A/N: TRIGGER WARNING—part of this chapter deals with the abuse Dimitri referenced in VA. If you are triggered by domestic violence or child abuse, proceed with caution.
Dear Diary,
As I write this entry and look back, reflecting on what occurred, I can readily admit that I probably could have handled things a bit better; in my defense though, in light of his confession and the minefield we navigated in our shared dream… I honestly did the best I could considering the circumstances—so I should at least get credit for that, right? It was… intense—to put it mildly; by the time we woke up, we were both drained—physically and emotionally—although it was for completely different reasons…
One moment I was laying cuddled against him, then the next I was standing in the garden. A gentle breeze caressed my bare shoulders, blowing my hair in my face and rustling the full skirt of the dress I'd worn to the party—but Adrian was nowhere in sight. I heard a noise—the scuffling of dried leaves as if under someone's foot—but I couldn't see what was causing it; I was momentarily blinded by the glare of the bright, mid-day sun overhead, rapidly blinking as my pupils tried to adjust to the change. When I could focus, I could see the source of the sound was Adrian—he was standing on the other side of the statue, staring at the flowers he'd planted with a look of disgust on his face.
"What in the hell do you mean saying my aura looked like a Spirit user's?" I stormed over, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face me. "That's impossible!"
"Don't kill the messenger—I don't make the news, I just report it." His eyes ran over me, lips curved up in a smile. "Relax Angel—we'll figure it out. That's why we're going to Saint Vlad's."
"Dhampir's don't have access to magic," I huffed, wondering how he could be so calm about the entire situation. He was acting like it was an everyday occurrence while I felt so wound up and tense that I thought I might explode.
"I know that—but it doesn't change the fact that when your…whatever it is… kicks in, your aura looks almost exactly like mine and Lissa's. Speaking of which—we really need to figure out something to call it."
"Yeva calls it a gift… or the sight." I didn't bother to mention that I called it the curse; I'd always thought it was fitting considering it was just as much trouble as the monthly bodily function that shared the same moniker.
"That'll work." He moved a strand of hair out of my face, his long fingers sliding down to caress my shoulder.
"But… how can it look like that? I don't understand!" As nice as his light, teasing touch felt, I couldn't relax—my mind had already been plagued with Yeva and her ghost encounter. Adding this on top of that issue was pushing me closer to the edge of breaking.
"Neither do I… I told you—you're special. So is your grandmother. I've never seen anyone's aura do that—and believe me, I've seen thousands of them." He thought about it for a minute, green eyes intently studying my face. "Does your mom have visions too? Your brother?"
"No—not that I'm aware of."
"Well we need to find out for certain."
"That's not exactly something I can come right out and ask them," I pointed out, frowning as I sank down on the ground, absentmindedly trailing my fingers along the grass. "They don't know I have visions… it might make them suspicious—and I don't want that."
"So we'll get Yeva to ask them." He shrugged, smiling as he flopped down beside me. "I have a feeling she gets away with asking some pretty outlandish things."
"You don't know the half of it." I thought about it for a moment, chewing the corner of my lip. "I know for certain that my sisters don't have it—both of them just roll their eyes when Yeva talks about the sight. They don't outright disbelieve… but… it's just the way they act. They wouldn't be so dismissive if they'd ever experienced a vision."
"Your brother…" He frowned, his eyes flicking away from my face, back over to the flowers he'd been looking at before I'd grabbed him. "I remember him showing up at the most inopportune times. I always wondered how he managed to do it… maybe this is the answer. He could have a touch of it… get hunches and bursts of intuition."
"Or he's just observant. Grandmother trained him to be that way from the time he was very, very small. She tried it with Karo and Sonya too… but they never really took to her lessons. Not like Dimitri and I did." His calm assurance that we'd figure things out was slowly erasing the intensity of my fear; I bumped my shoulder against his, giving him a faint smile. "It's funny… you dislike my brother, but you don't have a problem with me… and yet Dimitri and I… we're a lot alike in many ways."
"Please tell me you don't have a freaky cowboy obsession like he does." He continues studying the flowers, reaching out to touch one of the large rose blooms that drooped on its narrow, spindly stem.
"Maybe when I was younger—but that was probably only because when I was six I had a very large brother who made the perfect horse when I wanted to play." I watched, amazed as the bloom he touched withered before my eyes; it blackened, drying out, its petals drifting down to the ground. His finger moved to another, repeating the gesture. "Dusha… are you alright?"
"Hmm? I'm fine. Not feeling crazy… or not too much more crazy than I normally do, if that's what you mean." Another bloom shriveled, decaying before my eyes, and then another after that.
"Then why…" my voice trailed off; I was unsure how to point out that using magic to pointlessly destroy flowers didn't seem exactly sane.
"Am I getting rid of the roses? Because I don't like them—and they hurt you." He reached over, grabbing my hand, his head ducking down to press a kiss against my injured palm.
"But… Yeva said your aunt loves this garden. She might not be too pleased at you killing her flowers, Dusha."
He made a scoffing noise, dropping my palm. Another rose withered beneath his deadly touch. "Trust me—she hates roses. I bet she had a fit when I planted them—unless she just bit her tongue and put up with them for my sake the way she did when she was alive about… other things."
"Then… why did you do it?" There was a look on his face that concerned me; it was one I'd often seen on the training mats when someone threw a punch a little harder than they meant to, knocking their sparring partner to the ground. The injured party almost always stood with an expression on their face that was similar to the one Adrian was wearing—like they would get back at the person who threw the punch, no matter how long it took.
"To remind myself that even the most beautiful things sometimes have an ugly side… just waiting to tear you to shreds. It's why I made the thorns so big—so people wouldn't be so taken in with the beauty that they missed the danger and ended up in pain." He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing—as if he was trying to remember something. "What's in a name? A rose by any other name would not be sweet, no matter how hard you tried to please it." His eyes opened, locking with mine—they were full of pain, and there was a dazed look in their depths that made my worry grow by leaps and bounds. "Besides… this is all just a dream Angel—the roses will still be alive in the garden when we wake up."
"Are you sure about that?" I frowned, eyeing the decayed blooms. "When I woke up from our last dream… there was evidence of what we'd been doing. My lips were all swollen and red—Dimitri noticed right away. He thought you were hiding in my suite."
