Everyone grew silent. It was sunset now, with orange fire burning in the western sky, and shadows falling across all of us. The priest performed a funeral service in Russian, chanting in a voice that sounded unearthly in the darkening yard.

All the church services I’d ever attended were in English, but I could see how this had the same feel. Every so often, those gathered would cross themselves. I didn’t know the cues, so I simply watched and waited, letting the priest’s mournful voice fill my soul. My feelings for Dimitri churned within me like a growing storm, and I worked to keep them in, locked up in my heart. When the service finally finished, the eerie tension that had engulfed the group dispersed. People moved again, hugging the Belikovs and shaking hands with the priest. He left shortly thereafter.

Food followed. Plates were loaded up, and everyone sat wherever they could find space, be it inside the house or in the backyard. None of the guests really knew me, and Dimitri’s family was far too busy to pay much attention to me as they ran around and tried to make everyone feel welcome. Sydney stayed with me a lot of the time, and while conversation was light between us, I took comfort in her presence. We sat on the living room floor, leaning against the wall near the bookcase. She picked over her food, like always, which made me smile. There was something soothing about that familiar habit.

When dinner was over, people continued chatting in small groups. I couldn’t understand any of it, but I kept hearing his name mentioned: Dimitri, Dimitri. It reminded me of the incomprehensible hissing that the ghosts made during their visits. It was oppressive and smothering, the force of his name pressing on my heart. Dimitri, Dimitri. After a while, it grew to be too much. Sydney had stepped away for a bit, so I went outside to get some air. Some people had built a bonfire in the back and were sitting around it, still talking about Dimitri, so I headed off toward the front yard.

I walked down the street, not intending to go far. The night was warm and clear, with the moon and stars burning brightly in the blackness above me. My feelings were tangled up, and now that I was away from the others, I allowed a bit of that pent-up emotion to burst forth, coming out as silent tears on my cheeks. When I was a couple of houses away, I sat down on the curb, resting and enjoying the stillness around me. My peace was short-lived, however-my sharp ears picked up the sound of voices coming from the Belikov house. Three figures appeared. One, tall and slim, was Moroi, and the others were dhampirs. I stared as they came to a stop in front of me. Not bothering with formalities, I remained where I was, looking up into the Moroi’s dark eyes. I didn’t recognize this group from the service-but I did recognize the Moroi from somewhere else. I gave him a wry half-smile.

“Abe Mazur, I presume.”

“I thought you were a dream,” I said.

They all remained standing, the dhampirs fanning out around the Moroi in a sort of protective formation. Abe’s was the strange face I’d seen while I’d been going in and out of consciousness after the fight by the barn. He was older than me, close to Olena’s age. He had black hair and a goatee, and about as tan a complexion as Moroi ever had. If you’ve ever seen tan or dark-skinned people who are sick and grow pale, it’s a lot like that.

There was some pigment in his skin, but it was underscored by an intense pallor. Most astonishing of all was his clothing. He wore a long dark coat that screamed money, paired with a cashmere crimson scarf. Below it, I could see a bit of gold, a chain to match the gold hoop earring he wore in one of his ears. My initial impression of that flamboyance would have been pirate or pimp. A moment later, I changed my mind. Something about him said he was the kind of guy who broke kneecaps to get his way.

“Dream, eh? That,” the Moroi said, with the very slightest hint of a smile, “is not something I hear very often. Well, no.” He reconsidered. “I do occasionally show up in people’s nightmares.” He was neither American nor Russian; I couldn’t identify the accent.

Was he trying to impress me or intimidate me with his big, bad reputation? Sydney hadn’t been afraid of him, exactly, but she’d certainly possessed a healthy amount of wariness.

“Well, I assume you already know who I am,” I said. “So, the question now is, what are you doing here?”

“No,” he said, the smile turning harder. “The question is, what are you doing here?”

I gestured back to the house, trying to play it cool. “I’m going to a funeral.”

“That’s not why you came to Russia.”

“I came to Russia to tell the Belikovs that Dimitri was dead, seeing as no one else bothered to.” That was turning into a handy explanation for me being here, but as Abe studied me, a chill ran down my spine, kind of like when Yeva looked at me. Like that crazy old woman, he didn’t believe me, and again I felt the dangerous edge to his otherwise jovial personality.

Abe shook his head, and now the smile was gone altogether. “That’s not the reason either. Don’t lie to me, little girl.”

I felt my hackles going up. “And don’t interrogate me, old man. Not unless you’re ready to tell me why you and your sidekicks risked driving that road to pick up Sydney and me.” Abe’s dhampirs stiffened at the words old man, but to my surprise, he actually smiled again-though the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Maybe I was just helping out.”

“Not from what I hear. You’re the one who had the Alchemists send Sydney with me here.”

“Oh?” He arched an eyebrow. “Did she tell you that? Mmm… that was bad behavior on her part. Her superiors aren’t going to like that. Not at all.”

Oh, damn. I’d spoken without thinking. I didn’t want Sydney to get in trouble. If Abe really was some kind of Moroi Godfather type-what had she called him? Zmey? The snake? — I didn’t doubt he could talk to other Alchemists to make her life even more miserable.

“I forced it out of her,” I lied. “I… I threatened her on the train. It wasn’t hard. She’s already scared to death of me.”

“I don’t doubt she is. They’re all scared of us, bound by centuries of tradition and hiding behind their crosses to protect them-despite the gifts they get from their tattoos. In a lot of ways, they get the same traits as you dhampirs-just no reproductive issues.” He gazed up at the stars as he spoke, like some sort of philosopher musing on the mysteries of the universe. Somehow, that made me angrier. He was treating this like a joke, when clearly he had some agenda regarding me. I didn’t like being part of anyone’s plans-particularly when I didn’t know what those plans were.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure we could talk about the Alchemists and how you control them all night,” I snapped. “But I still want to know what you want with me.”

“Nothing,” he said simply.

“Nothing? You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to set me up with Sydney and follow me here for nothing.”

He looked back down from the sky, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. “You’re of no interest to me. I have my own business to run. I come on behalf of others who are interested in you.”

I stiffened, and at last, true fear ran through me. Shit. There was a manhunt out for me. But who? Lissa? Adrian? Tatiana? Again, that last one made me nervous. The others would seek me out because they cared. But Tatiana… Tatiana feared I’d run off with Adrian. Once more I thought that if she wanted me found, it might be because she wanted to ensure I didn’t come back. Abe struck me as the kind of person who could make people disappear.

“And what do the others want? Do they want me home?” I asked, trying to appear unafraid. “Did you think you could just come here and drag me back to the U.S.?”