Vykup: A Novel of the Koldun

passion.

Chapter 1

Kaat

It wasn’t magic that changed my life. It was more a series of incidents: a fight with my mother, an accident, and a seemingly random invitation. No, it wasn’t magic. It was in fact the first day of my Russian Literature class that changed my life.

Are you having trouble finding a seat, young lady? the imposing professor at the front of the room asked.

No sir, I said, glaring at the tall graceful body that had just slid into the seat I wanted.

Your name please.

Kaat Collins, that’s Kaat with two a’s.

Well, Kaat with two a’s, maybe if you had been on time you could claim that seat. As it is find another one, quickly.

I finally sat down in the seat behind and accidently dropped my messenger bag. The manuscript I was working on spilled out. The seat thief bent down to help me pick it up and glanced at the papers.

You write? he asked with a slight Eastern European accent. Frowning, I yanked them out of his hands.

Nothing you would be interested in, I said abruptly.

My senior year at Barrington University should have been an easy one. With all my required courses completed, I had just needed to add on a few credits. Graduating would have meant setting out in the world on my own, hopefully as a successful novelist like my mother. All my plans came to an abrupt halt this summer when the police appeared upon my doorstep to tell me that my mother and stepfather had driven off one of the local mountain roads on their way to our cabin in the Catskills. This area of New York State was known for the beauty of its mountain range. Those mountains had always been breathtaking to me, but now I would always look at them differently. While waiting for things to settle down, I had contemplated not finishing school, but then decided to take one or two classes. That turned into one class when I received an invitation to enroll in a Russian Literature course taught by a visiting professor. That option would have given me the time to get my parents’ estate in order and still be attending classes, getting the intellectual stimulation I always craved.

I received one more dirty look from up front before I settled down.

If you accepted the invitation to enroll in this class, I will assume you have all read the subject matter. Name your favorite Russian novel.

"Crime and Punishment," the seat thief and I both blurted out.

Was that you Kaat with two a’s?

Yes, sir.

"An angsty, guilt-ridden novel like Crime and Punishment is a favorite?"

I shook my head yes.

I would like to see you and Mr. Orlov after class please.

Mr. Orlov. I could now put a name to the ninja-like seat thief.

The professor’s name was Alexi Ivanov and from what I had researched before signing up, he was one of the foremost authorities on the more modern Russian classics. It looked likely that I had already read one of the required books. He continued, listing the other books we would need to read, I had read most of those too.

That’s it for today, I heard him finishing up.

I gathered up my things without further mishap and walked to the front of the room. Mr. Orlov walked up behind me.

Nikolai, it’s good to see you. He shook the seat thief’s hand. Heard from your parents lately?

Yes, they are still in Paris at the moment. My mother is choreographing and my father, well, he is bored, I presume.

Professor Ivanov laughed one of those overly polite type laughs. Great these two knew each other.

Miss Collins, sorry I mean Kaat, please let me offer condolences on the death of your parents, he said putting his hand on my shoulder.

You knew my parents? I asked, surprised.

He stammered a little, seemingly caught off guard. "I knew your mother, Katherine Collins, the creator of the Blood Taken novels."

Great, who would have thought my mother would be the topic of conversation in a Russian Literature class. I felt decidedly uncomfortable, thanked him for his concern and then said, Can I go now? I don’t want to be late for my next class. There was no way he could know this was my only class.

"One moment, about Crime and Punishment, I am impressed that it is your favorite Russian novel. Write a paper explaining why for next class."

Sometimes I hate my life.

Fine, okay, I’ll see you Friday, I said.

And Kaat with two a’s, don’t be late again.

I didn’t realize Nikolai had followed me out. I thought he might stay and chat with his buddy. He called to me as I walked toward the coffee shop.

I’m sorry about your parents, he said sincerely.

Thank you. Nikolai, right?

You can call me Kolya. I heard you tell Professor Ivanov your name is Kaat.

Right. Are you a transfer? I don’t remember seeing you around here.

I’m from Vykup, I’ve been attending classes at Vykup Academy, he said.

Vykup, the academy, was one of the most elite colleges in the Hudson Valley area of New York. Vykup the town was a mystery to me. The houses up there were like castles, just an elite community of stately, beautiful homes.

That’s a long way to travel to school, I said, now curious.

I have a place here, in town.

Why the transfer from Vykup?

I am ready to graduate, I didn’t really need to take any classes. I know Alexi Ivanov and accepted his invitation to take this class, maybe experience a little of the social side of college life.

I started laughing, adjusting my messenger bag on my shoulder.

What? he asked.

If you want to get involved with the social life around here, you’re talking to the wrong person. I pointed to a group that was one of the cliques here at school, led by my lifelong nemesis, Lacey Harrington. Those are the people you need to be talking to, I said.

I wasn’t a complete outsider, I had friends here, I just wasn’t into the whole college party life. My best friend Sammy was a guy I’d known since Kindergarten. He had just recently come out, so he was dealing with a whole other set of issues than mine. Nikolai had a somewhat puzzled expression on his face and for the first time I really looked at him. He was in a word, gorgeous. The neatly trimmed long hair I noticed in class fell around his shoulders like a black veil. His eyes were the darkest brown I had ever seen, right now they were bordering on black.

I on the other hand was the opposite of the elite clique I had pointed out. I had red hair, styled in a bob that just touched my shoulders. I was short and curvy and my style? I guess I could call it Baroque Chic: lots of patterns, dark fabrics, lace, and gild.

No thanks, he said looking at me. You don’t socialize much?

Not really, I said. I kind of keep to myself.

You write, like your mother?

I write, but it’s nothing like what my mother wrote, I said.

