Someone killed Lord Pankov, and it wasn’t the man arrested for the crime. The ghost, Pascal Hunter, is on the trail of the killer. Possessing the body of Simza Gray, she must battle to hang on to her sense of self while also trying to solve the mystery. She and her partner, the former fey, eternally ten year old Brynn, have accumulated too many suspects. They’ve also made a few too many waves in the normally placid household.

PART FIVE

ASSUMPTIONS

Pascal woke up with a start. She couldn’t breathe.

She could hear her labored breath as she struggled to draw air into her lungs. Something pressed hard on her chest, choking. Air was thick, limited. The dark room faded in and out. Purple and red spots flashed in front of her eyes.

She was tangled in the sheets and lashed out against them only to have them wrap even tighter around her. Terrified that there was about to be another murder, she lurched from the bed. She expected the sheets to hold her tight. They did not. She fell to the floor and hit her head hard.

For an instant she considered abandoning Simza’s body. She would survive. She might take another body or go back to Fall of Night and leave the case to Brynn.

Only for an instant.

Simza would be weak if she left and would certainly die. She was responsible for the body she borrowed.

She tried to stand but the sheets still bound her tight and she fell over. Breathe. Move. She crawled to the vanity and pulled hard on the mirror cover. Tried to yell, or speak, but only gasped.

Blackness.

Without transition she was in the Freezer, bundled in a thick coat with gloves on. The wind howled by her, tearing through the streets and threatening to knock her over with its force. She remembered this.

The Freezer had moved. That was nothing new, the neighborhood shifted every few months. One of their new neighbors was warm, almost tropical. Weather did not normally travel from one shard to another, but sometimes it did. This time the contrasting temperatures created a never ending barrage of wind from the Freezer to Highclime. It lasted months.

She was a man when that happened. She was Pascal, not Simza.

She might still be. The thick clothing concealed her body from her gaze. She was dreaming again.

Or dying. She remembered.

Someone pushed her and she stumbled forward. She couldn’t tell who did it, someone gray and faded. The street was full of them. Gray, faceless people pushing through the howling wind.

Except one.

She was beautiful, short and curvy with long black hair. The only color on the sepia street, she wore a flowing green and red dress with bare arms, completely inappropriate for the cold. The dress and her hair whipped in the wind, but she walked towards Pascal without bowing to its force.

“You killed us,” she said. Her soft voice was clearly audible over the howling wind.

“Simza?” Pascal yelled back, his voice masculine but carried away in the maelstrom.

“Yes. As are you,” she answered.

“I am Pascal Hunter,” he shouted. Insisted.

It was his mantra, and just saying it gave him strength.

“We are Simza Gray. We are dying.”

“We’ll live,” he demanded of her. “We’ll live. I got to the mirror. We’ll get help.”

“You are stealing my life,” she insisted loudly.

He wanted to protest, but it was true. The strength he’d gained from speaking his name out loud fled. The wind tore through him like he was naked before her, the cold numbed his fingers and toes. “Only for a short time. Only to solve the case. Then you can have it back.” It was weak, and he knew it.

“Then I can have my life back? Do you think that makes it all right, if you only steal a little? And if you die before you give it back? It is my life. It is not yours to take.” She was indignant, radiating heat in her passion.

He was guilty and he knew it. “Please,” he pleaded. With the cold wind penetrating him he could not raise his voice. His cries were carried away so quickly he could barely hear himself.

“Please. Let me do this. I don’t have a life. Mine is gone, all gone. The only– this is all I have left. The only shred of life remaining. Solving puzzles. I feel it then. An echo, just an echo of life but it’s there. I try to use it to help, to avenge. It’s all I have. I can’t bear to… Please.”

Why did he tell her that, he wondered. And was it true? He wasn’t sure himself.

“We are linked, you and I. Now. You made the link, but I can use it. Know this, ghost,” she spat. She was firm but not vitriolic, and Pascal thought he saw pity in her eyes. “Know this. You will not outlive me. If you leave me to die, you will die too.”

“I wouldn’t,” he protested.

She would have none of it and continued, “And if you ruin the life I’ve made, you’ll only wish I destroyed you.” He had to wonder where his visions got such strength. “Get Andrei back. Be a woman for him. Be me for him.”

He was on his knees. When had that happened? He could not feel the icy stone beneath him, nor could he look away from the strong woman standing before him. “Yes,” he whispered.

She lifted him up and embraced him. Heat flooded his body and he was blinded by a sudden flash of light.

