Chapter 29: Devil’s Lair: Chapter 29

I don’t know which room is Alina’s, but it has to be close to mine for her to have heard me both nights. Holding the laptop against my chest, I knock on the door closest to my bedroom, and when I don’t get an answer, I move on to the next one.

Still no luck.

I try three more bedroom doors, plus Nikolai’s office, with the same lack of results. The only room that’s left is Slava’s, and since all is quiet there, he must already be asleep.

Suppressing my frustration, I go downstairs. I’m pretty sure Lyudmila and Pavel’s room is near the laundry; I heard their voices coming from there when I was taking my clothes out of the dryer yesterday. Hopefully, Lyudmila hasn’t gone to bed yet, and can either provide the password or locate Alina for me.

Nobody answers that knock either—nor is Lyudmila in the kitchen or any of the other common areas downstairs. I’m about to give up and go back to my room when a distant peal of laughter reaches my ears.

It’s coming from outside.

Finally.

Leaving the laptop on a coffee table in the living room, I hurry to the front door and step out into the cool, misty darkness. It’s no longer raining, but the air still holds a damp chill, with thick clouds blocking all hint of moonlight. If not for the light spilling from the windows and the solar path lights lining each side of the driveway, it would be too dark to see. As is, it’s still more than a little creepy, and I wrap my arms around myself to stop from shivering as I walk toward the back of the house, following the sound of voices.

I find Alina and Lyudmila sitting on a pair of boulders near the edge of the cliff, a small fire crackling merrily in front of them. They’re laughing and talking in Russian—and, I realize as I get closer, sharing a joint.

The grassy smell of pot is unmistakable.

At my approach, they fall silent, Lyudmila regarding me with open dismay and Alina wearing her usual enigmatic expression. Taking a deep drag, Nikolai’s sister slowly blows out the smoke and holds out the joint to me. “Want some?”

I hesitate before gingerly taking it from her. “Sure, thanks.” I’m no stranger to pot, having smoked more than my fair share my freshman year of college, but it’s been a while since I’ve had any.

It used to help me relax, though, and I could use that tonight.

I sit on a boulder next to Alina and inhale a lungful of smoke, enjoying the acrid, grassy taste, then pass the joint to wary-looking Lyudmila. Alina murmurs something to her in Russian, and the other woman visibly relaxes. Taking a drag, she passes the joint to Alina, who takes a drag and passes it to me, and we go like that in a circle, smoking in companionable silence until only a small, useless stub remains.

“I told her you won’t rat us out to my brother.” Alina drops the stub into the fire and watches the resulting explosion of sparks. “Or her husband.”

“They don’t like pot?” My voice is raspy and mellow, my mind pleasantly fuzzy. Even the prospect of upsetting my employer doesn’t faze me right now, though I know it should. Besides, Alina is technically my employer too, and she offered me the joint, so I’m not at fault. Or am I? Maybe only Nikolai is my employer, after all?

It’s hard to think straight.

“Nikolai can be… uptight about certain things. And Pavel doesn’t keep secrets from him.” Alina nudges a glowing ember with the tip of her shoe, and I hazily register the fact that she’s wearing stilettos and a blue cocktail dress that would be perfect for an art gallery opening. Her only concession to the wilderness surrounding us is a white faux fur draped around her slender shoulders—presumably to keep out the chill. She’s also wearing her usual lipstick and eyeliner.

“Lyudmila said you had a headache,” I say before I can think better of it. “Do you dress up and put on makeup even when you’re sick?”

Alina laughs softly and lights another joint. Taking a drag, she offers it to Lyudmila, who does the same and offers it to me. I start reaching for it but change my mind. I know from experience that I’m about as mellow as I’m going to get; anything more will just make me slow-witted. Not that I’m not already—that first joint was potent stuff, as strong as anything I’ve tried. Besides, there was a reason I came out here, and it wasn’t to get stoned.

“I’m good, thanks,” I say, pulling my hand back, and with a shrug, Lyudmila returns the joint to Alina.

I watch the flames crackle and dance while the two of them smoke and converse in Russian. I wish I spoke the language so I could understand them, but I don’t and the smooth rhythm of their speech reminds me of a burbling mountain stream, the words flowing into one another, defying comprehension.

Is that what it’s like for Slava when I speak? Or for Lyudmila?

