From Russia Box Set by Molly Harper writing as Jacey Conrad

Author:Molly Harper writing as Jacey Conrad
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Omnific Publishing
Published: 2015-12-19T00:00:00+00:00

2

Revenge of the Powerpuff Girl

SHE WOKE FACEDOWN on her white duvet, choking on a pillow feather.

Why was she facedown on her white duvet, choking on a pillow feather?

Coughing up the offending fluff, Irina pushed up from the mattress and took stock of the situation. She was in her own bed, which was good. But she couldn’t remember how she got there or why she was wearing mismatched pajamas, which was bad. She glanced down at the lavender She-Ra, Princess of Power T-shirt, which she only wore with her My Little Pony pajama pants. There was no way in hell she would have paired it with the Powerpuff Girls pajama pants. So who did?

She flopped back on her bed. Her head hurt, but not with a hangover throb so much as a “morning after a horrendous emotional upheaval” ache right between her eyes. She’d danced with that particular monster often enough to recognize the aftermath of an epic round of ugly crying. Did she and Sergei have another fight? Had he been the one to dress her in these insanely cartoon genre-inappropriate pajamas?

She rubbed at her eyelids. Her hands felt weird, stiff and tight around the nail beds. She pulled them away from her face and gasped. She looked like Elizabeth Bathory had given her a manicure. Rusty, sticky patches of blood clung to her cuticles, staining her fingernails. Blood, so much blood.

Sergei’s blood.

The night before came rushing back to her in an oily rush of panic. The gunshots, Sergei’s blood, Viktor’s hand on her shoulder as she was tucked into the ambulance to a supernatural-friendly hospital. The paramedics and surgeons tried to save Sergei, but they could only do so much against four poisonous gunshot wounds. And she just sat there, watching them work on him with a stupefied detachment.

While she waited in the lobby of the hospital, the human police grilled her over and over about the moments before the shooting. Had she seen anything? Had Sergei argued with anyone at the party? Had he behaved strangely?

Galina sat patiently at her side, rubbing soothing circles on her back during the interrogation. Her father made himself scarce when the police showed up, but Irina registered Viktor’s form out of the corner of her eye, leaning against the wall and watching the proceedings while occasionally answering his cell. And then, Sergei’s mother, Anya, had arrived at the hospital, long streaks of eye makeup running down her cheeks and dripping onto her too-tight, sequined evening gown.

“Well!” her mother-in-law had screamed at Irina, as she shoved aside the doctor who’d quietly informed Irina that she was a widow. “My son is dead! Aren’t you going to say anything?”

Anya never had much time for Irina. In her mother-in-law’s opinion, Irina had failed as a wife in many ways. Working outside of the home, neglecting to produce a grandson within nine months of the wedding, and worst yet, not properly appreciating the fine specimen of a man that was her husband, and the roof that he put over Irina’s head.

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