Page 35 of Vengeful Embers

Gavriil and I sit, holding our breath, while she takes the call. A beat later, she hangs up and beams. “We’re pregnant!”

She pulls us into a group hug, and I suddenly want to cry. But I chug from my water bottle instead, swallowing the lump of emotion down with it. I don’t gush. I don’t even smile. I’m not sure if I’m happy, scared, or just stunned.

While Irina and Gavriil chatter excitedly beside me, I spiral into a full-blown existential crisis. My head is screaming with questions I’m not ready to answer. Then Gavriil’s phone rings, and for the briefest second, I actually hope it’s the doctor calling back to say, Oops—false alarm.

Stop it, Tara!I admonish myself.What the fuck is wrong with you? You agreed to do this and were even happy to.

“Tara!” Gavriil’s voice snaps me back into the present. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, just tired,” I lie. “What were you saying?”

“That was the contact from the hospital administration,” Gavriil tells me. “He says he can get us into the records room at the hospital Lidiya Zorin was born in, to get her original hospital file.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Gavriil nods, smiling. “Seems like it's a day of good news.”

“Then you and Gavriil should go to Moscow, together,” Irina suggests. “You’ll feel safer with Gavriil there,” she tells me. “And the Mirochin mansion in Moscow is fully staffed. You’ll be comfortable.”

Comfortable isn’t the word I’d use for flying halfway across the world, but if it gets me answers, I’ll do it. Admittedly, I’m really excited to see Moscow.

The next morning, we land in Moscow.

Snow dusts the city like powdered sugar. The air tastes colder, sharper, more dangerous. Gavriil’s town car pulls into the hospital's back lot. We enter through the service hallway to avoid prying eyes. Gavriil leads me through a narrow corridor until we reach the records department.

The door is locked. No one is there.

A shiver snakes down my spine.

“Something’s wrong,” I whisper.

Then we’re surrounded.

Russian Special Forces, full tactical gear, weapons holstered, but hands twitchy.

“Well this is just fucking great!” I whisper to Gavriil. “We’re about to get arrested.”

12

TARA

“Just stay calm,” Gavriil whispers back. “I’ll handle this.”

A man steps forward and demands to know our business.

Gavriil steps up, voice smooth, calm. “My wife isn’t feeling well. She’s pregnant. We’re here for an emergency ultrasound.”

I go with it. I press a hand to my stomach and feign queasiness. The leader of the unit eyes me, then Gavriil, then sighs and waves us along to the ultrasound wing.

It’s cold. The doctor speaks only Russian, but I’m as fluent as Gavriil is, so I keep up with the conversations. Once again, I find myself on an examination table having icky gel spread on my stomach before the doctor is gliding the wand over my flat belly, and then she points something out to us that steals my breath.

A flutter.

Tiny. Perfect.

The baby.

I’m handed a printout of it. My fingers tremble as I take it. Irina will want this, and something deeper reaches out, whispering, I want to keep a copy too.

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