Chapter 33
Zina
A Few Days Later
“How is she?”
“The same.” I didn’t glance at Katya; I kept my gaze firmly on Baba Valya.
Her eyes were closed, her yellowed skin cut and bruised and swollen, suddenly appearing ancient.
She had mostly been sleeping since I had found her a few days before, exhausted by her ordeal, her body recovering from her injuries.
My questions, my training with Sergei, even Mama, would need to wait.
All that mattered was for Baba Valya to be well, to be herself again, in our tearoom, in our little corner of Paris.
I no longer cared what we had or didn’t have, what she had kept from me.
She was my family, my home. To lose it, her, was inconceivable.
“You should eat, Zina,” Dr. Misha said from the doorway of Baba Valya’s bedroom. His too-eager energy, a sugary marmalade orange, grated on me. “You are not strong enough and may yet relapse.”
I ignored the good doctor. He had been hovering around the tearoom way too much, though I begrudgingly admitted he had his uses. I patted Zefir, who lay in a warm pile of blankets beside Baba Valya. But I felt the ache in my head, the dryness of my mouth, my debilitating weakness.
“Come, Zina,” Katya tried again. “Let me make you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’ll make you something anyway.”
I envisioned Katya’s preserve- and meat-packed blini or little buttery sandwiches, and my stomach let out a growl. “Oh, fine,” I grumbled, then added, “thank you.”
Katya gave Dr. Misha a perfectly charming smile, and he pressed her hand.
I could vomit. Of course, I was happy for my friend, delighted that she had found someone after all this time and despite her perfectly horrid mama.
But misery loves company, and I was truly miserable.
Every instinct in me fought to telephone or send a note to Gabriel.
And every time, I remembered his betrayal, those letters, Olga.
I scooped Zefir into my arms and followed Katya down the stairs, peering into the shadows for the spirit.
The salt and mustard seeds crunched beneath our feet.
We meticulously kept up the wards, and I hadn’t seen the spirit since my return.
But I felt him. Not only in the buzzing darkness but in the negative energy that crashed into me like a frigid tidal wave.
It settled onto my skin, causing it to pimple and shrivel.
I searched the stairs’ nooks and crannies, saw the glimmer of something.
Maybe the spirit’s orb-like eyes, watching and waiting—but for what?
“Has anyone stopped by?” Katya asked as a way of distracting us.
Though I had caught her up on my meetings with Mama’s friends, we didn’t speak of the Grand Duke or about what, who, had attacked my grandmother.
Two men, she had said. Likely hired by the same sister and brother who had had me poisoned.
Olga and Alec were looking for their inheritance, after all.
Perhaps they were growing desperate, given Nikolasha’s increased popularity among Paris’s émigré elite, if Baba Valya’s Russian newspapers were any indication.
We passed the tearoom, which we had tidied up—at least, a few émigré men helped us to put the door back on its hinges, replace the tables and chairs, and clear away the strewn herbs and glass and other debris.
But it was a poor shadow of what it had been, especially with the near-empty window frames.
We covered them, but they still made me nervous—what if whoever worked for Olga and Alec returned? Hurt Katya? The wind also whistled ceaselessly, creating drafts.
“Your dear mama stopped by with clothing she wished to dispose of, and Nina Berberova with her latest stories, though how they imagine those helping Baba Valya in her sleep, I have no idea.” I shook my head, adding, “Oh, and Inessa Gippa dropped off a whole honey cake.” Even with the haunting, it seemed Paris’s entire Russian colony had been in and out of the tearoom over the past few days, bringing over whatever they had on hand for Baba Valya.
Perhaps it was not about the exchange of favors so much as it was about community, having people that cared about you.
I supposed that was what made Baba Valya and rue Daru so special in the end.
Not that they were French or Russian, old or new, but that they were there, like the street itself, on our doorstep when we needed them.
This reassured me a little and even made me feel a kind of safety, though I knew not one of those people could save us should our attackers return.
Safety was an illusion, after all, especially with the empty windows.
I tightened my hold on Zefir, and my cat let out an indignant yowl, squirming in my arms. “Actually, that honey cake sounds good,” I said, my mouth watering for the first time in days.
And I wanted to look into the coffee grounds to try to see if—when—Baba Valya would wake up. “Coffee would be good, too.”
Katya gave me an approving nod, having been hoping I would be ready to do just that. Lord knew she had dropped enough hints.
We walked into the kitchen. It was filled with beams of light.
I avoided looking out the window, at the garden.
Despite the bright spring day, it was dark and shady there.
I had avoided Mama’s grave since I had returned.
I wanted to visit her, but I wasn’t ready to admit the dead thing I had seen in the ground was my mother.
While Katya cut the cake and prepared the plates and silverware, I made the coffee—exactly as Baba Valya did, selecting the best beans, grinding and brewing them myself, then choosing two of the very best cups, whole and white and gleaming.
I poured the coffee, adding an extra pinch of grounds into each cup, as Zefir settled herself at my feet and Katya sat across from us in her usually elegant way.
I slid the herbal amulet from my throat, not wanting it to interfere with the reading, and pulled out a cigarette to Katya’s disapproving glare.
But Baba Valya wasn’t here, so I could smoke all I wanted.
I lit the cigarette and took a drag, considering my cup.
We drank our coffees silently, knowing the process, our slices of honey cake lying untouched beside us. Neither of us finished our coffee, each turning our cups three times counterclockwise while thinking of our question. Then we looked inside.
