Paranormal Misdirection E-Book

Dima Zales

• Herausgeber: Mozaika Publications
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

With my seer powers finally under my control, I'm ready to plunge into the unknown to find my father.

He may have abandoned me, but I’ll go to the ends of the Otherlands to save him from his torment.

Only problem? With unexpected allies and even more surprising enemies, this rescue mission might be more than I bargained for.

Leseprobe

Paranormal Misdirection

Sasha Urban Series: Book 5

Dima Zales

♠ Mozaika Publications ♠

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Excerpt from The Sorcery Code

About the Author

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 Dima Zales and Anna Zaires

www.dimazales.com

All rights reserved.

Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

www.mozaikallc.com

Cover by Orina Kafe

www.orinakafe-art.com

e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-469-4

Print ISBN: 978-1-63142-470-0

Chapter One

With Fluffster at my side, I review the map-meets-Venn diagram on my phone for what feels like the hundredth time.

Then I tell him about it, and he agrees with my assessment: depicted on my screen is a path through the Otherlands. A path that will take me to Rasputin—my biological father, whom I’d finally spoken to in Headspace.

“So you’re really going to go after him?” Fluffster asks in my head.

“Yes,” I say. “As soon as I can.”

Fluffster sits up on his haunches. “It’ll be dangerous.”

“I know. But I’m going anyway.”

The chinchilla sighs in a very human-like fashion. He knows me well enough to realize that his fantasy of me living at home like a shut-in is just that—a fantasy.

“Who do you think is torturing him?” he asks. “If we knew that, we might be better prepared to deal with it.”

“Sadly, I have no clue,” I say, a shudder rippling through me as I recall what I saw and felt in Rasputin’s memories during our Headspace joining. Even now, my knee aches with ghostly pain from the torturer’s excruciating blow. “All I know is that he’s my father and he’s suffering,” I say. “And though he thinks he deserves it for abandoning me at the airport, I’m not about to abandon him.”

I’m going to save my biological father, and in doing so, I’m going to meet him—a prospect that fills me with a jittery mixture of fear and excitement.

“I still wish you wouldn’t go, but I understand why you want to,” Fluffster says. “And though this might be selfish, I’d like to meet him myself. We knew each other once, when I was his cat, and since I got some of my memory back, I’ve thought about him from time to time.”

“Oh yeah, of course,” I say, grinning at the thought of Fluffster as a cat. Standing up, I start heading for my bedroom door, adding over my shoulder, “I have to tell Felix about this.”

“He and Kit left to take Ariel to rehab,” Fluffster reminds me.

That’s right. They’re going to Gomorrah. They mentioned that at breakfast—which now feels like a lifetime ago.

Well, since Nero excused me from work today, I might as well put my free time to good use and explore what would happen if I entered the first world on this map.

A combination of things I learned at Orientation and seer intuition tells me that going into these worlds might be tricky—but that’s why it’s so nice to be a seer. I don’t have to actually risk my hide when I know a threat is coming.

Instead, I can do a little vision-based reconnaissance.

Explaining my plan to Fluffster calms him a little, and he goes to play with Lucifur—Rose’s cat, who’s now our feline mistress—while I get ready to leave.

A few minutes later, I exit my apartment, and as I approach the elevator, my seer intuition sends a tingle of warning.

Crap. Is someone about to try to kill me yet again?

No.

I don’t think it’s that.

A part of me even has an idea of what the issue is, but I better check to be sure.

With my finger on the elevator button, I concentrate, evening my breathing. A moment later, I find myself floating in Headspace.

As I look around, I realize that I’ve gotten so fast at this process that I don’t even feel the seer lightning going into my eyes.

If I channeled my intention correctly, the pyramid-like shapes that surround me by default should show me my near-term future. Judging by the music they emit, they’re not scary, which is good, as I didn’t really expect them to be.

Here we go.

I reach out to the nearest one and fall into a vision.

I ride the elevator down and exit the building through the front door.

“Excuse me, miss?” A huge guy in a bespoke suit—without a Mandate aura surrounding him—steps into my path.

Warily, I stop.

“Mr. Gorin asked me to take you anywhere you need to go.” He nods at a limousine parked nearby. “Where are we headed?”

“Actually, I’m just going for a stroll,” I lie, frantically thinking up a way to ditch this unwanted distraction.

“I guess I don’t mind a nice walk,” the guy says. “Where are we headed?”

Damn it.

I can’t take him with me to the gates hub at JFK. Showing that to a non-Cognizant would probably cause the Mandate to kill me, but even if not, the guy will undoubtedly report to his boss what I’m doing, and Nero might puzzle out that I’ve discovered the map—something I’m not ready for him to know yet.

I find myself back on my floor, my finger still on the elevator button.

It’s as I suspected. Nero replaced Thalia with some rent-a-guard, and I won’t be able to shake him once he sees me.

Well, as it just so happens, there’s another way out.

Grinning at my deviousness, I take the stairs and exit the building in the back—where the super takes out the garbage.

The ploy works. No one stops me.

