I knew he was right but hated to go. I wanted to stay here, in this illusion of tranquility and safety, letting myself believe I might really make it to the Parthenon or even the Corn Palace someday. I handed the book back to him. "One more."
He picked his random page and opened the book. His smile fell. "Saint Petersburg."
A weird mix of feelings entangled themselves in my chest. Nostalgia—because the city was beautiful. Sorrow—because my visit had been tainted by the awful task I'd gone there to do.
Dimitri stared at the page for a long time, wistfulness on his face. It occurred to me then that, despite his earlier pep talk, he had to be experiencing what I did for Montana: our old, favorite places were lost to us now.
I nudged him gently. "Hey, enjoy where you"re at, remember? Not where you can't go."
He reluctantly shut the book and dragged his eyes away from it. "How'd you get so wise?" he teased.
"I had a good teacher." We smiled at each other. Something occurred to me. All this time, I'd figured he'd helped break me out because of Lissa's orders. Maybe there was more to it. "Is that why you escaped with me?" I asked. "To see what parts of the world you could?"
His surprise was brief. "You don't need me to be wise, Rose. You"re doing fine on your own. Yes, that was part of it. Maybe I would have been welcomed back eventually, but there was the risk I wouldn't. After . . . after being Strigoi . . ." He stumbled over the words a little. "I gained a new appreciation for life. It took a while. I'm still not there.
We"re talking about focusing on the present, not the future—but it's my past that haunts me. Faces. Nightmares. But the farther I get from that world of death, the more I want to embrace life. The smell of these books and the perfume you wear. The way the light bends through that window. Even the taste of breakfast with the Keepers."
"You"re a poet now."
"No, just starting to realize the truth. I respect the law and the way our society runs, but there was no way I could risk losing life in some cell after only just finding it again. I wanted to run too. That's why I helped you. That and—"
"What?" I studied him, desperately wishing he wasn't so good at keeping emotions off his face. I knew him well; I understood him. But he could still hide things from me.
He sat up, not meeting my eyes. "It doesn't matter. Let's go back to Sydney and see if she found out anything . . . although, as much as I hate to say it, I think it's unlikely."
"I know." I stood with him, still wondering what else he would have said. "She probably gave up and started playing Minesweeper."
We headed back toward the café, stopping briefly for ice cream. Eating it while we walked proved quite the challenge. The sun was nearing the horizon, painting everything orange and red, but the heat lingered. Enjoy it, Rose, I told myself. The colors. The taste of chocolate. Of course, I'd always loved chocolate. My life didn't need to be on the line for me to enjoy dessert.
We reached the café and found Sydney bent over her laptop, with a barely eaten Danish and what was probably her fourth cup of coffee. We slid into seats beside her.
"How′s it—hey! You are playing Minesweeper!" I tried to peer closer at her screen, but she turned it from me. "You"re supposed to be finding a connection to Eric's mistress."
"I already did," she said simply.
Dimitri and I exchanged astonished looks.
"But I don't know how useful it'll be."
"Anything'll be useful," I proclaimed. "What did you find?"
"After trying to track down all those bank records and transactions—and let me tell you, that is not fun at all—I finally found a small piece of info. The bank account we have now is a newer one. It was moved from another bank about five years ago. The old account was still a Jane Doe, but it did have a next-of-kin reference in the event something happened to the account holder."
I could hardly breathe. Financial transactions were lost on me, but we were about to get something solid. "A real name?"
Sydney nodded. "Sonya Karp."
TWELVE
DIMITRI AND I BOTH FROZE as the shock of that name hit us. Sydney, glancing between our faces, gave us a dry smile.
"I take it you know who that is?"
"Of course," I exclaimed. "She was my teacher. She went crazy and turned Strigoi."
Sydney nodded. "I know."
My eyes widened further. "She′s not . . . she's not the one who had an affair with Lissa's dad, is she?" Oh dear God. That would be one of the most unexpected developments in the rollercoaster that was my life. I couldn't even begin to process the effects of that.