21. Snow Maiden’s Aria
Snow Maiden’s Aria
Louna parked outside The Snow Maiden, still glowing from the success of her theft.
She had checked in on the earbud and found nothing amiss with the boys, so she pocketed it again and got out of her car, looking forward to a warm cup of tea to counter the slicing wind.
Polina hadn’t answered her text, but if she was working at the shop, that wasn’t surprising.
Louna would order a cup of tea, ask how the research was going, and return to the Nest to finish her preparations.
A perfect way to celebrate her victory.
Louna huddled in her coat as she entered the shop, opening her mouth to greet Polina and blinking to adjust her eyes to the artificial light.
“Guten Tag, Frau Despereaux,” said a quiet voice.
Ice shot through Louna’s chest. The shop was empty except for a tall man in a black coat, who stood in the center of the room with his gaze fixed on her.
Louna exhaled through her nose. “Where is Polina?”
“Safe,” Hartmann answered. “For now. For as long as Herr Harlow needs her. You know what that feels like.”
“If you hurt her—” Louna started, but Hartmann lifted his hand.
“I’ve treated you with respect,” he said. “I ask you to do the same for me. You are in no position to make threats, so there is no need to posture. I’m here to talk.”
A retort rose to her tongue, but Louna clenched her teeth to keep it inside. He was right. He had the advantage, and there was no use pretending otherwise.
“You are as smart as he said,” Hartmann said.
“Who?” Louna asked, glaring. “Tennyson?”
Hartmann smiled. “Herr Harlow.”
Nausea climbed up her throat, and she took another step into the room to keep it at bay. “What do you want?”
“Stone already has Herr Harlow’s terms,” Hartmann said, watching her without turning. “I assume he has shared them with you.”
She nodded, and he went on without changing his expression. “You could save him a great deal of suffering.”
“By going back to Harlow,” Louna said.
Hartmann inclined his head.
“And if we do,” she said slowly, “you’ll release Polina.”
Hartmann blinked slowly at her. “This is not a negotiation. It is not a threat. I am simply reminding you of Herr Harlow’s terms, and of his deadline. You do not seem to be taking it seriously.”
He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and withdrew a business card.
When she didn’t come forward to take it, he set it on the counter and moved across the room toward the door.
“We are much alike, you know,” he said quietly.
“Stone and I. We have the same specialties. The same skills. Perhaps you have noticed.”
“You are nothing like him,” Louna growled.
“Ask him,” Hartmann suggested. “Ask how we worked together in Russia. And maybe, if you are brave enough…” He glanced at her.
“Ask him how many times he has given this same ultimatum to someone else. In another universe, it could just as easily have been him standing here talking to you. It could have been him paying a visit to your professor friend. It could have—”
“Enough,” Louna said, glaring at him.
The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “You have wasted two days. One remains. I suggest you consider your position with a little more… clarity.”
A chill settled in Louna’s spine, but she said nothing. Hartmann walked calmly to the door, pausing with his fingers on the handle.
“Your hand,” he said, without looking at her. “Be sure to treat it. We wouldn’t want anything to jeopardize your usefulness to Herr Harlow.”
He flipped the sign on the door to closed and left.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, her heart pounding, watching people pass obliviously on the sidewalk. The shop was silent, and it was her doing. She had led Hartmann to Polina. Whatever happened to her was Louna’s fault.
Tennyson was right. She should have left when she had the chance.
If she had, Polina would be here in the shop now, and Louna would be back in Paris, working on her art and minding her own business.
They would both be safe. Instead, she’d painted targets on their backs and divided Tennyson’s attention from Lindsey’s rescue.
She’d left him vulnerable to Hartmann’s attack.
She took a breath, inhaling the scents of tea leaves and spices.
She needed to think. Regardless of what she should have done, she was here now, and she would not abandon Polina.
But she couldn’t rescue her alone. She needed Tennyson.
They needed a plan, and time to prepare, and they wouldn’t get either until after the masquerade.
By now, Hartmann had to have figured out that they would use the party as cover to rescue Lindsey, and he would be ready for them.
Her distraction would have to draw Hartmann as well as the guards if Tennyson was to have any hope of getting to Lindsey.
But then, he could handle the guards. Louna would handle Hartmann.