I summon a ride with my phone. If I hurry, I might even catch up with Kit, Ariel, and Felix before they enter the gate to Gomorrah.

Sadly, I don’t come across my friends at JFK, nor do I see them in the hub.

Oh well.

That’s not why I’m here anyway.

My target is the yellow gate.

With great trepidation, I approach the start of the path to my father.

I’m not really going to go right now, alone and unprepared. But I can see what would happen if I did go in—similar to what I just did with Nero’s guard.

At least I hope I can.

Convincing myself to enter the gate takes a bit more effort than telling myself to exit my building—especially given what Hekima told us about the dangers of the Otherlands at the last Orientation.

It takes a while, but eventually, I believe I’m about to step into the gate. My foot practically itches to step forward.

That’s when I go into Headspace instead.

The ellipsoid shapes that surround me now are scary—proving that I did the right thing by doing this via a vision before going for real.

Overflowing with excitement, I reach out to the nearest shape.

Chapter Two

Bracing myself, I leap into the bright yellow shimmer of the gate, and my breath catches as I emerge on the other side.

If someone had built a large theme park on Jupiter and then blown it all up with a nuclear blast, this is what the ruins would look like a few thousand years later.

The ground under my feet is cracked and covered with multicolored slime—as is the jagged half of the Ferris wheel in the distance. Same with the ruins of the other rides.

I try to suck in a breath.

What passes for air sears my respiratory system like a hot iron.

My throat and lungs are in agony, and there’s an explosion of pain in my stomach.

“Must go back,” I think, but my legs buckle under me as I faceplant on the ground.

The fall knocks out what little air I had in my lungs, and my nerve endings combust like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Unable to control a single muscle, I convulse on the ground.

A copper-flavored liquid fills my mouth and lungs, and with one final burst of agonizing pain, I fade into darkness.

Chapter Three

I come to my senses in the hub and back away from the yellow gate, my heart hammering frantically.

That was awful. Beyond awful.

Suppressing the urge to vomit from remembered agony, I turn and start walking back through the labyrinthian corridors.

Thank goodness for my instincts and Dr. Hekima’s Orientation lessons. If it weren’t for his dire warnings about the dangers of the Otherlands, I might not have had the foresight to have this vision.

Walking briskly, I ponder the implications of it, the key one being how I’m going to get to my father given this new information.

Maybe I need to get myself a Hazmat suit? Will that help me survive whatever killed me in that vision?

I guess I can buy one, then approach the gate and have another vision to find out.

But what if there’s radiation, and I end up dying from cancer a few months or years later?

At least I have some savings to invest in this venture—Nero recently awarded me a hundred grand for punching him in the face.

Speaking of Nero, should I bring him into this?

I dodged his guard because I didn’t think he’d help, but maybe I can get his help without his willing participation? After all, he has the map. Maybe he knows how to get to my father’s world through the path depicted on it. At the very least, he could tell me if the Hazmat suit idea is doomed.

Or maybe he would help me?

Sure.

Nero helping me.

Right after someone sells me the Brooklyn Bridge.

Still, it’s worth a try.

Exiting the secret section of the airport, I get a taxi to Nero’s office.

“Wait for me,” I say to the driver when we arrive.

He agrees, and I step out of the car and stare up at Nero’s building.

I’m about to implement the same strategy as I did at my building and the yellow gate.

Step one: decide to go talk to Nero. Step two: see a vision of how that would go.

“I’m going to talk to Nero about the map,” I tell myself determinedly, over and over. When I feel convinced that I’m indeed about to go face my boss, I take in a calming breath and focus on getting into Headspace instead.

Once there, I reach out to the closest shape.

Nero’s blue-gray eyes widen when he spots me.

“Here on your day off?” he says. “That’s a first.”

“Yes, and I also managed to sneak by your Thalia replacement,” I say instead of a hello. “But don’t kill him,” I add hastily. “I’m just that sneaky.”

He stands up and stalks toward me, his expression grim.

“Don’t blame Felix for allowing me to leave, either,” I say nervously. “He relayed your wish for me to take it easy, but something urgent came up and I had to come see you in person.”

“Oh?” Nero stops and lifts an eyebrow.

“I’m here to talk about this,” I say and show him an image on my phone. “The map that leads to my biological father.”

Chapter Four

Nero’s face turns darker than the sky during a Category 5 hurricane.

I step back and nervously check the time as I’ve trained myself to regularly do.

He comes after me and grabs my wrist—preventing me from escaping. “I didn’t realize you got a chance to look at the map, let alone snap a picture,” he growls, and with the speed of a striking cobra, he snatches my phone from my hands.

An angry squeeze later, the phone crumbles into tiny shards of plastic, silicone, and glass.

“I have the image printed,” I croak out. “It’s also in the cloud. I’ve also emailed—”

“You will not go there,” Nero says, enunciating every word. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But he’s my father. What wouldn’t you risk for your family?”

Something like sympathy flashes in Nero’s eyes for a moment—that and pain. Then it’s replaced by grim determination. “You’re here on Earth for a reason,” he says. “He wouldn’t want your help.”

