Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I by K. Panikian (essential reading txt) 📗

Zlatoust. I said the name over in my head a few times so I would remember. I ate some more of my pancakes and listened to Zasha chat. She was very pretty, I noticed. She had pale skin, pink cheeks, and big brown eyes. And she was a scientist. I reached for my phone and sent another quick text to Theo.

“And so,” Zasha was saying, “you must go there when you are in Chelyabinsk. The outdoor festival, I have been before, it has the most delicious Russian food.”

“It sounds great,” I said. “At the end of the week?”

“Yes, just so.” Zasha answered. “If I am still in town, I will meet you there and show you the best place for blini. Here, give me your number.”

We exchanged numbers and then she frowned at her phone. “I do not know why I’m not hearing from Dr. Kuznetsov.”

I felt a nudge from my intuition, and asked, offhandedly, “Is it unusual for him to be out of contact?”

“Oh yes, very unusual. I am his newest intern and generally, he emails me three or four times a day with tasks.”

Just then, Theo sauntered up to our table. He was dressed casually, like Zasha and I, in jeans and a thermal henley. I introduced him to Zasha and after he sat, I told him, with a significant eyebrow wiggle, “Zasha works for the Russian version of NASA. She’s on her way to study the meteor. Her team leader, Dr. Kuznetsov, who is already on site, appears to be missing.”

“Oh, missing,” Zasha said, with a blush in Theo’s direction, “that is too strong a word, I think. Only I have not heard from him in 24 hours, and that is, perhaps, curious.”

Theo began questioning her about the meteor strikes and I searched on my phone for any recent articles about missing people in the area. Nothing came up, not even Dr. Kuznetsov’s name.

Theo swiped the rest of my pancakes and after a few minutes, ordered another stack from the server. While he ate, I asked Zasha about the different towns we were passing. Then she wanted to hear about Anchorage and Seattle. We chatted for at least another 20 minutes before Zasha reluctantly stood.

“I have work I must do before we reach Chelyabinsk. I will text you, yes, about the festival?” she asked me, with a glance under her lashes at Theo. I promised her I would be there and she walked out of the restaurant car.

“What a useful person for us to run into, don’t you think, Theo?” I asked, grinning. “Useful and oh, so, cute. What are the odds?”

“Must be fate,” was Theo’s response. “Good thinking, getting her number.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “It was quite brilliant. And if you give me that last pancake, I will let you be the one to text her once we’re in Chelyabinsk.”

“Deal.”

THE remaining hours on the train passed slowly. We paced the cars, raided the dining car again, and read books. I took a deep dive into Theo’s book of Russian fairytales. There were some good ones.

I especially like the story of Ilya, the knight, and his self-swinging sword. He found the kladenets sword hidden in a sacred tree. He learned how to use its self-swinging power and then beheaded the evil tsar with it.

After he saved the kingdom, the sword disappeared. Presumably waiting to be found by the next hero.

I snuggled onto my cot in the rocking train compartment and dozed off into an afternoon nap, dreaming about magic swords and fearless knights.

Chapter 9

When the train finally pulled into Chelyabinsk, I was ready for a hot tub, or a nightclub. I was achy and my feet felt swollen from the long days of sitting around, but I was also bored, restless, and ready to do something that got my heartrate going. We found our bags and a taxi and headed for our hotel near the university. It was late morning outside, but cloudy, and I could see a lot of gloomy industrial-looking buildings as our taxi zipped along, and then we passed a huge, open park.

After we checked into the hotel, we hit the gym by mutual agreement. I stretched for a long time before using the treadmill and Theo did laps in the pool. By the time I was done, I felt renewed. I wasn’t in a hurry to sit again, but I was also ready to tackle a big Russian dinner and brainstorm our next steps.

I showered in my room and then dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. I hadn’t wasted packing space on nice shoes, so my hiking boots would have to do. I dried and brushed out my long, straight hair and added a little light makeup. With my dark blue eyes and pale skin, I tended to just use mascara and lip-gloss, unless I was prepping for a serious night out, which this was not.

I knocked on Theo’s door when I was done and he held up one finger for me to wait while he finished sending a text. “Just checking on Julian,” he said.

We asked the hotel front desk for a restaurant recommendation within walking distance and then set off. It was in the upper teens and I was happy in my coat, hat, and mittens. The sidewalks were clear of snow, but it was mounded on the street corners in dirty, gray-brown piles. There were a lot of students outside with us, carrying backpacks and traveling in large groups, chattering loudly. Most of the buildings around us were concrete high-rises with shops and restaurants on the ground level. We saw many boarded-up windows, likely from the meteor blast just a few days previously.

The two-story restaurant had blue icicle lights hanging outside and a neon palace on the roof, complete with neon orange onion domes. The inside décor didn’t disappoint either. There were floor-to-ceiling murals of farming villages and lakes; large carved, wooden posts; and at least 30 stuffed animals,