His eyes widened at the news. "That shouldn't be possible. As a matter of fact… if you're immune to Spirit… how are we even here? I use Spirit to create all this so theoretically I shouldn't be able to pull you in at all." His brow furrowed as he studied me, worrying his lip with his fangs. "Unless… it all ties into the whole aura thing. How do you tell the difference between the ones that are visions and what's just a dream?" His expression grew more troubled as he questioned me; he looked almost… confused as his eyes moved away from my face, flicking around the garden before returning to the roses.
"It's hard to explain… it's just… more real. Like the difference in a cheap television and one that's really expensive—with a clearer, sharper picture, you know? And they… feel different. What's really odd is that this… it feels like vision, not a dream. So maybe that's why it works… I guess."
"Huh?" His gaze returned to me, but he looked completely lost—as if he'd forgotten what we were discussing entirely.
"You asked me about my visions?" I studied him, trying to ignore the feeling of panic I felt at the dazed look in his eyes.
"Did I?" I must be more tired than I thought… I keep… drifting." He frowned, pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on top of them; in that moment he looked so very young… and extremely worried too. "I didn't get to finish telling you what I needed to earlier—before you fell asleep. It will upset you but—"
"If it's about that girl… I told you—I don't want to hear any more." I cut him off, getting to my feet, irritated at myself for feeling concern over his mental well being when he had obviously just been lost in thought—thinking about her. "If that's why you brought me here—"
"It is. I have to tell you Angel… and this way,,, you can't run from me. Well… that's not true. You can run, but you can't escape the garden, so I'll be able to catch you." He stood up, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples—and when he did, the rose bush he'd been destroying little by little practically exploded in a shower of dead leaves and petals. "Your grandmother said I had to tell you, remember? This afternoon, right before she saw Aunt Tati… she said 'the only way to escape the past and fully embrace the future—the road must be paved with many things… the most important of them being the truth.'… so even though you don't want to talk about it… we have to if we want to try and…" He shook his head, making a frustrated sound and running his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. Hard to think right now. Sometimes when my emotions get too strong… Spirit gets the upper hand."
The skin at the base of my neck prickled; a moment later, chill bumps danced across my skin—a warning, perhaps, that whatever it was he felt he had to tell me was something that I didn't want to know. Even more irritating was the fact that as uneasy as I was, my concern for his well-being overrode any worries I had about myself. "Adrian—"
"You know… you never asked me why I don't like your brother. Aren't you curious? At all? Most girls would be." Another rose bush died, drying up even faster than the first had.
"No—I'm not. I'm sure you have your reasons, just like he has his for not liking…" I stopped abruptly, the pieces starting to slide into place in my brain. Their intense dislike for each other—so strong it almost boarded on hatred at times; the way my brother had tiptoed around the issue, saying that Adrian hated him for things that happened… with good reason. Abe's determination to set things right—and his concern over Adrian's happiness. The strange way he'd twisted Shakespeare's quote—and the roses… so many fucking roses… all with razor sharp thorns. No… not her! Anyone but her! I'd been dreaming about him for years—but she had swooped in and stolen his heart before I'd even got a chance to claim it.
"I hate her!" It came out a hiss of pent up rage, my emotions so strong they left me shaking. "Ever since she came into my life she's done nothing but ruin things—I wish she were as dead as those fucking roses!"
He spun to face me, his green eyes wide and stunned. "Don't say that Angel—"
"Oh no! God forbid I say what I feel about precious fucking Roza!"
"No! It's not that at all—it's… you're not that kind of person," he reached for my hands but I jerked back, so furious that I didn't want to be touched.
"You don't know the kind of person I am, Adrian," I scoffed, "you don't know me at all."
"I do. I don't know how I know… but I do. You're sweet and kind and… good. You respect people, even when they're rude to you, and you are empathetic to what other people are feeling. You're… full of light and happiness and hope, Angel. You chase away my darkness." He approached me slowly, the way you would a stray dog that looked like it might bite, hands darting out to grab my arms before I could retreat further. "You're perfect… you're meant to be here… with me."
Roza's look of smug self-assurance as she insisted he'd only kissed me to get under my brother's skin flashed across my brain. "Is that why you approached me at the party Adrian? Because you sensed those things in me? Or was there another reason altogether?"
His eyes dropped from mine and he remained silent, but his grip on my arms tightened ever so slightly; at that moment, it hit me like a surprise punch, making my stomach clench painfully. I spoke, having trouble forcing the hurtful words out—but I had to know the truth. "You did it to make her jealous... that's what she was going to say today wasn't it? When Yeva cut her off?"
"Yes but—"
"Let me go. Right now." I had to get away from him—far, far away, out of the dream entirely before I completely broke down. Roza had been right all along. He'd used me in a pathetic attempt to hurt her.
"Angel—just listen to me. Please—"
"Let. Me. Go." It came out a growl.
There were a torrent of emotions swamping me that I needed to deal with on my own; pain and confusion battled with a dark, poisonous rage towards Roza—not just for being involved with Adrian and hurting him, but also for the way she had betrayed my brothers love. I needed to be away—outside, where I could think. It was just like after the disagreement in the café with Roza on the day I'd found the garden; it was my way of coping—a survival instinct that was deeply ingrained within me, dating back to childhood—and I couldn't ignore it...even more so, I didn't want to.
"You have to hear it all Vika. You're not going anywhere, not until I'm finished—"
His words sparked something deep inside me, making a long suppressed memory stir awake inside my mind; I tried to pull away—but his hands tightened even more, making me panic as my ears filled with the roaring beat of my heart. There was a pressure building inside of me— the one I equated with the visions and the headaches they always spawned—growing so strong within my skull that it felt to the point of bursting. It was more painful than it had ever been before, almost crippling me with its intensity. "I want to get out of here! Right NOW!"
The back hedge of the garden vanished.
One minute it was there—and the next it was gone, leaving a gaping dark opening in its place. The landscape beyond was dim and shadowy, filled with a foggy mist that pressed against the boundary of Adrian's bright dreamscape, rolling like smoke against a wall of glass—but it did not breach the opening. I gasped in surprise; the sound made Adrian glance over his shoulder—immediately he froze, his fingers digging painfully into my arms.
