Shadow Touch (26 page)

“Elena.” Artur’s lips barely moved; her name was part of his breath. His eyes were liquid with warmth, liquid like Elena’s body, which she fought with all her might to control. Maybe this was wrong, a bad idea, some temporary delusion. Artur’s life looked like a flash movie of pain and violence. Men like him had crippling hang-ups that never went away. Like abused dogs, always flinching at the outstretched hand. Reflex.

Elena stretched out her hand. Artur did not flinch. She touched his shoulder, fingers trailing up, up, up to his hair. She skimmed the fine dark strands. Artur closed his eyes.

“Can you sense me?” she whispered. He shook his head. Elena slipped her fingers a little deeper. “And now?”

He shook his head again. Trembling just a little, Elena buried her fingers in his hair, fingertips floating just above his scalp. She kneaded, tugged, a light massage of ethereal proportions, and Artur let out a sigh that sounded like the low last breath of a dying man. The hands at her waist tightened. Elena stepped close. She kissed the warm crown of his head, inhaling the light scent of leather and sweat. Warm, impossibly large, his palms drifted up, slow, and Elena found it so difficult not to touch his skin, to bring her lips down upon his brow, his closed eyes, his mouth.

You’ve touched each other before. He didn’t seem to mind then.

But she was trying to be careful now. Elena had some idea of what Artur suffered when he used his gift when he was forced to encounter something new and different. She did not want to impose that on him, refused to make him hurt simply because… because she wanted him.

She tried to pull away. His strength was impossible. Artur opened his eyes. Very slowly, exquisitely so, he stood. There was no room for him; Elena had been standing so close already that the only way for him to rise was to slide up against her body, inch by slow inch. His hands never lost their grip on her waist; even when Elena leaned back, he simply held her, moving forward so that their bodies still touched, rubbing against a veil of clothing.

His gaze stole her breath, and when he said her name it was another kind of touch, a whispered caress that traveled down into her stomach, twisting wet and hot. He said her name again and kissed her.

His mouth felt good. Elena shuddered, wrapping her hands in his hair, pulling his head down for a harder taste. He made a sound low in his throat. The trained lurched again. Both Artur and Elena lost their balance, hitting the bed at an awkward angle that had them sliding in a heap to the floor. Artur stretched flat, one leg propped up on the bed. Elena lay on his chest.

“Are you okay?” she asked, trying to roll off him. She touched the floor, felt something sticky, and wrinkled her nose.

Artur wrapped an arm around her: an effective trap. His gaze was hot, hungry, but a smile played on his lips. “I am fine. You?”

Elena tried to think of something clever, but being that close to his face, pressed tightly against his body, made it impossible. Artur seemed to understand. His smile died. He sat up, still holding her, almost carrying her backward in his arms until Elena straddled his lap. A good place to be. They leaned in for another kiss.

Someone knocked. The door opened and Rik peered inside the cabin. “Oh.” One word, filled with great amusement. “That crashing sound makes sense now. You’ve already started.”

Artur’s jaw tightened. Rik blinked and stepped back. He shut the door.

“I think I liked him better when he was moody.” Elena leaned close and nipped Artur’s ear. His arms tightened.

“He is reminding me of another friend.” Artur kissed her throat. “The youthful version. Which means we will have no peace.”

No peace was something Elena could live with, especially if it was of this variety. But peace, she thought, was something Artur craved, and she had to ask. She had to know.

She hugged him. “Why isn’t this hurting you, Artur? I know you keep yourself covered for a good reason, so this… this doesn’t seem like it would be natural to you. Touching, I mean.”

“Because I do it so well?” he asked, smiling sardonically.

Elena laughed, trying to shove him away. “No. You know what I mean.”

Artur briefly closed his eyes. “You are right, Elena. This is not natural. It has been years since I allowed myself to know anyone so completely.”

“Does it pain you?” she asked, afraid of his answer. “Is there anything inside me that hurts you to look at?”

“No,” he breathed. “Even your shadows are sweet.”

“No one is that good, Artur. I know I’m not.”

