universe and we’re all about to be sucked inside.” He shouted it cheerfully but matter-of-factly. Was the idiot joking?
“God, Oleg,” the other man chuckled out the words, “you gotta quit with those sci-fi novels.” The crack of another knock sounded. “But you’re right. Look out that window. The leaves aren’t even rustling, but my trouser cuffs are.”
Like a kite pulled taut, the wind shook her against its steady force. It hollowed her out, took away all thought, all memory, except one determined resolution. Find Stas. Kill him. Be free. Now.
The door swung open, two men in burgundy bellhop uniforms stood just outside, their caps instantly blowing off their heads.
“What the hell?” one said. Not Oleg, from the sound of his voice.
“Whoa.” That one had to be Oleg.
They stared right at Anya, but somehow she knew they didn’t see her. They must only feel the wind and be able to observe its action in the flapping drapes, the scattered papers, the paintings rattling and askew.
Invisible again.
Loneliness whipped through her, and with it, fear. What if she failed and this was her future? She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the worries. They blended with her determination, whipping up a full-blown storm inside the room. A chair blew over.
“What should we do?” Oleg asked.
“Call the cops?” asked the other guy.
“More like Mulder and Scully.”
“That some of your sci-fi shit?”
“Uh-huh. X files , American show. They handled this kind of paranormal stuff all the time. It was usually aliens.”
“Yeah, I buy that,” the other man said.
“What’s going on here?” asked a familiar and very welcomed voice. “I damn well hope you had a good reason for entering my room, boys.”
Yuchenko didn’t sound at all puppy-like at the moment. His features had hardened into powerful, masculine lines. His appearance anchored her, lending her a sense of weight. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t only air and anger. She had a mission, and maybe, she had a chance to be free.
She clenched her ghost hands and bore down on the energy, containing it.
“We got a call,” said not-Oleg. “The boss sent us up because somebody complained about a draft blowing down the hall.”
The energy still churned inside her, swirling outward, but she fought the power with all the force of her will, drawing the fury back into herself inch by inch. Slowly, the room grew quiet and still.
Yuchenko shrugged. “Don’t be stupid. It’s just a breeze coming from the window.” He pointed to an inch-wide crack he’d opened before he left, blatantly ignoring the debris littering the room.
“Nah. Something else is going on here,” Oleg said, as if he were an authority on unexplained phenomenon because he read books and watched television shows about--what had he called it?--paranormal shit.
“Yes. I’d say so,” Yuchenko agreed. “Namely, an illegal entry of my hotel room. Now get out of here before I lodge a complaint, or call my buddy over at station six.”
The authority in his voice sent an odd shiver of excitement through her. He was a good man to have on her side.
“Yes, sir.” They turned tail in perfect timing, as if someone had choreographed the move.
He shut the door behind them and locked the chain.
“All right?” he asked, even though he couldn’t possibly hear a reply.
“Yes,” she answered, knowing he would be deaf to it.
He smiled toward the center of the room, guessing right about her general direction. “Miss me?”
“Yes,” she admitted, because he couldn’t hear.
He fished in his pocket, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You did good, calming yourself down just now.”
She inflated with pride, her ghost form swelling like a puff of air had been blown into her.
“Here.” He found what he was looking for and pulled out the ring, holding the loop open so she could thread her head through it.
She whooshed toward him. The weight of the makeshift necklace
“God, Oleg,” the other man chuckled out the words, “you gotta quit with those sci-fi novels.” The crack of another knock sounded. “But you’re right. Look out that window. The leaves aren’t even rustling, but my trouser cuffs are.”
Like a kite pulled taut, the wind shook her against its steady force. It hollowed her out, took away all thought, all memory, except one determined resolution. Find Stas. Kill him. Be free. Now.
The door swung open, two men in burgundy bellhop uniforms stood just outside, their caps instantly blowing off their heads.
“What the hell?” one said. Not Oleg, from the sound of his voice.
“Whoa.” That one had to be Oleg.
They stared right at Anya, but somehow she knew they didn’t see her. They must only feel the wind and be able to observe its action in the flapping drapes, the scattered papers, the paintings rattling and askew.
Invisible again.
Loneliness whipped through her, and with it, fear. What if she failed and this was her future? She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the worries. They blended with her determination, whipping up a full-blown storm inside the room. A chair blew over.
“What should we do?” Oleg asked.
“Call the cops?” asked the other guy.
“More like Mulder and Scully.”
“That some of your sci-fi shit?”
“Uh-huh. X files , American show. They handled this kind of paranormal stuff all the time. It was usually aliens.”
“Yeah, I buy that,” the other man said.
“What’s going on here?” asked a familiar and very welcomed voice. “I damn well hope you had a good reason for entering my room, boys.”
Yuchenko didn’t sound at all puppy-like at the moment. His features had hardened into powerful, masculine lines. His appearance anchored her, lending her a sense of weight. She wasn’t alone. She wasn’t only air and anger. She had a mission, and maybe, she had a chance to be free.
She clenched her ghost hands and bore down on the energy, containing it.
“We got a call,” said not-Oleg. “The boss sent us up because somebody complained about a draft blowing down the hall.”
The energy still churned inside her, swirling outward, but she fought the power with all the force of her will, drawing the fury back into herself inch by inch. Slowly, the room grew quiet and still.
Yuchenko shrugged. “Don’t be stupid. It’s just a breeze coming from the window.” He pointed to an inch-wide crack he’d opened before he left, blatantly ignoring the debris littering the room.
“Nah. Something else is going on here,” Oleg said, as if he were an authority on unexplained phenomenon because he read books and watched television shows about--what had he called it?--paranormal shit.
“Yes. I’d say so,” Yuchenko agreed. “Namely, an illegal entry of my hotel room. Now get out of here before I lodge a complaint, or call my buddy over at station six.”
The authority in his voice sent an odd shiver of excitement through her. He was a good man to have on her side.
“Yes, sir.” They turned tail in perfect timing, as if someone had choreographed the move.
He shut the door behind them and locked the chain.
“All right?” he asked, even though he couldn’t possibly hear a reply.
“Yes,” she answered, knowing he would be deaf to it.
He smiled toward the center of the room, guessing right about her general direction. “Miss me?”
“Yes,” she admitted, because he couldn’t hear.
He fished in his pocket, his brow furrowed in concentration. “You did good, calming yourself down just now.”
She inflated with pride, her ghost form swelling like a puff of air had been blown into her.
“Here.” He found what he was looking for and pulled out the ring, holding the loop open so she could thread her head through it.
She whooshed toward him. The weight of the makeshift necklace
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