Page 553 of Flirting with Darkness

The view out the windows to the snow-dusted lands remained relentlessly desolate and wet. The few stops along the way provided little entertainment, and even less inspiration.

The skies grew darker, the further east he traveled. The ground grew thicker with snow. The wind outside the train’s windows blew with more malice, more whipping ferocity, freezing the landscape outside with its icy fire.

He was a day from Berlin before something was different.

He’d spent the day reading, dozing, reading some more.

He’d spent some time staring out at the landscape.

He eventually wandered to the dining car, still carrying a book.

He had no interest in his fellow passengers, not even to pass the time.

His normal train pursuits… sex, thievery of various kinds, sex, the occasional practiced con on an unsuspecting simpleton… sex… none of that would be risked for this trip. He would not allow himself to be delayed or distracted in any way. He had waited and laid groundwork for securing this invite for too long to blow it over boredom or lack of self-control.

He had not done all this work only to squander it foolishly.

He would finally stare into the face of the man who cast him and his Traveler mother aside. He would not miss that moment for the world. He would not miss the opportunity to avenge what had been done to his dear, sweet, too-young mother, who had lived too short in this world, who had risked everything to save him.

He would meet this moment, if only for her.

He would not miss this chance to look into the eyes of his maker… his maker by blood, if not much else… and let him knowexactlywhat his foul works had wrought. He surely would not squander it over impatience, lack of self-control, or even mere decadence.

He could control himself.

He could even control the boredom that constantly thrummed through his veins.

There would be plenty of time for such things later.

If all went well in St. Petersburg, there would be plenty of money for it, too.

4

THE WOMAN

He ventured into the railway’s kitchen car only when he got hungry.

He had slept only a little, drunk even less, and now he sat alone by a grey window, a book laid out in front of him on the history of the Russian court and its Tsars.

He had already eaten.

He came early to the car, mostly to avoid other people.

He ate hours after lunch, hours before supper.

The food served in the train’s dining car was far better than he would have expected, even for first class. White gloved servers brought him Beef Wellington with a crispy, flakey crust and a thick slab of filet mignon, potatoes, fried mushrooms, bread, a not indecent red wine, a custard at the end.

He felt sated, even sleepy after they took away the empty plates.

Now, staring down at the book he’d brought to the dining car with him, he considered going back to his private compartment.

With a few hours’ sleep, he would be refreshed enough to study the maps he’d obtained and paid a heavy sum for back in London. He’d looked them over cursorily already, of course, but he needed to study them in earnest. He wished to memorize every detail of the building and grounds of his father’s castle outside St. Petersburg well before he arrived.

Once he had done that, he could begin to plan in earnest.

Now that he had the invite, getting inside wouldn’t be the difficult part.

Getting out, at least the way he intended to get out, might be stickier.

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