“Good and bad are matters of perspective, Elena. Relative terms. You have wicked thoughts, hurtful desires, but yours are so… small… compared to the enormity of your compassion, that everything else becomes meaningless. You are lovely to touch, Elena. You are such comfort.”

She would have accused him of bullshitting her, but there was so much sincerity in his eyes, she could not help but believe him. Or at least, believe that
he
believed. Elena knew herself. She had very little faith in the quality of her soul, even if she considered herself to be a “good” person.

The train began to move, a slow creep that quickly turned into the roar of wheels, the
click-clack
of the rail, stealing them from Vladivostok, the ghost of the facility; the Quiet Man, and Beatrix Weave. They were not safe—might never be safe—but Elena was okay with the illusion. For now.

“Choo-choo,” she said, softly. “Up, up, and away.”

Up into the unknown, wherever that might lead.

“Don’t jinx us,” Elena said.

Amiri, who had been looking out the window at the rolling hills and birch forests, leaned forward and folded his hands against the white tablecloth. Music some generic instrumental—played softly over the speaker system. “We must assume that if they tracked us to Vladivostok, they will discover we boarded this train. There could be agents here now, just waiting for the right opportunity to take us back.”

“It is a risk,” Artur admitted. “But this is a confined space. It is difficult to hide. And… I have already taken some precautions.”

“Precautions?” Elena asked. “What, did you booby-trap our cabins?”

“Even better. I bribed Ms. Gogunov to act as our eyes and ears, and to get her colleagues on the train to do the same. She has already given me a list of all the obvious foreigners, and she has promised to tell me if she sees or hears anything even mildly suspicious.”

“You trust her to do all that?” Rik looked incredulous. “This isn’t some movie, you know.”

“No,” Artur agreed coolly. “This is real life, which I know quite a lot about. And yes, I trust her to follow through on our agreement. She is being paid well to do a job that she would do naturally on her own. Earning money to gossip is a luxury, and she knows it.”

“Besides,” Elena said, “she wants to bear his children. Or his grandchildren. She wants to bear something for him, either way.”

“Bare or bear?” Amiri asked, amused.

“Both.”

Artur coughed. “We have six days until we reach Moscow. All we need to do is lie low until then.”

The beers arrived, the four bottles slammed down hard by a surly waitress. When she left to get something for the Americans, Rik said, “I’m not worried about the train ride. It’s Moscow that bothers me. I mean, I agreed to come along and help, and I’ll do my best, but this is crazy.”

Elena agreed. It
was
crazy. But it was the kind of crazy she could catch a ride with, because she knew the alternative. She did not pretend to have Artur’s understanding of what it would mean to have Beatrix Weave controlling all the disparate Mafia groups in Russia, but she had no doubt it was a very bad thing.

And maybe—just maybe—if they could keep her from doing this, they could find another way of stopping her for good. If so, Elena could go home again. Perhaps not permanently—after this, life might never be secure enough for that—but at least she could touch the soil again. Walk her little patch of earth. She would give up a lot for that.

“You have committed us to a difficult task,” Amiri said. “According to you, we are faced with not just one woman, but an entire organization. Should these Mafia bosses defend her, we will also be up against every criminal group in Russia.”

“Yes.” Artur sipped his beer. Everyone waited for more. He said nothing.

“You know,” Elena suggested slowly, “the longer you keep back your plans, the more likely it will become that we beat the crap out of you for them.”

“Yes,” Artur replied.

“Would you like that? Because I can start now. I think I could do a fairly good job. Pent-up anger and all that.”

“Yes,” Artur said again. “I’m sure.”

Elena shared identical looks of dismay with Rik and Amiri. “I can’t believe this. You have no idea what you’re doing. You are totally flying by the seat of your pants.”

“Well,” he said. “Yes. It is almost impossible to assess the mechanics of the situation without having more information.”

“You don’t care about mechanics. You’re going to bust in there balls-out with a gun and put a bullet in her head. That’s what you’re thinking, right? That’s suicide, Artur.”

“Only for me,” he said. “And besides, it might not come to that. I know some of those men. I used to work for them. I cannot believe they entirely trust Beatrix. A few well-placed words might be all it takes to break up the meeting.”

