The Oldest Soul--Animus by Tiffany FitzHenry

Author:Tiffany FitzHenry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hierarchy Publishing
Published: 2018-10-04T00:00:00+00:00

The person who’s been watching me sleep.

Chapter 12

At first I didn’t recognize the long slender face above me. The sallow sunken cheeks and pale blue eyes, the ones that apparently stared down at me as I slept, and probably gave a glance or two to the butcher knife in my hand.

“Kristina,” I say as if I’m telling her her own name as I discretely scoot closer toward the safety of the wall behind me. Kristina, whom I last saw crying onto Shamus’s shoulder in the Sheremetyevo Airport as we departed from Moscow. Kristina, who I learn within minutes has never been out of Russia, speaks perfect English, and desperately loves my brother, despite reason and logic, the cup of tea in her delicate hands, apparently for me, the frumpy black-and-red plaid button-down shirt, barely covering the alabaster skin of her skeletal frame. The only button-down shirt he owns. The one I’ve seen him wear just a handful of times. The one he was wearing the day we left Moscow.

“It’s six forty five,” she tells me, her accent heavy, but her voice soft, kind. “I know you go to school; I thought I should wake you.” Knowing Shamus as I do, her helpfulness only makes her seem more suspicious. But by her keen eyes I can tell she doesn’t dislike me, in fact she just might follow me off a cliff if I ask her to. I know this instantly. And admittedly, I’m happy about it, and happy she would have woken me. With the impending apocalypse I forgot to set my alarm clock and being late again wouldn’t help my quest to avoid Mr. Envoy at all costs. Yet I decide against thanking her, because the eruption of Mount Vesuvius and my subsequent death by incineration was what actually woke me, and because she obviously broke into my house, and she loves my sibling rival, my enemy. So I just shift my eyes from where her tiny bare feet are standing to my bedroom door, awkwardly a few times, until she turns and walks out.

As I drive to school I reevaluate a few of the choices I’ve made so far this morning. First, not finding the nerve to confront Kristina about her unlawful entry I’m feeling like a coward, wondering what I’m afraid of. And not eating breakfast as a protest against her cooking it for me may have also been a mistake considering the pain in my hollow churning stomach and how incredibly delicious the thin golden pancakes she called blini smelled. Another potential lapse in judgment—allowing her to stay at my house while I’m at school all day—isn’t sitting well. What do I really know about Kristina? Why would I trust her? But most of all, my decision not to call Ansel is buzzing around like a fly in my mind. I thought about calling him. Really. I even stared at the phone in the kitchen as Kristina took a shower, in my bathroom without even asking, knowing I could have called him without her hearing.

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