Paranormal Misdirection

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

I touch the shapes around me all at once and receive an onslaught of Russian education, hours and hours of it, until eventually, I run out of my seer power.

Back in my living room, I assess my prodigious progress. I learned a lot from all the apps and books, and I remember most of it.

Where was Headspace when I was cramming for finals in college? I could’ve aced any test like this.

Interestingly, though Russian has a reputation for being a hard language to learn, I’m not finding that to be the case. If anything, the opposite seems to be true for me. Granted, the alphabet is a little wonky—H isn’t an H, and P isn’t a P, but overall, it feels extremely natural to me. I especially like how the alphabet lets you read pretty much right away—Russian spelling is more or less phonetic.

“Nu kak?” Fluffster asks me in Russian.

“I didn’t learn that yet,” I say sheepishly, though I feel like I’m on the verge of understanding. “What does it mean?”

“Approximately, ‘so how goes it?’” Fluffster explains, confirming my unvoiced guess. “I probably should’ve instead used a more common, ‘kak tvoi dela?’”

I smile. Despite the way it sounds, “kak” doesn’t mean rooster or male genitalia. It’s the Russian word for “how,” so I reply with, “Horosho.”

“Wow,” Fluffster says. “Your pronunciation is really good. Surprisingly good.”

“I had hoped it would be.” I beam a hundred-megawatt smile at him. “After all, I learned it as a child—during the critical time in your life when you form the muscles involved in speaking.”

As I say this, it occurs to me that the same reasoning might explain why I’m finding these lessons so much easier than most people do. I’m relearning instead of picking up from scratch—and that’s always easier.

“Why don’t we watch some movies you’ve already seen but with Russian voiceover?” Fluffster suggests. “I know a good website for that.”

I nod, excited, and we download The Illusionist, Now You See Me 1 and 2, The Prestige, and a few of my other favorites.

Because I’ve seen the films many times, I find the Russian easy enough to follow—or maybe I find it easy to follow because they use vocabulary I’ve just learned and/or picked up as a kid.

When Fluffster gets tired of watching, I force him to listen to me practice speaking Russian until it’s time to go to bed.

Except I can’t sleep. Now that I’m not focusing on learning my father’s language, my mind keeps coming up with what I’d say during Rose’s eulogy.

Eventually, I give up, get out of bed, and write down what I think will sound good.

And then I can’t sleep because I dread delivering the speech in front of a huge crowd.

After hours of tossing and turning, I get up, grab my phone, and study Russian for the rest of the night—probably making more progress than a graduate student would in two years.

When the smell of fried goodness wafts into the room from under the door, I trek into the kitchen.

Felix, Lucifur, and Fluffster are eating breakfast. The chinchilla’s bowl with hay is on the table next to Felix’s plate, and the cat’s saucer with Fancy Feast is on the floor.

The cat looks up at me with an expression that seems to say, “Dare come near our Majesty’s meal, and I will eat your face.”

Felix’s gaze is much warmer than the cat’s as he examines my sleep-deprived self.

I check his plate, spot the fried eggs and hash browns, and spy more in the skillets on the stove.

Score.

“Morning,” Felix says as I rush to put a heaping portion on my plate. “I hear you’re learning Russian now.”

“Da,” I say, grinning. “Eto pravda.”

“You weren’t kidding,” Felix says to Fluffster in Russian. “That’s great pronunciation.”

Fluffster looks up from his hay and gives me a wink.

I put my plate on the table and sit down. “Yeah. It’s not as hard as I feared,” I say in Russian.

“I imagine the three-gender thing will be tricky.” Felix gesticulates with his utensils. “This fork is female, this table is male, but an egg is neuter.”

“Da,” I say. “But the good news is that there are rules that help me figure out what gender something is.” Shoving food into my mouth, I chew hungrily.

“Sasha will be fine on that score,” Fluffster chimes in. “Even in English, there are a few gendered nouns. Like a ship is a she. Spanish and French also have something like this. And besides, even if Sasha messes those up, she can still be understood.”

“Yeah. She’d just sound silly.” Felix gives us an evil grin. “Even sillier than usual, that is.”

Since my mouth is too full for a proper retort, I pinch his forearm instead.

“Hey.” He jerks his arm away. “After all I did last night?”

“About that,” I say through the food. “How did it go?”

