⧗ CHAPTER SEVEN ⧗
St. Petersburg was beautiful this time of year.
The streets laced in snow and ice, the lamps glowing warmly in the hour after sunset. Breath puffing in small clouds, still slightly out of breath after a day's worth of skating.
There was Alexei, with his sandy hair and acne breakout, the one his mother kept telling him to stop scratching (a woman whose voice Dmitri couldn't hear, nor a face he could recall). Then there was Galina, laughing against the wind, her hair pulled into pigtails. They both had skates slung over their shoulders, metal blades gleaming crisply. Dmitri couldn't remember what they were talking about — Alexei was teasing him about something, and Galina thought it was hilarious. The sun gleamed down, late afternoon. Or was it midmorning? The sky was so gray, Dmitri couldn't tell.
They passed a truck selling blinis, and doublebacked when the savory smell became too tempting to ignore. Dmitri always had money to pay for their meals, Father never let him go anywhere with empty pockets. Galina, however, insisted that she could pay for herself, didn't need a man to take care of her. Or a boy who broke his arm slipping in dog poop.
Ah, that's it. That's why they were laughing at him.
This had been Before. Before Dmitri had been sent to America, before Father had been so busy with work he couldn't ensure a close eye on Dmitri. Father never talked business with him. Banking was always so sensitive (but it wasn't really banking, was it?).
"Such a shame you have to leave us," Galina said with a sad sigh as they continued on their way. She chewed on her blini, adding, "I thought you said you only had to visit your mother once a year?"
"I do, but this time is different," Dmitri had replied. But he didn't remember saying this. The conversation hadn't gone this way, had it? Alexei and Galina wouldn't know yet. He hadn't known yet. "Father said it wasn't… it wasn't safe for me here right now."
"What does that mean?" Galina asked.
Before Dmitri could answer, Alexei rolled his eyes. "Father, Father, Father! It's weird you call him that, you know."
"Says the guy who calls his grandmother by her first name." Dmitri couldn't explain it. Father preferred formality. He had never been sentimental and Dmitri knew better than to indulge in it around him.
"Not the same!" Alexei protested, shaking his head. "Anyways, it sucks you have to go. American ballet schools are, how you say, weaksauce?" He said the last part in heavily-accented English, making the other two laugh.
"They're second best to Russian schools," Dmitri said, with a shrug. He still couldn't shake the notion that this wasn't how this had happened. The memory, it was wrong. All wrong. Perhaps he was simply lucid dreaming. It made sense, and yet… "I mean, it's not the Bolshoi, but this isn't the Bolshoi, either."
"If we got into the Bolshoi, I would die," Galina said, with exaggerated emphasis. In that split second, between one step and the next, she had changed. Her hair had turned from brown to blonde. No, it had been blonde before, hadn't it? It had always been blonde.
"Well, you definitely won't be getting into the Bolshoi if you're sent to America." Alexei said, but when Dmitri turned to look at him, the other boy had vanished. Nothing where he once stood except open air.
"What the —" Dmitri cursed aloud.
"Dmitri, what's wrong?" Galina asked, and when he looked at her again, it wasn't Galina anymore. It was Ksenia — n0 Sabina. Oksana. Liza. Her features kept changing, yet her expression remained the same, curious, worried, imploring, reaching out to Dmitri. But when her hand touched his shoulder, her fingers slipped right through him.
Dmitri stumbled back in alarm. It was then he noticed how empty the streets became. How quiet it was. The dusky air, the street devoid of cars or pedestrians. Lit stores with no one inside, lamps flickering but making no sound. No one there but him and Not Galina, still reaching out for him. The far distance remained dizzyingly out-of-focus, impossible to determine. What was once the city of St. Petersburg now narrowed down to a single street, a thick wall of fog closing in.
"Who are you?" was all Dmitri could ask, fear rising up into his throat.
"What do you mean?" Galina smiled with the gleaming teeth of a hundred girls, as pale fog filled the air between them. "I'm whoever you need me to be."
~ o ~
Dmitri woke to a racing heart and a pounding headache.
The dream — for it most certainly wasn't a memory, Dmitri understood that now — left him disoriented. Enough that he didn't understand the square of white being waved in his face before he heard Sabina's voice. "Here, Dmitri. Your nose is bleeding."
He took it, baffled to touch his face and find her words true. How did he get a bloody nose? Dmitri looked around, found himself free of the handcuff, and no sign of how he might have injured himself while sleeping. His throat was dry, making it difficult to swallow; perhaps it was simply his sinuses, and the crisp air of the Red Room.
And as he got up to the bathroom, as was now established routine, Dmitri couldn't shake the revelation from last night. Alexei and Galina weren't real. They had never been real? The memory had come apart as soon as he had looked too hard at it, started asking too many questions.
How many more were like that? When would he remember what really happened? And then, how would he be able to tell what was real, and what wasn't?
Dmitri knew he shouldn't be distracted by this. He had tests and exams to focus on. Just as Sabina and Oksana had assured him the previous night, Dmitri found the Mandarin test to be surprisingly easy. It was as if something had finally clicked in his head, and he managed to draw out the rare quirk of Comrade Liu's lips (her version of a smile) with his fluent speech presentation. It felt good. No, it felt great.