I open my mouth to reply when Nero moves with preternatural speed. Before I can get a single word out, I find myself draped over Nero’s shoulder.

“How dare you? Put me down!”

Nero readjusts his hold and walks toward the exit, carrying me like Santa Claus lugging his bag of gifts.

Or more like Krampus, Santa’s evil opposite.

I spice up my screams with some kicking and punching.

Infuriatingly oblivious to my blows and escalating protestations, Nero walks out of his office.

His assistant Venessa stares at the spectacle in speechless horror, and I can almost see the words “harassment” and “lawsuit” swirling through her brain.

In a few strides, Nero reaches the elevator.

Stepping in, he presses the button that would take us to the basement, and I triple the kicking, punching, and screaming, using all my remaining strength.

But it’s to no avail.

He carries me into the safe-like cell in the basement.

“You owe me a hundred-and-thirty-five work hours.” He plops me on the soft cushions of the couch. “I want those to be consecutive. Meanwhile, I’m going to post guards in every hub on the planet.”

Turning around, he smashes his fist into the passcode screen I’d used to escape this place, and it joins my phone in technology heaven as he steps out.

“Wait,” I yell, but the metal door to my prison screeches into place.

Chapter Five

I come to my senses next to my work building and back away from it as though it were infested with leprosy-carrying bedbugs.

My intuition was spot on again. I can’t talk to Nero about the map—or let him find out that I know about it.

I get back into the cab, and the ride home is a blur of angry ruminations where I imagine all sorts of cleverly scathing things I could’ve said to Nero in my vision.

By the time we arrive, I calm down enough to sneak back into the building from the back, so that the nameless new bodyguard doesn’t learn that I was gone.

When I walk into the apartment, Felix and Kit are back. The two of them, along with Fluffster, stampede to the door to greet me. Lucifur, however, glances in my direction and instantly loses interest. Not that I can blame her; proverbially, curiosity is pretty deadly for her kind.

“Fluffster said you have something major to tell us, but he wouldn’t say what—said we have to hear it from your lips,” Felix says with a worried frown. He looks to Kit for support, but the shape-shifting Councilor merely shrugs and makes herself look like me.

“Right.” I take off my shoes and grab Fluffster from the floor to further calm my nerves. “Let’s go to the living room, and I’ll fill you in.”

Once we’re comfortably seated, I tell them all about my Headspace encounter with my father and my realization that I have a map that (probably) leads to him. I then go over my deadly “what if I go” vision and conclude with Nero’s potential reaction to the whole thing.

“I wonder if it was the lack of oxygen alone that killed you?” Felix muses as the cat jumps onto his lap. “A simple scuba suit could help then, unless there are toxic agents in the air. Could you tell?”

“I have no idea,” I say. “It could’ve also been radiation—given the way the world itself looked.”

“A Hazmat suit then.” Felix scratches behind Lucifur’s fluffy ear, making the creature purr. “Or even—”

“Can we first talk about the elephant in the room,” Fluffster states loudly in my head.

The couch creaks.

Kit has turned herself into a small elephant and is scratching her floppy ear with her trunk.

“Huh,” Felix says, looking at Kit’s form. “You’re not just in the room. You’re also the elephant of surprise.”

I roll my eyes at the awful pun. “Right. Just like that famous movie, The Fifth Elephant.”

Though I can’t see the white in Fluffster’s rodent eyes, I get the distinct impression that, like me, he’s rolling them with the expertise of a teenage girl. “As I said before, you shouldn’t go,” he says to me, pointedly turning away from the elephant/Kit. “Nero might have a good reason for wanting to stop you.”

“Out of the question.” I place the chinchilla on the carpet. If Fluffster is going to take Nero’s side, he can rub his own chin. “If you want to help, think of a way I can survive the trip.”

“A spacesuit.” Felix mindlessly strokes the cat’s belly.

“NASA doesn’t sell that stuff.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t say you want to fly to Houston and rob a museum.”

“I’m talking about a cosmonaut suit,” Felix says. “After the Soviet Union collapsed, a black market sprang up for the gear used in their space program. I happen to know a guy. I used a few parts he gave me when I built Golem.” He looks wistful at the memory of the destroyed robot. “The only problem with this idea is that it’s going to be costly.”

“I have money,” I say. “How much are we talking about?”

“Probably upward of seventy grand per spacesuit.” Felix stops stroking the cat, but she nudges him with her paw and he resumes his duties. “So that’s over two hundred thousand if you, me, and Kit go together.”

Fluffster’s eyes bulge at the insane expenditure until he looks on the verge of turning into his monstrous form.

“See if you can get your guy to give us a lower price,” I say quickly. The last thing I want is for my pet chinchilla to eat my roommate. “I don’t have enough for that.”

“Right.” Felix gives Fluffster a worried look as well. “Hopefully, he’ll consider a bulk discount. If not, maybe I can use my powers to pay at least part of the cost in trade.”

