The meeting with Irina took place somewhere Mira would once have considered neutral ground: a museum.
Specifically, the old city history museum, housed in a former merchant’s mansion, its rooms filled with glass cases of artifacts and dusty dioramas. On a weekday afternoon, it was quiet enough to feel like a church.
They met in the hall of the twentieth century, under a yellowed banner that read: PROLETARIANS OF ALL COUNTRIES, UNITE!
“Ironic,” Mira muttered, staring up at it.
“Everything is… ironic… now,” Aleksandr said.
Irina stood by a display case containing a faded army uniform and a rusted rifle. She looked at them as if they were late to an appointment only she had known the exact time of.
“You look… tired,” she observed.
“Feel… tired,” Mira said. “Saw… your memories’ little cousin last night. In… live… action.”
Irina’s brow furrowed. “You went… in,” she said. “Without… us.”
“Yes,” Aleksandr said. “We went… in.”
Irina’s eyes went to him. “What did you… see?” she asked.
He told her, sparing no detail.
As he spoke of the boy on the table, the tank, the smell of old and new blood, Irina’s expression tightened.
“Idiot,” she muttered when he mentioned the UV arrays. “He will… break… more… than he… understands.”
“You sound… more annoyed… than horrified,” Mira said.
Irina looked at her. “I am… both,” she said. “He… threatens… our… stability. And… he… tortures… my… kin. I do not… like… either.”
“So… what do you… do?” Mira asked. “What does your… ‘board’… do when one of your… partners… goes rogue?”
Irina smiled coldly. “We… audit,” she said. “And… occasionally… we… liquidate… assets.”
“You’re… planning… to kill him,” Mira said.
“Eventually,” Irina said. “Or… remove him. For now, we must… weaken.”
“By leaking his human crimes,” Mira said. “Let the press and the public do some of the work.”
“Yes,” Irina said. “Your… realm. While we… tighten… in ours.”
“You’re okay with… exposing… the lab?” Mira pressed. “The… experiments? Even if it risks… revealing… what he’s doing… to your kind?”
Irina’s jaw worked. “We have… survived… plagues,” she said. “Pogroms. Hunts. We prefer… to hide. But if… the choice… is… between… secrecy… and… letting a man like that… breed… a new… strain… under his control… we… choose… risk.”
Mira exhaled. “Good,” she said. “Because Yulia’s going to need… more… than my word. We have… photos from the outside. Satellite data. Building permits. But we need… something… from the inside. Without… getting… people… killed.”
Irina’s gaze slid to Aleksandr.
“No,” Mira said immediately. “Not again. He went… once. That’s enough.”
“I do not… disagree,” Irina said. “He is… too… visible… already.”
“Visible?” Aleksandr snorted. “I do not… appear… on cameras.”
“To… ours,” Irina said. “And to… theirs. In… other ways.” She tapped her temple.
He frowned.
She looked back at Mira.
“You have… another… ally,” she said. “Use her.”
“Yulia?” Mira asked, startled. “She’s a journalist, not a spy.”
“She is… persistent,” Irina said. “And she has… people. Volunteers. Students. Tech… children. They can do… things… we cannot… without… eyes.”
Mira nodded slowly. “We can… crowdsource… some surveillance,” she said. “Drones. Phones. Workers in the industrial area. We don’t have to… go inside… to prove… something’s… going on.”
Irina inclined her head. “And we… will… watch… Kalugin himself,” she said. “And his… pet… elders.”
“You keep… saying… ‘elders,’” Mira said. “But apart from you and Aleksandr, I haven’t… met… any. Just… smelled.”
“And you do not… wish to,” Irina said curtly. “Most of them… have… forgotten… how to… talk.”
“So you remember,” Mira said. “We’re lucky.”
Irina’s lips twitched. “Perhaps,” she said.
They walked slowly along the exhibit.
Photos stared back from the walls: soldiers, factory workers, lines of women in headscarves.
Mira stopped in front of one.
A group of young men, uniforms slightly too big, caps at jaunty angles, grinned at the camera. One, in the back, looked a little like Aleksandr would have, alive and human: sharp-featured, eyes bright.
“Is that…?” she began.
“No,” Aleksandr said quietly, looking past her. “Different… fool.”
She glanced at him.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
He shook his head.
Irina moved on, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor.
“Kalugin will… respond,” she said. “To the article. To… your… questions. To… last night.”
“You think he knows about the attempted grab?” Mira asked.
“Yes,” Irina said. “Or he will… soon. He will… know… his… insects… failed. He will… send… something… else. Smarter.”
“Great,” Mira muttered.
“We can use… that,” Irina went on. “We… set… bait. For him… and for… his… allies. We… choose… the ground.”
“You keep saying ‘we,’” Mira said. “But what does that mean… in numbers? How many of you… are willing… to stand up to him?”
Irina’s gaze turned inward for a moment.
“Enough… to make him… bleed,” she said. “Not enough… to… storm… his… house… alone. That is where… you… come in.”
