Three days had passed before they heard from Anya again. In the meantime, they had fulfilled their roles as tourists in a nearly perfect manner. Visiting the Kremlin, Cecilia spent hours wandering inside the castle, staring longingly at all the ancient books that covered the walls there, even though she couldn't read a word in Russian. They had also visited an old friend of Demetri's and his mate. They had been surprised when Cecilia mentioned that she was actually a Cullen, apprehensive even. It was almost as if the association with her family made them fear for what the Volturi would do. She had shut up after that, smiling kindly and nodding every once in a while, but letting Demetri do most of the talking.
Now the two of them were walking back to the hotel, their hands intertwined. Slowly but surely, Cecilia was growing accustomed to the streets of Moscow. She turned to Demetri, her fingers playing with the cords of her hat absentmindedly. "I don't think Pyotr and Emma like me that much."
Demetri shrugged, not looking particularly bothered about that fact. "I think Emma likes you just fine," he said. That might have been true, considering the redheaded German girl had kept on talking to her while Pyotr kept on giving her nervous glances. "For Pyotr it's different."
"Why?" she asked curiously. There was a slow, but steady drizzle of snowflakes falling down on them and one landed on her eyelashes. She blinked it away, realizing that the snowflakes wouldn't melt on her skin. "It is because he was turned earlier?"
"It has got something to do with it," Demetri admitted. His eyes were plastered on the hotel they were nearing, but he wasn't looking, not really. Cecilia knew he was far away in his thoughts, like sometimes happened when he was remembering something that happened centuries ago. "You know that the Romanians ruled before the Volturi came and overthrew them?"
"Yeah," Cecilia said quietly, giving an affirmative nod. "My dad always said that their rule was messy and inconspicuous."
"It's true. Before finding his mate and leaving, Pyotr belonged to an ancient Russian coven. It had strong ties to the tzars of that time and they supported the Romanian rule, even after the Volturi had been installed. Pyotr had left just in time, because his whole coven was killed for high treason. Ever since then, the Masters have kept a close eye on him, but he has stayed clear. Still, he doesn't like to be associated with family's or names that are enemies of the Volturi."
Cecilia didn't reply, lost in thought. Though her father had never explicitly told her so, he had always implied that the Volturi would simply eradicate covens and people who didn't blindly follow them, removing all traces of them. Now that she had been at court for a couple of years, involved in almost all meetings, she knew it was true. Pyotr's story confirmed it simply once more.
They strolled into the hotel again, finding their way to the room easily. As soon as Cecilia walked into the room, ready to drop herself on the bed, she noticed a thick envelope laying on the pillows. Raising her eyebrows in curiosity, she snatched the paperwork away, tearing the envelope open carefully. She reached into it, drawing out a bulky file. On top of it was a note pinned.
The address was Ulitsa Pervoprokhodtsev, 15, Norilsk, Krasnoyarsk Krai. It was a hotel, not a house, and you were staying in room 63. You were eight years old. You, Demetri and the place are hidden. Meet me at Parkovyy Pr-D., 6, Novomoskovsk, Tula Oblast the coming full moon. Just you, alone.
Impressed, Cecilia passed the note onto Demetri and opened the file. It looked exactly like the type of files one might see in a crime show which held all of the records and information about the suspect. Instantly her eyes fell on the picture of a woman attached to the papers with a paperclip. It was black and white, obviously taken a while back ago, showing a woman in an old-fashioned dress and coat, a hasty expression on her face. Next to it was another picture, this one in colour. It was the same woman, wearing a modern dress this time, even though she hadn't aged a day. Grabbing the pictures, she turned them around, observing the dates written on them, 1930 and 2011.
"Do you know her?" Cecilia asked, holding out the pictures to Demetri. Her eyes didn't wander from the file, but she felt him take the photographs anyway. She leafed through the pages, focusing on the words that weren't written in Russian. The file contained several medical records, as well as addresses all over the world.
She felt the steady bubbling of excitement like she was an officer about to solve a brain-breaking case. It was like reading an ancient book and finally realizing she'd been using the wrong translation for a word, all of it suddenly shifting in place. She tried her best to hide her enthusiasm.
