“You seem to be taking this awfully well,” I said, grabbing three sausage rolls and a diet soda out of the bowels of the fridge. “Me being that packless bitch who made Dmitri into a walking daemon contagion and all.”
Kirov swiveled his head toward where Dmitri and Margarita were talking with their heads bent together like lovers. For all I knew, they were. That would explain the attitude she was copping. “Dmitri is my very good friend,” Kirov said quietly.
I tore the package on the first sausage roll and consumed it in two bites. “Oh, yeah? Good enough that you’re treating me nice?”
“Dmitri was my pack mate before he took his sister to the United States,” said Kirov. “He has saved my life more than once and I trust him. Besides … you don’t seem like the brazen hussy the pack elders made you out to be.” His eyes flicked over me. “I figure Dmitri knew what he was doing getting involved.”
“Gee,” I said around the second roll, “thanks for that.”
“Anytime,” Kirov said. I popped the tab on the soda and washed my food down. I had no idea how it really tasted—I was so hungry, it could have been wallpaper paste on a cracker and I would have munched it with good cheer.
Dmitri and Margarita broke apart, he looking angry and she glaring at him and then pointing at me, saying something sharp. This would be the Either that hussy goes or I do speech. I’d gotten it from a few girlfriends of men I was seeing, over the years. I wasn’t always the perfect angel you see before you. Shocking, I know.
Ducking his head, Dmitri came over to me. “Luna, Margarita has something she’d like to speak to you about.”
“Fine,” I said, crumpling the can in my fist and launching it at the trash. As the calories and caffeine hit my system, I was beginning to feel a little bit more like myself. “Hit me with your best shot, Ivana.”
Margarita heaved a sigh. “Not here. In private. Come to our room.”
Our room. This just got better and better. Not that I cared who Dmitri was sleeping with, but I sure as hell cared about having my face rubbed in it. After that little speech in the bathroom, he had a lot of gods-damned nerve.
“Lead the way,” I said. I grabbed a pack of chips from the counter and another soda, and followed Margarita. The kitchen had back stairs that led into the servants’ quarters, and the small, neat room at the top was furnished with a large iron bed and photos of Margarita and a girl of about ten, with a serious expression and hair that hung in front of her face.
Dmitri sat in the armchair in the corner by the window and lit a cigarette. “Tell her, Margarita.”
She knotted her hands together and looked at him for help. I spread my arms. “Tell me what? That you’re getting married? That she’s really a man? That you’re both leaving the pack to become circus performers? If so, mazel tov and all of my blessings to you. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to use your phone and call my embassy.”
Margarita dipped her head, avoiding my eyes, and I realized that she was trying to be submissive, to show respect to me.
Well. That was new. “Spit it out,” I said.
“I know that you want to go home, and I’m sure Dmitri will help you get to the embassy and get on a plane, but first I need to tell you why he was at that horrible place.”
“Please,” I said. “It’s not like I’m on a schedule or anything. Not like I want to get out of your craphole country and go home. No offense. I’m sure the springtime is lovely.”
“He was looking for someone,” she said. She went to the bedside table and snatched up the photograph, holding it out to me. “He went looking for Masha, because I asked him to.”
I took the photo and looked closer at the little girl. “She’s young, even for these people,” I said.
“The picture is old,” said Margarita. “She’s fourteen now. We don’t know why the Belikovs took her, or where she is … That place…” She let out a small sob. “That place was the last.”
Dmitri got up and put his hands on her shoulders. “Just because she’s not there doesn’t mean we won’t find her,” he murmured.
I met Dmitri’s eyes. “Why are you looking for this particular little girl? Lots of others I saw in there could have used a helping hand.”
Margarita bit her lip. “Masha is…” She sniffed and tried again. “Masha is our daughter.”
CHAPTER 17
There are three kinds of silences—comfortable, uncomfortable, and incredulous. This was the third kind.
“Our daughter?” I said. “Yours and Dmitri’s?”
“Luna,” he said. “I know I should have told you…”
I held up a hand and cut him off. “You know what—save it, because at this point I don’t even care.”
All that time, the entire year we were together as lovers, as partners, and he had a kid I didn’t know about. And a Margarita, too …
“Are you married?” I asked. She shook her head.
“No. I was very young, and Dmitri was about to be sent away to prison, so I raised Masha by myself for the first few years. And when he got out, he wanted to take us with him, but I said no, I needed to stay here, near the Kiev pack where we’d be safe…” She degenerated into sobs again.
“Masha has been missing for two weeks,” Dmitri said. “Margarita asked me to come here and help her.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I’m hitting wall after wall, Luna. I know how good you are at investigation. I know how stubborn you can be. I need your help.”
“We.” Margarita sniffled. “We need your help.”
“Isn’t that just touching?” I spat. “I might shed a single tear.” Spinning on my heel, I stormed
