Linda’s world wasn’t a fantasy, but it was a portal space in a darker hellscape. She was generous with it, letting Ellisandre run in her world with a smile and a laugh.
And whoever took that laugh or that smile from her disappeared. If not from the world entirely, then from her orbit.
Linda was watching them, sighing now and then as Ellisandre worked the tension from her arches, but she was distracted by something. She wasn’t melting into her mattress the way a foot massage usually dropped her.
“You’re different,” Linda said. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Linda snorted, a good imitation of Ellisandre’s own form of dismissal.
Ellisandre’s lips twitched. They shot Linda a mock glare. Linda pulled on her foot, sitting up. The bathrobe gaped open. “Spill.”
“No.” Ellisandre retrieved Linda’s foot and continued their work.
Linda crossed her arms. “Is it something to do with Damian’s person?”
Ellisandre narrowed their eyes and gave Linda a stern look. “Wouldn’t Richard tell you that?”
Linda dropped back on the bed. “You know things before he does, sometimes.”
Ellisandre chuckled. “Richard isn’t me.”
“No, you’re the enigma. All knowing. All seeing. All judging.”
Ellisandre grabbed Linda’s other ankle and jerked her down on the bed, then stood, and started maneuvering her under the sheets. “You’re talking like you’re five. That means you need sleep.”
She wasn’t, really, but it was a common enough accusation between them.
Linda glowered, not struggling as Ellisandre tucked her in, bathrobe and all. “Still not an answer.”
Ellisandre threw themselves down on top of the covers beside Linda and took her hand. Beautiful hands. They petted the back, letting Linda grab onto their fingers. “And you’re being childish.”
“I know.” Linda looked down at their hands tangled together. “Seeing Damian with someone makes me feel old. I think . . . this is it for me. You. Alice. Dana. Richard’s men. I spent all these years building things and trying and now . . .” Linda sighed, looking for a moment all of her forty-one years. “I keep telling myself it’s a good life. That you’ll never leave. But what if you do? What if you have to? Who’s going to stay?”
Ellisandre squeezed Linda’s hand. “Everything you’ve built. All the lives you’ve helped. Everything you know and you’ve done. That stays. Even if I’m dead and gone.”
Linda studied their conjoined hands. “Usually you tell me something like I’m being foolish. That was a real answer.”
Ellisandre squeezed Linda’s palm in their fingers. “You’re only forty-one. And not a single cat in sight.”
“You are the cat.” Linda poked Ellisandre’s shoulder with her free hand. “That’s why I don’t have any other cats. You take up all the cat space there is.”
Ellisandre purred in the back of their throat, enjoying Linda’s mock rage.
“Seriously, though, Elli. You’re the only relationship I’ve managed to keep, other than my brother. And that doesn’t count. Not like . . . not like that.”
Ellisandre squeezed Linda’s hand again. Linda’s taste in men was certifiably terrible. Fortunately, getting rid of them was usually easy. At least for Ellisandre.
Sevastyan
The plane circled the airfield, showcasing the cold grandeur of Russia’s Tunkinskiy National Park with its snow capped ridges and cold valleys surrounded by forests. Lake Baikal stretched out to the east and directly to the south were the steppes of Mongolia. The Merchari pilot flying the small aircraft signaled to Sevastyan that they’d received clearance, and banked the plane west and down. Sevastyan allowed himself to gaze with disinterest out the window. Beside him Rei sat in still silence, hands folded in his lap and eyes on his gloved hands. As the plane turned, the windows revealed the beating heart of the Merchari, the Yadro. Built to look like an exclusive resort situated between Tunkinskiy National Park and Lake Baikal, it was a mix of stone and wood, the main structure following a natural curve of land overlooking a ravine on one side and an expanse of flat snowy fields on the other. The plowed airfield lay on the flat side as did a collection of auxiliary buildings, including barns for horses, and sheds for parked aircraft and what appeared to be storage and machinery.
What was buried beneath the grass was even more interesting. There were vaults, holding cells, and the workshops, all moored in near wilderness. And sitting in the center of it, like spiders in a web, were the directors, the string pullers of the Merchari. Chosen by vote and rotated, there were always three. Raska, Sevastyan’s mother, had been vying for a place among them since she had known they existed.
All three would be present today.
The plane touched down and taxied to a stop. Off to the side, a jeep sped forward, meeting them as the plane came to rest. The locks disengaged. Sevastyan gave the pilot a nod. The man would refuel and wait. Flying was the only expedient way to get in and out of the Yadro, and Sevastyan had a flight to catch from Irkutsk to Kazen. He paused to check the sleeves of his coat, giving Rei time to exit the plane. Bringing him was a gamble, but not the first gamble Sevastyan had taken.
