The Time Stoppe(9)

“Calm down.” I brush the cupcake crumbs from my fingers.

“How the hell am I supposed to calm down?” He plants his palms on the table, about to shove himself upright again—until I grab his arm. I can feel the tension in him as he yells, “You’re coming home with f*cking bruises, and you’re telling me not to worry about it? It’s my job to protect you, and you’re on your way to getting yourself killed!”

“Lower your voice, please,” I say through clenched teeth. “It’s not your f*cking job to protect me.”

“How can you be so dumb—”

I’ve had enough. Grabbing the plate from the table, I hurl it toward the stove.

Eugene watches it shatter with utter shock, even though this isn’t the first tantrum he’s seen me throw in his lifetime. More like the hundredth in the past two years alone.

“Mira, I—” he begins.

“Shut up.” I rise to my feet.

“Wait, Mirochka. Seriously, I’m sorry—”

I don’t hear the rest because I storm into my bedroom and slam the door shut behind me. Then I crank up some music and begin throwing clothes into a bag: something casual, a gym outfit, and, on a whim, a nice dress I bought months ago after a spree of poker wins. I also throw in some shoes. I want to make sure I have what I need so I won’t have to come back here today—because if I do, I’ll have to deal with Eugene’s sulking.

“I’m not mad,” I say when I open the door again. “I just need to get out of the apartment.”

“Don’t go, Mirochka—”

“Thank you for the birthday wishes.” I sling the bag over my shoulder. “I mean it. It was nice.”

“You’re welcome.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. Eugene knows me well enough to know there’s no salvaging this situation right now.

Still, I feel like the biggest * as I leave the house.



*



Yoga class helps a little. A pretty boy checking out my yoga-pants-clad butt helps a little more. After the gym, I head to my favorite sushi place. That and hot sake make me feel almost like a normal person.

Almost like my birthday is worth celebrating.

Determined to enjoy feeling normal for as long as possible, I take a lengthy walk on the Brighton Beach boardwalk. I try to stay focused on the nice weather, but my thoughts eventually turn to my investigation, as they always do these days.

They said my parents’ death was a mob-on-mob hit. Eugene Read the detectives investigating the case, and learned that the police had cut short the investigation as soon as they learned of the Russian mob’s involvement. But my dad was never in the Russian mob. He was a scientist, like Eugene. It didn’t make any sense until Eugene told me something else that he saw in the mind of the detectives: signs of Pushing.

Pushers are the other side of the coin among people who can enter the Mind Dimension. They’re like us—except they control people’s minds, instead of reading them. And they hate us just as much as we hate them. It’s not a huge surprise those evil f*ckers are involved in this somehow, especially given Dad’s research into our abilities.

As soon as I learned all this, I knew I had to take the investigation into my own hands. My brother honors our parents’ memory by focusing on Dad’s research, but I do it differently. I do it by trying to hunt down their murderers, and if it drives my brother crazy, so be it. I’m not a little girl anymore. In fact, as of today, I’m officially an adult—though I haven’t felt like a child for a long time.

Determined to get back into my earlier birthday-enjoyment groove, I go to the movies. The one I choose is a romantic comedy, and I enjoy it immensely for the fiction that it is. Those writers make these things so light and fluffy, it’s like a fairy tale. In real life—at least in my real life—people are self-destructive, violent liars who will cheat and steal if they can get away with it. Outside of the mob, they put on a fa?ade of civility, but as a Reader, I know what hides behind their polite smiles. In the mob, they don’t even try to hide it. The criminals are more honest, in a way. Then again, the depravity of some of the things I Read in Victor’s club and other similar places is mind-boggling. I sometimes can’t sleep for weeks after getting one of those ‘snuff Reads’—

I shake my head. Man, I need to get back some positivity.

To do that, I grab some ice cream before leaving the movie theater. Nothing is more positive than ice cream.

Afterwards, I decide against getting dinner. Instead, I go into the theater bathroom to change into my killer dress, and while I’m at it, I put on some makeup and a pair of high heels. It’s time to have some fun and go clubbing. Why the hell not? It’s my f*cking birthday.



*



“Are you Russian?” is what I think the guy tries to say to me over the pounding music of the dance club.

“Da,” I yell, nodding to the beat.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he says in Russian. Or I assume that’s what he says because I catch the Russian word for drink over the noise, and he also puts his hand to his mouth in that universal drinking gesture. Not to mention, he points at the bar.

I look the guy over. Tall, broad-shouldered, he looks like the kind of guy I would’ve liked if I’d remained normal. Since I’m trying to be normal tonight, I let him buy me a Grey Goose with Red Bull, my party-all-night drink.