Larissa scampers to keep up with me, but I shoot her a sneer. “You knew about this, and you didn’t tell me!”
Larissa slaps me. I stop dead, trying to muster up anger at her, but my head is too full of fury for Valentin. I can sympathize with Anastasia and her head fogged with the thoughts of everyone around her. Every sweet word and glance from Valentin is cast in doubt now; they’re all lining up to be sorted, to laugh at me for believing that he’d escape with me. I stare Larissa down for one moment—one moment is all I have strength for—then I slump forward, too exhausted to be angry anymore.
“First of all,” Larissa says, “Anastasia is dead, and until we find a way to psychically resurrect people, there’s no changing that. The past is past.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“Don’t make me slap you again.” Larissa smiles, placating, and guides me toward an alcove. “Second of all, Valentin didn’t love her.” Larissa’s voice wavers. “She wanted him to, sure, but he didn’t. Nothing like the way he feels for you—”
“What are you talking about?”
She snorts. “He may be a scrubber, but he’s terrible at hiding his feelings when it comes to you.” She shakes her head. “You tear his soul open, and it all comes spilling out.”
Hope flutters in me, and I instantly hate myself for it. “That’s not the point. It’s what Sergei said—about Valentin leaving her behind when he ran away.” I can barely force the words out of my mouth. “Is he using us to escape?”
“I don’t know,” Larissa whispers. Then tosses her head, golden curls swinging. “There’s too much else cluttering my vision when I try to look at our escape. I think we have more immediate concerns.”
I take a few sharp breaths and let them out. Righteous indignation burns through me, like strong alcohol, but it’s all fumes now. I can’t worry about what Valentin might do. I have to take care of Larissa and myself—we’ll run with or without Valentin. I ring with emptiness, with aftermath. “Something about the banquet tonight?”
I reach for her hand, but she winces, pulling away from me. “No. It’s better if you don’t see.” She swallows audibly. “Nothing specific, but glimpses of running, fighting … there’s a fire, and…”
“Lara, please. If it’ll help us, I want to see.” We sink deeper into the alcove and onto a cushioned bench, shielded from the flow of Party officials by a potted plant. I prop my hand palm-up on my knee.
Larissa spreads her fingers across mine, skin tingling. Images jolt through me like electricity. All the possibilities run together like overlaid filmstrips, but one image burns through them all. Flames, twisting up the face of a great structure—is it metal, or wood? It keeps winking out of existence too quickly for me to tell, but then it’s back, the angle changed, then gone again. Then it blooms in one great tuft of fire.
The images change. We’re trapped inside a metallic room, no larger than a closet; sirens keen around us, lights flashing on a control panel. Something sinister thrums through the room’s bones: a threat like a held breath. I brace myself for whatever is rushing toward us.
Larissa rips her hand from mine and screams. I jump up from the bench, untangling myself from the images, and seize her shoulders, but she’s too hot to touch. Her head’s tossed back with one long, endless stream of terror pouring out of her.
Major Kruzenko charges toward us from the bar, Masha on her heels. “What? What? What?” she shrieks in staccato Russian. I stagger back, trying to shake off the electricity skittering across my skin.
Masha whirls on me. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing!” I cry. “She was trying to look forward, is all.”
“Lara. Dear child. You must calm yourself.” Kruzenko glares over her shoulder at the medal-encrusted Red Army officers and their wives, regarding us suspiciously. “Apologies, comrades, this one has been suffering from a fever.” She presses her face close to Larissa. “What did you see? Is it something about the CIA team?”
“Yeah,” Larissa mumbles. “It must have been.”
“Well, tell me, then! Quickly!” Major Kruzenko glances at me. “Get to the banquet, tell me what is said there. I have to take care of this.”
But Larissa looks straight through me. Terror hardens in my stomach like a bad omen for our escape. I march toward the banquet hall, three notes in my head taunting me.
CHAPTER 38