“Rose, Rose,” she said into my hair. “Don’t ever do this again. Please.”
I pulled back and looked at her face, astonished to see tears spilling from her eyes. I had seen my mother tear up in the wake of the attack on the school, but never, never had I seen her outright cry. Certainly not over me. It made me want to cry too, and I uselessly tried to dry her face with Abe’s scarf.
“No, no, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” I said, taking on an odd role reversal. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I missed you so much.”
It was true. I loved Olena Belikova. I thought she was kind and wonderful and would cherish the memories of her comforting me about Dimitri and always going out of her way to feed me. In another life, she could have been my mother-in-law. In this one, I would always regard her as a kind of foster mother.
But she wasn’t my
real
mother. Janine Hathaway was. And standing there with her, I was happy—so, so happy—that I was her daughter. She wasn’t perfect, but no one was, as I was learning. She was, however, good and brave and fierce and compassionate—and I think she understood me more than I realized sometimes. If I could be half the woman she was, my life would be well spent.
“I was so worried,” she told me, recovering herself. “Where did you go—I mean, I know now you were in Russia . . . but why?”
“I thought . . .” I swallowed and again saw Dimitri with my stake in his chest. “Well, there was something I had to do. I thought I had to do it on my own.” I wasn’t sure about that last part now. True, I had accomplished my goal on my own, but I was realizing now how many people loved me and were with me. Who knew how differently things might have turned out if I’d asked for help? Maybe it would have been easier.
“I have a lot of questions,” she warned.
Her voice had toughened, and I smiled in spite of myself. Now she was back to the Janine Hathaway I knew. And I loved her for it. Her eyes flitted to my face and then to my neck, and I saw her stiffen. For a panicked moment, I wondered if Oksana had missed healing one of the bite marks. The thought of my mother seeing what I’d lowered myself to in Siberia made my heart stop.
Instead, she reached out and touched the bright colors of the cashmere scarf, her face filled with wonder as much as shock. “This . . . this is Ibrahim’s scarf . . . it’s a family heirloom. . . .”
“No, it belongs to this mobster guy named Abe. . . .”
I stopped as soon as the name crossed my lips. Abe. Ibrahim. Hearing them both out loud made me realize how similar they were. Abe . . . Abe was short for Abraham in English. Abraham, Ibrahim. There was only a slight variation in the vowels. Abraham was a common enough name in the U.S., but I’d heard Ibrahim only once before, spoken in scorn by Queen Tatiana when referring to someone my mother had been involved with. . . .
“Mom,” I said disbelievingly. “You know Abe.”
She was still touching the scarf, eyes filled with emotion once more—but a different kind than she’d had for me. “Yes, Rose. I know him.”
“Please don’t tell me . . .” Oh, man. Why couldn’t I have been an illegitimate half-royal like Robert Doru? Or even the mail-man’s daughter? “Please don’t tell me Abe is my father. . . .”
She didn’t have to tell me. It was all over her face, her expression dreamily recalling some other time and place—some time and place that had undoubtedly involved my conception. Ugh.
“Oh God,” I said. “I’m Zmey’s daughter. Zmey Junior. Zmeyette, even.”
That got her attention. She looked up at me. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Nothing,” I said. I was stunned, trying desperately to assimilate this new piece of data into my worldview. I summoned a picture of that sly, bearded face, trying to hunt down family resemblance. Everyone said my facial features were like my mom’s when she was younger . . . but my coloring, the dark hair and eyes . . . yes, that was the same as Abe’s. I’d always known my father was Turkish. That was Abe’s mystery accent, the one not Russian but still foreign to my ears. Ibrahim must be the Turkish version of Abraham.
“How?” I asked. “How in the world did you get involved with someone like that?”
She looked offended. “Ibrahim is a wonderful man. You don’t know him like I do.”
“Obviously.” I hesitated. “Mom . . . you must know. What is it that Abe does for a living?”
“He’s a businessman. And he knows and does favors for a lot of people, which is why he has the influence he does.”
“But what kind of business? I’ve heard it’s illegal. It’s not . . . oh God. Please tell me he isn’t selling blood whores or something.”
“What?” She looked shocked. “No. Of course not.”
“But he is doing illegal things.”