"Holy shit!" His amazement didn't break my fight or flight reaction; my struggling increased—but still he determinedly held on. "Vika... you just—"
"Let me go! I have to get out of here!" I didn't know where the dark opening lead—but I didn't care. All I knew was that it was somewhere else, away from all the roses that surrounded me, drowning me with their thick, overpowering scent—a reminder of Adrian's love and devotion to her... my brother's girlfriend. Even more importantly, instinctively I sensed that I had to escape before the memory that his words had awoken swam up to through the depths and hit my conscious mind. Whatever it was... it was something horrible—something I'd purposefully forgotten; in my heightened state of anxiety, the walls I'd surrounded it with were crumbling, brick by brick—and I didn't have the strength or focus to keep them intact. I couldn't face whatever it was—I already had more to deal with than I could handle.
"Listen to me! Whatever that is... I didn't make it. I'm not letting you near it until we know where it leads!"
Maybe if I'd been rational, his words would have held some meaning—but I wasn't. Because right at that moment, the memory breached the surface and I was propelled back into the past, reverted back to the five year old girl I'd been so long ago. It wasn't Adrian that held me in an iron tight grip—but my own personal boogeyman, the one that had haunted my nightmare for so many years. I wasn't in the garden, but back home in Baia, cowering on the floor at the foot of the stairs—screaming in pain as my father's belt cracked down across my cheek.
I threw my arms up, breaking free of the grasp that held me; gathering up my long skirt, I bolted for freedom—running like Satan himself were on my heels, trying to lay claim to my soul. I crossed over into the threshold, into the shadowy twilight; the air was cold—almost frigid—cooling my overheated skin, but I didn't notice. I had no time to feel relief, because the very nightmare I'd fled from was taking shape, right before my eyes. The mists swirled together, forming a figure a few feet in front of me; I stared in horror as its features became more defined, my breath catching in my throat—then I began to scream.
"You're not going anywhere you little bitch," it hissed, arm drawing back as the mists formed a dangling, leather strap. "Not until I'm through with you!"
My knees buckled; I wrapped my arms around my head, sagging towards the ground. I heard the sound of that belt cutting through the air as I cowered, waiting for the pain to start—but strong arms closed around my waist before it struck my tender skin, jerking me backwards with so much force we spilled out of the icy shadows and back into the sunlight of the garden. I heard my father's voice in the distance, screaming with impotent rage; immediately I curled up in a ball, sobbing and shaking—flinching when a hand stroked my back, unable to process the touch was gentle and not one meant to wound.
"Viktoria... it's not real sweetheart. It's all a dream. Your panic created what you expected to see. Shhh... I won't hurt you. Just look at me Angel... there's no one here except you and me."
I didn't lift my head—I couldn't. If I did the blows would begin, raining down on me without end. If I looked up I'd feel that belt across my face and I'd choke on the blood it drew.
Someone grabbed my arm, trying to pull me upright; I resisted—whispering the name of the only person who could save me. Over and over again I said Dimitri's name—it was a liturgy; I was praying to my brother as if he were God, begging him to save me the way he had on that horrible, long forgotten day.
I heard a deep sigh, then the hands fell away from my back; there was a rush of warmth, like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, warm on my shoulders as it chased away the frigid chill that had lay claim to me—then a voice spoke... the only one that could reach through my hysteria, soothing my battered mind. "Viktoria... are you alright? Why are you huddled up on the ground?"
It was Dimitri... he had come, an answer to my prayers. I lifted my head—just a little—peeking out from under the tangle of my hair, still terrified of the face I'd seen lurking in the shadows. "Papa is here," I whispered, "he has his belt and—"
"No Vika, there is no one here but you and me... look around Ang—" he paused for a moment, his stoic handsome face contorting into a unfamiliar scowl. Reaching down, he gently pulled me to my feet, wrapping his arms around me, holding me while I cried. "It's just a dream. Only a dream little sister. You need to wake up... can you do that for me?"
"I don't know how," I whispered, my face buried in his chest.
"Concentrate on where you really are—the living room of your suite. Focus on the last thing you remember before you fell asleep—you were talking to Adrian, remember?"
I pulled back, confused. "No... I... how do you know that?"
"You're making this hard Angel, when it's as simple as opening your eyes. I could wake you up—but it'd mean leaving you here alone for a few seconds... and I don't want to risk you wandering in there again—it's not safe."
"You're not Dimitri!" My whisper was enough to break the illusion—my brother's concerned brown eyes were immediately replaced with bright green ones, the chiseled features softening a little as they faded away and Adrian's more aristocratic ones took their place.
"I'm sorry... I didn't know if it would work but you were... you thought it was real. You kept calling for him."
The panic and rush of adrenaline was retreating, leaving me exhausted and drained; I was still shaky, but seeing my brother... what I'd thought was my brother... had been enough to snap me out of my hysteria, grounding me in a way that nothing else could. Slowly I began to rebuild the walls inside myself, locking the past away with mental bricks and mortar, banishing my the fear my father had planted that long ago day to the recesses of my mind. "I... thank you. I know how distasteful it must have been for you... pretending to be him. In light of... everything."
"We can discuss all that once we get out of here—until we figure out what the hell that is... I don't think we should share any more dreams." His arms tightened around me as he steered me over to the bench, distancing us from the shadows.
"It didn't happen the first time," I murmured, trying not to look over at the opening—afraid I'd see my father's face peering out at me. "Maybe subconsciously you were trying to help me... letting me see that there was a way out."
"I didn't make that opening appear Vika . You did."
"No I didn't—I have no control in my visions. I've tried to stop them... to not see things before. Imagining my father...yes. I can accept that—but creating that? There's no way. It's impossible."
"There is if whatever causes your visions is close to Spirit—come on, you see the future for Christ's sake. Shifting a dream isn't that hard—humans call it lucid dreaming or something. There's books that tell how to control what happens in your dreams… for that matter, dream walking like we're doing right now is pretty damned close to astral projection—so why is it so hard to believe you can do something that some stupid human can do if they try hard enough?"
"Maybe because I'm still a little shaken from things!" I snapped, pulling away from him. "Remembering the past and reliving what my... what happened to me. Hearing my aura is freaky... learning you're in love with my brother's girlfriend—pick one."
