“Abe was—”
Olena shook her head. “Never mind. Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”
“For what?” I asked, letting her drag me through the house to the backyard.
“I was supposed to tell you,” explained Viktoria, scurrying along. “This is the part where everyone sits and remembers Dimitri by telling stories.”
“Nobody’s seen him in so long; we don’t know what’s happened to him recently,” said Olena. “We need you to tell us.”
I flinched. Me? I balked at that, particularly when we emerged outside and I saw all those faces around the campfire. I didn’t know any of them. How could I talk about Dimitri? How could I reveal what was closest to my heart? Everyone seemed to blur together, and I thought I might faint. For the moment, none of them noticed me. Karolina was speaking, her baby in her arms. Every so often she’d pause, and the others would laugh. Viktoria sat down on a blanket-covered spot on the ground and pulled me down beside her. Sydney joined us a little while later.
“What’s she saying?” I whispered.
Viktoria listened to her sister for a few moments and then leaned closer to me. “She’s talking about when Dimitri was very young, how he used to always beg her and her friends to let him play with them. He was about six and they were eight and didn’t want him around.” Viktoria paused again to take in the next part of the story. “Finally, Karolina told him he could if he agreed to be married off to their dolls. So Karolina and her friends dressed him and the dolls up over and over and kept having weddings. Dimitri was married at least ten times.”
I couldn’t help but laugh as I tried to picture tough, sexy Dimitri letting his big sister dress him up. He probably would have treated his wedding ceremony with a doll as seriously and stoically as he did his guardian duties.
Other people spoke, and I tried to keep up with the translations. All the stories were about Dimitri’s kindness and strength of character. Even when not out battling the undead, Dimitri had always been there to help those who needed it. Almost everyone could recall sometime that Dimitri had stepped up to help others, going out of his way to do what was right, even in situations that could put him at risk. That was no surprise to me. Dimitri always did the right thing.
And it was that attitude that had made me love him so much. I had a similar nature. I too rushed in when others needed me, sometimes when I shouldn’t have. Others called me crazy for it, but Dimitri had understood. He’d always understood me, and part of what we’d worked on was how to temper that impulsive need to run into danger with reason and calculation. I had a feeling no one else in this world would ever understand me like he did.
I didn’t notice how strongly the tears were running down my cheeks until I saw everyone looking at me. At first, I thought they considered me crazy for crying, but then I realized someone had asked me a question.
“They want you to talk about Dimitri’s last days,” Viktoria said. “Tell us something. What he did. What he was like.”
I used my sleeve to clean my face and looked away, focusing on the bonfire. I’d spoken in front of others before without hesitation, but this was different. “I . . . I can’t,” I told Viktoria, my voice strained and soft. “I can’t talk about him.”
She squeezed my hand. “Please. They need to hear about him. They need to know. Just tell us anything. What was he like?”
“He . . . he was your brother. You know.”
“Yes,” she said gently. “But we want to know what you think he was like.”
My eyes were still on the fire, watching the way the flames danced and shifted from orange to blue. “He . . . he was the best man I’ve ever met.” I stopped to gather myself, and Viktoria used the opportunity to translate my words into Russian. “And he was one of the best guardians. I mean, he was young compared to a lot of them, but everyone knew who he was. They all knew his reputation, and lots of people relied on him for advice. They called him a god. And whenever there was a fight . . . or danger . . . he was always the first one to put himself out there. He never flinched. And a couple months ago, when our school was attacked . . .”
I choked up here a bit. The Belikovs had said they knew of the attack—that
everyone
knew about it—and from the faces here, it was true. I didn’t need to elaborate on that night, on the horrors I’d seen.
“That night,” I continued, “Dimitri rushed out to face the Strigoi. He and I were together when we realized they were attacking. I wanted to stay and help him, but he wouldn’t let me. He just told me to go, to run off and alert others. And he stayed behind—not knowing how many Strigoi he’d have to take on while I went for help. I still don’t know how many he fought—but there were a bunch. And he took them all down alone.”