The light hurt his eyes, but he saw shapes in it. He was lying in bed with Andrei sitting by his side. Her side. She was still Simza. A maid stood by the door. She could smell mint and tobacco. She could breathe.

“Thank Heaven,” Andrei exclaimed, “you’re awake.”

“Yes, what happened?” she tried to say. Her throat was too raw. It came out as a croak, “Ye. Wh’ap?”

“Don’t try to talk,” her fiance said uselessly. For all his concern he was still stiff towards her. “You’ve taken ill. Doctor Rogov has given you a compress to help you breathe, but you must take it easy.”

The maid jumped forward. It wasn’t one of her morning maids. Pascal didn’t recognize her. “He went to fetch his medicine bag, Miss Gray. He will be back soon, but you must stay in bed, he said.”

Andrei smiled, a bit tightly, but enough to indicate approval. “That’s right. And you will listen to him, won’t you?”

She nodded rather than try to speak again. His approval gave her strength. As weak as she was, she’d do anything to keep him happy. Memories flooded her mind, of seeing Nuvye Park for the first time with him by her side, of dancing for him, of promises and hopes. Not her memories, but Simza’s.

I am…, she started to remind herself, but then stopped.

Andrei sent the maid to tell the doctor Simza was awake. When she left, he turned back to her. “You scared me, Simcha darling. Don’t talk,” he insisted when she tried to speak. “Just let me. I behaved badly to you and it’s because I first behaved badly to Father.”

Barely able to speak, she only nodded.

“Your brother– Well, I’m afraid I was a poor gambler. Your brother was not the first person to beat me handily. I think you know that already. I tried to be a better man for you, but I had so many debts. My father would not pay them. He didn’t believe me, and I’m afraid…” In a rush, he blurted out, “I stole money from Father’s office.”

She’d have laughed if it didn’t hurt so much. All Andrei saw was the smile.

“It’s not all right, Simcha,” he answered with a mix of anger and laughter. “It was wrong and I know it. It took time but I brought Father around. That’s why he gave us his blessing. I was afraid you’d find out if you looked too deeply into his affairs. You and Sonya. I had to tell you myself.”

He took her hand in his and held it. Pascal kept smiling.

The door opened and Sofiya rushed in. “Is she all right?” she asked breathlessly.

Sofiya was wearing a blue skirt and jacket over a white blouse with pale pink stitching. It hit Pascal like a brick, mourning was over. Andrei wore brown, the maid did not have a black armband. “How long?” she choked out.

“Shhh,” cautioned Andrei. “Not long, you were only out a few hours. Boris’s Assumption is this afternoon. You won’t attend, of course, but he understands. Even Mother understands.” Andrei was still hiding something. He was stiff, even angry, and he was trying to hide it from her.

“Do you know what happened?” Sofiya asked quietly. “Are you still going to… carry on?” She was trying not to talk about the case with Andrei present, but was not doing a good job.

Pascal nodded, not trying to speak.

Andrei saw. She was pretty sure he understood. He nodded, but with a grimace.

The staff doctor returned with his bag. “Too many of you,” he gruffed. “Lord Andrei, Lady Sofiya, please leave. You may come back later. Nina,” he said to the maid, “fetch some hot water and come back.” Everyone filed out under his commands.

“I’m going to have to give you a shot, Miss Gray. Lord Pankov got us a full suite of medicines when we got back here, you’re in fine shape.” He kept talking while checking her over, always calmly. “You’re going to have to take it easy for the next few days. You got something on your skin. I thought it was poison ivy at first but all the tests were negative. It got in your lungs, which is when it got dangerous. Now, don’t worry. You’ve pulled through and this booster shot is just to help you recover faster. Don’t exert yourself and call me if you have any problems, all right?”

She could still feel the rash on her neck, chest, and both wrists. As she drifted back to sleep, she spared an accusing glance at the vanity table, where her perfume set still sat innocently.

- ♇ -

“Are you all right, Brynn?”

“Huh?” Brynn turned, startled. “Sorry, I’m fine Tomo.”

The kitchens were buzzing with activity, so that was all the conversation they could squeeze in before Tamara had to carry out more platters of pastries with raspberry and lemon sauces.

Brynn was just as busy scrubbing and polishing platters that would soon be scooped high with whatever magic Mrs. Nesterov was preparing for the main course. They were already clean. He’d cleaned them that morning instead of working with the horses. It didn’t matter. They had to be cleaned again.

