The blonde says, “Don’t be a mood killer. Stay and have a drink with us.”
“Yeah,” another pipes in. “We have plenty of room for you and your friend.” They scoot closer together, smashed in the middle.
I’m no longer invisible. Katya finally looks over at me, as if I appeared out of thin air. Surprise breaches her face for a second, especially as she stares between me and her brother.
She suddenly rises from the table, too quickly, and falls back into the seat.
“Party foul,” the blonde laughs again.
I actually put my demonic-looking eyes to good use. Unfortunately, she never meets my glare.
Katya tries to stand again, and Nikolai reaches out and grabs underneath her arm, steadying her. “This is what happens,” Nikolai says, “when you decide to go on a Vegas adventure without one of us. At least text me, Katya. Stop screening my calls.”
She presses a hand to her ear. “You don’t…have to…scream.” Her hiccups infiltrated that statement, big time.
“I’m not even raising my voice. You’re drunk, Kat.” He shakes his head repeatedly, and I see the guilt and concern brim.
She stumbles on her own feet, and he wraps a strong arm around her shoulders. “My purse,” she says quietly.
I collect her bright pink clutch and pass it to her. She meets my eyes, and I notice that hers glass with something much different than Timo’s youthful light and Nikolai’s unyielding darkness. Hers are full of sadness and nothing more.
“Katya,” her friend eagerly calls.
She fixes her purple boa, avoiding the girl.
“What about those tickets to Amour?” the girl asks. “You can still hook us up, right?”
“We only have two more nights here,” the other adds. “We need them soon.”
My mouth slowly drops. They aren’t part of the circus…or even Katya’s friends. They’re just random people, using her.
“Buy the tickets yourself,” Nikolai sneers. “Don’t solicit a sixteen-year-old girl for them.”
All three women recoil.
Good.
I don’t know why, but I feel insanely protective of Katya. Just by looking at her. She’s like broken glass in a world of steel and iron. I sense Nikolai studying me for a second, and when I turn to him, I know my thoughts are written on my face.
If I’m protective—then his concern is on another wavelength. A scale reserved for parents to their children. And I don’t mean to point out that he’s not doing a good job parenting…but his locked jaw, his coiled muscles, they all say that he feels it.
That he’s failed his little sister somehow.
But he found her. That’s the important part.
* * *
“How can you be his friend?” Katya asks me in the taxi. She hugs the door while I’m wedged between her and Nikolai, how she wanted to be seated. “He’s so mean.”
Nikolai stares hard out the window, his jaw muscles tensing. Katya’s glazed eyes almost well with tears.
This is a bad night.
I’m stuck in the middle of Kotova family issues, and honestly, my heart aches more than it ever has. I never thought staying in Vegas meant diving deeper into their lives. And so far, I don’t think I would take it back.
I’m not sure I can be any kind of helpful presence, but I can try. My perseverance is all I have. “He’s been really nice to me, so far,” I mention.
“You’re the only one then,” she mutters.
Nikolai rotates to Katya. “Thora is spending the night. If you have a problem with it, tell me now.”
Her chin trembles a little, and her big orb-like eyes flit to me. “You know, he’s never…ever brought a girl over for the night before.”
I frown at Nikolai. “I…didn’t know.”
He whispers under his breath to me, “Not that she knows of.” Right. He’ll sneak late-night hookups in and out, maybe. He watches his sister for a second as she rests her temple to the window. “Don’t wear Timo’s glitter anymore, at least not on your chest, Katya.”
I don’t think that’s the problem. It’s just how much she applied. I wonder if her mom ever had the chance to teach her about makeup before she left for Noctis. Maybe all she’s had are her brothers and performers, who apply costume makeup.
“I heard…you the first time,” she say slowly, trying not to slur her words.
“I thought you said that you’re ignoring everything I say in Russian.”
“I am. I was…” She winces and touches her head like a migraine is setting in. “Do you mind…not talking to me right now?”
“Yes, I mind.”
Her chin quakes again. “He’s my least favorite brother.”
“And you’re my least favorite sister,” he retorts.
Under her breath, she whispers, “I’m your only sister.” Her voice is so solemn. I offer a side-hug, and she wipes beneath her eyes, smudging her mascara. I use the sleeve of my coat to rub off the black streak.
“Thanks,” she sniffs, her skin pale. I can tell she’s nauseous by the way she hunches forward.
“If you puke in the taxi, you’re paying for the extra fee, Katya,” Nikolai tells her.
Way to kick a girl while she’s down. He’s kind of tough on her, but I guess, maybe he should be. She did break her curfew. She did drink underage.
Katya puts her hand to her mouth and stifles a gag.
“We’re almost there,” I tell her. I’m actually not sure how far we are. “You’ve got this,” I encourage. If I’m good at anything, it’s motivational boosts.
She shuts her eyes and concentrates on her breathing while I rub her back. Her head rests on my shoulder. I think she may pass out soon.
A phone rings, the normal default tone. Mine is wind chimes, so I don’t even open my purse. Nikolai tenses as he digs into his pocket and puts the cell to his ear.
He says one foreign word, like a greeting, so I figure it’s a relative on the other end.
Maybe two seconds pass before his nose flares and he rubs his face roughly. When he begins yelling in Russian, I know the night isn’t over just yet.
I sense that it’s one of those never-ending ones. Where the early morning seems to extend for infinite amounts of time, until so much happens that you question why a week hasn’t passed yet.
I wonder how many of these nights Nikolai experiences. In my life, I’ve had maybe one: a drunken New Year’s Eve party that went from a 24-hour diner, to a friend-of-a-friend’s house, to the roof of a hotel, ending in the backseat of Shay’s Jeep.
I can’t imagine this being the norm. Not for anyone.
Act Twelve
2:53 a.m.
By the time the taxi screeches to a halt in front of The Masquerade, Katya has passed out on my shoulder, just as I predicted. Her mouth is open as she lets out short breaths.
I carefully reach over her to open the door, but Nikolai has already walked around to my side of the cab.
“I have her,” he tells me, slipping his phone in his pocket.
He lifts his sister in his arms, cradling her, and I climb out and shut the door. I saw him pay the driver, so I don’t ask about it. “What’s going on?” I’m the seventh wheel to imaginary people. I can’t make sense of his cousins or brothers because they’re just deep voices on a phone line.
“You’ll find out soon,” he says lowly, his brows hardened like his voice.