Chimera (29 page)

Sevastian had lost his gun as well when I’d shot him in the chest. With one blood-covered hand clamped to the side of his head, he was using the other to reach for his own weapon on the floor when my bullet passed him by a good six inches. I fired again. This time I did hit him . . . in the shoulder, but the wrong shoulder. The blow knocked him nearly sideways, but that only lined his gun up on me all the faster and he was already firing. Right up until the moment he dropped, boneless as a jellyfish, I thought I was dead. I knew I was; I knew it for an irrefutable fact. I could all but feel the bullet in my throat instead of in the floor that had claimed it; yet here I was alive, whole. And I owed none of that to myself.

Michael looked down at Sevastian impassively. “He’s not a particularly nice man either.”

He wasn’t wrong. First a child molester and now a hit man, Michael was being exposed to people who weren’t any better than those who kept him in the Institute. It wasn’t the most smoothly run escape to ever come down the pike. My talents, assuming I had any, apparently lay elsewhere.

Once again pushing up to my knees, I tried from there to get to my feet. Sevastian’s chest was still rising and falling, albeit slowly and unevenly, which meant Michael hadn’t killed him. Relief weakened my legs almost as much as the lack of oxygen. Putting that burden on him even to save my life wasn’t remotely what I wanted. Unfortunately, Michael seemed destined to do for others what he wouldn’t risk doing for himself. “You . . . okay, Misha?” I gasped roughly as I tried for more air.

He blinked and moved to my side to brace me. “I should probably be asking you that. He nearly killed you.”

The bastard had certainly given it his best shot. “Nah.” I rubbed the back of my hand across my eyes, clearing the last of the swirling flecks of light. And breathing, the breathing was slowly coming along. “I had it under . . . control . . . the whole time.”

With an openly skeptical look generated by the croak of my abused throat, Michael nodded and said dryly, “I’m sure.”

His mask of equanimity didn’t fool me. The tawny glasses emphasized the faint pallor of his skin and the fingers of one hand were curled tightly against the palm. It was the hand, I would bet, that he’d used to touch the back of Sevastian’s neck. Michael had left his hiding place behind the couch and used what Jericho had given him—no, what Jericho had
forced
on him—all to save my miserable ass. Taking him by the shoulder, I urged him toward the door. Sevastian and Pavel usually worked as a pair. There shouldn’t be anyone else lying in wait for us, but I tucked Michael behind me all the same. “What did you do to him?” I murmured, my eyes flickering back and forth for any signs of a nasty surprise that would indicate Sevastian had changed his MO to include a backup team.

He didn’t have a chance to answer as Lev appeared in our sight as we stepped over the unconscious body of Pavel. Waiting in the hall with hands clasped in their familiar position over his belly, he watched us come into sight with only a bare widening of dark eyes. “Stefan.” He gave a small smile laced with a lively curiosity. “It seems you’re not so soft after all.”

“Yeah,” I said remotely. “Seems that way.” The numbness I’d first felt as I’d realized his betrayal had dissipated. What was left in its place wasn’t as desirable—not goddamn nearly. “Five hours.” The time we had spent waiting for the lunch that Lev insisted we stay for. “That was more than enough time to stick Sevastian and his tag-a-long on Konstantin’s plane, wasn’t it?” He must’ve called Fyodor the minute the guard at the gate called to the house to announce us. Before we even made it through the front door, we’d been given up.

“The weather nearly spoiled their trip, but they landed right before the airport shut down.” He looked at Pavel sprawled spread-eagle in the doorway. “But I suppose you’ve ruined their trip just as much, eh,
krestnik
?”

“Don’t call me that.” The moment the words left my lips I regretted them. They were stupid, and they were pointless. The things I had thought about Lev, the illusions I’d embraced, were knives . . . slicing away pieces of me. I’d known who my uncle was, but I hadn’t ever accepted he was that same person with me. I’d thought I was exempt from his darker side. I’d thought I was family.

I’d thought wrong.

“Stefan, Stefan.” Lev rested his chin on his chest as he contemplated me with a mockery of melancholy affection. “It’s just
zapodlo
; you know that.”

Just business, my ass. I didn’t bother to respond to the excuse as I raised my gun to point unwaveringly at his head. “The money. Now.”

He sighed and rippled his massively rounded shoulders in a minute shrug. “Very well.” Walking with surprisingly dainty steps for such a large man, he turned and moved toward the study.

