Page 63 of Black Castle

“Well, do be careful,” he calls after her anyway, his voice drowned by the hum of traffic.

Vivienne reaches the bench the man is sitting on, stopping a foot or two away, shifting on her heels nervously.

“Hi.” It’s barely audible, but the man looks up, grey eyes sharp with irritation.

“Foreigners,” he grumbles. His Russian accent is thick, rough, nothing like Lucan’s when he speaks English.

“Yeah.” She nods awkwardly, glancing briefly at Kenji, who’s still leaning against the phone booth, watching her with guarded eyes.

“Can I, um, trade this cash for some coins?” She extends the money to the man.

“I don’t have coins.” The response is curt, sharp, slicing through the air like the edge of a blade. Yet Vivienne doesn’t waver. She isn’t about to go around asking for coins when all she can say in Russian is Spasibo. What if in this whole airport, only this strange man can speak English?

“Please,” she persists, her voice layered with forced sweetness. “I really, really need to make this call else I’ll be stranded here and I’ve got no money for a hotel.”

She must have finally touched his heart as finally, the man’s eyes soften, too discrete to catch, though. Then he reaches into the pocket of his brown, worn out coat.

“Crazy Americans,” he mumbles as he fishes out two pieces of coins, handing it to her.

She doesn’t bother acknowledging the jab and just accepts the coins instead. “Spasibo.” She finally uses the one word she has been dying to use since she arrived at the airport, hightailing before the man changes his mind.

“Took you long enough,” Kenji comments, pushing off the booth as Vivienne steps into the confined space, slightly grimacing due to the smell of cigarette lingering in the air—thanks to whoever used the phone last.

“He hates Americans,” she muses, a smirk tugging at her lips as she slots the coin into the machine.

“I figured,” Kenji says with a slight chuckle, watching her punch in Lucan’s number and hitting the dial.

It begins to ring, and her heart starts to pound. It rings for some minutes, but no response. Kenji says something under his breath, but Vivienne can’t hear it due to the increasing blare of car horns and distant sirens.

“Please, please, please,” she chants as she drops the second coin, dialing the number again.

It begins to ring, and it rings for nearly thirty seconds. But just when she’s losing hope, she hears a click.

“Kto ty?” ‘Who are you?’

His voice is slightly different in Russian—deeper...harsher. And the way he growls the words makes a shiver run down her spine. Regardless, her stomach flips at the sound of it. It’s been twenty-two days since she last heard this voice.

“Govorit!” ‘Speak!’

Kenji leans in, whispering, “If he hangs up before you say anything, it’s not gonna be funny, Vee.”

Vivienne takes in a shaky breath, trembling hands tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “Hi.”

Silence echoes from the other end, slow, measured and filled only with the faint echo of his breathing.

“Vivienne?” His voice suddenly shifts, the confusion and shock unmistakable.

“Hi, Snow White.” She swallows, hands gripping the receiver as if it’s the only thing keeping her tethered. “I’m um, I’m stranded…sort of.”

“Where are you?” he asks, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Airport.” She turns to glance at the illuminated sign overhead. “I think, Moscow Domodedovo?” she says the name carefully, afraid of mispronouncing it.

He doesn’t say anything immediately. But she hears it, the scrape of a chair, hurried footsteps, door opening and slamming shut, a series of rustling in the background.

“Why are you here, Vivienne?” he finally speaks.

Vivienne deflects, running a hand through her hair. People need to stop asking her this question because at this point, she doesn’t know anymore.

---