Is that what it was like for my mom when she was first brought to America from Cambodia?

She’d never spoken much about her early years; all I know is that she was adopted by the missionary couple when she was around Slava’s age. I’d never pressed her for details, not wanting to evoke any bad memories. I’d figured we’d have a lifetime to talk about whatever, and she’d tell me eventually, if there was anything to tell.

I was a short-sighted idiot.

I should’ve learned everything there was to know about my mom when I had the chance.

Alina’s laughter catches my attention, and I shift my gaze from the dancing flames to her face, studying each striking feature. It would be easy to envy her, both for her extraordinary beauty and her wealth, but for some reason, I don’t get the impression that Nikolai’s sister is particularly happy. Even now, when she must be more than a little high, there’s a brittle edge to her laughter… a peculiar fragility underneath her glossy façade. And maybe it’s the glow of firelight softening the porcelain perfection of her skin, but tonight, she seems younger than the mid-to-late twenties I pegged her for.

Much younger.

“How old are you?” I blurt, suddenly worried I might’ve accepted pot from a teenager. A split second later, I recall that she finished Columbia, so she has to be at least my age, but it’s too late to take back my overly personal question.

To my relief, Alina doesn’t seem to think it inappropriate. “Twenty-four,” she replies in a dreamy tone. “Twenty-five next week.” Her eyes slightly out of focus, she reaches over and touches my hair, rubbing one strand between her fingers. “Anyone ever mention you look a bit like Zoë Kravitz?” Not waiting for a reply, she trails her fingertips over my jaw. “I can see why my brother wants you. So pretty… so sweet and fresh…”

Laughing awkwardly, I swat her hand away. “You are so stoned.” I can feel Lyudmila’s gaze on us, curious and judging, and my face warms as I reflect on how much of Alina’s words she’s understood—and what she already knows. These two seem to be good friends, and I wouldn’t be surprised if at least some of their earlier laughter was at my expense.

“Extremely stoned,” Alina agrees, throwing the second stub into the fire. “But that doesn’t change the facts.” Propping her elbows on her knees, she leans in, firelight dancing in her eyes as she says quietly, “Don’t fall for him, Chloe. He’s not your white knight.”

I draw back. “I’m not looking for a—”

“But you are.” Her voice stays soft, even as her gaze sharpens to a knife’s edge, all haziness disappearing. “You need a white knight, noble and kind and pure, a protector to cherish and love you. And my brother can’t be that for you, or for anyone. Molotov men don’t love, they possess—and Nikolai is no exception.”

I stare at her, my stomach turning hollow as the pleasant state of chemically induced non-worry dissipates, my head clearing more by the second. I don’t understand what she means, not fully, but I don’t doubt that she’s sincere, that her warning is meant to protect me.

Drawing back, Alina lights a third joint and extends it toward me. “More?”

“No, thanks. I, um…” I clear my throat to rid it of residual hoarseness. “I actually need the Wi-Fi password. That’s why I came out here to look for you. Also, Nikolai wanted you to set me up on your videoconference platform—if you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

She takes a deep drag and slowly blows out the smoke at my face. “I suppose that can be arranged.” Handing the joint to Lyudmila, she rises to her feet. “Let’s go.”

And with a gait that’s only slightly unsteady, she leads me back to the house.

When we get to the living room, I hand her the laptop and watch, with no small degree of amazement, as she navigates to the settings and inputs the password, her elegant fingers flying over the keyboard. If not for the strong smell of pot clinging to her hair and clothes—and if I hadn’t personally witnessed her smoking the majority of those two joints, plus however many she’d shared with Lyudmila prior to my arrival—I would’ve never known she’s high.

She’s just as unerring with her installation of the videoconference software and setup of the account, her red-tipped fingers moving at a speed that would do a hacker proud.

“You’re really good at this,” I say after she hands the laptop to me and explains the basics of the software. “Did you major in computer science or something along those lines?”

“God, no.” She laughs. “Economics and PoliSci, same as Nikolai. Konstantin’s the geek in the family—the rest of us are proficient at best.”

“Gotcha. Either way, thanks for this.” I close the laptop and tuck it under my arm. “I’m going to head to bed. Are you…?” I wave in the general direction of the front door.

She nods, one corner of her mouth lifting in a half-smile. “Lyudmila’s waiting for me. Goodnight, Chloe. Sweet dreams.”