“That is very optimistic,” Amiri said. “Where I am from, it takes more than words to sway the corrupt. Money is the better persuader, and right now Beatrix Weave has more than us.”

“She also has the fear of God,” Rik said. “And she’s not the one doing the fearing.”

“I hate to give her too much credit, but I agree.” Elena fussed with her beer bottle. “I might be new to the supernatural—and no, don’t you guys look at me like that—but the things she does, even the way she looks, is just not right. It’s… too much.
Too
unnatural.”

“Too much, like shape-shifters? Too unnatural, like a girl who heals?” Amiri smiled. “Can there really be limits left in your mind as to what is possible?”

“Give me a break,” Elena said. “Tell me she’s not freaky powerful.”

“I cannot. But that does not mean she is without weakness.”

“I doubt she can stop bullets,” Rik said. “No one can do that.”

“Some can,” Artur said, with so much seriousness it was impossible to accuse him of pulling their legs. “Beatrix, however, has shown no indication she is telekinetic. Even her psychic abilities, though strong, seem to be limited to a specific kind of use. According to Rictor, and my own observations, I do not think she can read minds without first forming a link through some kind of touch.”

“She’ll be shaking a lot of hands, then,” Elena said.

“No,” Artur said, thoughtful. “She is paralyzed from the shoulders down. She has only the smallest amount of movement in her wrists and fingers.”

“Awkward,” Rik said.

“Very.” Artur leaned back, staring at Elena. “That is why she wanted you so badly. Besides the obvious reasons, she wanted you to cure her paralysis before her meeting in Moscow. She needs to be fully functional, or else she risks losing the opportunity to infect every mind there.”

“Because not everyone is going to want to shake the hand of a quadraplegic—”

“But a beautiful young woman, who is free to move about and touch and touch and touch…”

“Crap,” Elena said. “This sucks.”

“I would think this is good news,” Amiri argued.

“Unless Beatrix believes I can heal her before the meeting.” Elena closed her eyes and covered her face. “In which case she’ll be on me like nobody’s business. Shit.”

“This does not change anything.” Artur touched her back. “Elena, please.”

Elena ignored him, thinking fast. This was serious. This changed the equation. Because now it was not just her simple escape: it was the escape of a tool that Beatrix Weave needed—had to have—before a certain date. The stakes had just been raised. Again.

“I’m a danger to be around,” she said, feeling melodramatic, but happy that for once a little melodrama was utterly appropriate. “But this could work to our advantage. You should drop me off at the next town. I’ll play the wounded-deer game—’Oh, those horrible men just dumped my ass—’ and they’ll catch me. You know they will. Here’s the thing, though: An injury like Beatrix’s cannot be healed overnight. It might even be a year before she regains full use of her body. I told the doctor, but I doubt he had time to pass on the information before he, uh, died.”

Amiri frowned. Artur said, “No. Letting you be recaptured is not an option.”

“Stopping Beatrix is most important. If she gets me, she might not care enough to spend her energy chasing all of you. You’ll have a better chance of getting to Moscow. Even
I
might get to Moscow, because if Beatrix doesn’t know her paralysis can’t be healed immediately, I might be able to convince her to take me along to ‘continue her treatments.’ Don’t you see? It’s perfect.”

“It is idiotic,” Amiri said. “We are not cubs you must lure the hunters from. We are grown men who can take care of ourselves and one another.”

“I’m thinking of the greater good,” Elena argued. “She won’t kill me.”

Although you could always kill Beatrix yourself
. The thought stopped her cold. Shocking, thrilling, horrifying: it made perfect sense. She could do it with just one touch. Stop the woman’s heart, burst the blood vessels in her brain.

“All this self-sacrifice is making me sick,” Rik said, but Elena barely heard him. She could not breathe.

Artur leaned forward. “What is it, Elena?”

She shook her head, unable to tell him, to speak those words out loud. He peeled off a glove and touched her hand. His expression darkened.

“No,” he said again. “No, you cannot. Leave it to others, Elena. Let me do it.”

