Page 110 of Bad Bishop
They walked to Lenin Square and arrived at eleven. Sat under the statue and checked their surroundings, anxious not to get caught.
Dima arrived at six past noon, just when they had started talking about their plan B. He was the only person in the square other than them.
Tiernan pushed to his feet. “Michael sent me,” he said. “He asked you to get us out of here.”
They had no passports. No birth certificates. Only the names their mother put on those Christmas ornaments fourteen years ago and the clothes on their backs.
“Mongolia,” Dima said with conviction. “We’ll travel there first, then move west. Maybe North Africa. We’ll track your father as we move. For now, let’s get on the train.”
The train was marvelous. Tierney cried tears of joy when they entered the coach. Dima—who was in his mid-fifties, a graying fox of a man—talked very little.
Dinner was piroshki from the concession kiosk. One hour ate away the next until it was nighttime, and Dima and Tierney fell asleep.
Tiernan slipped into the back of the cart, wedged open a window, and stuck his head out.
Then, and only then, he let himself believe he truly escaped the claws of Igor Rasputin.
He tipped his head up and looked at the moon.
The moon stared back.
They smiled at one another, sharing a secret.
Finally, he was free.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
TIERNAN
Gealach: I have something for you.
I looked up from the text message on my phone, turning my attention to the woman lying in bed beside me.
She still looked impossibly tiny, and I wondered how she was planning on birthing an entire bleeding human. Seemed ambitious, even for a stubborn girl like her.
I elevated an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“Tierney told me you two never celebrate your birthday.”
“Tierney talks too much.”
“She said neither of you find anything worthy in celebrating the day your mother was murdered.”
Since this wasn’t a question, I didn’t offer an answer.
“We should change that.” Lila wore a determined expression. “I won’t make you celebrate in December, but now is a good time. There’s a few months’ buffer from the actual date.”
I put my phone down beside me, waiting for her to spell it out.
“I got you a birthday gift.”
“I wasn’t born in July.”
“Yes, but you were born, and that’s worthy of celebration. I got Tierney something, too.”
I understood why my sister liked her. Lila made people around her feel seen. Probably because she’d been overlooked her entire life.
She turned to her nightstand and produced a small jewelry box from the drawer, handing it to me. I popped it open, staring at its content dispassionately.