"Hey! I can't help any of those things—and the situation with Rose happened before I even met you—"
"I know that—I'm just on edge, okay? It's a lot to take in!" I didn't want to talk about my past or about my father, so I latched on to the most obvious thing—the situation with Roza. "I've always been able to overlook all Roza's faults because of one thing—her devotion to my brother. Now that I know she cheated on him—"
"Wait a damned minute!" He cut in indignantly, "I'm the one she cheated on—with him!"
"Whatever she started up with you... she was committed to Dimitri first. Maybe no rings were exchanged, but it's not like it was something they could make public—and the way she acted in Russia... it was like she was his wife. I can't explain it really... but everyone saw it... all our friends and neighbors. She was in mourning and—"
"And for all intents and purposes he was dead Viktoria—what was she supposed to do? Spend the rest of her life alone?"
The fact he was taking up for her despite how much she had hurt him did not sit well with me—at all. I scooted further away from him, glaring at him with angry eyes. "Yes! She was! That is what I would do if I were in her shoes—it's what you do when you love someone with all your heart and soul! I wasn't there when her father took her to see Oksa after she'd been with Dimitri as a... what he was... but Oksa told us the things they talked about—how she'd never love anyone else... never be with anyone again. All lies! She came back here and took up with you as if my brother meant nothing to her."
His green eyes were just as angry as mine as he stood up, pacing in front of the bench. "You realize that's a ridiculous argument, right? The whole 'they couldn't be together' thing is crap. He could have been asked to be reassigned if he'd wanted to—but he didn't. Instead he wanted to try and prove he was so damned disciplined and controlled. He wanted to play the noble teacher—determined to deny the fact he was lusting after his teenaged student!"
"My brother is noble! How dare you—"
"Yeah real fucking noble—sleeping with another man's girlfriend behind his back! I trusted him! I believed him when he said they were through! I sent her off with him to save her life—and he stole away the only thing I ever fucking cared about!"
His statement shocked me; the behavior he described was completely unlike the man I knew Dimitri to be—one who truly believed in honor and the importance of keeping his word, no matter what the personal cost might be. How low had Roza brought him—that he would betray someone who had placed their trust and faith in him? I said nothing—how could I? I could not defend what my brother had done—the very thought of his actions sickened me. It only reaffirmed in my mind that Roza was nowhere good enough for either of them—and that… that was something that I would have to find a way to prove to both of them.
"I shouldn't have said that—I'm sorry." The pent up rage in him faded—perhaps because he saw how shaken I was at realizing my brother was no longer the man I'd always believed him to be.
"I need a minute. Please." I stared down at the ground, dazed. I had so many things I needed to process that I wasn't sure where to even begin—the only thing I knew for certain was that I needed to be alone so I could tackle them one by one. I needed to shut down my emotions and let the analytical part of my mind think things through, weighing each problem and studying it from every angle before I decided how I should proceed, and that was something I couldn't do here—with Adrian hovering nearby.
"Angel, I—"
"Adrian... please do not take this the wrong way... but I am trying to think. So please leave me alone... just for a few minutes, okay?"
"You're mad. At me."
"No—I'm not. I'm mad at the entire, screwed up situation." I glanced up at him, taking a deep breath. "Since you can obviously change the way things appear in dreams... I have to ask you something, and I would appreciate your honesty. That first dream we shared... was it me you were kissing... or did you make me look like... someone else?"
He looked completely taken aback that I would even suggest such a thing. "I wouldn't do that! It would be... wrong. I may do a lot of shitty things—but I would never stoop that low. I'm not so fucked up that I have to pretend I'm with Rose, Viktoria."
"I'm sorry I just... had to be sure."
"I might have initially walked up to you and kissed you because of her... but once I touched you... that all changed. I actually forgot she was standing there when we kissed... and if you knew how deeply she's always affected me… you'd realize that's saying a hell of a lot."
Talking about him wanting to make Roza jealous made my stomach knot up; afraid that the torrential emotions might overwhelm me again, I did the safest thing, abruptly changing the subject. " I don't understand how I could have thought you were Dimitri… it doesn't make sense. If I can't see Guardian Johnson, then how could I see my brother?"
"Maybe because I need a charmed object to cast the illusion when we're awake." He frowned, running his fingers through his hair, beginning to pace again. "Here I don't need one because it's all illusion. I'm not disguising reality; I'm just changing what appears in the dream."
"Try it again… please? Just to see if it works?" I hated asking him to use his element, but I needed to solve at least one of the puzzles that were eating away at my brain.
"Might not work since you know what to expect." He closed his eyes; there was a rush of tingling warmth again—then his features shifted, becoming more rugged as his face morphed into the one I'd seen in his drawing.
"It worked… Guardian Johnson."
"Now that you've actually seen him… still prefer me to the dhampir?" His tone was light, but underneath his joking manner, there was a hint of anxiousness—as if he thought I might change my mind.
"Of course… but don't let it go to your head. In the first place he looks entirely too much like my brother. Dimitri is very handsome… but he is not my type at all. In the second place... I've never really been attracted to dhampirs, as horrible as that sounds."
"You should try it."
My head jerked up, brow arching in confusion. "Dating dhampirs? What—are you trying to get rid of me?"
"No—I meant changing the way you look. If you can do it… that will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that your gift is tied to Spirit. If you can shift the dream… you'll have to admit that you made that appear, right?" He jerked his head towards the opening. "And if you can alter things… maybe with practice it might help you with your visions. Like… see the things you want to see and stop seeing the things that bother you. Make sense?"
As much as I hated to admit it, it did make sense—in a weird, roundabout sort of way. "How do I do it?"
"Just concentrate on what you want me to see." His appearance shifted, and it was Adrian in front of me again. "Try something simple, like changing the color of your dress."
I closed my eyes, trying to focus on doing what he'd said, but my mind was a jumbled, mixed up mess. I was just about to say as much when he gasped—the sudden intake of breath startling me so much that my eyes jerked open; I was immediately disappointed—my dress looked exactly the same. "It didn't work."
"No… but the hedge is back—that's something, at least."
"Which could have happened all on its own," I pointed out, frustrated. "In fact… I know you don't think you made it appear in the first place… but you were acting a little… different… right before it happened."