“I got us a deal,” he says excitedly, the pretend injury forgotten. “The guy has a bunch of parts from Orlan, Sokol, and Birkut suits and can give us a bulk discount. I figured with a gnome on the team, we can put those together better than the Soviet engineers.”

“Good,” I say. “When do we get the delivery?”

“Working that out still,” Felix says. “Not long, though.”

I want to ask him how much it all costs but decide to do so when Fluffster is out of earshot.

“I also got us some Hazmat gear and other things I think we will need,” Felix says. “And Kit helped me decide where our makeshift lab will be.”

“Oh?” I spear more eggs onto my fork.

“Yep, in JFK,” Felix says.

I raise my eyebrows.

“Did you picture yourself waltzing into an airport wearing a spacesuit?” Felix’s unibrow attempts an answering arch.

I picture the looks on the TSA agents’ faces.

He’s right. It would not be a good idea, even on Halloween.

“We could bring the suits in some kind of bags, like luggage,” I say.

“You’re close,” Felix says. “The parts can go in suitcases, but the finished product will be built in one of the underground rooms—the one you get to if you take the wrong turn right before the hub corridor.”

“I didn’t realize there were rooms there,” I say. “I pictured pits with hungry crocodiles, or a post-apocalyptic H&R Block office with cannibalistic accountants.”

Felix chuckles. “There may be those there too. But according to Kit, there is also a suitable room that we will use. She says it’s best to keep the gnome as close to the gates as possible, so this kills a bunch of birds.”

“Fair enough,” I say. “Anything else?”

“I made the FUN investment last night,” Felix says and pulls out his phone. “Wow. It’s already up.”

Fluffster scuttles over to look at the screen and appears pleased.

“I want to practice some more Russian on you guys,” I say when they look back at me. “Why don’t you say something, and I’ll try to reply?”

“Horosho,” Felix says, grinning, and launches into rapid-fire Russian. Now that he’s speaking so fast, comprehending him is harder. Still, I’m pleasantly surprised at how much I catch.

“You’ll be fluent in no time,” Felix says as we’re wrapping up the meal. “You’ve made a lot of progress already.”

“I have, haven’t I?” I say, and strain my brain for something to reward myself with.

Of course.

There’s something that always cheers me up—magic.

Of the performing kind.

Especially when I’m the performer.

Yeah, that’s it. I’ve been thinking of ways to impress the Cognizant with something besides a card-cheating demo, and in this very moment, a whole branch of magical arts comes to mind: escapes.

“Before you go, can you help me with something?” I ask Felix as I jump to my feet in excitement.

He glances at his phone with a frown. “Sure. Let’s just make it quick.”

“In my room,” I say and rush ahead with a bounce in my step.

Before Felix can catch up, I locate the hardest-to-crack straitjacket that I own—and I own too many—and pull it out.

“A straitjacket?” Felix looks at me as though I’ve gone insane enough to actually need one.

“Yep.” I put the thing on. “I’m trying to build a repertoire that would impress the Cognizant, and it occurred to me that escaping this can’t be explained by any powers.”

“Not really.” Felix walks up to me and examines the locking mechanism of the strange garment. “If you had Kit’s power, you could—”

“Impress Cognizant who know what my power is.” I narrow my eyes at him.

“Even with your powers, you—”

“Dude.” I turn my back to him and get into the classic straitjacket position. “I don’t need your opinion. I just need you to lock me in this thing so I can practice my escape. It’s been ages since the last time I’ve done it.”

I inhale deeply and hold it in.

Grumbling under his breath, Felix pulls my arms behind me—a bit too roughly.

I tense all the muscles in my body and overall try to make myself as big as I can.

“How long is this going to take?” Felix asks when he’s done. “I need to be at work.”

“You can go,” Fluffster says. “If Sasha can’t escape, I’ll help.”

Felix looks down worriedly. “Are you sure—”

I tune them out and start my work.

First, I exhale.

Next, I relax my muscles, creating some slack in the bindings. Then I manipulate the slack toward my left shoulder and proceed with the rest of the escape.

Four seconds later, I’m free.

Both Fluffster and Felix look impressed—and Felix is one of my toughest customers.

“I guess I’m a little rusty,” I say as I drop the straitjacket on the floor. “It usually takes me three and a half seconds.”

