Midnight In St. Pertsburg (The Invisible War 1) (8 page)

“So what’s next?” Rose asked.

“We should check out the nightclub—Revelations,” Ian said. “Alec’s papers made it seem pretty central to the community, and it’s got to be some kind of popular if even the monks know about it.”

Mike shrugged, but didn’t offer up a better idea. Ian gave instructions to their driver, and they were off.

They rode into one of the communist rebuilt areas of the city. The plain, concrete slab highrises were a dramatic contrast to the colorful, elegant buildings of the downtown. The car pulled up in front of a blank, warehouse-looking structure from which poked a line that ran around the block. Away from the center of town, the St. Petersburg malaise had faded, and if this building had its own dark past, those energies had been driven away by the layers of excitement, lust, and desperation that surrounded any night club.

The music was loud enough Rose could feel it pounding against her chest before they’d made it to the door. The long line marked this place as popular, and Rose noted the youth of the crowd. The older people she’d seen out on the streets, as they’d driven through town, had all seemed in a hurry—they’d moved with a head-down, anxious purpose. Only the young people dared linger in the darkness.

Ian boldly cut through to the front of the line. He was calm, confident. Rose couldn’t imagine he’d ever once in his life been turned away from a club. The bouncer, a burly blonde man in a tailored suit, let him through without a fuss, but he stepped in front of Rose, Mike, and Nazeem.

“We’re here to see Svetlana.” Mike didn’t raise his voice, but it carried all the same over the pounding music bleeding out of the club.
 

The bouncer jerked his chin towards Nazeem. “You with him?” His thick accent made the words come out a growl.

“I don’t have to be.”

Rose pushed in front of Mike. “
Yes
, we’re with him.” She had to yell to be heard. “We’re also with Alec Rutledge. Do you know him?”

Recognition rippled through the bouncer. “I know Rutledge. You the new people he hired?”

Did everyone in town have a spy network? “We are.
All
of us.”

That seemed good enough. The bouncer let them through the door. As she passed by, Rose saw him reach for the phone on his belt.

Inside was no brighter than the street. The only lights along the wall were filtered red and pulsing in time with the music. As her eyes adjusted, Rose could make out the hellish murals that ran from floor to ceiling, depicting scenes of torture and debauchery in a flaming wasteland. Demons that might have looked cartoonish in a different setting became sinister and menacing in the dim, smoky light.
 

The floor was packed and people stood five deep around the bar. Dancers writhed in time to the throbbing heavy metal that radiated from the open mouths of gargoyle speakers. The room pulsed with lust and exhilaration, passion and mania. The sharp, tangy smells of bodies and cigarettes and alcohol gave weight to the overheated air.
 

Ian had waited just inside the door. The gentle smile on his face was a bland mask over the delight with which he glowed to Rose’s othersense. While Rose felt like she was going to drown under the assault to her senses, Ian was definitely at home here.

Nazeem was able to make it over to the bar, where he leaned in and exchanged a few words with one of the bartenders. He pointed across the room to a set of stairs Rose hadn’t noticed in the crimson gloom, then held up three fingers. Third floor, then. All they had to do was get over there through the thrashing wall of drunken revelers.

Nazeem made it look easy. He slipped between people, in and out of gaps before Rose’s mind had registered the openings. It was an oddly impressive display of reflexes and grace. But it was Ian that really snagged Rose’s attention. For Ian, the crowd parted.

Nothing too dramatic—not like Charlton Heston and the Red Sea—but as Ian moved through the room, the dancing faltered; people turned to notice him. They moved out of his way with appraising gazes and lustful thoughts. This was about more than just good looks—Ian’s presence burned as bright to the non-sensitives in the room as it did to her. Ian moved along the open path as though he was accustomed to it, as though he expected it. Another data point in the enigma of Ian.

Rose and Mike had to fight through the old-fashioned way. Rose didn’t bother apologizing when she resorted to pushing people out of her way. No one could have heard her over the music anyway.

She made it to the stairs and then stopped short when, halfway up, silence deafened her. Mike’s hand on her back kept her moving. “Magic,” he said in clipped explanation.