The house was not in mourning, except for Lady Pankov. It was a trivial change as far as he was concerned. He didn’t wear a black armband with his kitchen uniform. Those who had been with the Pankovs longer made a bigger deal out of it. They were allowed to be cheerful again. Lady Pankov had to stay in moruning for five more years. Weird customs, but Brynn didn’t plan to stick around too much longer.

His partner was laid up so Brynn was on his own for the investigation. He didn’t believe for a second that Paz was sick. He figured the man had been attacked. People got prickly about murder investigations, especially the murderer. Between his work in the kitchen, worrying about Paz, and trying to figure out the case, it’s no wonder Tomo thought he looked stressed.

He wanted to sneak off and see Paz, but his odds of that were close to zero. Everyone was busy, and that meant Mrs. Nesterov kept a close eye on everyone in her kitchen.

That just makes it more fun.

Mrs. Nesterov was a whirlwind of culinary fury as she bustled from the oven to the stove to two pots she had boiling. She was constantly shouting orders to her three assistant cooks, who were working on a myriad of other dishes.

At one point the butler, Mr. Menschikov, came in to check that everything was going as planned. It didn’t go well for him, “When I need your help in the kitchen, Feodor Illyitch, I will retire from the kitchen and live in the forest. Now get out of here and come back when I call you.”

He went, cowed.

One of the cooks laughed and became the next target of Mrs. Nesterov’s wrath.

Bad move, but better you than me. She’s in a nasty mood today.

Tamara was busy running in and out with platters of food. Occasionally she was dragooned into cutting fruit and they could exchange a few words. There was enough food to feed a small army, Brynn thought, so this Assumption must be a pretty big deal.

“Brynn, sweetie,” Tamara whispered sweetly to him when she swept back in, “could you help me out? See Sergey over there. Get him out of sight, maybe one of the pantries, would you?”

“Sure,” he nodded smiling.

Come on, at least pretend you’re interested in the little boy. This is downright insulting. Oh, yes. Sorry about this, Tomo, but I see an opportunity.

He put down the platter he’d been polishing, waved, and said “Be right there.” That pantomime would buy him a minute or two.

“Sergei,” he whispered to his teen-aged rival, the boy who would grow up in time, “the pantry in two minutes. Meet Tomo.” He hurried back to his work, catching the smile on the footman’s face from the corner of his eye as he did.

Tamara watched her beau and saw him disappear. She followed a moment later. Less than a moment after that, Mrs. Nesterov went to the pantry herself to fetch a bucket of blueberries.

“What is this all about?” she screeched.

The kitchen came to a halt as all eyes turned towards the screaming dervish. Except Brynn’s.

He was already on his way out.

Running up the stairs, two flights up. He didn’t pass a soul once he was out of the kitchen. Everyone was occupies with the ceremony in the gardens. He barged through the door, praying he wouldn’t barge in on a doctor or visitor. It paid off. Paz was alone in bed.

The smell of mint almost knocked him over. Pascal’s chest was wrapped in poultices that filled the room with the sharp scent. It was strong enough to dampen Brynn’s ardor to sneak a peak at his partner’s breasts.

“Hey there Paz,” he spouted cheerfully, “how’s it hanging? OK, OK, I know, not the right time for chit chat. Looks like I’ll be doing all the work for a bit so I thought you might want to fill me in. Oh, and how are you?”

The woman in the bed looked frail, and Brynn had a moment’s worry for his partner.

Don’t sweat it. The old ghost’ll live forever. Or whatever it is ghosts do.

Paz shifted, opened his eyes and turned, “Must be Brynn,” he croaked.

His voice was scratchy but he could make himself understood. He told Brynn about breaking into Lord Pankov’s office and finding stolen money and letters. Brynn could see him hesitate but he also revealed that Andrei stole the cash from his father’s office.

Andrei’s a thief and has a taste for hot women. It’s official. I like him.

“And me,” Paz croaked. “Rash is from– perfume.” Brynn stifled his laughter. “Magic linked. Bottles are from Egypt Collection. Find out who has rest of collection.” He swallowed, and Brynn could tell his throat was still raw.

“Hey, don’t worry about it buddy. Just lie back and relax.” With a forced grin, he said, “It’s not like I need your help for a case this simple.”

“Be careful,” Paz whispered. “Stay safe, mora. Friend.”

“Uh, yeah. You too.” Paz should have had a snappy comeback, at least an insult. He said something in another language too, probably something Simza know. Whatever’s wrong must really be taking a lot out of him.

- ♇ -

Brynn rushed from the bedroom back to the kitchen. He made it. He slipped back in without anyone noticing and went back to scrubbing. Well, almost no one noticed.