"No I wasn't." His eyes darted from the hedge back to me, then over to the withered roses. "Was I?"
"You were. Sort of… vague and… off. I can't explain it, You said Spirit was making it hard to think."
"Yeah but I wouldn't—" he sighed, scowling. "Maybe I did do it. Hell, maybe your aura is completely normal and I'm just crazier than I thought."
"Or you're just overtired. A lot has happened in the last twenty four hours… for both of us," I offered softly. It was strange; I didn't want my aura to be odd or to be able to change things in dreams, and yet now that it looked like he was wrong about those things, I felt an odd sense of loss—just another thing to add to the list of items that troubled me. "Adrian…when we get out of here… I'm going to take a walk. Alone. It doesn't mean I'm angry with you… it's just how I am. So please don't take it the wrong way or make a fuss, okay?"
"I can leave… you don't have to go anywhere." His voice was quiet, full of hurt.
"I don't want you to leave. Even if I was alone in the apartment I'd go for a walk. Being outside… it helps me deal with things. What I want is for you to be there when I get back—so we can talk about everything."
He watched me, not saying anything for a moment, then his lips curved up in a hesitant smile. "You're amazing, you know that, right? You're young… but at times you act so maturely… you just say what you think and don't play bullshit mind games. I like that—a lot."
"I'm not that much younger than you—I turned eighteen a few days ago." I shrugged, returning his smile with one of my own. "And I used to be a lot more immature… before Dimitri was restored. That made me grow up a lot—and realize the things that are important. Now… I just don't see the point in tiptoeing around some things. It only makes for more problems in the end and leads to more misunderstandings—like what we're dealing with right now."
"You're right. I'll try and keep that in mind, but it's going to be hard to change. You'll have to be patient with me and call me on it when I do it since it's almost second nature to me—I was brought up in a politically ambitious family, so I'm used to playing things close to the vest and keeping things under wraps." He glanced over at the hedge, shaking his head and looking skeptical. "You need to try and wake up—I still don't want to leave you here, even for a minute. That… thing… could come back, and I don't know how to explain how to close it since I don't know if I did it or not."
"Honestly… I don't think I can. My brain is all fuzzy, and it's hard to concentrate. If I promise to stay away from the hedge… couldn't you just do it? Please?"
"Fine." He sighed, his fingers brushing against my cheek. "But eventually you need to learn to do it on your own. What if something like that," he waved his hand towards the hedge, "happens in one of your visions and I'm not there to help?"
"I promise next time I'll try it on my own, okay? I just don't have the mental capacity right now for lessons." It was the truth; I felt almost numb—there was no way I could focus on his instructions long enough to force myself awake.
He nodded—though he didn't look happy about it. I watched him closely, waiting for him to dim or fade away, but neither happened; it was the same as it had been entering the dream—one moment we were just in the garden and the next I was blinking, disoriented as he gently nudged me awake.
"That… is very disconcerting," I murmured softly, sitting up and shaking my head as I moved off of him.
"Is it? I've never had anyone do it to me… live and learn." He sat up, reaching for the cloves he'd left on the table, frowning down at them. "Damn it—I can't smoke in here can I? They'd smell it."
"You can in the bedroom, just close the door and sit by the window so the smoke goes outside." I slid my feet into my flip flops, feeling prickly and anxious; I needed to go, but at the same time… I didn't want to leave him. "I'll be back… soon. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize—it's all my fault anyway. I should have listened when you said you didn't want to hear it." He seemed tense, which was a complete contradiction to what he was saying, but I forced myself to ignore it, moving towards the door. "Viktoria… be careful wandering around out there, okay? And… hurry back. I'll miss you."
I nodded, shooting him a small smile as I opened the door. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me—I can take care of myself. I'm trained in defense, remember?"
"Yeah, I know… but still." He moved towards me, brushing his lips against my cheek, his expression shifting between one of regret and one I couldn't quite place. "I may not know everything you went through with your father—and you don't have to tell me… not unless you want to… but I caught enough to know that if I ever find out who he is… I'm going to seriously fuck up his mind. He'll be comatose by the time I'm through with him."
The fury in his voice caught me off guard. "It was a long time ago Dusha… it doesn't matter."
"Does it hurt any less just because it happened in the past?" His voice was soft and gentle as his fingers grazed my cheek.
"No," I whispered," it doesn't."
"Then it matters to me."
"Thank you… for caring at least a little bit."
"I care more than just a little bit, Angel—that's the problem." He turned away, heading to the bedroom. "I'm broken… and I don't know if I can ever be fixed. You deserve much more than that—you deserve someone better than me."
"You're not the only one that's damaged—we all have scars. I thought mine had healed a long time ago… but I was wrong. The important thing is letting go of the hurt and embracing the things that make you happy… and despite everything that's happened… you make me happy, Dusha." I stepped outside, closing the door behind me before he could respond trying to fight off the tremor that raced through me.
I made it out of the building before I started to cry; head down, I kept my eyes on the concrete beneath my feet, hiding behind my hair as I wandered around aimlessly, thinking about everything that had happened and what he had confessed. On top of the pain I felt over the thought of him loving Roza, I felt completely deceived—not just by Adrian and Abe, but by my grandmother too. She claimed to have seen the same things I had seen in my visions, which meant she had to know the intensity of my feelings—so why had she held her tongue and not told me the truth? Instead of being honest and open about what she knew, she'd encouraged me with her cryptic words and promises, making me believe that a fairytale sort of love was going to happen to me. Her prophecies and predictions had me believing that I was the one the handsome price was supposed to fall in love with—but in reality, that wasn't the case at all.
He already loved someone else. Roza.
In my mind, my grandmother's deception was just another sin that rested solely of my brother's girlfriend's shoulders. My grandmother—the one person I'd thought was fully on my side—had refrained from being honest with me, hiding the truth about what Roza had done. Yeva had protected her, sacrificing my feelings to do so—and that hurt almost as much as knowing who Adrian really loved. Without consciously meaning to, Roza had done the unthinkable—caused a rift between me and members of my family that I didn't think would ever fully mend.