“Who’s to say? He’s never actually been
caught
for anything illegal.”
“I swear, you almost sounded like you were trying to make a joke.” I never would have expected her to defend a criminal, but I knew better than most how love could drive us to crazy acts.
“If he wants to tell you, he’ll tell you. End of story, Rose. Besides, you certainly keep your share of secrets too. You two have a lot in common.”
“Are you kidding? He’s arrogant, sarcastic, likes to intimidate people, and—oh.” Okay. Maybe she had a point.
A small half-smile played upon her lips. “I never really expected you to meet this way. I never expected you to meet, period. We both thought it’d be best if he wasn’t in your life.”
A new thought occurred to me. “It was you, wasn’t it? You hired him to find me.”
“What? I contacted him when you went missing . . . but I certainly didn’t hire him.”
“Then who did?” I wondered. “He said he was working for someone.”
Her lovestruck, reminiscent smile turned wry. “Rose, Ibrahim Mazur doesn’t work for anyone. He’s not the kind of person you can hire.”
“But he said . . . wait. Why was he following me? Are you saying he was lying?”
“Well,” she admitted, “it wouldn’t be the first time. If he was following you, it wasn’t because anyone was making him or paying him. He did it because he
wanted
to. He wanted to find you and make sure you were okay. He made sure all his contacts knew to look out for you.”
I replayed my brief history with Abe. Shadowy, taunting, infuriating. But he’d driven out into the night to get me when I’d been attacked, been adamant in his goal to get me back to school and safety, and had apparently gifted me with an heirloom because he thought I’d get cold on my way home.
He’s a wonderful man,
my mother had said.
I supposed there were worse fathers to have.
“Rose, there you are. What’s taking so long?” My mom and I turned as Lissa entered the lobby, her face lighting up when she saw me. “Come on—both of you. The food’s going to get cold. And you won’t believe what Adrian got.”
My mom and I exchanged a quick look, neither of us needing to speak. We had a long conversation ahead of us, but it would have to wait.
I have no idea how Adrian had arranged it, but when we got to the lounge, there was Chinese food set up. The Academy almost never served it, and even then, it just never tasted . . . right. But this was the good stuff. Bowls and bowls of sweet-and-sour chicken and egg foo young. In a corner garbage can, I saw some restaurant takeout cartons with an address in Missoula printed on the side.
“How the hell did you get that here?” I demanded. Not only that, it was still warm.
“Don’t question these things, Rose,” said Adrian, loading up his plate with porkfried rice. He seemed very pleased with himself. “Just roll with it. Once Alberta gets your paperwork settled, we’ll eat like this every day.”
I stopped mid-bite. “How do you know about that?”
He merely winked. “When you have nothing to do but hang out on campus all the time, you kind of pick things up.”
Lissa glanced between the two of us. She’d been in class all day, and we hadn’t had much time to talk. “What’s this?”
“Alberta wants me to enroll again and graduate,” I explained.
Lissa nearly dropped her plate. “Then do it!”
My mother looked equally startled. “She’ll let you?”
“That’s what she told me,” I said.
“Then do it!” my mother exclaimed.
“You know,” mused Adrian, “I kind of liked the idea of us going on the road together.”
“Whatever,” I shot back. “You probably wouldn’t let me drive.”
“Stop this.” My mother was firmly back to her old self, no grief over her daughter’s departure or wistfulness for a lost lover. “You need to take this seriously. Your future’s at stake.” She nodded toward Lissa. “Her future’s at stake. Finishing your education here and going on to be a guardian is the—”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes?” she asked, puzzled.
I smiled. “Yes, I agree.”
“You agree . . . with me?” I don’t think my mom could ever recall that happening. Neither could I, for that matter.
“Yup. I’ll take the trials, graduate, and become as respectable a member of society as I can. Not that it sounds like much fun,” I teased. I kept my tone light, but inside, I knew I needed this. I needed to be back with people who loved me. I needed a new purpose, or else I would never get over Dimitri. I would never stop seeing his face or hearing his voice.
Beside me, Lissa gasped and clasped her hands together. Her joy flooded into me. Adrian didn’t wear his emotions as openly, but I could see he too was pleased at having me around. My mom still looked kind of stunned. I think she was used to me being unreasonable—which, usually, I was.
