“Then why hasn’t Rostov brought him out before?” I ask.
“Because he also acts like an amplifier for any psychics around him. The time I encountered him, I nearly scrubbed myself.” Valentin sighs. “Rostov wants us just powerful enough to be useful, but not powerful enough that we can overwhelm him.”
Larissa snorts. “And he has to be careful about using him in crowded areas. There are some strange things that even Russians won’t ignore.”
“Rostov would rather use the Hound to track us than protect us. Ever had a belonging go missing from the house? That’s Rostov, training the Hound on our psychic ‘scent,’ so to speak,” Valya says.
The music reaches its peak. Dawn creeps around Bald Mountain as the church bells chime, too quiet now to cover up our conversation. Valya searches through his stack of records for the next concealing track.
Someone steps into the ring of candlelight behind Larissa, blocking out a row of candles.
“What is this?” Sergei asks, looming over us like Chernobog. “The Secret Psychic Record Club?”
“Something like that,” Valya mutters. “Care to join us for some Johnny Cash?”
“Cash? Sounds like a money-grubbing capitalist swine.” He smiles as if to show he’s making a joke, but there’s no humor in his darkened eyes. Valentin shoves his glasses up on his nose and keeps his head bowed, not answering him.
“Did you need something, Sergei?” Larissa asks. Her fingers tap against the floor, each strike sending a little shockwave of nervous psychic energy my way.
Sergei crosses his arms, still towering. “I was looking for Yulia. I, uh … wanted to show her something.”
“I’m right here,” I say, remaining seated. If he has something to say to me, he can do it here; I’m anxious to get back to our plans.
Sergei takes a step backward. His thoughts are ironclad with Tchaikovsky, but his eyes dart to Valya, and the space—the very minimal space—between our shoulders. “It can wait.”
Sergei stalks out of the vault. I let out my breath, not realizing I’d been holding it; Larissa flops onto her elbows with a sigh. Finally, she is frowning. Not exactly the emotion I’d hoped she’d show.
“Only one thing is clear to me right now,” she says. “Sergei is going to be a problem for our plans.”
CHAPTER 36
BYELORUSSKY TRAIN TERMINAL is a castle in mint green, from the last days of the tsars when everything was slathered in pastel shades and tipped in gold. But the crowd flowing through the doors would disappoint those bustled and corseted dukes and countesses (if they weren’t too busy throwing themselves in front of trains, like Tolstoy heroines). The glass and steel vestibule is massive, cathedral-like. Kruzenko and our flock of KaGeBeznik protectors guide us to a middle platform, where a substantial black iron train waits.
We are heading to Berlin to protect the secret Veter 1 launch. Our mission will not be easy, Kruzenko warned us. We have no guarantee of what kind of threat we will face in Berlin: sabotage, assassination, theft of the rocket design or its components, maybe even kidnapping of Veter 1 scientists. All this while evading the scrubber and his team—at least, that’s what Kruzenko told us to do.
But that three-note melody in the soft hollows of my brain says otherwise. A way out. Needles prick at my mind like someone cross-stitching on my thoughts, but they are warm, humming with the soothing tune.
Valya and Larissa aren’t as pleased by the melody. Valya has stopped in the middle of the stream of travelers and grips his head like he’s trying to keep a lid on a boiling pot. Larissa curls her arms around her wiry frame and whimpers. Only Major Kruzenko is smiling, smiling as blissfully as me. Why doesn’t everyone else hear this beautiful melody?
“We have to get on the train.” Valya speaks through clenched teeth, spittle spraying from his lips. “Yulia. Don’t you hear that noise?”
“It smells like springtime, doesn’t it?”
“Yulia.” Valya pulls a dingy kerchief from his coat pocket and swabs at my nose. When he pulls back, the kerchief is smeared with blood.
“But I—” I wipe my nose on my sleeve, but my dark brown coat doesn’t reveal anything. “But I feel just fine—”
Valya tugs on Major Kruzenko’s jacket. “Come on, Comrade Major. He’s nearby. We have to board now.”
Kruzenko turns toward him with a slick red trail down her right nostril, curving like a scythe around her lips.
And then light blossoms on the horizon like a second sun. Dazzling, warm. I want to turn my face toward it like a flower and let it melt away the frost. Sticky warmth flows down my upper lip but I don’t care, I just need to bask—