Michael stepped up to my side as we walked the long stretch of hallway. I could see the confusion that furrowed his forehead, but I was still surprised when he asked Lev the quiet question, “How could you do that?”

Lev shook his head as he pushed open the study door. “Child, you’ve no idea what’s even happened here.”

My brother ended that misapprehension instantly. “I am not a child, and Stefan didn’t shoot that man. You know he didn’t. How could you betray him?”

Pausing in the doorway, Lev looked back with an air of patronizing bemusement. “Whether he shot him or not doesn’t matter, little Michael. It doesn’t matter at all.” Then his eyes met mine and he scolded, “Talking out of school, Stefan. You know better.”

The safe was flagrantly visible on one wine-colored wall. There had been no effort to hide it. Who would be suicidal enough to rob from the Russian mob? Plump fingers agilely punched in the combination and Lev went on with his lecture. “Talk, talk, talk, but did you tell your little friend that your father has vanished like a ghost? Did you tell him the rest of us are dependent on the goodwill of those in power?” The bronze metal door was opened to reveal several drawers. “I’m retired, Stefan, and I’m happy to be so. Making waves is no way to ensure I’ll enjoy that retirement. Konstantin was to take your father’s place. Now Fyodor will.” His smile was knowing. “Quite the coincidence, yes? But no matter. I’m loyal to the family. Fyodor is the family now. You, Stefan, are only a tiny piece of it. And, so, I did what I had to do. Loyalty to the family is all.”

He had done what was necessary to maintain loyalty—his loyalty to himself. I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care in the slightest. And if I repeated that to myself often enough, it would be true. Prodding his back with the gun, I said coldly, “Great. I couldn’t be prouder. Now give me the goddamn money.” Jerking my head at the ornate desk in the center of the room, I told Michael to find some manila envelopes to put the cash in.

At the touch of metal against his spine Lev had given an almost imperceptible twitch as he remembered what he’d said only minutes ago. I wasn’t so soft after all. Now as he pulled stacks of bills from one of the drawers, his air of placid composure began to fade. “I’m still the same man who took you to see Santa,
krestnik
. I’m still the one who held your hand at your mother’s funeral. That hasn’t changed.” His eyes were wise, wistful, and full of lies. “I did all I could for you; you must know that. But in the end, there is only so much that can be done. Even for an uncle who loves his godson.”

“Yeah, I’m a lucky guy,” I commented with empty detachment. “I’d count my blessings, but then I’d be here all day.” I took the envelopes from Michael with my free hand and shoved them into the soft mound of Lev’s stomach. “Fill them up fast enough and maybe I’ll leave you with some blessings of your own to count.” My lips peeled from my teeth in a parody of a grin as I added flatly, “Maybe.”

He filled the envelopes quickly and silently after that. When he was done, I handed them to Michael before directing him to the door. “Wait in the hall, Misha. I’ll be right out.”

I expected him to hesitate at the tone in my voice. I barely recognized the sound of it myself, abraded hoarseness aside. He didn’t, though. Flashing me a look of confidence, he faced Lev and said with excruciating politeness, “Good-bye, Uncle Lev. I’d say it was nice to meet you, but then I’d be a liar.” He hefted the load in his arms and finished with unusually savage bite, “Just like you.”

Once Michael was out of sight, I stared at the man who had done more to shape my childhood than my own father. He had taken me to see Santa when I was six, as he’d said. And like Saint Nick, Uncle Lev had been nothing but a myth. All this time, he had been just a story I’d been stupid enough to fall for . . . even though I was a man who should’ve known better. “Have a seat, Uncle.”

Obeying at a snail’s pace, he settled himself slowly on a couch of buttery leather and eyed me with false sympathy. There was some genuine concern there as well, but it was reserved for him. “What, Stefan? What do you do now? Shoot me? You know better, and so do I.”

He was a liar, a killer, and maybe as much of a monster as Jericho. He was also a seventy-year-old man who had acted as family toward me my whole life. It hadn’t meant anything to him, but it had to me. As much as I would’ve liked to deny it, it had meant a helluva lot to me. After what he had done, hating him should’ve been child’s play. A nice black hatred sizzling with acid and bile would’ve made things so much easier. And I wanted easy now. I was tired of hard, and I was tired of family that disappeared . . . one way or the other.

