Page 111

Cassie crosses to the chair by the fireplace and runs her uninjured hand over the woven blanket folded across its arm. I take off my jacket, giving her a moment to explore the room.

“My mother wove that blanket,” I tell her. “She thought this room needed a color other than brown.”

“She had a point.”

“She usually did.”

Cassie turns toward me. “Tell me about the coin.”

I remain beside the dresser while she takes the chair near the fireplace.

“The coin was used as a warning.” I drag a hand down my face. “Men I knew would leave one where a person was certain to find it.”

“What were they warning them about?”

“That they could get close. Sometimes it came before a demand, and sometimes it came after someone refused one.”

Cassie runs a finger along the edge of her bandage. “And one was left beside the stable after somebody set it on fire.”

“Yes.”

“Were those men Russian?”

“Some were.”

She looks at me for a moment. “You knew them through Misha.”

Her answer comes quickly enough that I wonder how long she’s been putting together the fragments I gave her. I’ve told her that Misha was my closest friend. I told her about our years at school, and the night I learned he had died. I never explained what happened between those years.

“Misha’s older brother worked for those men.” I sit in the chair opposite her. “They accused him of stealing from them, and then he disappeared. When Misha and I were seventeen, they came to his family’s house and told him his brother’s debt was now his. If he refused to work for them, they would kill his parents and siblings.”

Cassie’s fingers go still. “Did they hurt them?”

“They frightened them. One man made it clear he would return.” I remember Misha at my bedroom window after midnight, rain in his hair and anger on his face because he couldn’t do anything against the men who had stood in his family’s kitchen. “Misha thought he could work off the debt. I went with him.”

Cassie sucks in a breath. “You were just a kid.”

“We believed we were old enough to keep our families safe.”

“What did they have you do?”

I pause, trying to find words that won’t frighten her. “At first, errands. Driving people and delivering money. We were useful because we spoke Russian and English, and because the men we worked for already knew Misha’s family.” I watch the fireless grate rather than her face. “The work changed. By the time I understood how difficult it would be to leave, they knew enough about both of us to make leaving dangerous.”

“Both of you stayed?”

“For years.” I turn back to her. “Misha tried to get out. He died before he could.”

She lowers her hand from the bandage and grips the chair arm. “Was he killed because he tried to leave?”

“I never found proof of that.”

“That isn’t the same as no,” she says, chewing on her lower lip.

“No. It isn’t.”

Outside, a car passes along the drive. Its tires hum against the damp gravel before it stops near the front entrance. I wait until I hear Sofia call to one of the guards and know it’s Birdie returning with Murphy.

“What happened after Misha died?” Cassie asks.