Isis sobbed, jabbed her finger at her keyboard and the connection was broken before anyone could say a thing. The last thing Jerry saw before Skype told him what he already knew about the connection was Isis’ face looking like he’d stabbed her in the heart.
“Um, that didn’t go so well. I guess I’d better work on my delivery before I tell my family.” He sagged into the couch, cheeks wet with tears. Ana simply hugged him, having no words of her own to add.
They sat like that for a while before Ana kissed away his tears, extricated herself from his arms, and stood up. “You, my Love, must eat. Mika and Danveer will be over after dinner, but first you must eat.”
“I really don’t have the energy.”
“You are giving up? Letting this disease defeat you already?”
“That’s not fair. The whole thing is finally starting to sink in. I just told people I love that I’m dying.”
“Yes, you did, and my heart breaks with yours, Love; but although I saw the damage that stubbornness can wreak when Father stood by some of his less popular and ineffective decisions, stubbornness is exactly what you need to face this cancer disease.” She moved around the kitchen, retrieving what she needed to make dinner. “You face overwhelming odds, you are not expected to live a long life, and the doctors cannot do very much for you. Does this sound familiar? Like anyone I have spoken to you about, many times?”
“Your little brother.”
“Da, precisely. Alexei. You two have much in common, but do not forget the one thing that is greater than all of the darkness you are facing now, and he faced back then. You both have love. My love. I may be a silly ghost with nothing but the dress and boots I died in and the book I am trapped in, but I love you. I will not let you face this foe alone, but I cannot fight this battle for you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not be sorry, be stubborn. And go wash your hands before dinner. You are starting with a fruit salad and then those potato puffs you love so much, with asparagus and chicken pot pie, although the pie is in a tin foil plate and not a pot.”
He pushed himself up and started toward the bathroom. “Just in case I haven’t told you in a while, you are my favourite Shvibzik.”
“I am your only Shvibzik, Mister Powell, now, less talking and more washing. Let Mademoiselle le Chef do her job.” She blew him a kiss and turned away to fetch down a clean plate.
“Women…” He let the thought trail off, knowing that she was perfectly correct.
“I ASSURE YOU, the book was not in the apartment.” Petrov couldn’t stop his hands from shaking and nearly dropped the phone. “I searched high and low, Doctor Professor.” It wasn’t the first time he’d broken into a place to acquire an object for a buyer, but it was the first time he’d failed, and the mainland academic’s voice was an animalistic growl in his ear.
“You’re an idiot. Blya razocharovaniye. If, as you insist, he has no idea of its value, he’s not going to be carrying the damned thing around with him. It was there, you just couldn’t see it, old man.”
“Dah. It must be my old eyes. I am sorry, Doctor Professor.”
“I don’t give a shit. This kid has one of the most incredible pieces of Romanov history and I will have it in my collection.”
He hated what he was going to say, but Petrov knew he had to make the offer. “I will try again.”
“No. You’ll stay the hell away from them. I didn’t get the impression that neither the radio DJ nor his dance partner are stupid. The last thing I need is them twigging to what they have and then sticking it out of reach in a safe deposit box. I will take care of it, and once I have this little gem in my hands, you and I will discuss your future.” The call was disconnected abruptly.
The elderly antique dealer was so relieved at not having to make a second attempt that he nearly missed the threat. Petrov had never personally been the target of Gervaise’s wrath, but there were more than enough rumours to frighten him. He knew that the Doctor Professor taught anthropology at Vancouver University, and he wore a delicate French surname, but there was a Bolshevik hiding behind those dark, soulless eyes. His hands started to shake in earnest and lowered himself into his chair. I’m too old for this crap.
Chapter Twenty
@TheTaoOfJerr: “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”
DANVEER’S DIMINUTIVE, SIXTYISH Uncle Palak couldn’t take his eyes off of Ana. Although he was speaking with Jerry, his eyes kept darting to Ana’s shy smile. “Jerry, young sir, Mika has explained to you about auras and energy, yes?”
“Somewhat. She showed me that she could push me without touching me, which was kinda freaky, but pretty cool. I also did some surfing on the Net to learn a bit more.”
“Excellent. What I would like to do—” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then looked straight at Ana. “You should not be here, young lady.”
Ana stood, her smile slipping away. “I apologize. I will go for a walk if you wish.” She picked up the book and started for the coat tree.
Palak waved his hands dismissively and shook his head again, his voice softer than his words. “No, no, no. Not here, in this room or apartment, but not in this world. You should have moved on. What is it that you desire so strongly that you have kept rebirth at bay?”
Danveer chuckled nervously. “Uncle, what are you yabbering about? What did I say on the way over about not insulting our hosts?”
“Miss Ana, have I insulted you in any way?” He placed his palms together in front of his face and made a small bow. “If so, please forgive me. I’m only speaking of what I see.”
Ana looked to Jerry for guidance but he could only shrug. He had no idea what they should say, what to admit to. He patted the couch next to him and Ana joined him, placing the book in the pouch of the hoodie she was wearing. “No insult, Mr. Palak, sir. What is it that you see, exactly?”
“Would you take my hand, please? And call me Uncle.” He reached out to Ana, his hand open and palm up. Ana placed her hand on his and the old man gasped. He released Ana’s hand slowly. “Thank you. I would love to hear your story while I work with Jeremy. Would you mind?”
Ana shrugged, unsure. “If Jerry does not mind.”
“It’s your story, Shvibzik. I just ask one thing of everyone, though.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “Whether you believe Ana or not when she’s done, none of this is spoken of outside this loft, to anyone. Please. Mika? Danveer? Uncle Palak?”
“Of course, Boss.”
“No problem, Jerr.”
“Certainly not. I mean, I agree. I will certainly not discuss it.”
It was Jerry’s turn to shrug. “Okay, Shvibzik, go for it.”
“Everything, Jerry?”
“You might as well. In for a penny…”
“…in for a pound, my Sweet.” She settled in beside Jerry, bringing her feet up under her and taking his hand in both of hers. “My full name is Anastasia Nicholaevna Romanova. My proper title is Grand Duchess. I was born on June 18, 1901. I died on July 17, 1918.”