"Yeah," Demetri said. It wasn't the fact that he had answered that caught her attention, but the obvious hint of confusion in his voice. Her eyes snapped up, a muscle in her jaw twitching curiously. "But it shouldn't be possible."
"What is it then?"
"She is supposed to be dead," he said, shaking his head. He held up the pictures against the light, as if he was trying to see if there were any signs of fraud. "I killed her fifteen years ago. I saw her body burn."
Frowning, Cecilia counted back the years. "So, that was in 2008? But the picture is from 2011."
"Just because it is written on it doesn't mean it's true," Demetri countered, handing the pictures back. He held out his hands and silently, she handed over the file.
She observed the way his eyes raked over the pages, his nimble fingers turning from one to the next. He was wearing a concentrated expression, his crimson eyes stuck to the letters and his face set in hard lines. The excitement she'd been feeling earlier started to dwindle and suddenly she felt foolish for acting like they had just been handed a eureka piece. Especially when he started shaking his head and let out a frustrated sigh, she knew something was wrong.
"This is a waste of paper," Demetri said, his voice angry. He smacked against the file, sending it flying through the room. Loose leaflets, receipts and pictures dwindled to the ground like snowflakes falling from the sky. Cecilia watched nervously, her hands folded together in her lap. "I don't know who she thinks she is, messing with the Volturi, but all of these papers are fake."
"What?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in question. "How?"
From the ground, he snatched an old passport and handed it to Cecilia. It showed the same woman again, along with some false information like her name, date of birth and the place she was staying. Looking at it a little longer, she realised it wasn't a passport, but a kind of visa.
"This is supposedly a request to go to the US from 1970," Demetri said, pointing at it. "Which would have been completely normal, except for the fact that it was granted. The USSR allowed little to no emigration and certainly not to the world power they were determined to fight. A request to go to the US should have gotten her hanged as a spy as soon as it came through."
She rose, not making a single sound, and crossed the room to her soulmate. She lay a comforting, but urgent hand on his chest, gaining his attention. Their eyes locked, red clashing with gold. After a moment, he let out a sigh and brushed his hand through his hair in a harsh manner.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to get angry that way."
"I know," she replied, smiling kindly. "What is it?"
"It's just that it feels like Angelokastro all over again," Demetri said. His eyes lingered on Cecilia's face, desperately looking for a sign of comfort. "It's like Aro wants us to fail, for real this time. It wouldn't surprise me if he sent us on a wild goose chase and somehow got this Anya involved."
"Well, then we'd be in big trouble," she said, the smile not falling from her face. She was sure that Aro hadn't sent them on a wild goose chase, but she had to admit that it wasn't very nice of him to not give them any holdfast, except a vague name and a city with almost twelve million people living in it. "But I don't think it's quite how it is. We just have to show him we can figure it out, we always do. We've still got three weeks."
They'd been sent on many more missions after the Markis', most more difficult than the haughty coven had been. They would succeed this time as well, she was sure of it.
"The next full moon is in three days," Demetri said suddenly. One of his hands found the small of her waist, resting on the curve of her hip, the other hand dropped the visa. The expression on his face was serious, resolute. "And I'm seriously starting to doubt whether you should return this favour."
Cecilia smiled, though it was more of a smirk. "I certainly am going to return what she gave us."
"And your definitely not going alone."
She shook her head determinedly. She had no idea what kind of person Anya was, whether she was foolish enough to trust that the papers were real and had handed them over earnestly, or if she had pulled all of it together herself. Cecilia guessed it was the latter option. During their first meeting, she hadn't come across as stupid, far from it, actually.
As soon as she and Demetri locked eyes again, all thoughts about Anya faded to the back of her mind. They would come up with a plan later, but now she was completely intoxicated from the presence of her soulmate. Smiling, she closed the distance between them and pushed her lips against his. Still, even after thirteen years, a bomb of fireworks seemed to explode in her stomach, feeling her body with warmth and a pleasantly numb feeling.
She drew back, happy to see Demetri smile once more. Putting her arms around his neck, she copied his smile. Yeah, they were going to figure it out alright.