James Baldwin - Burn Artist

His brow creased, eyes dark and worried. “So uh… you’re sure I won’t go out like Slava did?”

“I’m sure,” I replied, dropping my voice. “Wear it as long as Eric Kovacs is alive, and for a week after his departure in case he has set up any delayed spells that trigger after he’s gone.”

“Kovacs?” My Avtoritet licked his lip and leaned in toward me. “You have a name for him now?”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded a little. “We can discuss it later.”

“Get him. I want it done within the week,” he hissed back. “We’ll definitely be talking.”

Instinct caused me to glance away while he was speaking. Grigori was glowering at us from Rodya’s other side, his jaws clenched, eyes as flat and murderous as a shark’s. The expression fluidly returned to warm mirth as Rodion turned and focused back on his brigada, rejoining the game as if nothing had transpired between us.

“I’m going downstairs,” Vassily said. “I want to go see how much caviar mousse I can fit in my mouth at one time.”

“I haven’t had anything with caviar in quite a while, so…” I trailed off as I glimpsed a swirl of black skirt at the bar. It was Crina, the dancer from Wednesday night. A pleasant little flutter passed through my chest. Here was a chance to be seen in the company of a woman, in public, under lights where everyone I knew could observe us. “Actually, I’ll stay here for the time being.”

“Eh?” Vassily followed my gaze, and his face flickered through a complex expression I couldn’t read. “Oh, right. I see. Well, go get her, man. I’ll be up later.”

Crina was half-leaning, half sitting on a stool against the bar, lost in thought and only smiling whenever someone looked in her direction. She was dressed 1950s style – a flared black dress and rolled hair – but it was her shoes that really caught my eye. She was wearing a pair of spit-shined, two tone Oxford pumps with very high heels. I usually only noticed female beauty belatedly, but the shoes and her poise in them stirred some dark, hidden part of my psyche. I cleared my throat and straightened my jacket, and then went to join her. She turned her head as I pulled up at the bar, and this time, I thought her smile reached her eyes a little more.

“Well, hello there.” Crina spoke first, leaning back on her stool. She was smoking a clove cigarette in a long holder. “I remember you.”

“And I you.” I struggled not to look at her feet, but it was an effort. “Thought I’m surprised you’d remember anyone from the money pit, given how busy you were on your first night.”

She bit her lip with a low sound of amusement, poking a straw at the cherry in her drink. It was something bright red served in a martini glass, and it looked sweet. “Well, usually you’d be right, but it’s not every night that I see a man with eyes like yours. Is that your real color?”

“It is,” I replied. “I was worried you remembered me because I’m short.”

She laughed, and held her hand out to me. Mariya had always told me to kiss a girl’s hand when she offered it, but that felt far too intimate, so I shook it as I would have done a man’s. “Everyone looks pretty much the same height from the stage, to tell you the truth. What’s your name?”

“Alexi.”

“Crina.” Her square face suffused with quiet pleasure. “My stage name. I hope you don’t mind.”

“I’m comfortable with mystery. Every woman in the world has a right to her secrets,” I replied.

Her lips twitched with mischief, and she glanced at my gloved hands. “And every man has a right to his?”

She thought I was hiding hand tattoos, which meant she knew about the nature of the club management. Interesting. “Absolutely.”

“You know, I was wondering if you were some kind of ghost,” Crina said. “One moment you were there, all pale and still, and then the next you weren’t.”

I inclined my head. “ Behind every man now alive stand 30 ghosts, for that is the ratio by which the dead outnumber the living .”

Crina’s eyes lit up with delight and recognition, and suddenly, my interest in her deepened. “That’s Arthur C. Clarke. 2001: A Space Odyssey. ”

“Did you read the book, or see the film?”

“Both,” she replied. “I like science fiction.”

I sucked on one of my teeth for a moment. “Well, if you’re not on call, would you like to find a booth to talk further? I really don’t like large crowds or liquor, and the bar has both.”

“I’m drinking a mocktail as we speak,” she said. “Let’s go upstairs. There’s a dining room on the third floor that’s a bit quieter than this place.”

I looked back to Rodion and company, and felt a twinge of duty. He had physical protection, but if something magical were to happen… “I can’t leave this room, unfortunately, but one of those booth tables near the stairwell would be ideal.”

“Suits me.” Crina slid from her stool, and happily took the lead away from the bar. She sashayed ahead of me across the floor. I could finally watch her feet under proper light, and didn’t fail to be impressed. She had good taste in a lot of things, it seemed.

We found out seats, and promptly and easily fell into conversation over a carafe of kompot and the plates of food that passed us by. I found Crina easy to talk to. She reminded me of Mariya, and because of that, the rituals of chivalry came readily enough. We talked books, Glasnost, the sorcerous assassination of President Rutherford in 1983 and the formation of the Vigiles Magicarum, and her eloquence rapidly put me at ease – not something I was used to when talking with strangers. Crina kept her personal details and life firmly out of our talk, which suited me just fine, but I was certain that she was well-educated and had left Europe out of necessity, not necessarily out of desire.

The Tea Room was boozy and delirious around us by the time Vassily came back up the stairs. He was weaving a little, cheerfully drunk as he plopped down beside me and threw an arm around my shoulders.

“Well hey, this isn’t something you see every day.” He grinned rakishly. “Look, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but I have to talk business with my main man here. Mind if I borrow him?”

Crina laughed, a little awkwardly, and looked to me. “I’m… fairly certain that’s up to Alexi.”

“Business is what it is.” My stomach jerked unpleasantly. Had something happened downstairs? I looked back to see that the poker table had been vacated, and a new group of people were playing cards. Rodion was at the bar, talking to two older men in pin-stripe suits who had the reptilian composure of old mobsters. The others had vanished into the elevator without my noticing. I turned back to Crina, and drew a deep breath. “Well, Crina, I enjoyed talking with you for the evening. Are you continuing at Sirens?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow,” Crina said. “Lev wanted to start me on a couple of slower days. He wasn’t sure the regulars would like my act.”

“Oh he of little faith,” Vassily intoned. He put a hand to his heart. “I thought your dancing was elegant AND sexy. Even fifty-fifty split.”

“Thank you. You’re sweet.” She smiled pleasantly, but the openness she’d had during our conversation was already sealed away behind her carefully painted mask.

“And Alexi here, man, he went nuts for it. If you’re good enough to crack this shell, you’ll be a millionaire before the month is over.” Vassily began to tug me toward the end of the booth. His sudden and forceful physicality made me stiffen, but I ended up going with him anyway. “What are you going to be doing for the rest of the evening, ma’am?”

“Rodion.” Her eyes danced with hidden mirth as she got to her feet.