I dared to look up at the faces around me. Everyone was so quiet and still that I wondered if they were breathing. “It was so hard,” I told them. Without realizing it, my voice had dropped to a whisper. I had to repeat myself more loudly. “It was so hard. I didn’t want to leave him, but I knew I had to. He taught me so much, but one of the biggest things was that we have to protect others. It was my duty to warn everyone else, even though I just wanted to stay with him. The whole time, my heart kept saying, ‘Turn around, turn around. Go to him!’ But I knew what I had to do—and I also knew part of him was trying to keep me safe. And if the roles had been reversed . . . well, I would have made him run too.”
I sighed, surprised I’d revealed so much of my heart. I switched back to business. “Even when the other guardians joined him, Dimitri never backed down. He took down more Strigoi than almost anyone.” Christian and I had actually killed the most. “He . . . he was amazing.”
I told them the rest of the story that I’d told the Belikovs. Only I actually forced a little detail this time, telling them vividly just how brave and fierce he had been. The words hurt me as I spoke, and yet . . . it was almost a relief to get them out. I’d kept the memories of that night too close to me. But eventually, I had to tell them about the cave. And that . . . that was the worst.
“We’d trapped the escaping Strigoi in a cave. It had two entrances, and we came at them from both sides. Some of our people got trapped, though, and there were more Strigoi than we’d expected. We lost people . . . but we would have lost a lot more if Dimitri hadn’t been there. He wouldn’t leave until everyone was out. He didn’t care about the risk to himself. He only knew he had to save others. . . .”
I’d seen it in his eyes, that determination. Our plan had finally been to retreat as soon as we were all out, but I’d had the feeling he would have stayed and killed every Strigoi he could find. But he’d followed orders too, finally beginning his retreat when the others were safe. And in those last moments, just before the Strigoi had bitten him, Dimitri had met my eyes with a look so full of love that it was like that whole cave filled with light. His expression had said what we’d talked about earlier:
We can be together, Rose. Soon. We’re almost there. And nothing will ever keep us apart again. . . .
I didn’t mention that part, though. When I finished the rest of the tale, the faces of those gathered were grim but filled with awe and respect. Near the back of the crowd, I noticed Abe and his guardians listening as well. His expression was unreadable. Hard, but not angry or scary. Small cups began circulating through the group, and someone handed me one. A dhampir I didn’t know, one of the few men present, stood up and raised his cup in the air. He spoke loudly and reverently, and I heard Dimitri’s name mentioned several times. When he finished, he drank from the cup. Everyone else did too, so I followed suit.
And nearly choked to death.
It was like fire in liquid form. It took every ounce of strength I had to swallow it and not spray it on those around me. “Wh . . . what is this?” I asked, coughing.
Viktoria grinned. “Vodka.”
I peered at the glass. “No, it isn’t. I’ve had vodka before.”
“Not Russian vodka.”
Apparently not. I forced the rest of the cup down out of respect to Dimitri, even though I had a feeling that if he were here, he’d be shaking his head at me. I thought I was done being in the spotlight after my story, but apparently not. Everyone kept asking me questions. They wanted to know more about Dimitri, more about what his life had been like recently. They also wanted to know about me and Dimitri as a couple. They all seemed to have figured out that Dimitri and I had been in love—and they were okay with it. I was asked about how we’d met, how long we’d been together . . .
And the whole time, people kept refilling my cup. Determined not to look like an idiot again, I kept drinking until I could finally take the vodka down without coughing or spitting. The more I drank, the louder and more animated my stories became. My limbs started to tingle, and part of me knew this was all probably a bad idea. Okay, all of me knew it.
Finally, people began to clear out. I had no idea what time it was, but I think it was the middle of the night. Maybe later. I stood as well, finding it much harder to do than I’d expected. The world wobbled, and my stomach wasn’t very happy with me. Someone caught a hold of my arm and steadied me.
