Page 52 of The Fire Beneath the Frost

The stairs groaned beneath our boots.Damp concrete pressed in close, graffiti and old flyers peeling away from the walls.At the bottom, a heavy metal door stood in our path.There wasn’t a sign, no handle, just a slit at eye level and a faint vibration of bass, muffled but steady, pulsing like a hidden heartbeat.

I knocked—three short, two long, one short.My heart stuttered, matching the rhythm.

The slit scraped open, revealing a pair of suspicious eyes.I leaned in and whispered, “Mozart’s ghost.”

A pause.Then the door unlatched with a mechanical thunk and creaked open just far enough for us to slip through.

Inside, warm air enveloped us, scented with cigarette smoke, sweat, and something faintly floral—cheap perfume or maybe hope.The music was a low thread in the background, barely audible over the hush of whispered conversations and the occasional clink of glass.A shadowy figure in a red velvet waistcoat took our coats, and Dimitri handed over a few rubles with a quiet, “thanks.”

His eyes widened as we stepped into the main room.

“This place is…” he began, glancing around.“Much nicer than the old bathhouse.”

I grinned.“Someone’s been busy.”

The space was low-ceilinged and sprawling, with concrete pillars like sentries between clusters of mismatched furniture—velvet armchairs, chipped tables, a threadbare rug or two.But what caught the eye were the mannequins.

At least a dozen of them, repurposed from the GUM’s former days, stood like silent patrons scattered around the room.Someone had dressed them in faded sequin gowns, vintage gloves, costume pearls.One wore a powdered wig and a feather boa.Another had a military cap and a floor-length tulle skirt, lipstick smeared just so.They looked like ghosts of a queerer, grander past, holding court in their crumbling palace.

Only a handful of real people were here this early.Two men in conversation at the bar, a lone woman in a tuxedo smoking near the stage, a couple swaying half-heartedly near the back.It was still early.The crowd wouldn’t arrive until later, when the city’s more watchful eyes turned in for the night.

A melody drifted from the corner speakers—soft piano, rich strings, a voice smooth and mournful like a lullaby sung through cigarette smoke.Dimitri stopped beside me, head tilted slightly, and sighed.

“I love this one,” he said.

Something in his tone caught me—unfamiliar, unguarded.I looked at him.The light from the chandelier above caught in his hair, casting a halo of gold.

I held out my hand.“Dance with me.”

He blinked, startled.“I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy,” I said, stepping closer.“Just follow me.”

He hesitated, then slipped his hand into mine.My other hand settled at the small of his back.His breath caught, but he didn’t pull away.He let me guide him, our bodies swaying in time with the music—slow, deliberate steps.A lazy waltz.

We moved together through the space like we belonged there.Like this was normal.Like men could do this in public without fear.

The mannequins watched us, shimmering in their decaying finery.

Dimitri’s hand gripped mine a little tighter.I felt the tremble in his fingers.His eyes were locked on mine—uncertain at first, but then something softened in them.Trust.Or maybe it was love?I could feel it in how he breathed, how he let himself lean into me, how his chest rose and fell in time with mine.

We danced in a slow circle under the weak glow of chandelier light and the watchful stillness of painted eyes.

The world faded.No families, and no factory.No fake wives or secrets.Just the two of us and the music.

He stepped closer, our foreheads brushing.His breath warmed my cheek as the song faded away.

“I never wanted the song to end,” he whispered.“I’d be happy spending the rest of my days in your arms.”

A tear slipped free before I could stop it, traitorous and hot against the cold of my cheek.

Dimitri reached up and wiped it away with his thumb, tender and reverent.His touch lingered.

“Petyr…” he murmured.

I couldn’t speak.I just kissed his palm.

The music faded, and the spell thinned but didn’t break.

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