"The Madame will be pleased to hear of your progress," the professor told him after class. The thought sent butterflies to Dmitri's stomach, excitement, glee.
The girls congratulated him at dinner. All of them except for Ksenia, of course, but Dmitri could ignore her for the time being.
During the meal, Oksana slid something across the table to him. "Here, I picked this up from the craft room. I thought it might help. You know, with your arm?"
Dmitri picked up the object — a ball of soft brown clay, the kind used for pottery. Malleable to the touch, slightly moist, but still tough enough to keep a grip on without losing pieces of it. Dmitri wasn't sure if it would really help, but he placed it in his right hand anyways, using what little strength in his hand that he had to clutch it tightly. "Thank you."
Oksana smiled. "It's nothing. I used the same trick after my arm was broken. Just keep practicing and you'll be better before you know it."
"It's true, she made such a quick recovery, even the Madame was surprised!" Sabina added helpfully.
A ball of clay. Could it really help? It wasn't like Dmitri had a lot of options, and really, it wouldn't hurt to try. It felt silly, though. A bullet nearly tore his shoulder to pieces. A humble ball of clay couldn't truly help undo that kind of damage, could it?
Again, Dmitri saw that gun. The barrel pointed down at him. The flash of the muzzle.
All over in moments.
"Dmitri?" A hand at his arm, shaking gently. "Dmitri, you there?"
With a jolt, Dmitri returned to the present, blinking in surprise to the collective looks of worry of Sabina and Oksana. It was Sabina who had taken his arm, and was now speaking, "Are you alright? You looked like you had a moment there."
"I-I'm fine," Dmitri said, although his voice cracked and he had to quickly grab a drink and pretend puberty wasn't a thing. It was in the midst of his long drink did someone pass behind him, a shadow appearing over his shoulder, accompanied by a voice.
"The Madame wishes to see you in her office after dinner."
Dmitri looked up just in time to see one of the Red Room's sentries walking away. Too fast for Dmitri to ask where exactly the Madame's office was. Instead, he turned to face the head table, but the Madame was currently in the middle of conversation with one of her professors. Oksana seemed to take this as good news, however.
"Oh, a private meeting, that's wonderful!" Oksana whispered, patting Dmitri's hand. Perhaps she sensed how nervous it had made him. "She must have heard about your test scores."
"Does she usually see students after they pass a test?"
"No," Sabina shook her head. "But you're a special case, right? A month ago you couldn't even read Mandarin."
Dmitri tried to take that to heart, but still when the time came, he forgot to ask any of them where exactly the Madame's office was located. By that time, everyone had filed out of the dining room and Dmitri had nothing but his feet to guide him. He had just started walking, down corridors and up a flight of steps, not even realizing what was happening before he found himself standing in front of an austere mahogany door.
Was this it? Perhaps he remembered after all, deep down. There was no one else in these halls, and before Dmitri could poke around and ask, he heard a voice from within.
"...do you mean, you lost her?!"
The voice was very muffled, faint; perhaps the door was soundproofed. But Dmitri couldn't help but press his ear against the door. It sounded like the Madame alright — an incensed Madame. Her tone of voice, shouting, was utterly terrifying.
"Then get her back, god dammit! I'm not losing another one to that bastard Dreykov!"
There came a clang, like a phone slammed down onto its cradle. Then the next second the doorknob was turning, and Dmitri scrambled back in surprise. The heavy door swung open, and there stood the Madame on the other side — austere, prim and proper as ever. Not a hair out of place, no flush in her cheeks. As if she hadn't lost her temper just seconds ago.
Dmitri blinked, taken aback. He hadn't dreamed that, too, had he?
"Ah, Dmitri, come on in," the Madame said, and it never occurred to him how she knew he was there, either. "Would you like some tea? I insist."
Well, he couldn't say no to that, could he? Stepping inside, Dmitri marveled at the woman's private space. It wasn't huge, but nevertheless plush and welcoming — a fireplace to one side, wingback chairs, a large desk facing him, and behind it, a massive stained glass window looking out into the courtyard below. In the dimness, it cast a faint kaleidoscope of colors across the room. There were shelvings on either wall, and among them were a collection of antique gramophones and music boxes. The Madame came around to the sideboard, where a pot of tea already sat steaming. "Earl gray?"
"Um, sure," Dmitri sat in the seat offered to him, taking in the room and trying not to look as awkward as he felt. The rug was so plush it muffled his footsteps, and it was almost uncomfortably warm in here thanks to the fire.
"I was so pleased to hear your progress today." The Madame began, as she poured hot water into two cups. "Comrade Liu said you passed your Mandarin test with flying colors."
"Thank you," Dmitri said, not sure what else was required of him. He felt quite awkward, especially after what he had just overheard. "I, er, it took a lot of studying. But it came easy in the end."
"Good, good,"
His curiosity was too powerful to deny. "Um, can I ask you something?"
"Of course, my boy." The Madame said, her back still turned to him.
"Who is Dreykov?"
