Page 25 of Broken Embers

She nods. “I wouldn’t call it live. More like trapped.”

No.

No way.

“Your… father works here?”

Her expression hardens.

“My father runs this place.”

The room tilts for a second.

“You’re…” I trail off, trying to connect the dots even though I already know what they spell. “You’re the daughter of General Vladislav Ergorov.”

My fruit-sticky fingers go cold.

And just like that, the last little illusion I had that I’d managed to meet someone who might be able to help me is gone, and now I’m thinking this is another test.

I put the half-eaten candy bar on the table. Suddenly, it’s not that appetizing anymore, and I don’t know what it could be laced with. Am I getting paranoid—fuck hell yeah. For a moment, I nearly fell for it. I almost let down my guard, which has been up for so long. I think it is starting to rust in place.

I stand. “I’d better find Helga and see if I can go over my quote of scrubs and showers for the day.”

“Fuck!” Valeska swears, standing with me. “It’s my father, isn’t it?”

“I have to admit, I was nearly taken in by your goth, rebel look,” I tell her. “But let your father and my mad scientist aunt, if she is my aunt, know that it didn’t work. I don’t spill my guts to strangers, and I still have no clue where my mother or sister are.” I shake my head. “How could I? I’ve been stuck in here for five days, and I’m not psychic.”

I turn and start to walk away.

“Sabrina, wait!” Valeska rushes after me. “You don’t understand…”

“I think I do,” I say and I’m saved having to say more when instead of Helga, Skinny, who’s name is Vavara and I love to mispronounce it and call her Viagra and it pisses her off which makes me day just a little brighter for it, appears.

“What are you doing here, Valeska?” Vavara’s tone is sharp and clipped like a frustrated schoolmarm. She is probably one.

“I can go wherever I like,” Valeska reminds her.

“Not when it’s almost curfew,” Vavara points out.

“She was helping me because I accidentally knocked my bowl of fruit over,” I tell Vavara, indicating the sticky mess I am.

“How can you be the granddaughter of Anya Novikov?” Vavara hisses in discussion. “You are a disgrace to her name. She was never clumsy. Even at her advanced age, she still floats with poise and grace.”

“Give me a bottle of tequila and I can do that too,” I tell Vavara, and I’m rewarded with a scathing look that could strip paint off walls.

“You had better go,” she hisses at Valeska, then turns her angry eyes on me. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“And what exactly will I be doing tomorrow?” I say, pulling her attention to me while Valeska sneaks away.

“You will see,” she says almost with glee.

I pull a face as if I don’t care. “Cool.”

Later, in my new, sterile room, which admittedly has a much more comfortable bed and warmer blankets, I slide my hand beneath my pillow to make myself comfortable. My hand hits something. I pull the pillow back, squinting through the dark, and find two candy bars and a note. I don’t have to read the note to know who it’s from.

Crumpling the note in my hand, I make my way into the tiny bathroom with just a toilet and basin adjoining the room. I switch on the soft light when I read it.

Sabrina. We need to talk. I didn’t only bump into you to say hi. I’m here to help you, oh, and I have a phone—an untraceable burner. And NO this is not a trick, test, or anything to do with my father’s sick ass world. Like you, I’m a prisoner here trying to find a way out. Did I mention I can get word to a man named Oleksi?

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