Page 91 of Winterveil

With a deep breath, Klaudia said, “Then let’s hope that we can do this. Together.”

Outside, it was completely dark. Deckard had switched off the stars and hidden the moon away behind a layer of false clouds.

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel of the universe

Only the hazy beam of their flashlights guided them from the lodge, down the sloping road, and to the town square.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night—

Klaudia paused in front of the statue of Lenin, still cloaked as it was in the artificial snow. It emitted a very soft, almost static hum, like a fluorescent lamp. She had noticed something off about the statue when she’d regarded it that afternoon.

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other’s watch.

Carefully, she neared the statue. Lenin was dressed plainly, in a heavy work coat and ushanka. His face, so familiar from old news broadcasts and the pages of textbooks, stared back at her with an almost reproachful severity.

Behind her, Giselle was unpacking the satchel they’d brought and laying out their materials on the snow-dusted cobblestones. She worked without looking up, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Now all the youth of England are on fire . . .

The handle of vodka Deckard had mysteriously included with their canned food. A strip of fabric torn from one of their bedsheets, stuffed down the bottle’s neck. A matchbox taken from the trunk in front of the fireplace.

Giselle put it all together, while Klaudia looked on in unexpected admiration. For as much time as she had spent wearing sequined dresses and press-on nails, Giselle Buckley was no delicate flower.

When she was finished, she approached the statue and set the bottle at its base. Her gaze was fierce.

“Stand back,” Giselle said. “I’ll light it.”

Moved by the resolve in her voice, Klaudia walked backward, putting a safe distance between herself and Lenin’s marble likeness. No—not marble. A cast of plaster, hollow inside.

Giselle struck the match, orange flame quivering against the heavy darkness.

Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

Each battle sees the other’s umbered face

The strip of fabric caught instantly, and Giselle rushed to Klaudia’s side. They both ducked behind a nearby tree and braced their arms over their heads. Pressed together, Klaudia felt the warmth of Giselle’s body and heard the thrum of her pulse, but strangely had no urge to inch away.

See you soon, Deckard, she thought as the bottle blew and the statue of Lenin exploded into pieces.

Thirty-One

Spring 2037

Camp Peary, Virginia

The explosion made Giselle’s ears ring. For a moment, it blocked out everything else. Time seemed to slow around them in a blur of arrested motion. She only saw Klaudia’s mouth moving, her words inaudible.

And then, like the snap of a slingshot, her senses returned. The world spun on again. Her eyes burned; she smelled smoke and heard Klaudia’s voice, urgent and sharp.

“Come on,” she said. “Before Deckard closes the hatch.”

Giselle could hardly fathom how quickly Klaudia’s mind worked, how she could so adeptly solve Deckard’s riddle, but she was more than glad to have her alliance. Where she had once felt intimidated by Klaudia, Giselle now felt admiration and fondness.