Before he could mention my mother again, I motioned toward the coffee shop next door to the University. Want to have a cup of coffee? Or do you have another class to get to? My friend Sam will be here in a few minutes.

No, my day is over, he said. Coffee would be great.

He told me to grab a table and then asked what I wanted. He walked to the counter to get our orders. I took notice of how tall he was, and yet he was graceful and walked with an air of superiority that somehow didn’t come off as snobby. I knew I had only asked him to have coffee because I was curious about life in the tight-knit Vykup community, but I was becoming more and more curious about him.

Tell me more about Vykup, I said gratefully accepting the steaming cup of coffee he handed me.

Most of the families there emigrated to the US from Russia during the nineteenth century. At first, the community kept to itself and followed old traditions, but now we work in the outside world. Some, like me, attend colleges other than Vykup.

I saw Sam walk over to the table. I scooted over to make space for him, but he shook his head. Can’t stay, he said, just wanted to say hello.

Sam this is Kolya, he’s studying here from Vykup. He’s in my Russian Lit class.

Welcome to Barrington, Kolya, Sam said shaking Kolya’s offered hand. They gave each other an appraising look, and then Sam kissed the top of my head and walked off. I saw Kolya watching him leave and decided to interrogate him a bit more.

You told Professor Ivanov your parents are in Paris, I said. Talk about a social scene. Why didn’t you go with them?

My father teaches folklore; my mother is a ballet dancer and choreographer. She can be a little uptight when she is working, and I spend more than enough time around my father. We all needed a break.

He looked at his watch and I guess he realized he needed to leave. He picked up a napkin and wrote his number down.

I have to go, here is my phone number. Call me later Kaat, I’d like to get to know more about Barrington.

It was a request, but it also sounded like something he just expected me to do without question. When he walked out of the shop I gathered up my stuff, tossed my coffee cup in the trash and decided to do the same with his number.

Chapter 2

Kolya

Her hair was the color of blood. Her eyes, blue like the sky. The curves on her body were so different from the women I’d known. She walked without their grace and her tone was borderline rude. She dressed like a seventeenth century czarina, all rich fabrics and textures, lots of detail and embossing. I found her, in only the brief time I spent in her company, to be completely captivating, and yet, she threw my cell number in the trash. I guess I didn’t make the same impression.

Things here at Barrington were feeling very much different from life at Vykup. My father warned me about how I would feel out in the world and even though I hated to admit it, he was right. Vykup and Barrington were both towns nestled in the mountains. Everything was quaint, idyllic, and nothing was out of walking distance. I was almost feeling claustrophobic.

When I walked into my apartment, I realized Maia must have come over and cleaned again. I could smell the furniture polish and the oak surfaces gleamed. I found my kitchen fully stocked with food and there was a note on the refrigerator door that she had also filled the freezer with enough cooked food to get me through to the weekend, when she hoped I would be home. Maia, dear Maia, she had been taking care of me since I was a baby. Some things I guess will never change. I will always be her little boy, even more so than my mother’s. I saw an email message from Ekaterina raving about Paris and her first role in my mother’s ballet. I was glad she had chosen her career over a life in Vykup where her talents would have been undiscovered.

Suddenly the dark curtained windows and the heavy furniture got to me. I changed from my clothes into sweats and decided to run. The days were still a little warm, but there was a hint of fall in the air. I headed toward the park and that was when I saw her. I would know that hair anywhere. Heading out of the public library that stands on the edge of the park proper, she walked toward me as I turned and pretended to do leg stretches. She walked by without noticing me and I followed a safe distance behind her.

I was not familiar yet with the town, and saw that she walked in the direction of a more residential section. A few blocks over she stopped and headed up the front walkway of an elegant older home. The intricate stonework could have graced any of the luxurious houses in Vykup.

If I were back home, I could just go up to the door and knock. Everyone there knew me; I was welcome in their homes. Here, I am not so sure. I think if I approached her like that it would be creepy. Instead I started running again, past her house and around the neighborhood. I turned to head back, making sure my route would take me past again.

I gazed at an upstairs window and saw her sitting there. It looked like she was concentrating. I was almost sure she was writing. I had seen the manuscript pages fall out of her bag this morning and her tone told me she was very uncomfortable with my looking at them. I continued to watch as she put the tip of the pencil between her lips and concentrated further. She had left the window open and I could hear the strains of Scheherazade by Rimsky-Korsakov. I thought to myself, perfect music to accompany weaving a tale. Almost as if she could hear my thoughts, she looked my way. I quickly hid behind a tree, its trunk rough as I leaned against it. She scanned the neighborhood and shut the window. I could still see her sitting there, her furrowed brow told me she was beginning the creative process again. She rose, drawing the curtains, shutting herself away from my view.

****

Kaat

I had the creepiest feeling someone was watching me. I had taken on the task of finishing my mother’s last book. On all my mother’s fan forums, I saw posts about how disappointed everyone was that the Blood Taken series would never come full circle. It almost seemed like the death of my mother’s work was more important than her actual death. She had legions of fans, I knew that, but I wasn’t going on the record with completing her work until I knew I could do it. Fall hadn’t arrived yet and it was nice to feel the fresh air and the warmth of the sun. I closed the window thinking I might just be hearing things, but I still felt watched and the feeling didn’t go away until I drew the curtains shut.

I wanted to write, but my thoughts kept going back to Kolya. There was something about him. Underneath the good manners, good looks, and obvious intelligence, there was something hidden. With seemingly everything going for him, his manner told me he was uncomfortable with his surroundings. I was almost surprised when he talked so much during our coffee break. Now I was having trouble getting anything written. Trouble took a turn for the worse when I heard a knock on my door. I walked downstairs, looked through the keyhole and