost always right, which is something that most people don't understand about her. She is a highly underestimated human being, and that is exactly why she is my best friend.

“But what if I can't—”

Tess presses her hand to my mouth. “Don't. Not helping. Besides, what's the worst that could happen if you don't find crazy Viktor's hidden soul?”

I stare at her.

“Okay. Maybe that wasn't the best question.”

“You think?”

We laugh so hard that we forget to whisper. So hard that we don't hear the voices down the hall right away. We're laughing and walking, and then Tess grabs my arm again, really hard.