“That was your fault,” Tamara whispered with acid in her voice.

No point denying it, “Maybe a little.”

“I thought we were friends,” she whined.

He didn’t bother answering.

She’s not going to be interested in a little kid. Too bad, I’d show her a great time.

Then she surprised him.

“Did you go see Miss Gray?”

What?

He turned without meaning to. His mouth hung open, his face went slack. If she turned blue and started tap dancing he wouldn’t have been this shocked. He didn’t know how to react. “How’d you–?”

She smiled. She was quite pretty. “You’re doing something for her. I don’t think anyone else noticed. Let me in on it. You can make up for using me as a distraction.”

Brynn almost started flapping his mouth in surprise. First she managed to catch him, then she surprised him again by trying to join him.

She’s amazing. Pretty, smart, and adventurous. The case be damned. I have got to get this girl.

“Tonight,” he nodded. “After the ceremony.”

That was all the time they had before Mrs. Nesterov saw them together and put them back to work.

Judging from the empty dishes that came back, the Assumption was a rousing success. At one point they all stopped working and got a single glass of wine each. Boris was now Lord Pankov. Nothing changed as far as Brynn could see.

The lights were lit by the time they finished cleaning and scrubbing. Tamara cornered him in the hallway to make sure he didn’t leave her out of his plans. Even though he never intended to, it felt good to have her chasing him for a change.

Remembering to use his partner’s fake name, he whispered, “Someone attacked Miss Gray. She thinks it was through her, well, her perfume bottles. She’s got a couple bottles of something they call the Egypt Collection. We need to find out where the other bottles are and who has access to them.”

“Oh. That’s easy,” she answered and ran off. “Hey Nina Vasilin,” she called down the hallway, her voice echoing off the cold stone walls.

A small maid with black hair turned around. “What do you want, Tamara?” She sounded worn out and impatient, Brynn thought. Tamara had gotten a shot of adrenaline when Brynn told her what was going on, and he rarely got tired. Even after a long day, they were both ready for anything.

“The perfume bottles in Miss Gray’s room,” she said, “Where’s the rest of that collection?”

The direct approach. That’s my way of doing things. It never works, but it can be fun.

With a squint and a shrug, Nina answered, “Lady Sofiya has one of them, and the other two are in Lady Pankov’s room.” After Tamara thanked her, Nina turned and went on her way.

It worked. That’s going right back to the top of my list.

“Wait,” he cried out. “Who can go into those rooms?”

Nina looked down at Brynn, annoyed. “I probably don’t want to know what you two are up to, do I? Fine. In Lady Sofiya’s room, any of the housemaids. Lady Pankov’s room would be limited to Larisa Grigorina.”

She didn’t say it, but Brynn took it for granted any of the family could go in too. At the very least, Sofiya and Lady Pankov would go into their own rooms. “Thank you,” he remembered to add.

“So what now?” Tamara asked him with excitement in her voice.

“Now,” he paused dramatically and was rewarded when she leaned forward expectantly, “now we go visit Lady Sofiya.”

He got just the reaction he wanted. A gasp, bright eyes and slightly parted lips.

Tomo was scared and excited as they ran up the stairs and entered the family quarters. When a maid chastised them for being upstairs, Brynn jumped in “I have a message for Lady Sofiya. I was told to deliver it in person.” That was all it took. The maid brought them right to her. Tamara beamed.

Sofiya’s room was a masterpiece of gold and red, as large as the entire wing where Brynn had his cot. “You have a– You?” she exclaimed when she recognized Brynn.

“Yeah, me,” he responded easily. Tamara was not impressed this time. She was scared, or maybe upset.

“I’m sorry about. I’m sorry about Simza,” Sofiya said after a long pause.

“He’ll be fine,” Brynn tossed back. He caught his mistake as soon as he said it. Tamara noticed that he called Pascal a man. He did what he always did when he screwed up; he ignored it. “I hear you’ve got one of the perfume bottles from the same collection she has.”

“The Egyptian Collection,” she answered evenly. “It was a favorite of mine when I was a girl.”

“Who could have gotten to it? Used it?”

“No one,” she insisted. “Really, no one,” she repeated when Brynn looked skeptical. “I like the French bottles now, so I keep the Egyptian one locked up.” She pointed at a collection of clear crystal bottles that looked very different than the ones in Pascal’s room.

“That leaves your mother’s room,” he muttered.

As they left, Tamara narrowed it down further as soon as Sofiya wouldn’t overhear. “And that means Miss Schuykov.”