“Shady favor for shady people?” I resist the urge to bite my nails. “How about you invest in a stock I recommend instead? Just make sure Nero doesn’t find out I gave you the tip; I’m not supposed to be investing on my own or through friends and family.”

Fluffster’s scary expression is replaced with a curious one.

Good.

In the future, we’ll have to make sure to have money conversations outside our apartment.

“That actually sounds like fun.” Felix attempts to stop stroking the cat, but she forces him to keep going once more. “I have some savings I can dedicate to this. What company did you have in mind?”

Pretending I’m doing my job for Nero, I let my intuition (or whatever it is) pull a stock from the ether.

“Cedar Fair—the amusement park operator,” I say. “Their ticker is FUN.”

“You sure?” Fluffster narrows his eyes. “I refuse to have this household live in squalor.”

“When I do the same thing for Nero, he claims to make bank,” I say defensively. “Why shouldn’t it work for Felix?”

“I’ll invest later today.” Finally setting the cat aside, Felix takes out his phone and types something—no doubt adding FUN to his to-do list (possibly for the first time).

Lucifur gives him a baleful glare but lets him live. For now.

“I also have some spare cash I’ve been meaning to deploy,” Kit says as the cat starts grooming herself. “Can I jump in on this transaction if I let you keep half the profits?”

“So long as you don’t blame us in case of a lack of profits,” I say.

“And chip in for the rent,” Fluffster adds.

“Deal,” Kit says.

Felix puts down his phone, looking thoughtful. “Even if we get a spacesuit, we’ll probably need to retool it for the unique dangers of the world you saw in your vision—that and somehow figure out the exact nature of those dangers. I’ll have to get some help from an engineer, and we’ll have to pay this person as well.”

“If you let me keep all my FUN profits, I can help you with that problem,” Kit says and makes herself look like a round-cheeked young woman with the dorkiest smile I’ve ever seen. In a nasal voice that sounds like a spoiled (but then later rehabilitated) princess, she adds, “A gnome owes me a favor.”

“A gnome?” Felix and I say in unison but with different intonations. Mine is “now you’re telling me there are gnomes?” while Felix just sounds like Christmas came early.

“A gnome.” Kit turns back into her usual self.

“You have a deal,” Felix says to Kit, then looks at me. “Gnomes are amazing with technology. Especially hardware—which is exactly what we need.”

“Gnomes,” I repeat slowly. “I thought they’d be good at growing beards and gardening.”

“I suspect that Itzel will educate you about gnomes,” Kit says in that same goofy voice. “The trick is to make her shut up about it.”

“I didn’t think gnomes were allowed on Earth,” Felix says. “I’ve only met a few while visiting Gomorrah.”

“Being on the Council comes with many perks.” Kit sits straighter, her voice back to its usual anime-character pitch. “We have access to all sorts of secret maps to the Otherlands, and we’re allowed to bring over any Cognizant, even those that are typically forbidden on Earth. We just have to use proper precautions.”

So this is how Nero got the orcs here, and the proper precautions in that case included making them wear makeup to cover their green skin. I suppress a shudder as I recall how viciously Nero killed said orcs for bruising me.

Pushing the gruesome images away, I say, “Great. When can we get the spacesuit and meet this gnome?”

“My spacesuit guy will need a few days.” Felix steeples his fingers. “I’ll also need some time for your suggested investment to pay off.”

“I’ll be too busy to get Itzel until I’m done planning the funeral,” Kit says. “Afterward—”

She stops talking. She must’ve realized everyone is staring at her with varying degrees of open-mouthed shock. “Did I forget to mention the funeral arrangements I was tasked with?” she asks guiltily.

We keep staring at her, though I have a strong urge to get up and shake the information out of her—but the memories of her turning into a gator (and a drekavac) stop me from doing so.

“Nero and I petitioned the Council to dedicate a Farewell Rite to Rose,” Kit explains. “Once everyone agreed, I was tasked with the bulk of the administrative work—no good deed goes unpunished and all that.”

Felix whistles. “A Farewell Rite? Wow. Of course, if anyone deserves such a great honor, it’s Rose. I bet Vlad will be pleased.”

“Assuming he attends.” Kit turns into Vlad, and her face looks like a mask of grief. “No one has been able to get in touch with him.”

“I’m sure he’ll be there,” Felix says.

Kit turns back into herself and opens her mouth to reply, but her phone chirps. She looks at it, then leaps to her feet. “Funeral duty calls,” she says. “I have so much to do. I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

She heads out of the room, but then she turns and says, “I think it would be nice if you gave a eulogy at the event.”

Blood leaves my face. “Are you talking to me or Felix?” I ask as the sinking feeling spreads through me.

“You, of course.” Kit frowns at me in confusion.

“And is this going to be a big event?” I do my best to swallow my rapidly pumping heart back into my chest.

“Huge.” Felix gives me a pitying look, then conspiratorially mouths to Kit, “Sasha isn’t a fan of public speaking.”

Not a fan of public speaking. That’s like saying arachnophobes aren’t fans of tarantulas.

“She was fine when she spoke in front of the Council.” Kit turns into me—but a version brimming with impossible levels of confidence and determination, kind of like Wonder Woman.

