Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series) (32 page)

           
Simon and I sat down at a table with Charisse and Branden, and even though Charisse smiled at me, and Branden started telling a story about something funny that had happened in one of his classes—I couldn't help but feel some resentment toward them too.

           
At one point during Branden's story, I looked up to see that Charisse was staring at me.
 
Her eyes were searching and concerned.

           
I looked away quickly.

           
"So what do you think about that?"

           
I blinked.
 
Branden was staring at me now, smiling.

           
Simon was looking at me also, but he seemed to be worried like Charisse was.

           
"Katie, I said, what do you think about that?"
 
Branden was still grinning at me.

           
"I'm sorry, Branden," I said.
 
"I didn't really hear what you were saying.
 
My mind's been somewhere else."

           
"I'll say.
 
You missed a great story, even if I do say so myself.
 
I was explaining why there are so many Russian immigrants in this town."

           
"What's that about Russian immigrants?" I asked.

           
Branden laughed.
 
"You really have been checked out.
 
I was telling you that this area was a hotbed for the Russian mob a little over ten years ago—that's how families like yours and the Neverovs and others came to be here."

           
"Branden, that's terrible," Charisse said.
 
"Katie's grandmother is no mobster.
 
And I'm sure Irina's family isn't full of criminals, either."

           
Branden shrugged.
 
"You thought it was funny a minute ago."

           
"No, you thought it was funny a minute ago," Simon said.
 
"We weren't quite so amused."

           
"Whatever," Branden replied.
 
"It's a funny story no matter what you say."

           
Branden and Simon continued to argue, but I was struck by what Branden had said.
 
It had never occurred to me to wonder how GM had come to settle here in Elspeth's Grove, and now that I knew Irina's family was from Krov like we were, it seemed to me an odd coincidence that both of us should have found our way to the same small town.

           
"What do you mean the Russian mob was here?" I asked abruptly.

           
Both Simon and Branden turned to look at me.

           
"He doesn't mean anything," Simon said.

           
"I mean moonshine," Branden replied grinning.
 
"Illegal hooch."

           
"Like during prohibition?" I asked.
 
"What would be the point of that?
 
It's not like alcohol is illegal."

           
"No," Branden said.
 
"But you do have to buy it at a state store, and a lot of people don't like to go to the trouble of doing that—especially not college kids."

           
An image of my grandmother selling bottles of homebrewed alcohol out of the trunk of her car flashed through my mind, and I had to work really hard to suppress a sudden laugh.
 
I couldn't think of anything less likely.

           
I shook my head.
 
"Even if people were selling alcohol illegally around here, how would that attract the Russian mob?
 
I would imagine it's too small a business.
 
It wouldn't attract criminals on an international level."

           
Branden looked smug.
 
"You see, I'm being clever."

           
"You?
 
Clever?"
 
Simon snorted.

           
"Yes, me," Branden replied.
 
"I'm giving the story to you in pieces, just like the cops got it.
 
The illegal hooch operation was actually a front."

           
Simon snorted again.
 
"You don't know what you're talking about.
 
You're supposed to use a
legal
business as a front—the point is to
not
attract the attention of the police.
 
If your business is illegal to begin with the police are going to come looking for you.
 
That's exactly what you don't want."

           
"That depends on what it is you're trying to do.
 
The mob wanted to attract the attention of the police."

           
"That doesn't make any sense," Simon said.

           
"Sure it does."
 
Branden said complacently, as if he'd been dying to make his point.
 
"You set up something illegal but minor, let the police find it and shut it down, and then you settle down to be good, law-abiding citizens, and people stop wondering why there are so many immigrants from the same part of Russia here.
 
And it doesn't seem so strange when they start bringing more and more relatives over—because they've been assimilated, you know.
 
And what's more natural than that families should come over so they could all be together?"

           
"So what are you saying?" Simon asked.

           
"I'm saying that they wanted to lull the cops into a false sense of security—the cops think they've taught them a lesson, but the cops were really just fooled by a blind.
 
Now the mobsters are free to pursue their real plan."

           
"Which is?" Simon asked.

           
"Mining."

           
"Mining?" Simon repeated scornfully.
 
"I think someone would notice that."

           
"You don't know what they're mining for," Branden said.

           
"What are they mining for?" Simon asked.
 
"And where are they keeping all their equipment?
 
It's pretty hard to hide one of those shaft jumbo drills."