I was full of misery and self-pity as I walked; it was impossible to banish the thought of Adrian and Roza as a couple from my mind. It was far too easy to picture him at her side, full of happiness—free from the weight of the sorrow that she'd caused him, and though I hated to face it, I knew the truth—that if he were given a choice between the two of us, there was no way I would ever win. The more I thought about it the more agitated I grew—and for the first time since I'd arrived at court, I felt the overwhelming urge to fall back into my old habits. I wanted to find a place to drink so I could drown out the thoughts in my head.
Had I been back at school it wouldn't be a problem—I'd have bribed a classmate out of a bottle or even tried to steal some of Guardian Zykov's stash, but here? I had no idea where I might find what I needed or where the bars might be—and while I could have asked Adrian, that was something I refused to do since he'd most assuredly insist on accompanying me. Then there was the problem of cash; I didn't have any on me—and while I was pretty confident I wouldn't have much trouble convincing someone to buy me a few, I had a strong suspicion they'd expect something in return.
My mood didn't improve when a car slowed to a crawl beside me, following me down the street as I tried to pointedly ignore it. I turned abruptly, heading down a side street; a moment later, the sound of brakes squealing alerted me they did the same.
"Hey pretty girl—want a ride?"
I didn't even look up. "No thank you."
"What—you don't trust me? I thought we were old friends now… I'm crushed."
I glanced over, then stopped walking, my irritated scowl immediately fading; it was Pavel, Abe's bodyguard—and I was willing to bet that he'd know exactly where to find what I needed. "Of course we're friends… I didn't realize it was you."
"Where are you headed, looking so grim, little one? I'm surprised you're not holed up somewhere with your secret… friend." He put the car in park, smiling at me as he leaned across the front seat to push the passenger door open.
"I needed some time to myself. To think about… things." I slid into the car, wondering how to broach the subject of what I needed.
"Ah. So you found out about Rose then?" He sighed, studying me intently. "I suppose it was only a matter of time—gossip travels fast here. Did you ask him about it yet?"
"He is the one who told me—he wanted to be honest and upfront about it from the start." My voice was hushed as I stared right back at him, not appreciating his scrutiny.
In other circumstances, the look of shock on his face might have been comical. "Well I'll be damned. Never would have thought he'd have the balls for something like that." His hand reached out, brushing back my hair so he could better see my face. "Did you fight about it? Is that why you have tear stains on your face and look so miserable kid?"
"No… I just needed to think about everything. Put it in perspective." I glanced over at him, shrugging. "But… it's a little shocking, you know? I need… look—can you take me somewhere for a drink?"
"There's bottled water in the back."
"No—I mean a real drink. Vodka. Lots of it. I need to unwind a little."
"Ohhhh no. No way. I'm not contributing to the delinquency of a minor—"
"I'm not a minor! Come on Pavel," I wheedled, giving him a pleading look. "Consider it a late birthday gift—since no one else bothered to give me one."
"This ain't Russia kid—you've gotta be twenty one to drink here. Buying you alcohol could get my ass in a load of trouble."
"You work for Zmey—like you haven't broken the law before?" I shot back, frowning and crossing my arms over my chest."
"Yeah and what I do for him ain't in a public setting—like a bar." He started the car, ignoring my sulk. "Besides, drinking won't solve your problems."
"You think I don't know that? It will help me calm down though—enough so I can deal with them. Besides it's really none of your business—hey… where are we going?" For a moment I thought I'd won the argument—but his answer made it clear that he wouldn't be swayed.
"To the garage. Abe's done with the car for the night so I've gotta park it."
"Let me out then—if you're not going to help me I'll find someone else who will."
"Oh that's real smart—trusting strangers. Around here there's plenty of Moroi who'd be happy to ply you with alcohol—and even happier to slip something in your drink kid."
"I can look out for myself—I'm not stupid!"
"Then stop acting like you are and use your damn head. I ain't stopping—" He reached over, hitting a button on his door; the clicking of the locks engaging was loud in the silence. "And you ain't getting out until we get to the garage."
I slumped down in my seat, hot tears of frustration trailing down my cheeks.
"That's not gonna work on me," he muttered, glancing over at me. "Damn it Viktoria—come on… stop crying."
"Don't you think I would if I could? Do you think I want anyone seeing me like this?" I turned to face the window, silently watching as the larger buildings that made up the center of Court gave way to the residential area; as we drove farther out, , the townhomes and sprawling houses gradually gave way to more industrial structures like the parking garage we turned into. "Did you ever stop to think that I might not want to have to walk all the way back to get back to my suite?"
"Hey—you said you wanted a chance to think, didn't you? Away from everyone?" He slid the car into a numbered parking spot, shutting off the ignition. For a few minutes, the only sound was the soft ticking of the engine as it cooled—then he sighed, reaching over and gently bumping my shoulder with his fist. "Do you know how to hotwire a car? Be honest."
"What?" I frowned, confused by the abrupt question. "Of course not! That isn't exactly the kind of thing they teach us at school!"
"Good. Get out."
I stared at him for a second, then got out, slamming the door so hard the glass shook, mumbling curses under my breath as I stalked off towards the exit. He caught up with me on the sidewalk outside, grabbing the hood of my sweatshirt to tug me to a stop.
"Hey kid—do me a favor, will you?"
I scoffed, indignant that he would dare ask me for anything when he had refused to help me. "Are you kidding? You've got a lot of nerve—"
He used his grip on my sweatshirt to pull me backwards, his large hand moving to cover my mouth, muffling my ranting. "You talk way too much. Now just listen for a sec, will you? I think I forgot to lock up Zmey's car—and my knees are bugging me so I don't wanna walk all the way back to check. You're gonna go back and lock it up for me—seeing as how I'd hate for anyone to steal all that booze he's got stashed in the bar in the back seat. Got it?"
He released me, walking away without another word, leaving me to stare after him in stunned surprise. "Pavel… Thank you."
He didn't turn around, he just called back over his shoulder. "For what? Giving you a ride? You're welcome kid—see you around."
I watched him for a moment before retracing my steps, looking around guiltily as I climbed into the back seat of the car; once inside I just sat there for a few minutes, staring at the small bar, hesitant to act. Though Pavel had given me his consent—sort of—the truth was… I was about to cross a very dangerous line. I would be stealing from Zmey—which would definitely come back to bite me in the rear. Or worse.