The Madame froze, just for a second, her head lifting slightly. But she didn't move, didn't turn her head completely to look at him. "Ah, you heard that, didn't you? I apologize, Dmitri, that was not meant for your ears."
"Is he dangerous?" Dmitri's voice rasped against his throat. All he could think of were his father's enemies, numerous and anonymous. Could Dreykov be one of them?
"Not to anyone in these walls," the Madame replied, turning around with tray in hand and coming to set it down on the coffee table between them. She set one teacup out for him, which Dmitri accepted with a quiet nod of gratitude as she continued speaking. "I assure you, you are entirely safe here."
"But he took one of — one of the girls here," Dmitri said, frowning down at the milky umber liquid. He hadn't asked for cream, but it appeared the Madame already knew he preferred it in his tea. "That's what you said."
"I did say that," The Madame sat down slowly, and Dmitri found himself studying her gloved hands rather than her face, as they delicately lifted her cup, one pinky extended (Dmitri quickly remembered to match her). She seemed to be deliberating, taking a sip, and Dmitri didn't know what else to do except copy her and wait patiently. The warm tea slipped down his throat easily, leaving a rush of warmth in his stomach.
At last, the Madame continued, "Dreykov is, how you might say, an old colleague of mine. He never liked the way I ran my operation here in the Red Room. Thinks he can do better," She chuckled, but her smile was filled with nothing but contempt. "Men always think they can do better. Oh! But not you, Dmitri, my dear. You're nothing like him, I don't mean you. Dreykov is from…. A different generation. Unfortunately, he hasn't taken the time to achieve the same status I have, and thus cannot acquire the same funding from our benefactors. So, he cheats. He bides his time and he takes my girls, the ones who've already graduated. Steals my hard work and presents it as his own."
Dmitri was appalled. "And he can just get away with that?"
"I know, it's truly monstrous what he does." the Madame nodded, her brow furrowing into an expression of long-suffering. "Those poor girls. The bastard is just smart enough to hide them away where I can't find them, and he knows how to appeal to our patrons. I have my position because I'm competent; he has his because of his nature. It's a bit of an old boys club, if you know what I mean. Every time I send out one of my girls, I'm always risking the chance of never seeing them again. They're aware of the danger, my graduates. It doesn't always help."
"Who was taken this time?" Dmitri asked, wondering if it was someone who'd been here recently. Someone he'd seen. But he couldn't recall any faces that might have vanished. Although, to be fair, most of the girls' faces here kind of blended together, and those of the graduating class were far too intimidating to ever get close enough to observe.
"Yelena Belova. My darling Yelena. Do you remember her?" The Madame asked, but when Dmitri shook his head, she just sighed, shoulders slumping. "It's no matter, she was sent out a few weeks before you got here. And it's been such a long time… at any rate, I wish I could say I was surprised. Dreykov tried to take her from me when she was a little girl. Almost succeeded, too. I should've known he would've targeted her specifically. A man's pettiness knows no bounds."
"I'm sorry." Dmitri didn't know what else to say. The Madame seemed truly distraught by this turn of events, and he felt so incredibly stupid and useless. He'd only just passed Mandarin. And here she was, suffering the loss of one of her students. "Is there… is there anything I could do?"
The Madame blinked up at him in surprise, before her expression softened, and she reached over to stroke his cheek. "Oh, my dear boy, you're so kind. But no, there's nothing I need that I can ask of you. Perhaps someday, we might be able to help your lost sisters. But for now, just stick to your studies. That's how you may help me."
It wasn't exactly what Dmitri wanted to hear. He wanted to do something, have direct action, accomplish something that will actually fix things. Instead, all Dmitri could do was bide his time and keep his nose to the grindstone.
The Madame, perhaps sensing his dissatisfaction, tilted her head. "Is there something wrong, Dmitri?"
"I—" he didn't want to say it, but his tongue betrayed him. The Madame, with her imploring gaze and empathic touch, simply drew it out of him, like pulling on a string. "I've just been having trouble sleeping. That's all. It's nothing."
"Ah," The Madame nodded. "It's about Amelia, isn't it?"
Dmitri almost choked on his tea. "H-how did you —?"
"My boy, I know much more than you think," The Madame smiled gently, a little wink. "I know what brought you back to my doorstep. I know who gave you that terrible injury. And I want you to know that that horrible girl will never find you here, not in the Red Room. You are utterly safe, Dmitri. That, I give my word."
Dmitri swallowed, fear churning in his stomach. But he believed her. The Madame wouldn't lie to him. And logically, he knew it was true. Mia would never find him here. Not in the vast Siberian wilderness, not within a heavily guarded training facility. She had broken into Father's estate, but the Red Room was a veritable fortress hidden behind palace walls. Mia was one of Father's many enemies, and the one Dmitri feared the most.
And she'll never get inside.
"Thank you," Dmitri murmured, feeling both silly and comforted. Like a child being tucked in after a nightmare, rest assured that the monsters under the bed will never reach him.
"You're welcome, Dmitri," The Madame said, blue eyes so warm and soft. "And please, if you ever have any concerns, any fears regarding her, don't be afraid to tell me. It's my job to take care of you."