She’s right. I did speak to the Council without freaking out—at least on my second go at it. In my vision, I fainted from the anxiety.

Taking in calming breaths, I consider that. Could it be that I have conquered my biggest fear? But if so, why do I feel like rabid skunks are trying to chew their way through my intestines?

Then again, this is for Rose.

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself utter. “I’ll say a few words.”

“Great,” Kit says and leaves.

I sit there, staring blankly at the turned-off TV.

“I’m going to get a head start on the spacesuit,” Felix says from somewhere. “That and investing.”

“Sure,” I say numbly. “You do that.”

Felix leaves with the cat on his tail, but I just sit there, trying to convince myself that public speaking is not the equivalent of facing the gallows.

“Hey,” Fluffster says in my head. “I just wanted to say that if meeting your father means this much to you, I won’t get in your way.”

“Thank you.” I focus on the concerned-looking chinchilla.

Picking him up, I stroke his heavenly fur and immediately feel soothed.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Fluffster says.

“There is something, actually,” I tell him, deciding not to think about that speech for now. “I’d like to learn Russian.”

“Russian?” The domovoi looks up at me.

“I need a way to communicate with my father,” I explain.

“I can speak Russian.” Fluffster straightens his whiskers.

“I know that, bud.” I smile down at him. “I was hoping you’d help me with this.”

He puffs up like a feisty kitten. “Of course.”

“Great.” I pull out my phone and download every app for learning Russian, then a few ebooks on the same subject.

Then I tell Fluffster my plan. I will go into Headspace and get a vision of me using all these tools, one after another—which should allow me to choose the one that fits my learning style best and will give me a decent head start.

Thus decided, I concentrate and find myself in Headspace.

Chapter Six

I touch the shapes around me all at once and receive an onslaught of Russian education, hours and hours of it, until eventually, I run out of my seer power.

Back in my living room, I assess my prodigious progress. I learned a lot from all the apps and books, and I remember most of it.

Where was Headspace when I was cramming for finals in college? I could’ve aced any test like this.

Interestingly, though Russian has a reputation for being a hard language to learn, I’m not finding that to be the case. If anything, the opposite seems to be true for me. Granted, the alphabet is a little wonky—H isn’t an H, and P isn’t a P, but overall, it feels extremely natural to me. I especially like how the alphabet lets you read pretty much right away—Russian spelling is more or less phonetic.

“Nu kak?” Fluffster asks me in Russian.

“I didn’t learn that yet,” I say sheepishly, though I feel like I’m on the verge of understanding. “What does it mean?”

“Approximately, ‘so how goes it?’” Fluffster explains, confirming my unvoiced guess. “I probably should’ve instead used a more common, ‘kak tvoi dela?’”

I smile. Despite the way it sounds, “kak” doesn’t mean rooster or male genitalia. It’s the Russian word for “how,” so I reply with, “Horosho.”

“Wow,” Fluffster says. “Your pronunciation is really good. Surprisingly good.”

“I had hoped it would be.” I beam a hundred-megawatt smile at him. “After all, I learned it as a child—during the critical time in your life when you form the muscles involved in speaking.”

As I say this, it occurs to me that the same reasoning might explain why I’m finding these lessons so much easier than most people do. I’m relearning instead of picking up from scratch—and that’s always easier.

“Why don’t we watch some movies you’ve already seen but with Russian voiceover?” Fluffster suggests. “I know a good website for that.”

I nod, excited, and we download The Illusionist, Now You See Me 1 and 2, The Prestige,and a few of my other favorites.

Because I’ve seen the films many times, I find the Russian easy enough to follow—or maybe I find it easy to follow because they use vocabulary I’ve just learned and/or picked up as a kid.

When Fluffster gets tired of watching, I force him to listen to me practice speaking Russian until it’s time to go to bed.

Except I can’t sleep. Now that I’m not focusing on learning my father’s language, my mind keeps coming up with what I’d say during Rose’s eulogy.

Eventually, I give up, get out of bed, and write down what I think will sound good.

And then I can’t sleep because I dread delivering the speech in front of a huge crowd.

After hours of tossing and turning, I get up, grab my phone, and study Russian for the rest of the night—probably making more progress than a graduate student would in two years.

When the smell of fried goodness wafts into the room from under the door, I trek into the kitchen.

Felix, Lucifur, and Fluffster are eating breakfast. The chinchilla’s bowl with hay is on the table next to Felix’s plate, and the cat’s saucer with Fancy Feast is on the floor.

The cat looks up at me with an expression that seems to say, “Dare come near our Majesty’s meal, and I will eat your face.”

Felix’s gaze is much warmer than the cat’s as he examines my sleep-deprived self.

I check his plate, spot the fried eggs and hash browns, and spy more in the skillets on the stove.

Score.

“Morning,” Felix says as I rush to put a heaping portion on my plate. “I hear you’re learning Russian now.”

“Da,” I say, grinning. “Etopravda.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Felix says to Fluffster in Russian. “That’s great pronunciation.”