Forcing myself to act, I dug around in the center console, hunting for a paper and pen; I was confident there had to be one—a man like Abe Mazur was always doing business, even while on the road. I was right; pulling them out, I Jotted down a quick note—leaving it on the seat where he would be sure to see it. It wasn't much, but I was satisfied that he wouldn't mind me borrowing from him if he knew I intended to replace whatever it was I took. I grabbed two bottles—I'd heard that the vodka in the states was like water compared to what we had back home—then bolted, heading for the one place where I knew I'd be undisturbed.
Perhaps some people would avoid the spot where their nightmares had taken place—but that wasn't my style. I firmly believed that in order to conquer the mind numbing panic I'd felt at the illusion of my father, I had to return to the garden—alone, without anyone to coddle or comfort me. If I didn't… I'd never move past the terror—and the solitude and sense of peace I'd felt from the moment I'd entered the garden would be ruined, lost to me forever. It would give him power over me—stealing away the happiness I'd found—and that was something I refused to let happen. By the time I'd reached the entrance, three fourths of the first bottle was gone; it gave me the liquid courage I needed to enter the hedge and face the things that haunted me.
Mind you… I was more than a little tipsy at that point.
I'm ashamed to admit that I rambled on drunkenly to the poor Queen's statue for a while, before dissolving into tears over the unfairness of the situation I was in. It was a rare occurrence for me to let myself go like that—though I can honestly say that if it had been anyone but Roza… I would have handled it much better. She was the root of every problem I had, in one way or another. Ever since she came into my life… I'd felt like second best. Her beauty, her accomplishments… everything about her trumped the hand I was dealt—and deep down a part of me felt like she was slowly taking my place. I know it sounds childish and foolish—but I cannot help how I feel today or how I felt that night, staring up at the sky above the garden. The way Mama and Dimitri dote on her… that's something they always used to do only to me. Now my brother treats me entirely differently than the way he always did—and that bothers me… a lot. In the past, I was his favorite—and it was something that always filled me with pride. But now? Now I'd always come in second place to Roza—and though that is how it should be, the loss of the special bond I had with my brother hurts me deeply. To find out that she came first in Adrian's heart too… well that was just more than I could bear.
I was halfway through the second bottle and debating very important things—like which was cuter, the faint, almost invisible spattering of freckles across the bridge of Adrian's nose or the birthmark on his neck—when two hands slid under my arms, lifting me to my feet.
"What the—oh God!" I groaned as I glanced behind me, "Not you!"
"Yes me—just be glad it's not your brother."
"Why are you here?" I jerked back, tripping over my flip-flop and stumbling, almost falling over.
He reached out, catching my arm, steadying me before I hit the ground. "Because Adrian was worried—and he promised to give you space. So he called me."
"How did you even find me?"
"The phone I gave you has GPS. It homed in on you like a tracking beacon, kid." Abe smirked, increasing my dark mood by leaps and bounds.
A thought sprang to life in my head as my eyes darted around behind him; at the time, it seemed like an extremely good idea—but then again… I was rather drunk. It was spawned not just from my irritation at his presence, but also because he'd kept the truth from me about his daughter's ties to Adrian. "Where are your guardians?"
"I'm safe enough within the wards, don't you thi—"
Without warning I launched myself at him, my fist aiming for his smirking mouth; it was a good, solid punch—at least… it would have been, if I'd been more steady on my feet. As it was, I lost my balance as he sidestepped me, sprawling face first in the grass.
"I probably deserved that." He eyed me for a moment before reached down to help me up.
"No—you deserved my fist actually connecting with your face." I huffed, ignoring his hand and getting to my feet on my own accord—albeit slowly and a little unsteady on my feet. "You should have told me about Adrian and Roza."
"I told you it wasn't my place to discuss the situation on the way to his room."
"She's you're daughter!"
"And they are both adults—who are more than capable of speaking for themselves." He laced his hands behind his back, watching me warily as I glared at him. "Would it have really made a difference Viktoria? If I'd told you everything would you have returned to your room last night and not gone looking for him?"
"Yes! No… I don't know, alright? But someone should have told me!"
"Well you found out… so obviously someone did exactly that—unless you're even better at planting bugs than I am."
I said nothing, opening the vodka and taking another long pull; he eyed the bottle, shaking his head and frowning. "Yes it is yours—I will pay you back. With interest. I will replace it with something much, much better once I get home to Russia."
"I don't care about the booze kid—I care about you using it to hide from things you don't want to face."
His response confused me. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do you care? I'm nothing to you… just Dimitri's little sister. What does it matter what I do?"
"In case it's escaped your notice Viktoria—you're practically family. It's only natural that I play surrogate father while you're here."
I scoffed. "Fathers… do not care. I know that from experience."
"Just because your father wasn't there doesn't mean he doesn't care. Sometimes the best way to protect people is by staying out of their lives." His eyes were dark and intense, full of conviction over what he said, but I wasn't buying into the pretty lies.
"You don't know what you are talking about," I snapped, my voice low and dangerous. "My father hated us."
"What makes you say that? A few missed birthdays? Him not being available when you wanted to see him?"
I turned my back to him, lifting up my sweatshirt so he could see the faint scars that were visible on my skin. "Is that what a loving father does, Zmey? Beat a five year old child for getting up to use the restroom without asking permission?"
His breath hissed out; I dropped my shirt down, turning back around to face him. "Don't speak to me about my father caring—he didn't. He never supported us or even feigned an interest in our lives."
His smile had faded completely, replaced with the dangerous look he'd worn when confronting the Moroi woman who had insulted us on the dance floor. "Who is he?"
"It doesn't matter—not anymore."
"The hell it doesn't! Any man who raises a hand against his daughter needs to be taught what respect is—and it's a lesson that is never too late in coming!"
"He treated Mama far worse—and Dimitri too. My sisters…they were spared his anger—probably because they resemble him more than we do. Dimitri and I look more like Mama." I shrugged dismissively, trying to ignore the ache in my chest at the thought. "Dimitri took care of it when he was big enough and my father never touched us again."
"I'm aware Dimitri beat him—Rose told me the story." His hands shot out, grabbing my arms roughly, I made a sound of protest, but he didn't release his hold. "I want his name Viktoria—right now. He's a violent man with a grudge against your brother—and he could hurt my daughter to get back at him."
