Chapter Sixty
I find myself in a vacuum-like blackness for the third time, facing a synapse-hologram of a man I do not recognize.
Bald and beardless, at first he looks nothing like the images of Rasputin I saw online.
Except for those eyes.
The eyes look the same.
And there’s his now-exposed chin.
It looks just like the one I popped pimples on as a teen.
My chin.
“Grigori Rasputin?” I ask tremulously.
Every possible human emotion seems to kaleidoscope on his translucent face as he nods and points at me. “Sasha?” he asks, pronouncing my name in that Russian manner that Felix’s parents do.
I nod.
He rattles out something in rapid-fire Russian and floats down.
“I don’t understand.” I float to his level. “I don’t speak Russian.”
The pain in his eyes seems to intensify.
“Ya ne
