Last Snow - Eric van Lustbader [46]
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THE APARTMENT to which Igor had provided the key was in the Vinohrader, an older district, but because of its beautiful park, it had a softer and therefore more welcoming atmosphere than many of the newer districts. The apartment itself had the advantage of being high up, and the windows in the living room overlooked the park. The rooms were not large, but they were adequate for the trio’s needs, which at the moment consisted largely of showering and sleeping.
The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, not eerily, as if he were in a haunted house, but in a comforting way, the sound of a fire in a grate, cozily cracking through burning logs. This apartment, furnished comfortably, painted in warm shades of biscuit and toast, felt lived in by a benign presence, as if it belonged to Dyadya Gourdjiev. There were drawings on the wall of sinuous nudes and young faces incongruously filled with wisdom, and a depiction of a Tibetan mandala over one end of a sofa, which stood against the wall opposite the windows. Thick curtains hung to either side of the windows, which were concealed by blinds, directing the street light upward onto the plaster ceiling with its molding of twined acanthus leaves. There didn’t seem to be a speck of dust anywhere.
By mutual consent, Alli went into the bathroom first. She had just stepped out of the shower, winding a towel around her small body, wondering dispiritedly if she’d ever look any older than she did now, when Annika walked in.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” Annika said.
Alli turned away to wipe the condensation off the mirror over the sink. “Too late for that.”
“I feel like I have fifty layers of sweat, dirt, and blood on me. I’m dying for a shower, but Dr. Sosymenko said I can’t get the dressing wet.”
“Why don’t you ask Jack? I’m sure you’d love to get him in the shower with you.”
Annika closed the door behind her. “I was wondering if you would help me.”
“Me?”
“Yes, Alli. You.” Annika kicked off her shoes and started to fumble behind her, trying to find the zipper on her ruined dress. “But first I have to get undressed, which I see is damnably difficult with one hand.” She turned around.
Making sure her towel was tucked in tight, Alli unzipped the dress and helped Annika off with it. They had to maneuver the sling off before it was possible, and Alli saw the tears spring into Annika’s eyes.
“Are you all right?”
Annika nodded, but a flash of pain had compressed her lips into a thin line.
Alli reached into the shower, turned on the water, then unhooked the other woman’s bra. Annika stepped out of her thong and, leaning against the sink, rolled down her ripped and filthy stockings.
She stepped awkwardly over the tub rim while extending her left arm outside the shower curtain. Alli ripped the other sleeve off her ruined shirt, wrapped it around the bandage to help keep it perfectly dry.
Alli tilted the mirror until Annika’s reflection appeared, the side of her neck slick and shining, trisected wisps of hair plastered to the porcelain skin. There was something intensely intimate about watching someone soaping their naked body, possibly because they were unaware of your presence, their expression at once relaxed and engrossed, as if in meditation. Even the most well-armored personality seemed vulnerable to scrutiny. The tip of Annika’s tongue appeared between her lips, moving slightly as she concentrated on soaping herself with one hand while not slipping.
“So what’s your story?” Annika asked so suddenly that Alli startled, as if she’d been caught smoking in bed.
“I don’t have a story.”
It was an automatic defense that Annika saw through at once. “Bullshit, everyone has a story. Why do you look seven years younger than you are?”
“Graves’ disease,” Alli said, thinking she’d gotten off easy. “It screws around with growth and development.”
“So you’ll be stuck looking fifteen all your life?”
Alli was startled again because the question echoed her own thought. “Hell, no. At least I hope not.”
“Why not? I think it would be kind of cool. Everyone’s aging around