15. P.V.D.

(Sonya POV)

It was the morning of the Dragomir funeral and I had spent the night in my apartment trying to distract myself by watching old horror movies. Probably not the most appropriate choice, but I knew every line off by heart and there was something comforting in the fact that the monsters in the films were way more messed up than me.

The thing was, I was dreading being stuck in a crowd full of strangers looking at a row of coffins. Being around dead bodies made me feel physically ill, and I already felt panicky at the thought of having to make small talk after the service. The only positive to look forward to was that once all of this was all over I might get a chance to see Mikhail again. I'd replayed all of our meetings a dozen times over and while I still wasn't sure exactly where this unexpected friendship was leading, I think I was finally ready to find out.

There was still an hour before I needed to leave the apartment so I headed into the kitchen to make a coffee and that's when I noticed something lying on the floor. I knelt down and picked up the plain white envelope that had been slipped under my door and moved across to sit at the kitchen table. I examined the package suspiciously but the only clue as to its origin was the red wax seal on the back. It looked familiar, definitely royal, but I couldn't remember which family off the top of my head. Slipping my finger under the flap, I broke the seal and slowly pulled out a single sheet of thin paper.

Dear Miss Karp,

I trust you are having a magical morning.

I am writing to advise you that I require a talented assistant for a long term project, and your particular skills match the position perfectly.

You would be serving a very powerful family, and restoring an old house to its former greatness. Please begin arrangements to finalise your current position at The Academy as I would like you to commence work as soon as possible.

I encourage you to consider my offer seriously as it will only be open for a short period of time. It would be a shame if you delayed and missed the opportunity to… choose a new and rewarding career.

I will be in touch shortly to discuss the particulars.

Yours sincerely,

P.V.D.

What the hell was this about? I moved over to sit in my armchair and read the letter again, trying to make sense of it. By the time I'd read it through a third time my hands were shaking and I had to put the paper down. I tucked my feet up, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my chin on my knees.

Whoever P.V.D. was, they were asking me… no, telling me to quit my job so I could work for them. And doing what exactly? As far as anybody else was concerned 'my particular skills' were teaching art history, and being considered generally antisocial and odd. It was true that I did have other skills, powerful ones, but I had been very careful to hide them from anybody else. If this P.V.D. had found out what I was capable of, then this letter was not just a pushy job offer – it was a threat.

I couldn't think of any way my teaching skills were going to 'restore an old family to its former greatness', but my unique magical abilities could definitely give someone an advantage. 'I trust you are having a magical morning' it said right at the top of the letter – so that was it.

Somebody knows – the thought hit me like a bucket of cold water. Worse still, it sounded like they planned to force me to do their bidding whether I wanted to or not. And they promised to be in touch soon. Somebody knows, somebody knows. The words repeated over and over in my mind and I began to unconsciously rock to their rhythm.

Then, out of the blue, an image of Mikhail's face swam into my mind and his voice cut through my rising panic. 'Every problem has a solution,' he instructed, and I clung to the words like a promise. I closed my eyes and focused on his face, breathing slowly and deeply until I was calm enough to think through the options logically.

Problem: Finding the safest place to be.

Option 1: Run

Outcome: Make it away from The Academy but end up on my own with no protection and no place to go. Sitting duck. Trapped.

Option 2: Tell Headmistress Kirova

Outcome: Kirova doesn't believe me. Declares me unfit as a teacher and has me locked up in the sanatorium. Trapped.

Option 3: Tell Mikhail

Outcome: Mikhail doesn't believe me. Thinks I'm insane or a liar and doesn't want anything to do with me. Have to endure his looks of contempt and pity every time he is on duty in my class. Trapped.

Option 4: Stay put and see what happens.

Outcome: Hopefully dozens of guardians and strong magical wards are enough to keep me safe. And if not, then nowhere is probably safe for me anyway.

Logically, it was safest to stay at St. Vladimir's. I was still scared senseless, and the thought of having to leave my room terrified me, but for now I didn't have any better solutions. Thinking about leaving my room suddenly jolted me back into reality and I realised I would need to rush or I'd be late for the Dragomir funeral service.

I threw on a dark grey skirt and a formal black jacket with a ruffled collar, hopping on one foot as I dragged on a pair of black tights. There was no time to do anything with my hair, but I grabbed my favourite beaded necklace and matching earrings before slipping on pair of vintage pumps and hurrying out the door.

It was moroi tradition to hold funerals at the first light of dawn, representing an end and a beginning. This also made it quite exciting for the younger members of the gathering who were normally under curfew by now, and the whole school body had dressed up to attend the service.