“Shoot you?” I walked to the desk, picked up the phone and base, and tossed it into the hall. “Why would I want to shoot a toothless old wolf like you, Uncle?” I asked grimly. “Your day has been over for a while. All you’re good for is carrying tales to men more powerful than you.” It was true. He was a fat spider; poisonous, but if I avoided his web, I’d be safe enough.

Ripping one of the curtains free, I tore it into pieces and tied both of his thick wrists tightly. He hissed disapprovingly as I squatted and used the remaining material to do the same to his ankles. “Those are silk, Stefan. That’s no way to treat a beautiful thing.”

“Criminal of me, I know. How will I ever live with myself?” The house was old, a historical masterpiece, and the doors all had the large keyholes equipped with baroque keys. I would lock Lev in the study and Michael and I would be long gone before he was found. He’d done us the favor of sending his help home; the house was empty except for him and the unconscious and dying hit men.

“I think you’ll do just fine,
krestnik
.” Resigned to the situation, he leaned back and let his eyes fall to half mast. “You’ve more
yaitsa
than I gave you credit for. Anatoly will be proud. That is, he will be if he’s alive and you yourself live to see him again.”

“If I do, I’ll be sure to pass on your regards.” I tied the final knot.

Under a naturally ruddy complexion intensified by a high-fat diet and an enlarged heart, he paled slightly. I might have balls of steel, but my father’s were titanium. While I wouldn’t kill an old man, Anatoly would stop and make a point of it.

“Enjoy that wave-free retirement, Lev.” I picked up the Steyr from the floor and tapped the muzzle on his knee. “However long it lasts.”

Rising, I moved toward the door. Behind me the couch creaked alarmingly as Lev shifted. “Stefan,” he called urgently.

I kept going.

“Stefan, my heart medicine.” He was referring to the nitro pills he had been taking for nearly a decade now. Too many
bleenies
and too much vodka had finally caught up with him over the years. “I might need it. It’s in the master bedroom.”

“Is it?” I paused in the doorway to look back at him. “That’s too bad, Uncle Lev. It really is.” Quietly pulling the door shut, I locked it.

And then I walked away.

“It would be a nice change.” Breathing lightly on the passenger window, he drew a cartoon face in the fogged glass. It had a ferocious scowl and familiar curly hair.

“What?” I reached over and wiped away the unflattering if accurate portrait. “The car or life?”

“Both,” he said with a teasing quirk of his lips. Then more seriously he said, “About what happened at the house . . . I’m sorry.” The words came out rather awkwardly, as if he’d never said them before. Chances were he never had. If one of the kids in the Institute had reason to be sorry, I would be surprised if they were given the opportunity to apologize. Jericho was bound to embrace a zero tolerance policy with a vengeance.

“Sorry?” I echoed blankly. “What do you have to be sorry about, Misha? I’m the one who got us into this mess. Hell, you saved my life back there.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Two fingers softly stroked the ferret’s head as it peeked from Michael’s jacket pocket. “I’m sorry about your uncle Lev.”

“Yeah?” My jaw tightened and I made a conscious effort to relax it. “Don’t worry about it, kiddo. Like the man said, it was only business. It’s my fault for forgetting that.”

“It is? When you were five or six? I know I would’ve been thinking that while sitting on Santa’s lap.”

I raised my eyebrows at his sarcasm and ignored the meaning behind his comment. I knew I’d started out young and innocent, and I didn’t blame the naïve kid who’d loved his uncle Lev. But not blaming the blindly stupid adult who should’ve known better was a little more difficult. “Had a class on Santa too, did you?”

“All the major topics were covered.” He was still wearing the glasses, but they had swooped down to balance on the end of his nose. It made it easier for him to shoot me an exasperated glance over the rims. “You’re changing the subject, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m ignoring it altogether.” I leaned the seat back, looked at the roof for a moment, then rolled my head toward Michael. “You never did say what you did to Sevastian to take him down like that.”

He pushed the glasses back up, trying very hard for casual. To give him credit, he almost made it. “Stopped the blood flow to his brain, just for a few seconds. It’s harmless. Mostly.”

“You knocked him out,” I said with instant and strong approval. Michael had done the only thing he could to save me. I wasn’t going to let him start second-guessing or blaming himself now. He’d shown a lot of restraint with Sevastian, a good deal more than I had. “Good idea. You really did save my life, you know. Again. It’s getting to be a habit of yours, making me look bad.” I grinned at him. “I guess I owe you, huh?”