“Press,” Mira said. “Law. Public outrage.”
“Yes,” Irina said. “You… open… doors… we… cannot. We… push… through.”
“And if we… succeed?” Aleksandr asked. “If we… bring him down. What then? You… take… his… place?”
Irina stared at him.
“We… do… not… want… his… place,” she said. “We… prefer… shadows. He makes… too much… noise.”
“Noise… like… me… at a hearing,” Mira said.
Irina’s mouth twitched. “Different… kind,” she said. “His… is… vanity. Yours… is… purpose.”
Mira felt heat rise in her cheeks.
“Flatterer,” she muttered.
Irina’s eyes warmed fractionally. “Observation,” she said.
They sketched plans in the museum café, over bad coffee and stale pastries.
Yulia would be the spear: undercover pieces about unexplained comings and goings at the cannery, interviews with former contract workers, follow-ups on missing persons whose last known employment involved Kalugin’s companies.
Dima would be the shield: filing formal complaints, demanding inspections, drowning relevant agencies in paperwork they couldn’t ignore once the press was watching.
Irina’s network would handle the shadows: tracking Kalugin’s personal movements, mapping his connections to certain “private clinics,” identifying which elder vampires had tied their fortunes too closely to his.
“And me?” Aleksandr asked.
“You,” Irina said, “will… be… visible… and… not. You will… be… seen… with… her.”
She nodded at Mira.
Mira blinked. “Why?” she asked.
“Because,” Irina said, “he is… curious. He knows… you have… something… he does not. Old… blood. New… noise. If he thinks… you are… allied… with a… relic… he will… change… his… game. Show… his… teeth… differently.”
“You want to use him as… bait,” Mira said.
Irina did not flinch. “Yes,” she said.
Mira opened her mouth to protest.
Aleksandr put a hand on her arm.
“She is… right,” he said quietly. “I am… already… bait. At least this way… we… hold… the line.”
Her throat tightened. “I don’t… like… this,” she said.
“Nor do I,” he said. “But… we… make… choices… or… they… make… us.”
Irina watched them.
“You will… need… to… feed,” she said bluntly. “Before… this. You… cannot… stand… in front… of… him… hungry.”
Mira’s stomach clenched.
“I have… bags,” she said. “I can get… more.”
“Bags… are… not… enough… for what… is coming,” Irina said. “You will… have to… take… from… a… living… source.”
Aleksandr’s jaw set. “No,” he said.
Irina arched an eyebrow. “You… refuse… on… principle?”
“Yes,” he said. “On… ours.”
“Ours?” she said.
“Mira’s… and mine,” he said. “We… made… rules.”
Irina’s gaze slid to Mira. “You approve… this…… abstinence?” she asked.
“It’s not… abstinence,” Mira said, heat rising to her face again for entirely different reasons. “It’s… consent. We said… no… feeding… on unsuspecting people. No… hunting… for sport. No… losing control.”
Irina sighed. “Young,” she muttered. “Idealistic.”
“You were… never?” Mira challenged.
Irina’s eyes went distant for a heartbeat. “Once,” she said. “Long… ago. The world… burned it… out… of me.”
Mira thought of Elizaveta walking into fire to deny that same world more control.
“Then maybe… we… light… another… match,” she said.
Irina smiled, small and sharp. “Very… well,” she said. “But when… hunger… makes… you… stupid… do not… expect… me… to… clean… all… the… blood.”
“We… plan,” Aleksandr said. “We… stock… your bags. We… find… willing… donors… if… we must.”
“Consenting… vampires?” Mira said, wrinkling her nose.
Irina laughed. “Such… a… thing… exists,” she said. “We… have… our… own… economy… of… exchange.”
Mira wasn’t sure she wanted to know more.
They left the museum as the winter light faded, long shadows stretching across the square.
On the steps, by a statue of some long-forgotten literary figure, a man waited.
Not Lebedev.
Younger, maybe mid-thirties, with dark hair slicked back and an expensive coat. His posture screamed confidence. His eyes were… wrong.
Too dark. Too still.
“Ah,” Irina said under her breath. “Speak… of… elders… and… they… appear.”
The man smiled as they approached.
“Dr. Okonkwo,” he said, voice smooth as polished stone. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Mira’s hand tightened on her bag strap.
“I don’t recall… an appointment,” she said.
“No,” he said. “But we are… connected… through… mutual… interests.”
His gaze slid to Aleksandr. “And… histories.”
Aleksandr’s face went shuttered.
“Mikhail,” he said.
The name sat heavy between them.
Mira glanced between them. “You know him,” she said.
“We… overlapped,” Mikhail said, unbothered. “Briefly. Before your little nap.” He smiled, teeth too white. “You left… such… an impression.”
“Not… fond,” Aleksandr said.
Mikhail spread his hands. “We all… serve… in our… ways,” he said. “Some of us… adapt. Some… sleep. Some… howl… at the wrong… moons.”
His eyes flicked to Mira.
