Page 18 of One For my Enemy

(212) 555-3863:mostly because it’s a stupid rule

(212) 555-3863:but also because I can’t sleep

(212) 555-3863:not sure I’ll be able to until I see you again but try not to hold that against me

Sasha yawned, blearily glancing at the texts on the screen before jumping at the sound of a knock at her door. She tucked her cell phone into her pillowcase, stowing it safely out of sight before sitting upright and groaning, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples.

“Come in,” she called, and her sister Marya poked her head inside, her hair already set in her usual polished waves.

“Did you sleep well?” Marya asked, entering the room to perch at the edge of Sasha’s bed as Sasha pulled her hand free from her forehead, grimacing. “Mama says you came home late,” Marya noted. “I hope that boy from class didn’t give you any trouble last night.”

“He did, unfortunately,” Sasha said. “But then I punched him in the face.”

That earned Sasha a smile. “Good girl. Like I showed you?”

“Of course,” Sasha said, unintentionally reaching up for her head again.

For a moment, Marya’s brow furrowed, and then she reached out, rubbing her thumb in a slow circle against the center of Sasha’s forehead. At once, the tension in her head eased.

“Thank you,” Sasha exhaled, but Marya merely nodded, distractedly removing her hand. “Was Mama upset?” Sasha guessed, sensing a disruption in her sister’s mood, but Marya quickly shook her head.

“No, no, she’s not upset. Mama understands some things must be done.” A pause, and then, “But she does have a job for you, Sashenka. We,” Marya corrected, clearing her throat. “Wehave a job for you.”

“Oh,” Sasha said, registering the reason for the lack of warmth on Marya’s face. “What is it?”

Don’t be gentle,she considered saying, but she doubted Marya would be, even for Sasha’s sake. There were many different versions of Marya, some more familiar than others, and at the moment, Sasha recognized Yaga’s Marya in the room. This was Yaga’s lieutenant, her right hand. Sasha’s Marya—her favorite sister Masha—was waiting in the wings for another time that wasn’t related to family business.

“We have new intoxicants,” Marya said. “They’re designed for non-witches, and so have been crafted with cruder elements to make them look and feel more like non-magical drugs.” She paused, and then pronounced with finality, “We’d like to sell them.”

“To who?” Sasha asked, tensing apprehensively.

“College students,” Marya said, and Sasha flinched, finding her suspicions confirmed. “We need you to be the one to meet with our contact, Sasha.”

Sasha.Not Sashenka. This, then, was to be a rite of passage.

“There’s already a dealer in place,” Marya continued. “He hasn’t bought from us before, but we’ll need to prove we are the preferred supplier to whoever he sources from now. We’ll be supplying him next weekend, at a concert.” Marya turned her palm over twice, a postcard-shaped flyer for an upcoming show materializing within it. “You’ll need to attend.”

“Me?” Sasha asked, taking the flyer. “Will he need to know I’m—”

“A witch? No,” Marya said, shaking her head. “Better that he doesn’t, in fact. You’ll take Ivan with you,” she added, referring to her personal bodyguard. “The dealer will expect you to come with muscle. In fact, I doubt he would find you legitimate if you came alone. But he doesn’t need to know that you’re much, much more dangerous than Ivan.” She permitted a dry, berry-colored smile. “Are you afraid, Sasha?”

Every Antonova daughter knew the answer to that question.

“No,” Sasha said, and at last Marya relaxed, shifting on the bed to sit closer beside her.

“Good,” Marya determined briskly, brushing her lips against the top of Sasha’s head. “I knew you wouldn’t be.”

“You won’t be there, Masha?” Sasha asked her, and Marya shook her head.

“Too old,” Marya explained, gesturing wryly to herself. “Me, Sashenka? I’m ancient.”

Most likely a lie. Marya’s face didn’t have a single line or blemish to indicate her age, and no one on earth would object to her figure. More likely people would recognize her, Sasha thought, and therefore tip off some of the other Borough witches (or worse, Koschei) that Yaga was expanding her market before the deal was finalized. Yaga’s intoxicants were the best out of all of them, of course, but what non-witch would know that? Any magical drug had to be more effective than ecstasy or cocaine. Clearly, for this deal, secrecy was paramount.

Sasha sighed, reconciling her resignation.

“I’d be expelled if I got caught,” she grumbled. “Arrested, even.”

“No bars could hold you,” Marya reminded her. “Nor would I let them. But the easier option is to simply not get caught, isn’t it?”

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