“I guess you do.” He looked toward the mall and opened the car door. “And there’s no time like the present to discuss payback.”

I groaned and climbed out on my side. “Okay, okay. But no porn.”

The snow was still falling heavily and it covered Michael’s hair in seconds as he agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. No educational materials, but you’re sincerely stunting my social growth.”

“I’ll try and live with myself,” I grunted as the snow accumulated under my jacket collar with the touch of cold fingers. That was the reason we were here. The thin coats we’d purchased in Georgia weren’t doing the job. We needed the real deal. We still had our trip to St. Louis ahead of us before we made our way to Babushka’s old house, and it wasn’t getting any warmer. A mall was the perfect place to buy heavier clothes and go relatively unnoticed if anyone came looking. I doubted anyone would. I was fairly sure Sevastian and Pavel were alone and Lev didn’t have the men he used to.

If Michael was familiar with anything in the outside world, it would be malls. Full of people, the majority of whom didn’t see beyond the nearest sale or the slice of tepid pizza they were shoving in their face, it had been the perfect location for Institute field trips. No one would look at a group of kids twice, no matter how strange they might be. Inside the doors I handed him a wad of cash and drawled, “Go wild. Just no purple.” I’d already had enough of the grape-colored shirt I’d bought him only days ago. It had seared my eyes for the last time.

He accepted the money, only to ask dubiously, “What should I get then?”

“Whatever you want.” I knew it had to be unnerving for him. In his life, all that he could remember, he hadn’t been given the chance to make decisions—any decisions. He’d done well in the bookstore, but there he’d had fairly specific guidelines. This was different; this was being adrift. He had to find his way, though, sooner or later. I nudged his shoulder. “Hey, you bought the rat without any help. This will be easy in comparison. No teeth. No stink.” I gave him a light shove. “Now go. Just make sure you get us both coats and a couple of sweaters.”

I kept him in sight as he shopped. I wanted to foster independence but not at the expense of having him snatched while I wasn’t watching. Jericho was like the monster you knew was under your bed when you were little. You could turn the lights on and peer under there to see only a lost and dusty sneaker. You could know for a fact you were alone, but the second the lights went out again, it would be back. Its hot breath would pant fetid and foul in your face. The jagged claws would weave through your hair to lightly scrape your scalp. Logic meant nothing to childhood monsters.

It didn’t mean anything to Jericho either.

I knew he couldn’t have followed us. The tracking chip was gone, and we’d made our way across several states. We were safe, at least for a while. Even if he was capable of finding us again, it would take time. He wasn’t going to come rushing out of the crowd to my left with that bone-jangling laugh. He wouldn’t be waiting around the next corner to take Michael from me as he had before. I kept telling myself those things, kept looking under the bed for all I was worth, but it didn’t reassure me any more than it had when I was four.

Michael stopped in front of a store teeming with teenagers. There were artsy black-and-white posters and faceless mannequins draped in clothes the Salvation Army would’ve thrown out. I sat on a bench, went to work on a chocolate chip cookie from the food court, and watched the show. He leaned closer to the glass to peer through at a price tag, then jerked upright with outrage as it registered. “It’s a trap, Misha,” I murmured under my breath around a mouthful of crumbling dough. “Run. Run for your life.” Although Uncle Lev was still lurking inescapably in my thoughts, I couldn’t help but be entertained as I watched my brother.

Moving to the next store, Michael studied the window display for several minutes before deciding to go in. I smothered a smile at the suspicious set of his shoulders. The ways of the world remained mysterious to him, and the ways of retail were mystifying to us all. Relaxing as he went from store to store, I was ready for more than a cookie by the time he finished up. He’d taken about an hour, but considering that he had to develop his own likes and dislikes in that time, I couldn’t complain. I was curious to know what he’d picked out, though. I had the kid pegged for dark blues and grays, clothes that wouldn’t stand out; a combination of post-Institute syndrome and being a fugitive on the run.

“What’d you get?”

He deposited two large bags on the bench beside me and reached into one to whip out a shirt. There were blues and grays; I’d been right about that. There were also white, black, green, all coalescing into a picture . . . a face. It was a long sleeve shirt of a slick, heavy material and it was covered with a psychedelic, watercolor portrait of Albert Einstein. I’d seen the type before, retro funk and usually decorated with a rock star or famous actor. This was definitely a new twist.

“Isn’t it great?” Michael shook it out so I could get a better look. “What do you think?”

“There are no words,” I said honestly.