“Do what?” Rik asked, but Amiri laid a hand on his shoulder, quieting him. Elena did not think Amiri was a mind reader, but he looked at her with such a knowing gaze, she suspected he had a very good idea of what Elena was considering.

“It would be perfect,” she said, struggling to keep her voice steady. “It would save lives.”

Artur wrapped his fingers around her hand, squeezing gently. “You have dedicated your entire life to healing others. Do not stop now, Elena. Not like this.”

“You don’t like killing people,” Elena said. “I don’t think anyone at this table does. But you’re willing to do it if it means stopping a tragedy from occurring. I feel the same, Artur. I could do this.”

“I know you could,” Artur said. “But I do not want you to.”

Elena yanked her hand away. “It’s my choice.”

“Whoa.” Rik stared at her. “Am I imagining things? Are you seriously saying you would and could off this woman?”

“Rik.” Amiri tried to quiet the young man, but Rik shook him off.

“No,” he said, “I want to know how.”

“I can heal,” Elena said, growing cold inside her heart. “I recently discovered I can also kill with that same gift.”

“So if she captured you, got you ready to heal her—”

“I could do it.”

“Stop this.” Artur sounded angry. “You already fought off Charles Darling. What makes you think he did not tell Beatrix what you did to him? What makes you think she did not feel it for herself through their link? And what of the worm? She could infect you, control you, and you would never be yourself again. You would never have the chance to carry out this foolish plan, and your sacrifice would be for nothing.”

Elena looked away, out the window. Mountains touched the sky, blue sky so bright it hurt her eyes, hurt her heart. She stood up and grabbed her beer. “I’ll talk to you guys later.”

“Elena.” Artur stood with her.

“Don’t,” she said. “Just… leave me alone.”

She thought she heard his voice in her mind, whispering,
I do not want to leave you
, but she pushed it away, trying not to feel the ache in her heart that was not entirely her own. She left the dining car and, though she wanted to, did not look back.

Her solitude, of course, did not last. Less than fifteen minutes after returning to the cabin—dodging Attendant Gogunov, who looked at Elena as if she counted as one of Artur’s “suspicious people”—Artur himself’ knocked on the door and peered inside.

“May I come in?” he asked, and Elena could not bring herself to say no. She was, in fact, rather pleased to see him. It mattered to her that he cared enough to come and talk, that he gave her time to be alone, but not enough to wallow in self-pity. He was showing himself to be a good friend that way.

She lay on the bed, staring at the rough ceiling. Artur sat across from her, elbows braced on his knees. His gloves were on. They did not talk for a very long time. Elena relaxed, listening to him breathe. She tilted her head to look at Artur. He sat, watching her.

“I don’t
want
to kill her,” she said quietly. “I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of a missed opportunity to end this fast.”

“I will not repeat my argument as to why I think your plan will fail. I believe very strongly in what I said, but even if I did not, I would still refuse to let you do this.”

“Because it’s dangerous?”

“Yes,” he said, “and because innocence lost can never be regained.”

“I’m not that innocent.”

“You are, Elena. And that is not a bad thing. Tell me: If you did this, would you ever trust yourself again to heal someone? Would you ever put the same faith in your gift, knowing you had used it in a premeditated murder?”

“It would be self-defense,” she argued.

“Charles Darling was self-defense. Beatrix Weave would be… an offensive strike.”

Elena rolled over on her side to look at him. “You’re getting technical on me, Artur. All I want to do is help.”

“You are helping,” he said.

“In what way? Out of all of us, you’re the only person who knows how to do anything here. Even Rik and Amiri are feeling useless. I can see it in their eyes.”

“Elena—” he began, but she cut him off.

“I’m a fighter, Artur. Just not
that
kind of fighter. No matter how much I want to be, I’m no warrior princess. That doesn’t mean I’m helpless, though. I can still watch your back. I can still… contribute.”

Artur moved across their small cabin to join her on the bed. He gazed down at her, and the look in his eyes was so kind, so exasperated, she wanted to throw her hands up and weep. Lost, a goner—Artur might not realize it, but that look on his face had just ended the argument.