The second floor was a completely different experience. Trancy music and rolling fog gave Rose a floaty feeling. Brighter than the floor below, illumination from frosted globes along the wall diffused through the mist. This was much more Rose’s speed, but it wasn’t their destination.

As they came up on the third floor, the soothing sounds of a Tchaikovsky serenade wafted down. Up here, there were no dancers or even a dance floor, and two more burly guards flanked the doorway. Inside, white satin curtains separated alcoves of plush white chairs and dark wood tables. Only three people were currently making use of the space, taking drinks together around one of the tables. All three of them were voiders. All three, Rose recognized from Alec’s packet.

The statuesque, platinum blonde woman was Svetlana Ulyana, one of the owners of Revelations. Next to her, the older middle-aged gentleman who looked like he could give Mike some real competition in the surly department, had to be the other owner, Poulov Karchenko. And the burly black man on Svetlana’s other side would be Justin Andrews, an American expatriate, according to the files. Justin looked to be in his early thirties, a good twenty years younger than Svetlana or Poulov. He was also the only one of them who was visibly armed, with a holstered pistol clipped to his jeans.

“So, you are Alec’s friends.” Svetlana’s voice was deep and rich with the rounded, rolling Russian accent Rose associated with the movies. Her ice-blue eyes were as cold as her words. “There is nothing for you in St. Petersburg. You should leave now, while you still can.”

Nazeem’s soft, even voice broke the uncomfortable silence that followed Svetlana’s statement. “Do you mean to threaten us?”

“Do you feel threatened?” Svetana’s voice was just as low and just as cold.
 

“Hey.” Rose stepped between Nazeem and Svetlana. “Nobody’s here to threaten anybody.”
 

Now Rose had the whole of Svetlana’s chilly attention. “Little girl, you walk into my club with a vampire and a Templar at your back, and you think there is no threat?”

Justin reached out to rest his fingers on Svetlana’s forearm, a cautious, yet comforting touch. That single gesture told Rose a great deal about their relationship. “We should at least hear what they have to say.”
 

Ian flashed his charming smile. As far as Rose could tell, the Russian voiders were unaffected. “We’re here to investigate the murders,” he said.

“Which ones?” Svetalana asked. “St. Petersburg is dangerous.” Her gaze locked back on Nazeem. “People die in this city every day.”

“With their hands chopped off?” Rose couldn’t keep the sharp tone out of her voice. Was everyone in this city an asshole?

Justin winced and took a breath, as though to answer, but then he looked at Svetlana and his mouth tightened into a line and he stayed silent. Svetlana gave a hard, cold smile. “Our problems are our own. We need no help from outsiders.”

“Come on,” Mike said. “I think we’re done here.”
 

“We’re
talking
,” Rose insisted. If Mike wanted to give up that easy, that was his problem. No secret he didn’t want to be here in the first place.
 

“The Templar is correct.” Svetlana stood. “We are done.” With a final stony glare around the table at each of them, Svetlana pushed open the curtain behind her and disappeared through it.

Justin sighed and also stood. “Sorry,” was all he said before he followed her.

Poulov chuckled and smiled, as though they had all shared some private joke, then he too retreated through the curtains without ever having said a word.

“The warmth and hospitality of the people here is touching.” Ian’s inner amusement softened the edge of his sarcasm.
 

“She really seemed to have a problem with vampires.” Rose gave Nazeem a questioning look.

He shrugged. “The vampires of this city are no threat to Svetlana.”

“How would you know?” Mike demanded. “Have you met the vampires here? They friends of yours?”

“No.” Nazeem glanced over at the curtain through which the voiders had exited. “But there are laws.”

“Laws.” Mike snorted. “You have to admit, your kind has a long history of killing innocents.”

“As does yours,” Nazeem responded softly.

“Guys, please.” Like it wasn’t enough half the city hated them. “If we think there’s some issue going on, shouldn’t we go talk to the vampires next?”

Nazeem shook his head. “Better not to arrive unannounced. I would recommend we approach with more attention to formality. Perhaps have Alec arrange an appointment for us.”

“I’ll call him when we get back to the hotel,” Rose offered.

“Great.” Mike didn’t sound excited.