“Alligator,” I said quickly, before the symbol in the coffee dregs could vanish. Caution needed.
“Truck,” Katya said, just as quickly. A speedy recovery.
“Beetle.” A setback.
“Bones.” Strength needed.
“Bear.” Quit arguing. “Bird.” Bad fortune. As the bird’s wing dissolved into the dregs, I drew in a shaky breath. “She will recover, but not for long.”
“You aren’t the best at coffee readings,” Katya reminded me gently, nudging one of the plates with honey cake in my direction. “After all, you don’t have Valentina’s affinity.”
Zefir scratched at my legs, not painfully, as though in agreement.
“I suppose,” I said, thinking that as soon as Baba Valya was better—and she would be—I would contact Sergei about my training.
I ran a hand down my cat’s silky back, biting into the cake.
Caramelized honey, whipped cream, and wildflowers burst onto my tongue.
I groaned. “Inessa might be a pain, but she knows honey cakes.”
“That she does. Even I couldn’t make it this good.” Katya hesitated, swallowing another bite. “I mean it, Zina. Do not think about the prediction, not yet.” She forced brightness. “You know what we should do today? Look for that inheritance.”
“The treasure? You think?”
“Definitely. What if we find it? We will be rich.”
I thought of Mama, of all the as-yet-unanswered questions, and I really just wanted to speak to Baba Valya.
Or to ask the coffee grounds where Mama was.
But they weren’t meant to answer questions about the dead.
Still, Katya was right, and had been there for me once more, so I had to make an effort for her.
Besides, what if we found this treasure after all?
A loud knock came from the tearoom’s front door then, startling me.
Zefir leaped out from under the table with a furious meow, her eyes sparking jewel bright in warning.
Katya and I met each other’s gazes, my own fear reflected in hers. “I will go and see who it is,” I said.
But when I reached the tearoom door, I stopped dead in my tracks. It wasn’t our assailants on the other side. It was the outline of a tall figure. A tall figure I knew very well. Gabriel.
I packed in my feelings as best I could and pulled open the door, the broken bell giving a sad little chime. “Hello.”
“Hello.”
It was strange to see Gabriel again after everything that had happened, stranger even that he seemed unaware of the changes in me and between us. “What can I do for you, Inspector?” I asked, as evenly as possible.
A few other men, likely his squad of inspectors, milled some distance behind him, avoiding my gaze.
My heart beat out a panicked warning, my mind flashing to Mama’s grave in our garden.
What if he and Lucian had changed their minds and demanded to search the tearoom?
Calm down, Zina. I would then seek recourse.
The law was not without protection for people like us.
At least, I hoped. I would do anything to protect my grandmother, our home, and our business. “Well? What are you doing here?”
Gabriel’s gaze shifted from the windowless tearoom to me. He had a shadow of facial hair on his chin and cheeks, wine-purple bags under his eyes. So the inspector also wasn’t sleeping. “Are you all right, Zina? Why didn’t you telephone me?”
“Why would I do that?”
“Why?” he asked incredulously. “Your tearoom is attacked and ransacked, and you don’t tell me, a man of the law?”
A man of the law. Sure. Is it also lawful to accept bribes? “Oh, that.” My heart, though still carrying a chamber full of anger, thudded out another warning. “I simply didn’t wish to bother you. After all, you have so much business with so many people.”
“Bother me? What people?” I saw genuine confusion, even hurt, in his face.
Good. Gabriel drew closer. I felt his breath on my cheek.
It reminded me of sea salt chocolates and our kisses.
“Look,” he said in a low, discreet voice.
“I don’t know what happened. I thought all was well, then you run out of my apartment, I don’t hear from you in days, and I only find out what happened from your neighbors. Now it is…like this.”
That did sound bad. Maybe he should write his grievances to Olga. “I thought we could handle it on our own. What is with the retinue?”
He rolled back on his heels, studying my face. “I thought you might need help. What happened, Zina? Never mind what I did, what happened here?”
“I…don’t know. Not really. My grandmother has yet to properly wake up.”
“I’m sorry, Zina. Has Dr. Misha been to see her?”
I nodded. Then, to my utter humiliation, tears pricked my eyes.
Gabriel said nothing. He simply pulled me into him and held me. “She will be all right,” he said into my hair, his whisper rough with emotion. “She is a strong lady, Zina. As are you.”
Fear clotted my throat, my chest, making it hard to breathe. I had to grab a hold of myself. I wiped the tears from my cheeks, drew away from him. Distance was necessary.
But he placed his hands on my shoulders. Their weight was comforting, though I knew I shouldn’t think so. “When she is ready, let me know, so I can take her statement.” I said nothing, and he added, “Is it them, Zina?”
I hesitated, then felt myself nod again.
Gabriel was silent for a minute. “They have disappeared, as though into thin air,” he said finally.
“I…am sorry to have put you through this. It seems my superior was right after all. Except it wasn’t a wild-goose chase but a deliberate attack on you, your grandmother, and your business. I am sorry. More than you know.”
Oh, I knew. The existence of those letters rushed back, his working for Olga, the betrayal of it. “Thank you,” I replied, my tone back to its even, unemotional wavelength. I resolutely wiped away the last of my tears. “I better get back to my grandmother.”
“Of course. Will you telephone me, send me a note, anything—when you and your grandmother are ready for me to come by?”
“Of course.” But I knew I wouldn’t. There was no way in hell I was letting him into our tearoom, his seemingly good intentions in this moment or no.