Page 56 of One For my Enemy

“My sister is dead, Ivan,” Sasha reminded him, the pain of it curling up around her heart again, wringing it dry. “She’s gone, but if she trusted him enough to use him, then so can I. I’m an Antonova witch as much as my sister,” she added, lifting her chin. For once, it sounded like something Marya would want her to say. “I’m an Antonova, and we fear nothing—and if you still intend to serve my sister’s wishes, Ivan, then you’ll help me now. Is that clear?” Sasha asked him, and he blinked with surprise, staring at her as if he were seeing her for the first time.

It occurred to her that maybe he was.

“You’re the most like her,” Ivan remarked after a moment. It was no trifling statement; Sasha knew very few things about Ivan, but among them was that he’d served her sister with devotion, scarcely willing to leave her side.

In response, she nodded with a firmness Marya might have used.

“I know,” she said, though perhaps a truer answer might have been,I hope you’re right.

Ivan permitted a nod of concession. “I’ll take you to Masha’s informant and watch over you,” he exhaled, resigned, “but you’ll have to be careful. He’ll threaten you in ways I can’t protect you from. The Bridge is no trifling dealer,” he warned, “and no ordinary criminal. He’ll withhold information where it pleases him; he’ll betray you if it serves his interests well.”

“Will he tell me what I want to know?” Sasha asked plainly, and Ivan grimaced.

“Yes,” he said, and she nodded.

“Then take me to The Bridge.”

To that, Ivan rose to his feet, inclining his head as he had done so often for her sister.

“As you wish,” he said.

III. 7

(Between Us.)

“If the deal is still going forward,” Roman said, continuing to pace Lev’s bedroom, “we have to intervene. I’ll need your help,” he added, glancing up at Lev. “I can’t do this without you, and I need you to tell me if Sasha’s said anything, Levka. Anything at all.”

“Why do you need my help?” Lev asked warily. Dimitri was the obvious choice, considering how worried Roman looked, and Lev was rarely relegated to anything more than simple errands. “And why does Dima oppose you? I thought you said—”

“All of these questions can wait,” Roman snapped, glancing at his watch. Clearly, he was waiting for something, though Lev seemed unlikely to find out what. “I have a source who may be able to tell me, but without Marya, I’ll need someone else to find out. Someone,” he clarified, glancing pointedly at Lev, “who would know what the Antonovas are up to.”

“What makes you think they’d go ahead with a drug deal after Marya’s death?” Lev insisted, balking at the idea that he could betray Sasha now, after the night he’d spent with her. “They’re surely devastated by the loss, Roma. Heartbroken. I know Sasha will be—”

He broke off, startled, as recognition seemed to dawn in Roman’s eyes at the mention of Sasha’s name. His brother’s gaze traveled swiftly around the room, piecing things together, and when it landed again on Lev’s, there was no mistaking the condemnation.

“Choose, brother, where you stand,” Roman warned, “and choose carefully, unless you want to spend the rest of your life pushed aside by Baba Yaga’s bitches.”

Lev stiffened. “Roma, I’m only—”

“I have to go,” Roman said flatly, spinning to leave the room. “I’ll let you know if I hear from my source, but in the meantime, I hope you reconsider your loyalties.”

Then he went, furious, and Lev was left behind, staring at the place his brother had been.

III. 8

(The Bridge, and Those Who Cross It.)

Brynmor Attaway had been sitting in his office, carelessly poring over a contract up until the moment there came a knock at the door. It was followed, much to his displeasure, by the immediate click of the latch as it came unlocked.

Easy to tell, then, what sort of visitor it was.

“Hello, witch,” he said without looking up, tapping his pen against his mouth. “I’ll be with you in just one m-”

“You’ll be with me now, actually,” said a female voice, and Bryn looked up, surprised.

“Ivan,” he said, acknowledging the quiet presence of the bodyguard, “and…not-Marya,” he noted, his gaze flicking swiftly over the young woman who normally stood in her place. “Interesting,” he said, sweeping his attention over the youthful ponytail, the casual clothing, and the very obvious indicators that this was someone very like Marya, but without the necessary battle-hardened armor she’d always worn. “A sister, I take it? I’ve never seen another Antonova in the wild before.”

“This is hardly the wild,” remarked the Antonova, whose eyes were grey; a slightly softer and more rounded version of Marya’s sharpened gaze. “Are you The Bridge?”

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