Fluffster looks up from his hay and gives me a wink.

I put my plate on the table and sit down. “Yeah. It’s not as hard as I feared,” I say in Russian.

“I imagine the three-gender thing will be tricky.” Felix gesticulates with his utensils. “This fork is female, this table is male, but an egg is neuter.”

“Da,” I say. “But the good news is that there are rules that help me figure out what gender something is.” Shoving food into my mouth, I chew hungrily.

“Sasha will be fine on that score,” Fluffster chimes in. “Even in English, there are a few gendered nouns. Like a ship is a she. Spanish and French also have something like this. And besides, even if Sasha messes those up, she can still be understood.”

“Yeah. She’d just sound silly.” Felix gives us an evil grin. “Even sillier than usual, that is.”

Since my mouth is too full for a proper retort, I pinch his forearm instead.

“Hey.” He jerks his arm away. “After all I did last night?”

“About that,” I say through the food. “How did it go?”

“I got us a deal,” he says excitedly, the pretend injury forgotten. “The guy has a bunch of parts from Orlan, Sokol, and Birkut suits and can give us a bulk discount. I figured with a gnome on the team, we can put those together better than the Soviet engineers.”

“Good,” I say. “When do we get the delivery?”

“Working that out still,” Felix says. “Not long, though.”

I want to ask him how much it all costs but decide to do so when Fluffster is out of earshot.

“I also got us some Hazmat gear and other things I think we will need,” Felix says. “And Kit helped me decide where our makeshift lab will be.”

“Oh?” I spear more eggs onto my fork.

“Yep, in JFK,” Felix says.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Did you picture yourself waltzing into an airport wearing a spacesuit?” Felix’s unibrow attempts an answering arch.

I picture the looks on the TSA agents’ faces.

He’s right. It would not be a good idea, even on Halloween.

“We could bring the suits in some kind of bags, like luggage,” I say.

“You’re close,” Felix says. “The parts can go in suitcases, but the finished product will be built in one of the underground rooms—the one you get to if you take the wrong turn right before the hub corridor.”

“I didn’t realize there were rooms there,” I say. “I pictured pits with hungry crocodiles, or a post-apocalyptic H&R Block office with cannibalistic accountants.”

Felix chuckles. “There may be those there too. But according to Kit, there is also a suitable room that we will use. She says it’s best to keep the gnome as close to the gates as possible, so this kills a bunch of birds.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Anything else?”

“I made the FUN investment last night,” Felix says and pulls out his phone. “Wow. It’s already up.”

Fluffster scuttles over to look at the screen and appears pleased.

“I want to practice some more Russian on you guys,” I say when they look back at me. “Why don’t you say something, and I’ll try to reply?”

“Horosho,” Felix says, grinning, and launches into rapid-fire Russian. Now that he’s speaking so fast, comprehending him is harder. Still, I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I catch.

“You’ll be fluent in no time,” Felix says as we’re wrapping up the meal. “You’ve made a lot of progress already.”

“I have, haven’t I?” I say, and strain my brain for something to reward myself with.

Of course.

There’s something that always cheers me up—magic.

Of the performing kind.

Especially when I’m the performer.

Yeah, that’s it. I’ve been thinking of ways to impress the Cognizant with something besides a card-cheating demo, and in this very moment, a whole branch of magical arts comes to mind: escapes.

“Before you go, can you help me with something?” I ask Felix as I jump to my feet in excitement.

He glances at his phone with a frown. “Sure. Let’s just make it quick.”

“In my room,” I say and rush ahead with a bounce in my step.

Before Felix can catch up, I locate the hardest-to-crack straitjacket that I own—and I own too many—and pull it out.

“A straitjacket?” Felix looks at me as though I’ve gone insane enough to actually need one.

“Yep.” I put the thing on. “I’m trying to build a repertoire that would impress the Cognizant, and it occurred to me that escaping this can’t be explained by any powers.”

“Not really.” Felix walks up to me and examines the locking mechanism of the strange garment. “If you had Kit’s power, you could—”

“Impress Cognizant who know what my power is.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Even with your powers, you—”

“Dude.” I turn my back to him and get into the classic straitjacket position. “I don’t need your opinion. I just need you to lock me in this thing so I can practice my escape. It’s been ages since the last time I’ve done it.”

I inhale deeply and hold it in.

Grumbling under his breath, Felix pulls my arms behind me—a bit too roughly.

I tense all the muscles in my body and overall try to make myself as big as I can.

“How long is this going to take?” Felix asks when he’s done. “I need to be at work.”

“You can go,” Fluffster says. “If Sasha can’t escape, I’ll help.”

Felix looks down worriedly. “Are you sure—”

I tune them out and start my work.

First, I exhale.

Next, I relax my muscles, creating some slack in the bindings. Then I manipulate the slack toward my left shoulder and proceed with the rest of the escape.

Four seconds later, I’m free.

Both Fluffster and Felix look impressed—and Felix is one of my toughest customers.

“I guess I’m a little rusty,” I say as I drop the straitjacket on the floor. “It usually takes me three and a half seconds.”