“You’ll really stay?” she asked.
“Good God.” I laughed. “How many times do I have to say it? Yes, I’ll go back to school.”
“And
stay
?” she prompted. “The full two and a half months?”
“Isn’t that implied?”
Her face was hard—and very momlike. “I want to know for sure you aren’t going to up and run away again. You’ll stay and finish school no matter what? Stay until you graduate? Do you promise?”
I met her eyes, surprised at her intensity. “Yes, yes. I promise.”
“Excellent,” she said. “You’ll be glad you did this down the road.” Her words were guardian-formal, but in her eyes, I saw love and joy.
We finished dinner and helped stack dishes for the building’s cleaning service. While scraping uneaten food into a trash can, I felt Adrian beside me.
“This is very domestic of you,” he said. “It’s kind of hot, really. Giving me all sorts of fantasies about you in an apron vacuuming my house.”
“Oh, Adrian, how I’ve missed you,” I said with an eye roll. “I don’t suppose you’re helping?”
“Nah. I helped when I ate everything on my plate. No mess that way.” He paused. “And yes, you’re welcome.”
I laughed. “You know, it’s a good thing you didn’t say much when I promised Mom I’d stay here. I might have decided otherwise.”
“Not sure if you could have stood up to her. Your mom seems like someone who gets her way a lot.” He cast a covert look to where Lissa and my mom stood talking across the room. He lowered his voice. “It must run in the family. In fact, maybe I should get her help on something.”
“Getting a hold of illegal cigarettes?”
“Asking her daughter out.”
I nearly dropped the plate I held. “You’ve asked me out tons of times.”
“Not really. I’ve made inappropriate suggestions and frequently pushed for nudity. But I’ve never asked you out on a real date. And, if memory serves, you did say you’d give me a fair chance once I let you clean out my trust fund.”
“I didn’t clean it out,” I scoffed.
But standing there, looking at him, I remembered that I had said that if I survived my quest for Dimitri, I’d give Adrian a shot. I would have said anything to get the money I needed then, but now, I saw Adrian through new eyes. I wasn’t ready to marry him by any stretch of the imagination, nor did I fully consider him reliable boyfriend material. I didn’t even know if I wanted a boyfriend ever. But he had been a good friend to me and everyone else throughout all of this chaos. He’d been kind and steady, and yeah, I couldn’t deny it . . . even with a fading black eye, he was still extraordinarily handsome.
And while it shouldn’t have mattered, Lissa had gotten it out from him that a lot of his infatuation with Avery had been compulsion-induced. He’d liked her and hadn’t been ruling out a romantic attachment, but her powers had cranked up the intensity more than he actually felt. Or so he claimed. If I were a guy and all that had happened to me, I’d probably say I’d been under the influence of magic too.
Yet from the way he looked at me now, I found it hard to believe anyone had taken my place for him in this last month or so.
“Make me an offer,” I said at last. “Write it up, and give me a point-by-point outline of why you’re a good would-be suitor.”
He started to laugh, then saw my face. “Seriously? That’s like homework. There’s a reason I’m not in college.”
I snapped my fingers. “Get to it, Ivashkov. I want to see you put in a good day’s work.”
I expected a joke or a brush-off until later, but instead, he said, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Now I felt like my mom had earlier, when I’d quickly agreed with her.
“Yep. I’m going to go back to my room right now to start drafting my assignment.”
I stared incredulously as he reached for his coat. I had
never
seen Adrian move that fast when any kind of labor was involved. Oh no. What had I gotten myself into?
He suddenly paused and reached into his coat pocket with an exasperated smile. “Actually, I already practically wrote you an essay. Nearly forgot.” He produced a piece of folded paper and waved it in the air. “You have got to get your own phone. I’m not going to be your secretary anymore.”
“What is that?”
“Some foreign guy called me earlier . . . said my number was in his phone’s memory.” Again, Adrian eyed Lissa and my mom. They were still deep in conversation. “He said he had a message for you and didn’t want me to tell anyone else. He made me write it out and read it back to him. You’re the only person I’d do that for, you know. I think I’m going to mention it when I write up my dating proposal.”