“I have one with Sigmund Freud too.” He folded Albert carefully and put him back into a bag before rummaging again. “Where? Oh, here. See?”

Unless the eminent and penis-obsessed psychiatrist had had a sex change operation not recorded by history, Michael had grabbed the wrong shirt. There were blond hair, cleavage, and a wide ruby red mouth. Marilyn Monroe. At least he had an appreciation for the classics.

“Well,” I said in contemplation as I sucked the last of my Coke through the straw, “that’ll let the girls know you’re open for business.”

Michael looked down and flushed before hurriedly shoving the famous blond bombshell back out of sight. “Er . . . it was on sale.” It was his first solo shopping trip and he’d already nailed the ultimate excuse.

“Damn, kiddo.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to laugh. It came out a bit strangled through my aching throat, but it was genuine. “You’ve got the worse taste.”

He stiffened, not seeing the humor in the situation. “You told me to buy whatever I wanted.”

“Hey, come on.” Pushing the bags aside, I took a handful of his jacket and pulled him down to sit on the bench. “I think it’s perfect. You landed on your feet and hit the ground running. You’re you, Misha. No matter what those bastards tried to do to you, you’re still your own person.” I tossed the cup into the garbage can a few feet away and gave him a wicked smile. “And that person just happens to have crappy taste.”

Michael relaxed with my words, hopefully recognizing the good intentions behind them. It didn’t stop him from peppering me with vengeful comments about my wardrobe as we walked back to the food court. Monochromatic man was the kindest thing he had to say. I liked black. So sue me.

We were halfway to the food court before Michael finally laid off my clothes. I seized the opportunity to ask, “You did get me a coat, didn’t you? And sweaters?”

The smirk on his face was pure, unadulterated evil. “Trust me. I wouldn’t forget you, Stefan.”

He refused to show me the remaining contents of the bags as we sat down to eat our mediocre Chinese food. Instead, he tortured me with vague hints and sly remarks until finally he went quiet and concentrated on twirling noodles around his fork. It was a strange silence, almost wistful.

“Are you wishing you’d bought more sweaters for yourself now?” I toed the bags at his feet. “Nice, sensible, boring sweaters?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. The glasses had been discarded in his pocket for the moment, but I had thoughts of contacts for him in the future. His bicolored eyes were simply too distinctive. They would be remembered by anyone who saw him up close.

“Don’t come crying to me when Albert doesn’t keep you warm in the snow.” I speared a mushroom off his plate, popped it in my mouth, and chewed. It hurt to swallow, but not too badly. Sevastian would be hurting far more—if he ever woke up. Appetite waning, I dropped my fork and pushed the plate away. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it? This place?”

Michael took a long look around. The crowd was sparse. The snow had kept most people home and it was a weekday, but it was still a mall. “It does,” he admitted reluctantly. He toyed with his food, knotting the noodles into neat little piles. “They drugged us, you know. On the trips.”

“Drugged you?”

“Not so much we couldn’t function.” The fork kept moving. “They wanted us to interact, wanted to see if we could pass for normal. They gave us just enough to slow us down in case we tried to escape.” The tines of the plastic fork bent under the pressure and broke against the plate. “Not that any of us ever tried. What a waste.”

I knew what he was thinking, that his fearless friend John would have made the attempt . . . that he wouldn’t have let the chance go by. But John hadn’t lived that long. “Actually it wasn’t.” I piled our plates on the tray for disposal. “That last field trip is how I found you. One of the girls who worked there spotted you. She’s one of Saul’s. He’s had your description out to his network for years now.”

“She recognized me?” he asked doubtfully. “How?”

“Your eyes. Your age. Faces change in ten years, but there aren’t many kids out there who fit both of those.” I stood and dumped the contents of the tray into the garbage can beside our table. “Face it, kid, you’re unique.”

The expression that shimmered across his face was partly wary and partly something I couldn’t identify. “Stefan—”

“I know,” I interrupted with a tug of the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re not my brother. You can keep telling yourself that, Misha, but it’s not going to make any difference to me. Now, you want to hit the pet store for ferret food before we go or just toss the rat out the window?”

He sighed but went with the change of subject. “The pet store. I like Zilla. It’s nice having someone around I can have an intelligent conversation with.”

“You certainly bitch like a brother,” I grumbled affectionately under my breath. I might have lost my uncle, but I still had family and it was right here with me, bad taste and stubborn nature included.