“It’s good. Add it to your repertoire.” Felix picks up and examines the cloth of the straitjacket for any funny business—and finds none. “If you had this on and hung yourself by your feet over some fire, almost anyone would be impressed if you escaped alive.”

“I think I’ll work out something like that.” I take the straitjacket from him and start folding.

“Now I really have to go,” Felix says.

“See you later.” I wave at his back.

When he’s gone, I put away the straitjacket and resume studying Russian. I’m at it for what feels like hours, until my phone rings.

Grabbing it, I see that it’s 12:30 p.m., and that the caller is Nero.

What could he want?

My heart rate speeds up as I accept the call. “Hello?”

“Sasha,” Nero says in his super-deep voice. “Did you eat yet?”

I blink. “No. I’m starving, actually.”

“I’m downstairs,” Nero says. “Come down, and we’ll grab lunch.”

Before I can reply, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone incredulously.

Lunch with Nero?

Is this a prank?

Mind spinning, I dress in some presentable clothing and even put on some makeup—a rarity for me.

As I make my way down, I keep wondering what this could be about.

Is this a social call, and if so, am I glad?

Or is Nero merely planning to impart some Mentor wisdom?

Well, whatever his intentions, I always have a million questions I can ask him, so it would be crazy to turn down such an opportunity.

Yeah, that’s why I’m so eager—because I want to pose pointed questions.

And to eat.

It must be hunger behind the strange fluttering of butterfly wings in my stomach. Hunger combined with sleep deprivation.

Stepping out of the elevator, I stare at Nero.

Broad-shouldered and tall, he’s practically oozing testosterone, and the unnaturally thick limbal rings in his blue-gray eyes are out in full force. He gives me a look that makes the stupid hunger butterflies increase their flapping to hurricane levels.

“How are you?” he growls.

“I’m okay,” I manage to say and feel like I should be given an award for not tripping over my own feet.

Nero cares about my well-being now?

I knew hell was freezing over. There have been many signs.

“You’re not okay.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Why does everyone always forget they can’t lie to me?”

“I didn’t sleep last night. I bet that’s why your lie detection activated. When you asked your question, I figured you meant ‘how are you coping with having nearly been killed by Baba Yaga,’ and in that regard, I’m okay.”

“I see,” he says and starts walking south. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Kit told me about the funeral.” My breath quickens as I hurry to keep up with his long strides. “She suggested I give a eulogy.”

“Wait, she already told you about the funeral?” Nero sounds displeased.

Interesting. Did he come here to tell me about it in person? If so, that’s a nice gesture.

“Yeah,” I say as we turn onto a narrow, one-way street. “She mentioned that you were instrumental when it came to getting Rose this honor.” I look over and catch him staring at me intently. Feeling awkward, I look away and mumble, “Thanks for that.”

“Of course.” He stops. “If you’d like, I can speak in your stead. I’m sure Rose would—”

I also stop and look up at him. “No.” Instinctively, I touch his forearm, then yank my hand away, realizing what I’m doing. “I should do this for Rose. That it’s hard for me just makes it more important. Besides, I think I want to. It feels right.”

“I understand.” He gazes at me with an unreadable expression.

I take a step back. “Anyway,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. We’re here.” He points at the large window behind me.

“This place?” We’re standing next to the best restaurant in New York City—and, by transitive property, the world.

Though a short distance from my apartment, it might as well be on the moon. The waiting list for mere mortals like me is rumored to be years long—and if I decided to go for, say, my thirtieth birthday, Fluffster would eat me alive once he saw the astronomical bill.

“After you,” Nero says and pulls open the ornamental glass door.

Swallowing my awed disbelief, I step inside. As soon as the host sees Nero, he fawns over us as though we were royalty, leading us to a well-positioned table by the window.

Before I can blink, our glasses are filled with wine that probably costs more than I make in a year.

As Nero orders the food, I take a sip of the wine and examine the impeccable tablecloth in front of me. Then I study all the movers and shakers at the other tables and the giant ice sculptures in the shape of doves by the bar.

The place is fancy.

Too fancy and romantic to take someone if you merely wanted to tell her about a funeral.

Holy estrogen.

Is this a date?

Chapter Seven

A date with Nero.

The idea is more intoxicating than the divine wine.

I must find out; else I will lose my mind. Fortunately, there might be a way—apart from simply asking.

Relaxing into my chair, I let my eyes focus on the traffic outside the restaurant as I try to get into Headspace.

To my huge relief, it works right away.

As I find myself floating in Headspace, I feel silly.

Is this really the best use of my powers—to figure out why my boss took me out?

I could, for example, use the seer-juice for something more useful—like another Russian lesson.

But no. I have to know what Nero’s intentions are.

I focus on the default shapes—those typically show me the immediate future.

Wait a second.

The surrounding shapes are playing music that’s a lot more frightening than I’d expect from a vision of a date.

In fact, they seem like they will show me something deadly.

My ethereal wisp metaphysically trembling, I touch the scariest of the shapes and prepare for a vision.

