Page 42 of Drowning in the Deep

“Igor Agrapov,” I muttered under my breath, causing my brothers to stop their conversation and turn to me.

“What was that, bro?” Mikel asked. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just remembered a guy I know who might be able to help with this. I’m gonna pay him a visit. You fellas go ahead and get your fancy dress shoes polished. Because the four of us are going to a wedding tomorrow.” I grinned at them, and though they were still arching eyebrows in my direction, they all smiled back.

A few hours later, I found myself in a part of town I hadn’t visited in years. A lot of Russians lived here, but because they had nothing to do with the mob and most of them were older, I never had reason to visit this area.

Parking in a garage a few blocks away from the address I’d found online, I got out of the car and made my way over to the little shop. The scents of incense and other herbs hit me before I could even see the store. When I arrived, I took a moment outside to look through the dust-covered windows. The place was full of all kinds of old-school witchy-looking shit. Herbs and baskets hung from the ceiling, as well as what looked like old Russian-style dreamcatchers and other talismans. I wasn’t really familiar with this part of our culture, but I had a feeling Rasputin would fit in really well at a place like this.

It seemed out of place when a bell dinged above the door as I walked in, but I heard it nonetheless. Once inside, the scents were overwhelming. I couldn’t place any of them, but it was stifling. Various dried flowers and herbs hung from the bare wooden rafters so low, I had to dodge around them to make my way to the counter. Funny, when I’d come in here as a kid, I hadn’t been tall enough for them to hit me in the face, but now, they seemed to stretch almost to the floor.

I waited a few moments, knowing Igor would show up in his own time. There wasn’t a bell near the register for me to ding, and I wasn’t about to yell at a man who could potentially have the ability to kill me where I stood through the use of herbs or whatever other crazy shit he dabbled in.

A few moments later, a curtain over an entry behind the counter and off to my left stirred, and a tall, thin man with a flowing white beard dressed in traditional Russian clothing walked out. Though I hadn’t seen his face for years, I recognized him instantly. When I’d come here before, I’d found him intimidating, if not downright terrifying. Now, I wasn’t necessarily scared of him, but I was uneasy, probably remembering some of those feelings from when I was a kid on a visceral level.

“Daemon Petrov,” he said, approaching me on the other side of the counter. “You have grown up.”

“Igor Agrapov,” I said, not even caring how it was that he’d recognized me. “You seem to be exactly the same.”

He grinned at me. “Age is an illusion. How can I be of service to the young man who has assumed such a powerful position amongst our people?”

So he knew what I was about then. I wondered if he’d be willing to help me the way he’d helped my father. Men like Igor who were outside of my influence could be difficult to control, and if he didn’t want to help me, he didn’t have to. While money spoke to most people, I didn’t think the cash I had in my pocket was all that important to him. And intimidation would get me nowhere with him, either.

“I need something pretty potent, something that can take out a large crowd of people,” I explained. “They are a threat to our way of life.”

He raised an eyebrow. “They don’t respect the old ways?”

I shook my head. “And they don’t respect the family.” I was playing a part here, trying to make sure he stayed sympathetic to my cause. If he truly supported my father, he might not want to help me if he knew the old bastard died at my hand.

“I can be of service,” he said with a nod. “As you know, what I deal with here is a matter of dosage. What can cure a man in a small amount can kill him in a large one. One pinch may cure what ails you while a fist full will have you bleeding out your eyes.”

I nodded in understanding. He had managed to keep the old medicinal practices alive and bring them to the new world with us, and I respected that. “Do you have some of that substance you gave to my father all those years ago? Something I can drop in liquid that will take out a crowd?” I was thinking I could use that same substance in the champagne, and once the happy couple toasted, there’d be a lot of screaming, vomiting, gnashing of teeth, and dead supporters of Viktor.

Igor picked up an old leatherbound book and flipped through it. A moment later, he nodded at me. “Yes. I can do that. One moment, please.”

He spoke as if I were ordering a burger and fries. I thanked him and then watched as he brought out a mortar and pestle and started plucking herbs and flowers from the bunches hanging around him from the ceiling. I watched as he began to grind up the substance, adding things now and again, but after a few moments, I lost interest, and my mind began to wander.

Where the fuck was Elisa?

I hadn’t heard from her for a couple of days, which was unusual. I pulled out my phone, thinking she might want to come to the wedding with me. She usually called me at least once a day, but I didn’t even have any missed calls from her. No texts either.

I called her and it went straight to voicemail. I didn’t bother to leave a message. It was weird, but maybe she had something going on at work. I tried not to think about it because I didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that I sort of missed her.

Shrugging it off, I prepared to pay Igor a king’s ransom for what he was about to give me, for the risk that he was taking and to make sure he said nothing to anyone.

Elisa could wait until later.

CHAPTER29

ELISA

The scent of death mingled with the damp smell of the cold concrete as I startled awake again. I’d dozed off several times since my father threw the rat into the room with me, which had been the last time anyone had come to the room. But I kept jerking awake, my reality almost as bad as my dreams.

I had a feeling things were about to get much worse.

Time blurred in the small room. I had no idea if it had been a day, two days, or a fucking week. I had a feeling it hadn’t really been that long since the blood from the rat’s head hadn’t completely dried yet. The pool he was lying in had spread slightly across the dirty cement, but it looked wet and sticky from what I could tell in my corner of the room.

He was lying so that the light that spilled in from the crack beneath the door illuminated his bloody mangled head. When he’d come at me, I hadn’t had any choice but to kick his head in. I didn’t want to do it, and it made me sick just thinking about it. I’d always hated rats—their long skinny tails, their nasty fur, their long claws that scraped through layers of skin so easily. But my hatred was based on fear, so having it close enough to kill had about undone me.

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