           
"No one knows what they're mining for—it's something they want to keep secret.
 
And apparently they don't need any equipment—at least not other than the old fashioned kind.
 
They're digging."

           
"Digging," Simon said.

           
"Yes."

           
"Then why did you say mining?"

           
"Because they're digging for something that's buried very deep," Branden said.

           
"Like buried treasure?" Simon asked.

           
"Exactly."

           
"But no one knows what it is?" Simon asked.

           
"That's right."

           
"Where did you hear all this genius stuff?"

           
"I already told you way back at the beginning."

           
"Well, remind me."

           
"I heard it in Social Studies class."

           
"And this was presented as fact—that members of the Russian mob moved here to search for buried treasure?"

           
"Well, it wasn't presented as fact exactly—more as an example of the types of rumors that spring up around groups of immigrants."

           
"So, it was presented as something that wasn't true?"

           
"Yeah," Branden said.
 
"You know you're taking this way too seriously.
 
This was supposed to be funny."

           
"It's offensive," Simon said.

           
"Katie doesn't seem to be upset," Branden replied.
 
"So I think you should relax."

           
"Maybe Katie isn't offended, but I am," Simon said.

           
"On Katie's behalf?"

           
"On Katie's behalf."

           
Simon and Branden continued to quarrel.

           
I knew the argument wasn't serious, and I saw Charisse looking on in tolerant amusement, so I just let them keep talking.
 
Simon and Branden typically didn't listen to me when I tried to interrupt one of their arguments anyway.

           
I didn't really believe Branden's tale about the Russian bootleggers, but once again I was struck by the odd coincidence that both my grandmother and the Neverovs had found their way from Krov, Russia to the small town of Elspeth's Grove.
 
And according to Branden's rumor there were others.
 
I didn't know of any other Russian families in the area, but that didn't mean they weren't around.
 
I wondered if those families had come from Krov, too—and if so, how did they all find our town?

           
I thought suddenly of the letters GM had been receiving, and a half-formed suspicion rose in my mind—could GM be up to something that involved the Russian families in Elspeth's Grove?
 
She was certainly up to something that she didn't want me to know about.

           
I pushed the thought away quickly—the very idea that GM would be involved in something illegal was ridiculous.

           
I agreed with Simon that an illegal mining operation was as unlikely as a moonshine operation—he was right that there was no place to hide the equipment.
 
But the idea that there could be something of value underground gave me pause.

           
I thought back to the strange frozen man I had seen emerging from the cave in the Old Grove after I had wandered away from Bryony's party.
 
I thought back to October too, to my own journey through that same cave in the dark when I had followed the twisting white smoke and found Gleb Mstislav.
 
Gleb and his son Timofei had been taking shelter there during the day when Gleb was most vulnerable, but I wondered now if there had been any other reason for their presence there.
 
Could they have been looking for something?

           
I remembered with a sudden jolt how William had found me in the cave, spying on Gleb and Timofei, and had pulled me out to safety.
 
I remembered his face as he had stood in the forest, blocking my path to the cave, determined not to let me go back down into it.

           
I could see him so clearly that it was almost as if he were standing before me.
 
I felt a sharp pang of loss once again, and the feelings I had been holding at bay all day welled up with me, threatening to overwhelm me.
 
Why had he left me?
 
Why had he gone back to Russia without saying a word?
 
The pain was so fierce that I felt tears stinging my eyes.
 
Though I tried to block it out, I wanted to see William again more than I wanted anything, and there was no way I could do that.
 
I could never, ever see him again.

           
Or could I?
 
It suddenly occurred to me that GM had asked me to go to Russia over Christmas—and I had refused back when William was still with me.
 
But maybe I
could
go.
 
The idea seized me strongly.
 
If I could see William one last time, hear his voice one last time—even if he turned away from me—it would be worth it.

           
"Katie, are you okay?"

           
Charisse was staring at me now, as were Branden and Simon who had apparently stopped arguing.

           
"Are you okay?" Charisse asked again.

           
"Yes, I'm fine," I said.
 
My cheeks felt warm, and I could feel that my heart was racing.
 
I made an effort to be calmer.
 
"Why would you think I wasn't okay?"

           
"It's just that you suddenly got this crazy look on your face," Charisse said.
 
"You kind of looked like you might go running out of the room.
 
It wasn't a normal look."

           
"I'm fine.
 
Really."
 
I hadn't realized how unguarded I had allowed myself to be.
 
"I—"