The Siren's Dance. Amber Belldene

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      He slammed the door on those thoughts. How often as a kid had he fallen asleep, lulling himself with a litany of father fantasies? Someone, anyone who could help him deal with Mama. Every time, he’d woken with trails of dried salt on his cheeks.

      From this ghost’s blustery determination, Sergey had to think he wasn’t going to find a happier reality than he’d woken to on those sad mornings. But at least he would have answers.

      “As it happens, ghost, I will need to stop off at home and pack a bag, after I tell my boss I’m taking those vacation days he’s been pestering me to use. Then we’ll catch the train.”

      “Don’t bother.” Dmitri tossed Sergey a key fob. “Take the company car.”

      “No way.” He set them back on the table. “Didn’t you hear me say I don’t want to be part of your organization?”

      “I also heard you say you’re taking a vacation. I don’t see any conflict of interest in borrowing my car.”

      “Plus”--Sonya pointed at her pretty, pearlescent sister--“you can hardly take her on the train.”

      He glanced at the ghost, who was grinning like a fool, water dripping off her hair and disappearing into God knew where--a puddle in the spirit world?

      “What are you smiling about?” he asked, though the answer seemed obvious. She had gotten her way.

      “We will find him. I feel certain of it.”

      An icy chill curled around his spine. She made it sound so frightening. And irresistible.

      She took the ring off so they could spirit her through the station unseen. At the car, Sergey accepted her shoebox and Gregor handed over his signet again. Sonya strung a bit of twine through it so the ghost could wear the ring around her neck.

      Anya said an awkward good-bye to her sister and fell silent. She simply stared out the window as he drove her through the city and occasionally gasped when they passed a sky-high building walled with glass.

      “Things changed a lot?” he asked.

      “You could say that.” Her tone was clipped, not exactly inviting further conversation.

      Problem was, the silence made his mind itchy, wanting to stray down the dark paths of leapt-to conclusions that made the crazy things his mom believed true. So what if Anya Truss was a ghost? That didn’t mean witches cooked children in giant pots or that soul-sucking demons lay in wait for the vulnerable around every corner. Did it?

      No, of course not. But better to change the subject than fixate on the questions.

      “What part of Kiev did your family live in?” he asked, though he’d seen the Truss family address on the old case file. Her father had owned a jewelry shop on a street near the opera house, and the family had resided in the apartment upstairs.

      “Look, Yuchenko, I’m not interested in reminiscing. You want to know about Stas, I’ll tell you. He smokes Sobranie cigarettes. His tailor in Odessa is on Kinna Street. He frequents the Cafe Bosporus for Turkish Coffee.”

      “It closed. Now it’s an American chain. The tailor might still be there, though.” He signaled, then turned right. “But I sure hope you remember more than that.”

      “I will, once we arrive in the city.”

      She sounded certain, but he wished she’d turn and look at him so he could see whether the confidence also showed on her face. Of course, she didn’t comply. Not even with his unspoken wishes.

      Which raised a frightening possibility. “Can you read minds?”

      “What? No. Of course not.” She shook her head as if he were the biggest imbecile alive. And he felt just like the puppy she’d called him, wagging its tail in hopes the pretty ghost would deign to chitchat with him.

      Which was exactly how he felt.

      Parking in his neighborhood was scarce, with all the apartment buildings packed so tightly together. When he spotted a space nearly a full block away, he pulled in rather than risk getting closer with no luck.

      With his hand on the door lever, he turned to her. “Be right back.”

      “No!” She floated out of her seat and hovered closer, right over the gearshift. Panic coursed through him at the prospect of her touching him, the instinct to flee nearly overwhelming his reason. But a sudden breeze blowing inside the car grounded him enough to notice how huge her eyes had gotten. She was scared too.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing.” Her nostrils flared and she crossed her translucent ghost arms over her chest--just enough to obscure but not completely hide those plum-sized breasts he had a hard time looking away from. “I want to go with you is all. I’m curious to see how pathetic and slovenly your bachelor pad is. Or do you live with your mother still, and have a toy train that circles your bedroom?”

      “I don’t live with my mother.” He’d clenched his jaw, barely managing to mutter the words. He took a deep breath and measured his tone. She was covering her fear, and it bothered him more than it should. “You know, you can tell me what you’re afraid of.”

      She blew out an irritated breath. “I’m a ghost. What have I to fear?”

      He threw up his arms, flung the door open, and stomped toward his apartment, more pissed off than he ought to be.

      A remarkably loud growl reached him through the steel and glass.

      He spun, pointed at her and said, “Be good, ghost.” Then he turned his back on her.

      A red light stopped him from crossing the intersection. The blue triangular crosswalk sign, with its lone silhouetted pedestrian, may as well have smacked him in the forehead. She’d been alone and invisible for almost fifty years. She didn’t want to be locked inside a car by herself, even for a little while.

      He cast the car a look over his shoulder. Should he go back? How could he even bring her along? They were bound to pass someone in the stairwell. He could hardly say, Hello, Mrs. Evanishyn, this is my friend Anya. Why, yes, she is a ghost. Thanks for noticing.

      Sergey was better off just hurrying back to her. And the upside of that plan--it avoided any potential problems with Iryna too, though surely she was gone by now. It was almost noon.

      He jogged the final lengths to the building’s entrance, a soviet era high-rise that had been spruced up inside and out. Flanking the glass doorway, miniature trees occupied giant urns, the maples’ leaves a deep russet color.

      Sergey cast a look at up his window. The light was still on, reminding him of the morning he’d had before the ghost had showed up. Was his recently ex-girlfriend still upstairs?

      He’d only dated Iryna for a few weeks, and they’d been discussing ending things for nearly that long, but they hadn’t made the break-up official until dinner last night. Still, she’d wanted to come back to his place one last time. She’d seemed so tired, bruise-colored circles under her eyes, yawning as she’d gotten undressed, but he still had an appreciation for her long, athletic legs, and it СКАЧАТЬ