Dreaming Anastasia by Joy Preble

think it was? The giant hands of a witch from some fairy tale? How is that possible? And once again, let me ask you, who the hell are you?”
    Who am I? I’m the zalupa who thought he could handle all this. Who had been convinced up until this moment that he knew the exact sequence of events that was supposed to occur. Our magic had compelled Baba Yaga to take Anastasia and protect her. I’m one of the good guys. The one who, after all these years of searching, has found Anne so that we can finish this thing and free the grand duchess.
    So why are we being attacked?
    I look around us. The park is empty. “C’mon,” I say to Anne. “Let’s sit, and I’ll try to explain.” She nods and walks with me into the park, although I can see by her face that the last thing she’d like to do right now is sit and talk to me.
    We settle ourselves on one of the wooden benches. For the moment, this park, with its swings and sandbox, its wide, wooden benches, seems safe.
    â€œLook,” I tell her. I shrug off my jacket and roll up my shirtsleeve. Her eyes grow wide as she sees the mark on my arm that mirrors her own. She gasps, and then she reaches out to touch it.
    â€œIt sort of burns,” she says, pulling her hand away. She reaches out again and once more runs her fingers over the mark. “I—I still don’t understand,” she says. “I need to get back to school. I can’t just sit here in the park. I’m supposed to be in chemistry. I—”
    â€œWe’re connected, you and me.” I reach over gently and remove her hand from my arm. “It’s—well, it’s a bit of a story. It may take a while for you to understand all of it.”
    I’m feeling a little better about all this. She’s calmer. I’m calmer. We’re going to feel our way through this, and maybe everything will work out.
    Then the expression on Anne’s face shifts. “Understand what?” Her voice is pitched higher than I’d like it to be. And she’s glaring again. “Why I dreamed that you were some turn-of-the-last-century guy with really bad hair who was there praying or something while the whole Romanov clan was getting murdered in a basement in Russia in 1918? That was just a dream right? Or do you want me to believe that you were really there when a giant pair of really ugly hands reached out the sky and took Anastasia away? The same hands which, let’s not forget, just tried to kill us back there? Or maybe you want me to understand what my role in all this is? What are we now, two little supernatural mark-on-the-arm buddies who are supposed to spring Anastasia from Baba Yaga’s hut?”
    â€œMaybe,” I say, “the explanation won’t take so long after all.”
    She stands up from the bench, pulling on her backpack that she’d placed on the ground as we had sat down. “I’m right? I can’t be right. I mean, if I’m right, then I shouldn’t have just—You can’t possibly have been there then and look exactly the same now. What would that make you, like a hundred years old or something?”
    I smile at her. “Something like that. There’s a bit more to it. If you’ll sit back down, I’ll—”
    â€œYou’ll what? You know, I’m rethinking this. You just sit here and do whatever you need to, and I’m going to—”
    â€œShh.” I hold my hand up and look beyond her to the street behind the park. “Just a second.” A bad feeling washes over me. Really bad.
    â€œWhat is it?”
    I don’t answer her. I’m too busy watching as a black limousine pulls up to the curb. One of its doors swings open, and it occurs to me that while I might be one of the good guys, I’m no longer sure about everyone else.
    â€œRun!” I yell to Anne as she stares at me with a startled look on her face. I grab her hand and pull her