HIM
"I just want to know how she did it."
"I swear to God, Aleksi—"
Adah shoots me her signature you've-got-to-give-it-up face.
But I have to know how Limonskiy managed it.
It was only last night that Harriet stumbled in—and by morning, both she and Laura were gone.
Limonskiy's room was pristine, as if nothing had happened. For a wild moment I was convinced I dreamed it all up.
At breakfast, I stared pointedly at her, convinced she had somehow hidden Harriet somewhere and someone was going to stumble upon her in a broom closet. Yet somehow, she never looked up from her food. She spent comically long amounts of time cutting her meat into tiny bits, and buttered her toast with such precision it seemed more like she was handling a dangerous substance.
She dutifully avoided me—the picture of normalcy.
True to form—she refused to speak to me and instead whispered only a few words to Adah in passing:
"She's alright. I got her a job and place to stay—her and Charlie."
Before Adah could even ask questions she had slipped off to her next job. Adah seemed content to accept her words and move on, but I couldn't get it out of my head.
"This is what she does, you know," I say, ranting to Adah for what must be the hundredth time. "She insists on doing everything herself, tells you nothing, and then acts all superior when you don't understand."
Adah swears under her breath in Slovakranian, dutifully ignoring me.
"Just you wait, Adah, I'll find out." I have to shout the last bit after her as she leaves the room, her eyes rolling.
—
My many months of memorizing Laura's schedule and following her around comes in handy. I know exactly where she will be and when, and I quickly formulate a plan to catch her alone.
I wait in the stairwell just after lunch, trying to decide which pose looks the most trustworthy and casual. I try leaning against the wall with one shoulder, but my arms feel out of place. I try squatting down, but my legs cramp up after a few minutes. I'm just about to try a new one—half leaning against the wall, inspecting my hands—when she all but runs into me. The result is that I am awkwardly tilted—my hands hovering dangerously near her chest—as she stands inches away from me.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I shove my hands in my pockets as if that could erase the last five seconds.
"Limonsk—"
"Aleksi, what do you want?" She pinches the bridge of her nose, her voice is full of bite as she cuts me off.
I bristle at her immediate coldness. I had a plan— a gentle, easy approach to get her to tell me how she got that woman a job and a house literally overnight, but—as usual, she makes me forget all logic.
"How did you do it?" It comes out gruff and aggressive, and I smack myself internally as her face scrunches.
"How eloquent." She shoots back, already trying to move past me.
"Come on, Limonskiy, just tell me." I try a new tactic, putting a teasing note into my tone, but I'm still so flustered it comes out more whiny. Strike two.
She looks directly into my eyes, moving closer to me. My lungs just…forget their job.
Her eyes are sharp, and the dark splotches under them could be bruises.
"Aleksi, I have been up all night dealing with one baby. I don't want to waste my day talking to another."
I wince as she turns from me. I probably deserved that.
"Laura, wait—" I call after her, but she's already gone.
I stand stupidly in the empty stairwell, the only sound the echo of the door—and my chances of learning anything—slamming closed.
—
"So genius, how'd your great plan go?" Adah mocks.
She knows I got nothing—my "sulking face" screams it.
I glare at her as she and Mamka laugh boisterously.
We're sitting outside the servants' entrance, in the back courtyard. A large tree provides shade as Mamka smokes, and Adah and I sit on a small bench.
The weather is mild and the last wisps of sunlight are fading from the sky. This would be my favourite kind of day—if Limonskiy weren't ruining it.
I sigh heavily and flick loose gravel with the toe of my boot.
"Probably just called in a favor," Mamka mutters, taking a drag of her cigarette.
"Some favour," Adah replies, head tilted back and eyes closed. "Maybe the man at the job office is sweet on her."
My scowl only feeds their laughter.
A lull of silence falls over us as we listen to the crickets start up, the light fading.
"She could have paid them off," Mamka says, like it's the simplest thing in the world.
We both freeze.
It makes sense. Too much sense. The speed. The secrecy.
But it's impossible.
"No way," Adah says, voicing my thoughts, "it'd cost a fortune. Where would a servant get that kind of money?"
Where indeed.