I hesitated, not wanting to air our dirty laundry to him—but the truth was that if he wanted to find out… he had other means of doing so. "Leonid," I muttered, struggling to get free. For a Moroi, he was incredibly strong. "Leonid Ze—"
"Zeklos." He cursed under his breath, releasing me. "I know him. Far too well. That means…"
"That Ivan Zeklos wasn't just Dimitri's charge," I finished for him. "He was our half-brother." I crossed myself respectfully in his memory. "I never got to meet him—but Dimitri said he wanted to get to know all of us… he was killed before it could happen."
"No wonder he refuses to talk about it… that it hit him so strongly." Abe's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. "How much do you know about that night?"
"Not a lot. I have never asked much… it hurts Dimitri to talk about it. All I know is that the night Ivan was attacked, he gave Mitya the night off."
"Then… I take it the two of you never heard the rumors?" He reached over, taking the bottle from my hand, retreating to the bench before he took a deep drink.
Even in my slightly inebriated state, I could tell he was hiding something; his closed off expression and excessively casual tone betrayed him without him even realizing it. The question was… how exactly could I find out what it was—and did I really want to know? I moved over to sit beside him, reclaiming the bottle. "What rumors? About Ivan?"
"You're a bright young woman Viktoria—most of the time, anyway. Didn't it ever strike you as odd that the attack happened on the one night Dimitri wasn't with his charge?"
"What do you mean?"
"For the most part, Strigoi are cocky, over confident creatures. They're positive they can take on any guardian… no matter who it might be—and they take great pleasure in taking down the guardians with the best reputations. So I'll ask you again… why that night?"
I shrugged, not following his line of thought. "Who knows? Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"I was under the impression that Dimitri is an extremely focused guardian; I know that sometimes Christian gets irritated and complains that he's almost too attentive. Did Ivan often give your brother the night off like that?"
"No… from what I remember, he usually only insisted that Dimitri take time off if he planned on…" my voice trailed off as I realized what he was getting at, "meeting up with our father." I glanced over at Abe, wide eyed. "He didn't want to expose Dimitri to him, knowing the history between them."
"Yes… a man that knew first hand that Dimitri could beat him." His voice was soft and gentle, trying to guide me along. "He vanished, you know… no one has seen him since the night Ivan died. Before that… he owed several people a great deal of money. He tried to borrow from me to pay it back a few days before he disappeared. I turned him down flat."
I rolled my eyes, making a dismissive sound. "That's the big secret? That he was broke?"
"No—he got the money. The rumor was that he drained Ivan's trust fund to do it."
"So you think Ivan found out and confronted him… and what? Our father arranged the attack? I wouldn't put it past him to sacrifice his child—but I'm fairly sure that he'd be worried about his own ass and be afraid the Strigoi would turn on him too."
"Unless… he was the Strigoi."
The bottle slipped out of my hands, the remains of the vodka seeping into the ground at our feet, neither of us moving to grab it. "But Ivan had a guardian with him… he wouldn't have—"
"Use your brain kid—his guardian probably wouldn't have been sitting in on a father and son dispute. Leonid probably drained Ivan in a fit of rage—or to cover his own underhanded actions—becoming a Strigoi in the process. Then killed the guardian—who wouldn't be expecting a Strigoi to exit the room. And the attack would cover for his disappearance too—people would think the Strigoi had carted off the Royal Moroi for a midnight snack."
It made sense—in a twisted, disgusting way. "And he would know the guilt would eat away at Dimitri… so he would finally get his revenge for the shame he felt that day when Dimitri almost killed him."
"Since you brought up revenge… take it a step further. Your father, for all intents and purposes… always had delusions of grandeur. He thought he as above reproach and that everyone was beneath him. If he turned Strigoi… he'd want to take over… to make himself a king."
I was having trouble following him, the vodka clouding my mind. "I know you're eventually going to get to the point, but I wish you would hurry. I don't have patience for games tonight."
"Obviously no patience for politeness either. Fine. Let me put it another way. We've established that your father was hotheaded and had a grudge against your brother. Now ask yourself this… the night Saint Vladimir's was attacked… why was Dimitri Belikov the only guardian that was turned? They didn't turn any of the other staff or any of the students—just one single man out of everyone on campus. Why—and why did they pick that Academy?"
My stomach rolled as I processed what he was inferring. "You think our father… planned it that way? That he was in on the attack?"
"I'd bet my life on it… and look at what happened when Dimitri was a Strigoi. He was trying to conquer the world—I bet once he did, your father would have stepped forward and tried to kill him, claiming it all for himself."
It was all speculation—but there was a buzzing in my mind that indicated it held a ring of truth. Maybe not all the details were right—but enough of them were, making my sixth sense prickle and dance along my skin. I'd always known my father was an evil man—he had to be to do the things he had done to our family. But this… this was so far beyond my ability to grasp that I could barely process it; a man that would kill one son, then order the death of another—ripping his very soul away from him and condemning him to hell in the process.
A rush of nausea hit me; I doubled over, acid burning its way up my throat as I threw up all the vodka I'd consumed—right on Zmey's expensive shoes. He didn't get angry—instead he just held my hair, stroking my back gently as I retched, but his soothing words didn't calm me or relieve me of the sick feeling that was eating away at my insides—because I'd realized something that chilled me, right down to my soul.
For better or for worst… Leonid was my father—so one half of my DNA. had come from his polluted genes. His evil lurked inside me, the same way that the genes I'd inherited from my grandmother had infused me with the sight; I couldn't help but wonder if the gift she had passed down to me had amplified the evil somehow, creating the disturbing malevolence that had haunted the dream I'd shared with Adrian.
If it had… what did that mean—and what might I become if it was festering inside of me, slowly growing in strength the more the Sight grew?
A/N #2: Vika's flashback to the incident with her father will be discussed in more detail in a drabble I am going to be adding to the collection within the next ten minutes or so—if you want to know more about what happened, make sure to check it out. ;o)
Sorry it took so long to get this up—life gets in the way of updating. Sadly, this has been written for several weeks, I just haven't had time to transfer my handwritten notes into the pc. I'll try not to take quite so long with the next one!