He scraped himself off the ground and staggered to the nearest bench. There, he shrugged off his overcoat and laid it on top of the seat, then lay down and stretched out his legs, thankful he’d decided to make the benches extra long. He pulled his satchel under his head, like a pillow, and closed his eyes to sleep. But before he drifted off, he reached over and drummed his fingers several times on the armrest, and he whispered to the bench, “Moscow. This one is Moscow.”
And then his entire body relaxed, and he fell into a dream.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
At dawn, Vika’s scar flared, and she knew that Nikolai’s move had been made. She was also certain it was on the island, as sure as she knew that her hair was red. What Vika didn’t know was how Nikolai had interpreted her island. She didn’t even know herself whether she’d intended it as a means to cooperate or merely the next step in one-upmanship. Had she ruined their connection by fleeing the masquerade? Was Nikolai still merely an opponent? Or was he something more? Vika both feared and hoped for the latter option.
She climbed out of bed and peeked out of her curtains. It was barely light outside. And yet, she couldn’t wait several more hours until the ferries began to run and someone could be convinced to take her to the island. She could, of course, go down to the dock and commandeer a boat for herself. But even that seemed too slow. If only she could evanesce.
But why not try? Ever since the Game began—ever since she’d moved to Saint Petersburg—Vika had felt stronger. Maybe it was being close to Nikolai, their magic magnifying against each other. Or maybe the challenge of the Game simply pushed her to be better. But whatever it was, it allowed her to perform enchantments greater than she’d ever created before and to get by on almost no sleep, even after conjuring an entire island.
Of course, in the past, she’d only been able to evanesce a few feet, and it would be a few miles to the island. But it was worth an attempt. If it didn’t work, there was always a boat to steal.
Vika closed her eyes. She imagined herself disappearing and reappearing again on the new island.
Do it.
Do it.
Go . . .
She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. Nothing happened except everything got blacker.
Vika huffed and opened her eyes. Perhaps she would have to steal a boat.
Except I don’t want to, she thought. She really, really wanted to evanesce. In fact, this intensity of wanting reminded her of the same spark she used to feel right before she mastered a new skill, like mending a fox’s sprained ankle or beckoning the snow. It was a combination of pure will and the right moment that had allowed her to do those things. And now, with this increased power, with all this new energy from the Game . . . this was the moment. Vika knew this would be the moment she would learn to evanesce. It had to be.
Perhaps she needed to approach it differently. Rather than jumping from one place to the next, perhaps Vika needed to feel the sensation of evanescing, in order to coax it to happen. Provide her body with actual instructions, so to speak.
She closed her eyes again. But this time, instead of commanding her body to disappear and simply reappear, Vika first envisioned her body, whole, and then, when she could see every detail of herself, she began to think of her body not as one, but as an infinity of tiny pieces.
I am no longer Vika Andreyeva, she thought. I am composed of minuscule bubbles.
She felt herself begin to disintegrate.
And then she really did become those bubbles. I am effervescent! It made so much sense now. Vika was a master of the elements, and now she had become an element herself. She’d become a fizzy, magical rain.
The wind heard her desire to evanesce, and it whooshed through her window and blew her away.
The island, her thoughts whispered, and the wind obeyed, whisking her like champagne raindrops over Nevsky Prospect, past the colorful canals, and across the Neva River and bay. It carried her over the island and swirled down to the gardens. Then it deposited her dissolved quintessence at the foot of the main promenade.
Vika’s sense of self was nebulous; if she’d had a head, it would have felt full of clouds. But although she was not much more than sparkling fog, she retained the impression that she used to be something more. Come back together, she thought, although she was not sure what it was that she was supposed to be.
The tiny bubbles, however, knew. She’d shepherded them all safely to the island, and one by one, they reunited. She blinked, for a moment staring at her hands and feet as if she’d never seen them before. Then the memory of being human rushed back, and she laughed and wiggled her fingers and toes.