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Authors: Shannon McKenna
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at the hospital this morning,” Shira went on.
“A guy?” Nina’s spine prickled nastily. “Who? What guy?”
“He said he was Helga Kasyanov’s brother,” Shira said.
“Sergei. Doesn’t look a thing like her, though. He said she’s a schizophrenic, dumping her meds, and that she thinks her family is trying to poison her. He can’t imagine how she’d have access to anything other than her own antipsychotics, which is toxic bad news for you, but not fatal.”
“What? You just told him everything?” she burst out. “About me? Everything that happened with Helga? The syringe, and all that?”
“Ah . . . ah . . . well, I, uh . . .” Shira stammered.
“He was lying, Shira!” Her voice shook. “Helga didn’t have a brother! She was married, years ago, but she emigrated with her parents when she was fourteen. She had a daughter, but no brother!”
“Oh. I . . . wow. Well, I told this guy about the recording—”
Nina winced. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me, let me guess. He offered to translate it, right? I bet he’s just a prince of a guy.”
“Nina. Back off. I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“What did you tell him?” she demanded. “Did you tell him which hospital we were in?”
“Well, ah.” Shira sounded confused. “No, not exactly. He just, ah, guessed it. In fact, he guessed a whole lot of stuff. It was weird. Like, I would find myself talking about stuff that I hadn’t known I told him.”
“What did he look like?” Nina’s heart thudded.
“Ah . . . Nina. You’re overreacting, and I don’t appreciate—”
“Just tell me, goddamnit! What did he look like?”
“OK, OK! He was tall, dark, pretty good looking, some acne scarring, forty, maybe. Nice clothes. Expensive. Flirtatious. Satisfied?”
“Dark, you said? Not bald?”
“No,” Shira said. “Lots of hair. Dark. He had a ponytail, a slick little playboy one.”
“Was he with a woman? A blond, pretty one?”
“No, he was alone. Stop snarling. I don’t know how I ended up telling the guy so much, but I was rattled by what happened to you too! I judged it to be more important to get a clue what might have been in that syringe. I made a judgment call. I screwed up. Sorry, OK?”
“OK.” Nina peeked over her shoulder, scanning the stream of cars. “Did you tell him my name?”
“Of course I didn’t,” Shira snapped. “He already knew your name.”
Then how had he found her? Why was any of this about her at all? She tripped over a broken bit of sidewalk, as images came at her, horribly vivid. Sickening realization, along with it.
They tortured him. Cut him to pieces.
Papa. Oh, God. Your hands. Your ears. Your eyes.
Yuri. Yuri was how they had found her. Oh, poor Yuri.
She pressed her hand against her belly, sick and faint. Shira continued to talk, but Nina’s arm dropped. The thin, tinny chatter from the phone had lost all meaning. She thumbed it off as her mind spun, feeling for a pattern, a plan. A way through the maze.
If the ghouls had tracked her to the hospital, they could certainly find her house. But why would they bother? Because of something Helga had said to her? And she hadn’t even understood it.
Her phone beeped. A message from Shira. The number that the mysterious Sergei had left. Huh. Maybe she should just call the guy. Maybe he’d explain everything. Or make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. She could beg him to call off the monsters. She’d do anything they wanted, if they would just make it all go away.
Her snort of laughter disintegrated into tears. She could see it now.
Nina Christie, bargaining with zombies, torturers, and murderers, with some coin she didn’t even know she had. Yeah, that was bound to turn out real well.
She had to go home, risk or no risk. She didn’t have anything to tell the police that wouldn’t get her locked in the psych ward.
She didn’t have a close enough friend nearby to ask for help, not with something as scary as this. She
“A guy?” Nina’s spine prickled nastily. “Who? What guy?”
“He said he was Helga Kasyanov’s brother,” Shira said.
“Sergei. Doesn’t look a thing like her, though. He said she’s a schizophrenic, dumping her meds, and that she thinks her family is trying to poison her. He can’t imagine how she’d have access to anything other than her own antipsychotics, which is toxic bad news for you, but not fatal.”
“What? You just told him everything?” she burst out. “About me? Everything that happened with Helga? The syringe, and all that?”
“Ah . . . ah . . . well, I, uh . . .” Shira stammered.
“He was lying, Shira!” Her voice shook. “Helga didn’t have a brother! She was married, years ago, but she emigrated with her parents when she was fourteen. She had a daughter, but no brother!”
“Oh. I . . . wow. Well, I told this guy about the recording—”
Nina winced. “Oh, God. Don’t tell me, let me guess. He offered to translate it, right? I bet he’s just a prince of a guy.”
“Nina. Back off. I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“What did you tell him?” she demanded. “Did you tell him which hospital we were in?”
“Well, ah.” Shira sounded confused. “No, not exactly. He just, ah, guessed it. In fact, he guessed a whole lot of stuff. It was weird. Like, I would find myself talking about stuff that I hadn’t known I told him.”
“What did he look like?” Nina’s heart thudded.
“Ah . . . Nina. You’re overreacting, and I don’t appreciate—”
“Just tell me, goddamnit! What did he look like?”
“OK, OK! He was tall, dark, pretty good looking, some acne scarring, forty, maybe. Nice clothes. Expensive. Flirtatious. Satisfied?”
“Dark, you said? Not bald?”
“No,” Shira said. “Lots of hair. Dark. He had a ponytail, a slick little playboy one.”
“Was he with a woman? A blond, pretty one?”
“No, he was alone. Stop snarling. I don’t know how I ended up telling the guy so much, but I was rattled by what happened to you too! I judged it to be more important to get a clue what might have been in that syringe. I made a judgment call. I screwed up. Sorry, OK?”
“OK.” Nina peeked over her shoulder, scanning the stream of cars. “Did you tell him my name?”
“Of course I didn’t,” Shira snapped. “He already knew your name.”
Then how had he found her? Why was any of this about her at all? She tripped over a broken bit of sidewalk, as images came at her, horribly vivid. Sickening realization, along with it.
They tortured him. Cut him to pieces.
Papa. Oh, God. Your hands. Your ears. Your eyes.
Yuri. Yuri was how they had found her. Oh, poor Yuri.
She pressed her hand against her belly, sick and faint. Shira continued to talk, but Nina’s arm dropped. The thin, tinny chatter from the phone had lost all meaning. She thumbed it off as her mind spun, feeling for a pattern, a plan. A way through the maze.
If the ghouls had tracked her to the hospital, they could certainly find her house. But why would they bother? Because of something Helga had said to her? And she hadn’t even understood it.
Her phone beeped. A message from Shira. The number that the mysterious Sergei had left. Huh. Maybe she should just call the guy. Maybe he’d explain everything. Or make her an offer she couldn’t refuse. She could beg him to call off the monsters. She’d do anything they wanted, if they would just make it all go away.
Her snort of laughter disintegrated into tears. She could see it now.
Nina Christie, bargaining with zombies, torturers, and murderers, with some coin she didn’t even know she had. Yeah, that was bound to turn out real well.
She had to go home, risk or no risk. She didn’t have anything to tell the police that wouldn’t get her locked in the psych ward.
She didn’t have a close enough friend nearby to ask for help, not with something as scary as this. She
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