Andrea Bennett - Two Cousins of Azov

‘But I haven’t a clue what their souls are like! Ha! Now, can you tell me more about Papasyan, before he gets here? I’ve done a little digging, but…’ She clawed at Sveta’s sleeve with her sharp fingers.

‘Well, no, Madame, not really. He is a very private person. But the silent telephone calls, noises in the hall, the headless rabbit, the moth sandwich, the face at the window: all these things suggest, to me at least, magic, or spirit movement, or some other—’

‘—manifestation of evil intent?’

‘Yes.’

‘Yesss!’ Madame Zoya stretched out the word as a snake hisses in its coils. ‘Hey ho! We must get the table out, and put up a barricade – to stop the smokers from collapsing the balcony. Believe me, it will be necessary. Here, pass me that stool, will you? And the bookcase, just shove the bookcase over here,’ Zoya commanded in her curious, gravel-crunch voice.

Sveta was momentarily immobile, utterly surprised at being commanded to shift furniture while wearing a slip. ‘Shouldn’t we wait, Madame, until a man gets here…’

‘Why?’ demanded Zoya, her head cocked to one side. ‘You look strong, I’d give you at least seventy-five kilos, no?’ Sveta blushed. ‘Don’t doubt your own abilities! Take that end, and on my count: ready, heave!’

The ladies shifted the fully laden constructivist bookcase across the wooden floor and into the doorway to the balcony.

‘There! That should prevent any accidents,’ Zoya laughed. ‘Now, let’s make sure we have the lighting levels right.’ She flicked a switch and they stood together in total blackness.

‘Madame Zoya? I think that is a little dark.’

‘Aw…’

‘No, really, Madame.’

‘Nonsense! How am I to concentrate if we have light annoying my eyelids! I think that is about right.’

‘But Madame Zoya, I cannot see anything.’

‘That’s the point.’

‘Don’t the spirits seek the light, Madame? Just gentle light – candles?’

‘Candles?’ Zoya considered. ‘Ahhh! Yes, I think you’re right. I will find some.’ She flicked the light switch and went to rummage in a drawer that sounded like it housed a thousand jigsaws, all with no lids.

A buzz proclaimed the arrival of the first guest. Zoya hopped back to the room, three red candles in her hand. ‘Look, new ones, still in wrappers! Right, erm… sorry my dear, what was your name?’

‘Sveta,’ said Sveta flatly.

‘Don’t be offended, Sveta dear, it is my age. Now remember: for the séance, it will be your job to ensure there is absolute calm. I will be otherwise engaged.’

‘Yes, Madame Zoya. All will be calm,’ said Sveta seriously. She would employ her teaching skills to ensure the conversation with the spirit world was orderly. She flexed her hands and cracked her knuckles.

A procession of young and curious, old and experienced presented themselves at the door. Sveta took coats, smiled and tried to imbue calm into every handshake. Her own hands felt sweaty. When would Gor arrive?

The bell buzzed. She leapt to open the door, expecting Gor’s morose features, and stood transfixed, the breath solidified in her throat. Before her stood the beautiful young man she’d seen at the Palace of Youth.

‘Good evening,’ he murmured, grey eyes caressing hers.

‘Yes?’ said Sveta with a breathless smile, her eyes moving to his parted lips as her heartbeat fluttered beneath her breast.

‘We’re here for the séance,’ the tall, dark girl at his side spoke. Sveta jumped at the words: she had not noticed the girl. Dark eyes assessed her.

‘Ah, Vovka, you made it then?’ Valya cried from across the hallway, bustling forward, gold teeth flashing, her plump hands extended in welcome.

Sveta stood her ground. She wanted a proper introduction.

‘My name is Sveta, I am assisting Madame Zoya this evening. And you are?’

‘Vladimir Petrovich, but please just call me Vlad.’

‘Oh, how modern!’ Sveta held out her hand. He took it in his, and placed his lips to her skin.

‘Polina,’ said the girl, ‘people call me Polly.’ She smiled, her eyes gazing over Sveta’s head, and pushed past into the flat.

‘Shoes off!’ Sveta commanded as their heels tapped over the threshold.

‘I thought you’d got lost,’ said Valya over her glass of compote. ‘Alla and I waited on the corner for ages, but we had to give up: she was getting her trouble.’ Valya gave Polly a meaningful nudge, and the girl grimaced, moving swiftly into the next room.

‘I am so sorry, Valya,’ Vlad took up her free hand and kissed that too.

Her face glowed. ‘Let’s go into the salon. You met Madame Zoya the other night, didn’t you? You’ll have to show me your handiwork!’

‘By all means, but one moment! Let me get rid of these boots.’

Sveta’s lips twitched as she patted her hair in the hallway mirror. Behind her, Vlad’s buttocks curved like twin moons as he bent to slide off his boots.

‘It was nothing,’ continued Vlad. ‘I did a little inventory of work that needs to be done, took a look at the balcony.’

‘You’re such a good boy!’ smiled Valya.

Gor was the last to arrive. He paced about the hall and said little, trying to ignore the curious eyes that blinked at him around the doorpost of the salon. He clutched his coat to him and would have kept it on if Sveta had not insisted.

‘Oh come now, Gor, the spirits will not come if they think you are about to leave!’

‘The spirits will not come, full stop! Sveta, listen.’ He stood before her, pale and miserable. ‘This is all nonsense, and I should not have come. I was wrong to let you think this could help, but I did not want to hurt your feelings. I—’

The words disappeared as Madame Zoya swept upon him, as far as a tiny woman with a purple chicken on her head could sweep.

‘My dear Gor!’ she clasped his hands to her bony bosom.

‘Madame Zoya,’ he eyed her carefully, ‘I don’t think we’ve met?’

‘Not in person, as such, but I feel I know you: your aura is so strong, Azov positively reeks of it!’ She grinned, showing twin rows of tiny brown teeth book-ended by sharp canines. ‘Let me assure you, it is never too late to wrestle with fate. I am thrilled you have chosen me to help you tonight!’

‘Lord give me strength,’ muttered Gor.

Gor was led into the salon a little like a man to the gallows. After considerable fuss and argument from the women gathered around him, he was placed opposite Madame Zoya at the solid, oval table. His eyes glowered fiercely, black and frightful under bushy brows, as Vlad attempted to help him into his chair.

‘I’m not an invalid, you know!’

The other sitters took their places, Vlad busily pulling out a chair for each. Sveta placed herself between him and Polly, although she had to tussle quite forcefully with Valya to do so. She eyed his graceful form as he sat down next to her: his grey checked trousers could barely contain his thighs, and his upper arms flickered as he poured out water. She was very aware that his knee was resting against hers. Never before had she seen a man like this at a psychic’s evening: the usual males were pale creatures, reminiscent of bent sticks. This Vlad was no bent stick. His eyes lingered on each woman in turn, and he listened, intently. Sveta sighed.

The three candles were lit and persuaded to stay upright as the women twittered and grimaced, their faces all wide eyes and mouths. Hair was flicked, and make-up reapplied.

‘I’m glad you could make it, Polly, it’s so long since I’ve seen you,’ whispered Alla across the table, patting the younger girl’s hand. ‘Ooh, you’re freezing! Do you want my cardy?’