There were too many guests to fit in the chapel, so rows of white fold-up chairs had been set out beneath the huge statue of St. Vladimir at the front of the school. A bobbing sea of delicate parasols carried by the Moroi women made it look like a flock of birds had landed in the wide, grassy square, while others wore lace veils to shade their faces from the early morning sun. Some of the men had donned fedora hats but many chose to bare their skin, accepting the discomfort as a sign of respect to the dead.

When the hearses drew up on the gravel driveway, a group of Dragomir and Ivashkov Guardians acted as the pall bearers, processing slowly to the front of the gathered congregation and placing the three coffins on a raised platform. All of the remaining guardians formed a protective ring around the mourners, standing still and silent for the whole service, grieving in their own private way – most people forgot that they had lost someone in the crash too.

After the ceremony it would have been traditional for the relatives and close friends of the departed to attend the grave-side for an intimate final farewell, but in this case, arrangements had been made for the bodies of the Dragomirs to be flown back to Pennsylvania for burial at their family plot. With nowhere else to be, the mourners lingered in St. Vladimir's Square, mingling with one another to share condolences or quietly gossip about Princess Vasilisa, last of her line.

I planned to make a quick exit from the throng but as I weaved through the crowd back towards the school buildings I found my path blocked by a very insistent hand. It gripped my shoulder in a way that would have looked comforting to the other guests, except the fingers dug in so firmly they made me wince.

'Good day to you, Miss Karp,' purred the old man, and I felt a hysterical fear flood through me as I recognised him. Prince Dashkov – Victor Dashkov. I stared at him dumbly but all I could see were the initials P.V.D. written at the bottom of the threatening note that had been slipped under my door. This was the man who expected me to do his bidding. Every fibre in me wanted to get away but he wouldn't release his grip on me. I was trapped.

'Prince Dashkov,' I greeted him formally, with the faintest tremble in my voice. 'My deepest condolences to you and your family.'

Though they weren't directly related, the royal families liked to put on a great show of solidarity when one of their own was killed, and it was common practice for any royal to enter into full mourning for somebody who had only yesterday been considered a political rival.

'It is a terrible loss for us all,' he replied with excessive sentimentality, 'and especially difficult for those of us who already hear death's chilly fingers rapping at the door.'

I wasn't sure how to reply so I stood there silently, biding my time until I saw an opportunity to get away.

'But – enough about me,' he crooned. 'How have you been going, Miss Karp?'

'Fine thank you,' I replied thinly, glancing away to avoid his intense gaze.

'You must realise I have followed your career with interest for some time now – kept an eye on things, you might say – and you know, it's amazing what little eyes see when people think nobody is looking. I hear you've been quite busy lately?'

He grabbed my hands and drew them up to his mouth, hovering over my fingers like a hungry vulture.

'A little bird told me you've been helping Dr. Olendzki – a girl fell out of a window and you made her all better. It must be wonderful to have such healing hands.' He kissed the back of my fingers, his beady eyes staring greedily into mine.

I tried to snatch my hands away from him but his grip was surprisingly strong. I thought I'd seen somebody watching me from behind the chapel after I'd healed Rose, but I figured it was just another one of the shadow creatures that haunted me from the darkness. Who had he sent to spy on me?

Prince Dashkov sighed dreamily to himself. 'Just think how beneficial such a skill would be if you shared it with the world. A pity you chose to be a teacher instead, but I'm sure if the right job opportunity came along you would leap the chance to be more… useful.'

There was a threatening glint in his eyes and I glanced around furtively, looking for an exit, any excuse to escape.

He knew. He knew about my magic and he was just toying with me. Letting me know he knew. I had to get out of there. I wasn't safe.

Just then, a shadow fell across the prince's face, and a familiar voice filtered through my frantic thoughts.

'Excuse me, Prince Dashkov,' Guardian Tanner bowed formally to the old man before turning his attention to me. 'Would you please come with me, Miss Karp? Headmistress Kirova would like to speak with you.'

Without waiting for a response, he turned and stepped a few paces away. I glanced warily up at Prince Dashkov and slid from his clawing grasp.

'I'll see you again soon, Miss Karp,' he called after me.

Without looking back, I quickened my pace to catch up with the retreating figure of the guardian – my guardian angel.

Author's Note:

Victor Dashkov has shown his hand – poor Sonya. You've probably already guessed who he's been using to spy on Sonya, but she still has no idea. Lucky Mikhail was there to save her again.

There's nothing really to explain in this chapter, except maybe to say I thought it was funny that a vampire would watch horror movies to calm her nerves :-)