“It’s good. Add it to your repertoire.” Felix picks up and examines the cloth of the straitjacket for any funny business—and finds none. “If you had this on and hung yourself by your feet over some fire, almost anyone would be impressed if you escaped alive.”

“I think I’ll work out something like that.” I take the straitjacket from him and start folding.

“Now I really have to go,” Felix says.

“See you later.” I wave at his back.

When he’s gone, I put away the straitjacket and resume studying Russian. I’m at it for what feels like hours, until my phone rings.

Grabbing it, I see that it’s 12:30 p.m., and that the caller is Nero.

What could he want?

My heart rate speeds up as I accept the call. “Hello?”

“Sasha,” Nero says in his super-deep voice. “Did you eat yet?”

I blink. “No. I’m starving, actually.”

“I’m downstairs,” Nero says. “Come down, and we’ll grab lunch.”

Before I can reply, he hangs up.

I stare at my phone incredulously.

Lunch with Nero?

Is this a prank?

Mind spinning, I dress in some presentable clothing and even put on some makeup—a rarity for me.

As I make my way down, I keep wondering what this could be about.

Is this a social call, and if so, am I glad?

Or is Nero merely planning to impart some Mentor wisdom?

Well, whatever his intentions, I always have a million questions I can ask him, so it would be crazy to turn down such an opportunity.

Yeah, that’s why I’m so eager—because I want to pose pointed questions.

And to eat.

It must be hunger behind the strange fluttering of butterfly wings in my stomach. Hunger combined with sleep deprivation.

Stepping out of the elevator, I stare at Nero.

Broad-shouldered and tall, he’s practically oozing testosterone, and the unnaturally thick limbal rings in his blue-gray eyes are out in full force. He gives me a look that makes the stupid hunger butterflies increase their flapping to hurricane levels.

“How are you?” he growls.

“I’m okay,” I manage to say and feel like I should be given an award for not tripping over my own feet.

Nero cares about my well-being now?

I knew hell was freezing over. There have been many signs.

“You’re not okay.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Why does everyone always forget they can’t lie to me?”

“I didn’t sleep last night. I bet that’s why your lie detection activated. When you asked your question, I figured you meant ‘how are you coping with having nearly been killed by Baba Yaga,’ and in that regard, I’m okay.”

“I see,” he says and starts walking south. “Why didn’t you sleep?”

“Kit told me about the funeral.” My breath quickens as I hurry to keep up with his long strides. “She suggested I give a eulogy.”

“Wait, she already told you about the funeral?” Nero sounds displeased.

Interesting. Did he come here to tell me about it in person? If so, that’s a nice gesture.

“Yeah,” I say as we turn onto a narrow, one-way street. “She mentioned that you were instrumental when it came to getting Rose this honor.” I look over and catch him staring at me intently. Feeling awkward, I look away and mumble, “Thanks for that.”

“Of course.” He stops. “If you’d like, I can speak in your stead. I’m sure Rose would—”

I also stop and look up at him. “No.” Instinctively, I touch his forearm, then yank my hand away, realizing what I’m doing. “I should do this for Rose. That it’s hard for me just makes it more important. Besides, I think I want to. It feels right.”

“I understand.” He gazes at me with an unreadable expression.

I take a step back. “Anyway,” I say with forced cheerfulness. “Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. We’re here.” He points at the large window behind me.

“This place?” We’re standing next to the best restaurant in New York City—and, by transitive property, the world.

Though a short distance from my apartment, it might as well be on the moon. The waiting list for mere mortals like me is rumored to be years long—and if I decided to go for, say, my thirtieth birthday, Fluffster would eat me alive once he saw the astronomical bill.

“After you,” Nero says and pulls open the ornamental glass door.

Swallowing my awed disbelief, I step inside. As soon as the host sees Nero, he fawns over us as though we were royalty, leading us to a well-positioned table by the window.

Before I can blink, our glasses are filled with wine that probably costs more than I make in a year.

As Nero orders the food, I take a sip of the wine and examine the impeccable tablecloth in front of me. Then I study all the movers and shakers at the other tables and the giant ice sculptures in the shape of doves by the bar.

The place is fancy.

Too fancy and romantic to take someone if you merely wanted to tell her about a funeral.

Holy estrogen.

Is this a date?