"Let us in," said Avery, pushing past. "We've got refugees from a fire here."
She flounced onto his couch, making herself at home while he continued staring. Lissa and Christian joined her.
"Avery sprang the fire alarm," explained Lissa.
"Nice work," said Adrian, collapsing into a fluffy chair. "But why'd you have to come here? Is this the only place that's not burning down?"
Avery batted her eyelashes at him. "Aren't you happy to see us?"
He eyed her speculatively for a moment. "Always happy to see you."
Lissa was normally pretty straitlaced about this kind of thing, but something about it amused her. It was so wild, so silly... it was a break from all her recent worries. "It's not going to take them that long to figure it out, you know. They could be letting everyone in right now."
"They could be," agreed Avery, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "But I have it on good authority that another alarm is going to go off in the school once they open the doors."
"How the hell did you manage that?" asked Christian.
"Top secret."
Adrian rubbed his eyes and was clearly amused by this, despite the abrupt wake-up. "You can't pull fire alarms all day, Lazar."
"Actually, I have it on good authority that once they give the all-clear on a second alarm, a third's going to go off."
Lissa laughed out loud, though a lot of it was due more to the guys' reactions and less to Avery's announcement. Christian, in fits of antisocial rebellion, had set people on fire. Adrian spent most of his days drunk and chain-smoking. For a cute society girl like Avery to astonish them, something truly remarkable had to happen. Avery looked very pleased at having outdone them.
"If the interrogation's over now," she said, "aren't you going to offer your guests any refreshments?"
Adrian stood up and yawned. "Fine, fine, you insolent girl. I'll make coffee."
"With a kick?" She inclined her head toward Adrian's liquor cabinet.
"You have got to be kidding," said Christian. "Do you even have a liver left?"
Avery wandered over to the cabinet and picked up a bottle of something. She held it out to Lissa. "You game?"
Even Lissa's morning rebelliousness had limits. The wine headache still throbbed in her skull. "Ugh, no."
"Cowards," said Avery. She turned back to Adrian. "Well then, Mr. Ivashkov, you'd best put on the pot. I always like a little coffee with my brandy."
Not long after that, I faded away from Lissa's head and drifted back into my own, returning to the blackness of sleep and ordinary dreams. It was short-lived, however, seeing as a loud pounding soon jerked me into consciousness.
My eyes flew open, and a deep, searing pain shot through the back of my skull-the aftereffects of that toxic vodka, no doubt. Lissa's hangover had nothing on mine. I started to close my eyes, wanting to sink back under and let sleep heal the worst of my pain. Then, I heard the pounding again -and worse, my whole bed shook violently. Someone was kicking it.
Opening my eyes again, I turned and found myself staring into Yeva's shrewd dark eyes. If Sydney had met many dhampirs like Yeva, I could understand why she thought our race were minions of hell. Pursing her lips, Yeva kicked the bed again.
"Hey," I cried. "I'm awake, okay?"
Yeva muttered something in Russian, and Paul peered around from behind her, translating. "She says you're not awake until you're actually out of bed and standing up."
And with no more warning, that sadistic old woman continued kicking the bed. I jerked upright, and the world spun around me. I'd said this before, but this time, I really meant it: I was never going to drink again. No good ever came from it. The covers looked awfully tempting to my agonized body, but a few more kicks from Yeva's pointy-toed boots made me shoot up off the bed.
"Okay, okay. Are you happy now? I'm up." Yeva's expression didn't change, but at least she stopped with the kicking. I turned to Paul. "What's going on?"
"Grandmother says you have to go with her."
"Where?"
"She says you don't need to know."
I started to say that I wasn't following that crazy old wench anywhere, but after one look at her scary face, I thought better of it. I didn't put it past her to be able to turn people into toads.
"Fine," I said. "I'll be ready to go once I shower and change."
Paul translated my words, but Yeva shook her head and spoke again. "She says there's no time," he explained. "We have to go now."
"Can I at least brush my teeth?"
She allowed that small concession, but a change of clothes was apparently out of the question. It was just as well. Each step I took made me feel woozy, and I probably would have passed out doing something as complicated as dressing and undressing. The clothes didn't smell or anything either; they were mostly just wrinkled from where I'd fallen asleep in them.
When I got downstairs, I saw that no one else was awake except Olena. She was washing leftover dishes from last night and seemed surprised to see me up. That made two of us.
"It's early for you, isn't it?" she asked.
I turned and caught sight of the kitchen clock. I gasped. It was only about four hours after I'd gone to bed. "Good God. Is the sun even up?"
Amazingly, it was. Olena offered to make me breakfast, but again, Yeva reiterated our time crunch. My stomach seemed to simultaneously want and loathe food, so I couldn't say if abstaining was a good thing or not.
"Whatever," I said. "Let's just go and get this over with."
Yeva walked into the living room and returned a few moments later with a large satchel. She handed it to me expectantly. I shrugged and took it, hanging it over one shoulder. It clearly had stuff in it, but it wasn't that heavy. She went back out to the other room and returned with another tote bag. I took this one too and hung it over the same shoulder, balancing both of them. This one was heavier, but my back didn't complain too much.
When she left for a third time and returned with a giant box, I started to get irate. "What is this?" I demanded, taking it from her. It felt like it had bricks in it.
"Grandmother needs you to carry some things," Paul told me.
"Yes," I said through gritted teeth. "I sort of figured that out fifty pounds ago."
Yeva gave me one more box, stacking it on top of the other. It wasn't as heavy, but by this point, it honestly didn't matter. Olena shot me a sympathetic look, shook her head, and returned silently to her dishes, apparently not about to argue with Yeva.
Yeva set off after that, and I followed obediently, trying to both hold the boxes and not let the bags fall off my shoulder. It was a heavy load, one my hungover body really didn't want, but I was strong enough that I figured it wouldn't be a problem to get into town or wherever she was leading me. Paul ran along at my side, apparently there to let me know if Yeva found anything along the road she wanted me to carry too.
It seemed like spring was charging into Siberia far faster than it ever did into Montana. The sky was clear, and the morning sun was heating things up surprisingly fast. It was hardly summer weather, but it was definitely enough to notice. It would have made very uncomfortable walking weather for a Moroi.
"Do you know where we're going?" I asked Paul.
"No," he said cheerfully.
For someone so old, Yeva could move at a pretty good pace, and I found myself having to hurry to keep up with her with my load. At one point, she glanced back and said something that Paul translated as, "She's kind of surprised that you can't move faster."
"Yeah, well, I'm kind of surprised that no one else can carry any of this."
He translated again: "She says if you're really such a famous Strigoi killer, then this shouldn't be a problem."
I was filled with great relief when downtown came into sight... only we kept walking past it.
"Oh, come on," I said. "Where the hell are we going?"
Without giving me a backward glance, Yeva rattled off something. "Grandmother says Uncle Dimka never would have complained so much," Paul said.
None of this was Paul's fault; he was just the messenger. Yet, every time he spoke, I kind of wanted to kick him. Nonetheless, I kept carrying my burden and didn't say anything else for the rest of the walk. Yeva was right to a certain extent. I was a Strigoi hunter, and it was true that Dimitri would have never complained about some old lady's crazy whims. He would have done his duty patiently.