Page 47 of Vows of Blood
17
ISABELLA
The home of Maxim Mechnikov looks more like a castle than a mansion. It sits on the edge of the city at the end of a winding road flanked by thick forest trees that make everything dark even though it’s still early in the morning. When we pull up to the large wrought iron gates, I find herself peering over Alexei’s shoulder at the structure in awe.
It’s so large that it casts a shadow over the acre of land before it, a beige brick exterior with a circular room and steeple near the center. The windows are all large and square shaped with the hint of drapes covering most of them. Alexei drives the car right up to the circular drive and the front doors open. A man with a thick beard barely covering rosy cheeks comes walking out. He’s wearing a suit, but he doesn’t look like that’s his normal attire. His shoulders are too broad, making his head look too small under the collar and tie. He looks like he should be a bouncer rather than whatever he is right now.
What the hell do they feed these guys? Every one of them is built like walking, talking brick walls.
Alexei pulls up as the man walks to the edge of the front stairs. “Remember what I said,” he says to me. “Stay on your best behavior in here. This isn’t a game.”
“I heard you,” I say in a failed attempt to keep the bitter tone out of my voice. He looks back at me with a silent warning, then he gets out of the car.
I wait for him to open my door and I get out. I take a second to straighten my blouse. The big lug wrinkled it carrying me like a baby. Ugh.
The man says flatly in a heavy Russian accent, “Mr. Mechnikov, they are all gathered in your father’s office.” His eyes move to me tentatively, then, with a short nod, he goes, “Mrs. Mechnikov.”
I don’t have a response, so I don’t say anything. He still lets us pass and as we do, Alexei says to him, “Uncle, please show my wife to the parlor to wait for me.”
“Of course, sir,” he says.
I don’t object, even though I kind of want to know what they’re going to be discussing. I don’t imagine that they’ll try to attempt a jailbreak or anything like that, but clearly, there’s big planning going on. And I have a really bad feeling about all that.
My father-in-law’s house is enormous. The foyer is more like a lobby in a hotel than anything else, with dark marble floors and walls with dark patterns in the wallpaper. The staircase is wide. Like, I imagine ten people could probably walk down it all at once.
I follow ‘Uncle’ up those stairs, my hand on the cool wood of the railing. At the landing is a large, circular stained glass window with figures portrayed in it, a man standing with one foot on abig stone, holding a sword in the air while a beautiful woman with long black hair stands at his side.
It’s all very Medieval. I wonder if he had this place brought to the States stone by stone.
The upstairs hallway is carpeted. Dark, blood red with gold, crisscrossed designs. It’s pretty gaudy in comparison to everything else in here so far. The parlor is only a few steps away, but as we walk toward, it I can hear the soft rumble of conversation from one of the rooms behind me.
Maxim’s office. It sounds like a lot of voices, even from here. Probably all his captains or whatever the Russian word is for that. I’d kill to be a fly on the wall in there.
The parlor looks about what I would expect, given the design of the rest of the house. Antique couch in front of a stone fireplace, a writing desk in the farthest corner with a bookshelf wall next to it. A caddy with alcohol, ice, and glasses for making drinks…
And the faint smell of some manly cologne that I imagine is seeped into this ugly wallpaper. I wander over to the drink caddy… no water. Of course there’s no water. Maxim probably lives off vodka and human souls.
The door opens and Anya walks in. Her long, curly hair is up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a T-shirt and tight jeans. She looks at the drink caddy and smirks at me. “A little early, no?”
“After the morning I’ve had, not really,” I say.
“Well, then, let me make you a proper drink. It’s a rough morning all around.”
I step aside as she pulls out two glasses, then kneels down to see what alcohol she has to work with. It’s kind of odd that she’shere. I don’t think Anya’s a soldier or anything. Women being close to the action… that kind of thing wouldn’t fly in my father’s side of the family. Then again, I’m not really in Kansas anymore.
“What are you doing here?” I ask her. “Did you get the call like everybody else?”
“I did,” she said. “And now I’ve been tasked with babysitting you.” She stands holding two decanters, one with a transparent liquid and the other with an orange-red liquid. “I don’t know what you did, but I don’t remember the last time I saw Alexei quite that angry. You’ve really gotten under his skin.”
Good.I watch her as she puts ice in both glasses and starts mixing the drinks. “Yeah, I have that effect on men.”
She snickers as she stirs the orange concoction with a glass stirrer. She hands me a glass and says, “A nice blood orange screwdriver. Perfect for morning drama.”
I take it gratefully. The first sip is really good, sweet and tangy with just a hit of vodka. I wonder how much of what’s happened I can tell her. She is one of them, after all. And we’re kind of friends now.
“So, you’ve been sent to babysit me,” I say. “Sounds like a shit job to me.”
She shrugs. “It’s not really necessary for me to be in there. They’re talking about territories and contingency plans in case Maxim doesn’t make bail. I’m not needed unless somebody needs to go away quietly.”