Tennyson would never agree to it, so she would have to act without telling him. Guilt stung her at the thought, but she didn’t have a choice—she would not interfere with Lindsey’s rescue. She’d promised as much when she followed Tennyson to Romania, and she would not go back on her word.
The card Hartmann had left on the counter caught her eye, and she moved mechanically to pick it up. There was no name, no identifiers. Just a phone number. She shoved it into her pocket and turned to search the shop, covering the queasy feeling still churning in her stomach with action.
There wasn’t anything of interest in the main shop, so she moved on to the office.
There was a cellphone on the desk, and when Louna covered her hand with a napkin and picked it up, she found her text to Polina open on the screen.
That was how Hartmann had known she was coming, then.
She deleted the messages and put the phone down to pick through the papers and envelopes on the desk, finding nothing.
The silver samovar Polina had used was still sitting on the desk, cold and empty.
Louna turned to leave, but her foot bumped something beside the desk, and she bent to pick it up.
It was a tea tin. Russian Caravan, the tea Polina had served her. Louna frowned at it, then twisted the lid open to peer inside.
A folded piece of paper was partially buried in the dried leaves. She pulled it out, unfolding it and tilting it toward the light to read the handwritten note inside.
The ring is a key.
Louna pocked the note, tucked the tea tin under one arm, and left the shop.
By the time Jean-Claude and Philippe returned to the Nest, she had her masks finished and was working on the alterations to her dress.
She had called Cristian a few times throughout the afternoon to confirm details with him, and Tennyson had reported via the earbud that preparations were progressing smoothly in her absence.
He’d stayed behind again, unwilling to leave Lindsey, but at least he’d agreed to get some sleep before Cristian and his people left for the night.
Ilya had loaned a few more cousins to deliver the harpsichord, which they did without trouble, and Louna secured Cristian’s permission to let them stay the night so they could begin the morning’s work bright and early the next day.
“Cristian’s friends came to replace the tires you slashed,” Louna said during one of Tennyson’s rare conversations. “At least with Ilya’s cousins, you’ll have witnesses who can fight for themselves.”
“Exactly how many cousins does Ilya have?” Tennyson asked.
Louna laughed, hoping he wouldn’t notice her forced cheerfulness. “His father has six brothers, and his mother has two and two sisters. And those are only his first cousins.”
“Convenient that they’re all in Romania,” he grumbled.
“They aren’t all in Romania,” Louna said. “But most of them live in Eastern Europe, so it wasn’t far to travel.”
“Lucky for us.”
It was lucky. Louna had used Ilya’s connections in the past, but never this many at once.
She was going to have to answer for it when this was all over.
Lindsey checked in a few times throughout the afternoon, but he went quiet when Tennyson admitted that he’d found a place to rest. “You could use a bed,” Louna told him, but he just grumbled something unintelligible about not being able to trust the room.
“I haven’t seen Hartmann yet,” he reminded her. “And we don’t know where all the secret passages let out. If I’m going to sleep, it has to be somewhere he won’t expect to find me.”
Louna didn’t ask where that might be, and he didn’t offer the information. Hartmann would be back at the castle by now, though she doubted he would do anything to Tennyson tonight. He knew the risks of a fight as well as she did, and he would wait to see what Louna did before forcing one.
She took out the business card he’d left and twisted it in her fingers. All of Tennyson’s paranoia was beginning to look like level-headed precaution, and it only made the guilt swelling up her throat feel hotter. She should have told him about the ring from the beginning. She’d missed her chance.
Now, she would have to handle it on her own.
That evening, Jean-Claude and Philippe prepared their own costumes while Louna finished her dress, though she paused frequently to help them.
They had chosen simple but well-tailored suits of dark green, with long, swallow-tailed coats of dappled black velvet.
Their masks were plain black silk, unadorned, meant to help them disappear in the shadows outside the castle.
When Jean-Claude retreated to the kitchen to begin dinner, Louna enlisted Philippe’s help as a model so she could finish a few embellishments on Lindsey’s vest. Philippe had a thicker stomach than Lindsey, but by hanging it open on his chest, she was able to make the necessary adjustments.
“This is it, then,” he said quietly, after a few minutes of silence. “One more night. Everything will be over tomorrow.”
“You don’t sound happy about that,” Louna said.