“Easy,” said Sydney. “Don’t push it.” Slowly, carefully, she led me toward the house.
“God,” I moaned. “Do they use that stuff as rocket fuel?”
“No one made you keep drinking it.”
“Hey, don’t get preachy. Besides, I had to be polite.”
“Sure,” she said.
We made it inside and then had the impossible task of getting up the stairs to the room Olena had given me. Each step was agony.
“They all knew about me and Dimitri,” I said, wondering if I’d be saying any of this sober. “But I never told them we were together.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
“They acted like I was his widow or something.”
“You might as well be.” We reached my room, and she helped me sit down on the bed. “Not a lot of people get married around here. If you’re with someone long enough, they figure it’s almost the same.”
I sighed and stared off without any particular focus. “I miss him so much.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Will it ever get better?”
The question seemed to catch her by surprise. “I . . . I don’t know.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
She shook her head. “No.”
I wasn’t sure if that made her lucky or not. I wasn’t sure if all the bright days I’d had with Dimitri were worth the hurt I felt now. A moment later, I knew the truth. “Of course they were.”
“Huh?” asked Sydney.
I realized I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. “Nothing. Just talking to myself. I should get some sleep.”
“Do you need anything else? Are you going to be sick?”
I assessed my queasy stomach. “No, but thanks.”
“Okay.” And in her typically brusque way, she left, turning off the lights and shutting the door.
I would have thought I’d pass out right away. Honestly, I
wanted
to. My heart had been opened up to too much of Dimitri tonight, and I wanted that pain to go away. I wanted blackness and oblivion. Instead, maybe because I was a glutton for punishment, my heart decided to finish the job and rip itself completely open.
I went to visit Lissa.
TEN
E
VERYONE HAD HIT IT OFF so well at lunch with Avery that the group had gotten together again that evening and had kind of a wild time. Lissa was thinking about that as she sat in her first-period English class the next morning. They’d stayed up late last night, sneaking out past curfew. The memory brought a smile to Lissa’s face, even as she stifled a yawn. I couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit of jealousy. I knew Avery was responsible for Lissa’s happiness, and that bothered me on a petty level. Yet . . . Avery’s new friendship was also making me feel less guilty about leaving Lissa.
Lissa yawned again. It was hard to concentrate on
The Scarlet Letter
while fighting a slight hangover. Avery seemed to have a never-ending supply of liquor. Adrian had taken to this right away, but Lissa had been a little more hesitant. She’d abandoned her partying days a long time ago, but she’d finally succumbed last night and drunk more glasses of wine than she really should have. It wasn’t unlike my situation with the vodka, ironically enough. Both of us overindulging, despite being miles and miles apart.
Suddenly, a high-pitched wail pierced the air. Lissa’s head shot up, along with everyone else’s in the class. In a corner of the room, a small fire alarm flashed and shrieked its warning. Naturally, some students started cheering while some pretended to be scared. The rest just looked surprised and waited.
Lissa’s instructor also looked a little caught off guard, and after a quick examination, Lissa decided this wasn’t a planned alarm. Teachers usually had a heads-up when there were drills, and Ms. Malloy didn’t wear the usual weary expression teachers had when trying to figure out how much time the drill would cut from their lessons.
“Up and at ’em,” said Ms. Malloy in annoyance, grabbing a clipboard. “You know where to go.” Fire drill procedure was pretty standard.
Lissa followed the others and fell in step with Christian. “Did you set this up?” she teased.
“Nope. Wish I had, though. This class is killing me.”
“You? I have the worst headache ever.”
He gave her a knowing grin. “Let that be a lesson to you, Little Miss Lush.”
She made a face in return and gave him a light punch. They reached their class’s meeting spot out on the quad and joined in the semblance of a line the others were trying to form. Ms. Malloy arrived and checked everyone off on her clipboard, satisfied no one had been left behind.
“I don’t think this was planned,” said Lissa.
“Agreed,” said Christian. “Which means even if there’s no fire, it might take a while.”