Syrina

Chapter Seven

Vanished

Syrina had gone into Avignon while Sydney slept.  Sark was waiting with her, in case she did wake up.  Syrina had triggered Sydney's memories as soon as they'd reached the cottage.  A Rambaldi trigger had been discovered along with the other artifacts.  When Arvin Sloane had constructed Il Dire, the trigger had remained detached from it.  Syrina had heard about the device through a contact and she'd broken into Sloane's National Relief Organization Office to retrieve it.  That man was obsessed, no doubt about it.  Sloane had been furious when he'd discovered that the trigger was missing.  Syrina had kept it over the last several months, unsure of what the small mechanism was, but positive of its importance.  Everything had fallen into its perfect place as she'd received all the intel.  Now that she'd started the process of Sydney's recollections coming back to her, Syrina had grown bored.  Sark didn't actually know she'd left the house, only that she had gone to her room.  He would probably become angry with her when he realized she was gone, but he would just have to deal with it.  She was seventeen!  Normal seventeen-year-olds went to the cinema or went shopping with their mates.  She didn't have any mates besides Sark nor did she have a sudden desire to view a movie in French.  She wanted to get away.  She found a small shop down the road that looked perfect.  It appeared to be privately owned and that meant cute, useless items she could waste her money on would be there.  She stepped inside and a surprising attack of nostalgia hit her.  Regret for never having a real home or a mother to guide her to attending high school or a university crashed over her.  The shop seemed warm and homey, nothing she'd ever felt.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle.  Vous est-ce que besoin de aider?"  A boy about her age asked, walking towards the door.

"Non, Monsieur.  Je suis regarder.  Merci."

He tilted his head, studying her.  "You're English?"

He asked, switching to English.

"Russian, actually.  I do speak French fluently.  And English.  And a bunch of others."

The boy smiled warmly.  "Well, I could use practice on my English."

His eyes were bright and innocent, something Syrina envied greatly.  His blues eyes were striking, his black hair slightly shaggy.  She liked this stranger and that rarely happened.  She was always leery of new people.  In fact, she was leery of people she did know.

"My name is Christopher.  I have seventeen years."

The corners of Syrina's mouth turned up before she turned to strut down the aisle.  He seemed momentarily confused at her leaving in the middle of the conversation.

"What is it that you are called, Mademoiselle Mysterieuse?"

Syrina paused, grinning at his nickname.

"Syrina."

He stepped respectfully away as she glided down the aisles.

            Sark stormed angrily down the street.  Syrina had disappeared once more.  It wasn't so much that she'd vanished; she did that from time to time.  It was that she'd left Sydney.  Syrina wouldn't do that, not at such a critical moment.  It was possible she'd been captured.  Still, in the back of his mind, a tiny voice reminded him that she was seventeen and she could be flighty.  He still couldn't shake the nagging worry that she was alone and hurt somewhere.  He had to find her.  He continued down the small path and stumbled upon a tiny shop.  Syrina had always loved little boutiques like this one.  They sold homemade products and it was exactly a place where she would go.  He entered the shop and a light tinkling of a bell announced his presence.  He'd been right.  Syrina stood in front of a boy, holding a bottle of perfume.  She was smiling sweetly, her body tilted to him.  She was flirting!  She probably didn't know she was.  Still, a surge of jealousy powered through him.  The boy grinned at her, gesturing to the bottle.

"You made this perfume?"

"My mother did.  She enjoys making the perfume."

"I would love to buy this.  It smells delicious."

"You may have it.  She will not mind if I give it you."

Sark stormed forward, not able to watch another second.

"Syrina Aleksandria Khasinau, what the hell were you thinking?"

Syrina stiffened and turned towards Sark.

"I was bored, Sark.  So sorry I didn't want to sit around and watch the paint dry."

Her green eyes were flashing anger and challenge.  Sark stepped to her, towering over her slightly, hoping to intimidate her.

"I had to leave her because I thought you'd been captured.  You cannot continually vanish, Syrina.  I had to leave several guards with her and you know she'll wake up while we're gone.  It will be nearly impossible to get her to trust us now."

"You didn't have to search for me, Mr. Sark.  You are not my baby-sitter."

"Perhaps I should look into hiring one."

Syrina placed her hands on her hips, daring him to force her to leave.  Sark didn't move, both of their game faces were in place.  Cold.  Dark.  Scheming.  Christopher felt like he was intruding on a moment, or a battle of wills.  He'd never seen anyone clash like they were.

"We are leaving, Syrina."

"No."

Sark stepped forwards and grabbed her arm.  Syrina twisted and kicked Sark in the stomach to make him loosen his grip.  His fury glowed on his face and for a moment, Syrina debated surrendering to his wishes.  She almost did.  Her inner voice told her not to give in.  He was just being a stubborn, insensitive monster, for lack of a better word.  She was not going to leave.

"You want to fight me?" He asked it almost incredulously.

"You may have trained me, but I've improved while you were gone."

Syrina spoke confidently but inside she felt far from it.  Sark refused to fight her.  He would not hurt her that way.  Not now.  She'd grown up and he hadn't seen it.  The little girl who would always tag along on his missions and meetings was nearly an adult.  Sure, she was acting childishly now, but it was simply a way to rebel against him.  He was stifling her.  He'd been out of CIA custody for two weeks and he was already smothering her with the life.  He felt an instant of self-loathing, unusual, but still existing.  He stood down, lowering his voice to the typical smooth, soothing British tone.  "Syri, buy your perfume and let's go.  We have work to do.  You've had your break."

Syrina sighed, wondering if she should be feeling defeated or victorious.  She'd gotten her way, hadn't she?  At least that's what Sark wanted her to think.  He'd sounded so tired when he'd told her to buy the perfume.  Had she been the one to exhaust him?  She turned to Christopher, who's face was marred with confusion and worry.

"I'd like to buy this."

"I told you, Mademoiselle Mysterieuse, that I do not wish to take your money.  It is my gift to you."

Syrina shrugged slightly.  "Thank you, Christopher."
"Come back to the shop, Syrina.  We will always be open to you."

Syrina flushed, her eyes unable to meet his or Sark's gaze.  "I won't be in town much longer."

"That is too bad.  Perhaps you will be able to come say good bye."

"She is saying good bye."  Sark snarked out, possessiveness rushing through him.  Syrina bowed her head and marched out of the store, no longer wishing to think about Christopher or Sark.