“And what can I get you?” The waiter smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes.

A wave of anxiety spreads through me.

A police car passes by the restaurant, and I half expect the cops to pull up to the door and arrest me for some unknown reason.

But no.

They turn the corner and disappear.

I pick up my menu.

Am I worried about food poisoning? This place does specialize in raw delicacies like oysters and caviar—but at these prices, I figure they use the freshest ingredients in the world.

A large black van slowly rolls down the street outside.

As soon as I see it, I realize that is the source of my malaise.

“Is everything all right?” Nero asks. He must’ve noticed all the blood leaving my face.

Before I can reply, the windows of the van slide down.

I glimpse a killer clown mask before a large gloved hand pulls out a machine gun from the window.

I scream.

Everyone in the restaurant looks at me with a mixture of annoyance and concern.

With a deafening rat-a-tat-tat, bullets hit the glass window, shattering it into tiny shards.

My shoulder feels like it’s been torn away, and the leftover stump cauterized with hot iron.

I’ve been shot.

The spray of bullets hits the screaming and scattering people around us.

Face twisted with fear, Nero leaps across the table, grabbing me in a tight embrace and covering me with his body as we fall.

My breath vacates my lungs as we hit the floor, but I’m glad to be down because I feel like I’m about to faint from the agony in my shoulder.

On top of me, Nero jolts, as if struck by a bullet. However, there’s no pain on his face, just fury of frightening intensity.

Whoever these shooters are, they would be crazy not to finish him off. If he lives, he’ll make them regret being born.

More gunfire. It sounds like either the ice sculptures or people’s heads are exploding around us, and Nero’s body jerks again and again.

The tiny corner of my brain that’s not screaming in terror keeps repeating one thought over and over: Nero is taking bullets for me.

The machine gun goes off again.

Nero tenses, and my ribs shatter with apocalyptic pain.

A bullet must’ve gone through him and into my chest.

Blood fills my lungs and bubbles up my throat as my heart stops beating.

Chapter Eight

I’m back in the restaurant just as Nero finishes his order.

“And what can I get you?” The waiter smiles his fake smile at me, just as he did in my vision.

“Run!” I shout at Nero and leap to my feet.

As I sprint for the restaurant exit, the same wave of anxiety spreads through me—only now I know what’s behind it.

To my relief, Nero is on my tail.

I screech to a halt in the middle of the road—just as the police car pulls onto the street and heads my way.

Making eye contact with the officers, I wave my arms like a psychotic cheerleader.

Nero steps in front of me protectively.

If the cops decide to ram someone with their car, it would be him, not me.

I wonder what would happen if he was hit? Something tells me Nero is harder to kill than even a vampire.

“Did you see a vision?” he asks over his shoulder.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Someone with machine guns is going to shoot up the whole restaurant. It’ll be from a black van that’s about to turn onto this street.”

The police car stops.

Nero takes that as his cue to rush to the sidewalk and stare intently at the oncoming traffic.

Only now do I realize how crazy I must look to the police—but not as crazy as I would sound if I told them the exact truth.

Not that I can tell them about a vision—or anything supernatural-sounding—without the Mandate turning me into an orifice-bleeding mess or worse.

“I heard a gunshot,” I lie and point in the direction where the van is to appear.

The cops pepper me with questions, and I expand on my lie with all the earnestness of an expert magician.

Toward the end of my explanation, I spot the black van. It stops a few feet behind the police car.

This was my plan—to have the cops block their path and provide discouragement.

Hopefully.

They may have enough firepower to take on these two officers.

Just like in my vision, the van windows are tinted—yet despite the lack of visibility, I can feel the malevolent gazes from behind the dark glass.

Nero moves as though he’s about to run after the van. Then he looks back at me, then at the van, then back at me.

I can practically see the gears turning in his mind.

Catch the would-be shooters or stay with me in case of danger?

Making a swift decision, I act as scared as I’d be if I saw a hungry drekavac. “In that van.” I point with a shaking finger. “There’s a guy with a gun inside. I just saw him.”

As if trying to buy me credibility, the van’s tires screech as it speeds backward.

“Quickly, they’re getting away,” I urge the confused officers.

And the Oscar goes to Sasha.

Telling me to stay put, the cops rush back into their car, turn on the siren, and back away after the van.

I exhale a breath of relief I didn’t realize I was holding as Nero comes toward me.

“Let’s take you home.” He grabs my elbow.

I nod mutely, letting him drag me away at a rapid clip.

Our semi-jog turns into a sprint, and before long, I find myself in my building elevator, panting like an overheated dog.

Nero frowns, and I see a promise of cardio training in my future in his gaze. Not waiting until I catch my breath, he sternly asks, “What happened?”

I explain about my vision as we enter my apartment and go into the kitchen.

“Okay. Now let’s go over it again.” Nero sits down at the kitchen table across from me. “You say they wore a mask, but did you see the eyes?”

Fluffster walks into the kitchen, eyeing us worriedly. “Did I just hear you say you’ve been shot at?”

I explain that it was a vision and describe as much detail as I can.