“And some,” he said, “write… very… inconvenient… articles.”
Her spine stiffened. “I don’t write the articles,” she said. “I just… help collect… the facts.”
“Semantics,” he said. “You have… made… my… employers… nervous. I do not… like… nervous employers. They… make… messes.”
“Tell them to stop… torturing… people,” she said. “We’ll all have less work.”
He laughed, genuinely amused. “Sharp,” he said. “I see why… he…” He nodded at Aleksandr. “…finds you… interesting.”
Heat prickled her cheeks.
“What do you… want?” Aleksandr asked, stepping slightly between them.
“An opportunity,” Mikhail said. “To… advise. To… suggest… that you… both… step back. Before… this… becomes… irreparable.”
“You mean… stop… poking… at the cannery and the estate,” Mira said. “Let Kalugin… do whatever he wants.”
“Of course not,” Mikhail said, lips curling. “He is… a child… with matches. We will… take… them… away. In time. But your… method… is… messy. Public. It… invites… scrutiny… we do not… need.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before partnering with a megalomaniac,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “We… all… make… bad… investments,” he said. “The question is… how much… we lose… cutting… them… loose.”
Irina stepped forward, expression cool.
“Mikhail,” she said. “This is… not… your… portfolio.”
“On the contrary, dear cousin,” he said smoothly. “Everything… that touches… Kalugin… is… my… concern. Including… your… little… project.”
His gaze sharpened.
“You are… playing… a dangerous… game… bringing… out… the Morozov specter,” he said. “Some of us… remember… why… he… was… buried.”
“He… is… not… your… toy,” Irina said, an edge in her voice Mira hadn’t heard before.
Mikhail’s smile thinned. “He was… left… in the ground… on the condition… that he… stay… out of our… affairs,” he said. “You woke… him. You… broke… the terms.”
“No,” Irina said quietly. “We… paused… them. Kalugin… broke… them. He… sent… men… to his… door.”
Mikhail’s brow arched. “So you… bring him… into the open,” he said. “Into… politics. Into… media. Into… my… evening news. You think… the others… will… be… pleased?”
“They can… complain… to me,” Irina said. “Directly.”
Mikhail’s gaze flicked to Mira again.
“You… have… no idea… what you’ve… stepped into,” he said.
She swallowed. “I’m learning,” she said. “Fast.”
His smile returned, shark-bright.
“Then learn… this,” he said. “We will… tolerate… your… little… crusade… as long as… it inconveniences… Kalugin… more… than… it does… us. The moment… it tips… the other way…”
He let the sentence dangle.
“You’ll… kill me,” she said bluntly.
“Not… my… preference,” he said. “You are… entertaining. But… if… necessary…”
He shrugged.
Aleksandr’s hand was on her arm, fingers firm.
“You touch… her,” he said very softly, “and I will… pull… your… pretty… head… off.”
Mikhail laughed.
“Oh, Aleksa,” he said, the diminutive falling from his tongue like a taunt. “You could… try.”
His eyes gleamed.
“You are… not… the only one… with… old… tricks.”
A flicker of movement behind him drew Mira’s eye.
Lebedev stood half in shadow near a nearby doorway, watching. His expression was not amused.
“Enough,” Irina said. “This is… not… the… forum.”
“No,” Mikhail agreed. “But it is… a… useful… rehearsal.”
He inclined his head to Mira.
“Dr. Okonkwo,” he said. “Do… be… careful. Some… truths… are… hungrier… than others.”
He turned, coat flaring, and walked away, disappearing into the museum’s gloom.
“Charming,” Mira muttered.
Irina sighed. “He is… what happens… when… elders… live… too long… near… money,” she said.
Aleksandr’s muscles were still coiled.
“You okay?” she asked him under her breath.
“No,” he said. “But… I will… be.”
She touched his arm.
His gaze dropped to her hand.
“Slow,” she said quietly.
He exhaled, tension easing a notch.
“Slow,” he echoed.
They left the museum into cold air that smelled faintly of snow.
The city’s lights glittered off the river.
Above them, in a sky too bright for stars, satellites and secrets circled.
Below, in an old cannery, a boy on a table shuddered under UV.
Between, on a sidewalk slick with the beginnings of ice, a human and a vampire walked side by side, plotting a war that was equal parts ink and blood, knowing each step forward narrowed the path back.
“You could still… walk away,” Aleksandr said softly, echoing their earlier conversations. “Find… a different… project. A different… building. Let… someone else… carry… this.”
She looked at him, at the faint line between his brows, at the ring on his finger that had belonged to a dead man who had made him.
“No,” she said. “I couldn’t. Not anymore.”
His mouth curved.
“Good,” he said.
She arched an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this,” she accused.
“I am… alive,” he said. “Again. For… better… or… worse. With you. That… is… something.”
Her chest tightened.
“Come on,” she said gruffly. “We’ve got stories to leak and vampires to annoy.”
He laughed.
“An ordinary… week,” he said again.
This time, they both knew: there was nothing ordinary left at all.