That was fine. Rose was excited enough for both of them.

CHAPTER SIX

Monday

Alec was happy to arrange for an invitation. When Rose talked to him, he echoed Nazeem’s caution. “Anastasia can be…sensitive. Especially if she feels like people aren’t giving her the respect due her station.”

“You’re saying we’d better treat her like she’s really a queen?” Rose asked.

“Yes,” Alec answered without irony.

Which was all the excuse Rose needed to go shopping. It wasn’t like she had any clothes fancy enough for the occasion, and Alec had said they were free to use the provided credit cards to cover expenses.

Vasily was at the concierge desk again that afternoon, and was happy to recommend a direction for Rose’s outing and to call a car for her.
 

Gostiny Dvor took up an entire city block and contained a fascinating mix of Russian goods and western merchandise, all crowded together in an overwhelming blur of color and noise. Rose spent hours wandering through stalls, enraptured by luxurious furs, exotic amber, and jewel-toned painted lacquer boxes.
 

Even on a Monday morning, the shopping district was crowded, which was its own relief. Once enough people surrounded Rose, their feelings all blended together into something like white noise—loud, but neutral. Nothing like the sharp, jagged weirdness of Nazeem or Ian’s wild assault on her awareness. None of the people around her stood out. Rose had to hope she blended similarly.

Because even with one hand clenched around the platinum card in her coat pocket, Rose felt out of place in these stores that sold jewelry and designer make-up and art that wasn’t mass-produced, all full of well-dressed men and women who casually browsed feeling interest and greed—not fear or nervousness that such frivolous purchases would keep them from paying the rent or being able to eat or put gas in the car.
 

This was the fantasy. To be one of those people. To be able to walk into a place like this and not feel like an interloper, an intruder in shabby clothes who could sense every mote of suspicion and superiority behind the salesclerks’ smiling masks.

A black dress with a long, flowing skirt and fur trim around the cuffs and hem seemed perfect for tonight, but Rose had no idea what it cost. She hadn’t thought to look at the exchange rate and could only assume that the thousands of rubles translated to a much smaller amount in dollars. But Alec had sent her out—he must have had some idea how much she would spend.

Fur-trimmed boots and a decorative fur hat were necessary accessories, and a pretty silver necklace completed the ensemble. Rose kept hold of her smile as a startlingly large number flashed in the transaction window, but the clerk ran her card through without a second look and for the first time in her life, Rose owned a dress in which she’d be comfortable meeting royalty.
 

Back at the hotel, Rose indulged in a long hot bath in the huge granite bathtub. It felt so good to lie there, letting the heat soak deep into her skin, softening joints stiff from her Saturday night encounter and driving away the omnipresent cold of the city.
 

Her body still ached from the abuse it received at the hands of the mystery voiders, but her bruises were fading. Already they’d gone soft and yellow; had it really only been two days since the attack? Was it possible Ian’s magic circle did more than just keep bad dreams away.

Rose took longer than she meant to getting ready. She kept stopping to run her hands over the velvety fabric and soft fur. By the time she made it downstairs, everyone else was waiting for her.
 

Ian gave a soft whistle. “Nice dress.”
 

Rose spun around, showing off. “Lovely, my dear,” Alec said, checking his watch, “But we should be movin’ along. We don’t want to be late.”

Rose wasn’t the only one who had dressed up for the audience with Anastasia. Alec could have stepped right off the pages of GQ in his perfectly tailored light gray suit. Nazeem, at his side, looked no less elegant in a charcoal three-piece that might have seemed old-fashioned on another man, but Nazeem wore it with such confidence and grace that it was perfect. Ian should have looked out of place, in his far more casual sweater and sport coat, but Ian was his own ornament. He could have worn a burlap sack and still given the impression of being the best-dressed person in the room.
 

Mike was still Mike, in his black priest pants and his black priest shirt and no special effort exerted to pretty up for the vampires.
 

That was fine. Ian, at least, was having just as much fun with this as Rose. His eager interest bubbled alongside her own, and he offered Rose his arm, then held the town-car door for her and closed it with a playful bow. The effect of it all was only slightly spoiled by the fact they weren’t going more than a couple blocks.