Page 74 of Spring's Arcana
The door creaked; she pulled it open and stepped out into a dark, frosty Iowa night. Maybe she could even start running, make it to a well-traveled street, flag down a car? Ask someone nicely to take her to South Dakota, no matter what they had waiting at home?
What were the ethics of this sort of thing? Were there any?
Had Mom ever thought about them?
There was a crashing behind her, a sound of male pain. Nat put her chin down, wishing she could cover her ears, hopped off the steps, and kept walking.
DONE DEAL
The black car pulled up beside her barely a block away, its engine purr familiar now and the passenger window rolling down. “Eh,zaika.” Dmitri was familiar too—you could, apparently, get used to anything even in a short while. “Get in.”
She didn’t even know what day it was; hanging out with divinities messed up your circadian rhythm something awful. Or maybe there was a divinity of time, and he was mad at her for some reason.
Nat pulled her backpack higher on her shoulder, focusing on the far glow of an intersection where the dirt road turned to pavement. “I should have known you had an ulterior motive.”
“What? Get in.” The engine revved; either he’d done it out of pique or the car itself was impatient. “We get some snacks, drive all night. Or we stay at Elysium again.” Did he actually sound anxious?
Just how many Elysiums are there?“All I’ve got to do is ask someone for a ride, Dmitri.”
“Oh, you think it so simple? Getin,I’m not asking again.”
He wasn’t asking in the first place, but Nat didn’t bother pointing it out. “Are you going to beat me up if I say no?”
“What? That’s just play,zaika. So he knows I care.” The engine revved again, sharper now. “And now thatpolitskei politrukmotherfucker get a nice warm welcome when he come through sniffing at our trail.” The car edged forward; he cut the wheel to the right so the front fender edged into the icy shoulder, effectively blocking her. “Not every family nice and happy like you and your mama.”
For fuck’s sake. “You think I’m happy? You think I like this?” Nat’s hands curled into fists; her backpack slipped on her shoulderand the wind, freighted with icy riverbreath, tugged at the green knit cap and hem of her coat. “Every time I turn around someone’s reminding me they hate my mother and she lied to me, or that I’m killing her just by existing. Andyou,you hate me for something I never even did. All I want is to be left alone!”
The dome light came on; Dima rose from his side of the car. He peered over the shiny black roof at her, and a soft chiming was thehey dipshit, door’s openstandard on every model.
Even this one.
The gangster didn’t have a pithy comment or a hateful little speech ready. Instead, Dima stared solemnly at her, his dark eyes narrowed and his hair gleaming. The shadows thickened, turning sharp; she could swear some of them almost twitched, like the mummified sorcerer’s little helpers.
Surrounded by acres of sleeping farmland, Waterloo still sent an orange stain into the cloud-lowering winter sky. Nat was frozen too, but not from the weather. The breeze held an iron tang of snow on its back; maybe de Winter was watching.
I hope she is. I’d like to flip her off, so help me, I’d justloveto tell her a few things. At top volume too.
They stared at each other, mobster and girl, Nat trembling with what couldn’t be anger because good girls weren’t supposed to feel rage, were they? Society, not to mention the sisters at school, were both very clear on that point indeed, and Mom…
Your little temper, Natchenka.And that slight disdainful sound Maria Drozdova made, not quite a huff.Go clean your room.
Childhood was knowing your own mother hated you, but accepting it as natural. Adulthood, Nat realized, was the moment you figured out it wasn’t just an unchangeable fact but also how fucked up it was, and how much it hurt.
Dmitri nodded a little, as if she’d done something surprising but pleasant at the same time. He still said nothing, but his expression changed—though in precisely what way, she couldn’t tell.
Oh, forfuck’ssake.Nat reached for the car door, yanked it open, and dropped into leather-scented warmth. She slammed the door, hugged her backpack, and didn’t reach for her seatbelt.
If they got in a crash, what the hell would happen? Would Mom suddenly be all right again? What if Nat sliced open her wrists in a hotel bathtub?
Dmitri had a nice big black gun, too. Wouldthatwork?
He settled in the driver’s side, and his own door closed. He turned the wheel and popped the emergency brake, dropped the big black car into gear, and feathered the accelerator.
At the end of the dirt road they bumped up onto pavement. No tricks, no zooming, he drove sedately as a grandma out for a Sunday tour.
He worked them back towards the freeway, following signs different than the ones at home. The variance wasn’t huge, just enough to make her head hurt and her nose fill up. Nat wiped at her cheeks, surprised to find them dry. Maybe she was too tired, or too furious, to really cry.
They stopped at a red light, the left turn signal blinking steadily. The freeway on-ramp swallowed right-turning oncoming traffic with no demur, and his hands were loose on the yoke.
