Emancipated and Quite Capable

The slender young woman who peeked out a cracked door before opening it to admit her visitors was a few inches taller than Jack. Her dark hair was twisted into a pinned-up braid, and she'd dressed in a loose man's shirt, trousers, and a jacket.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she sniffled as she stepped back. "You always see me at my worst," she said, in strongly accented English. "Hello again. Your friend --?"

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"Don't worry about it," Jack said. "Irina Stephanova, this is Emma Frost. Emma, Irina. You didn't make it easy to find you."

He shuffled a bit, ducking his head. "We just want to help however we can."

Well, he did. He wouldn't claim to fully understanding Emma's reasons, but he was grateful she had stayed with him.

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Emma was there to keep Jack out of as much trouble as humanly - werewolf-y? - possible.

As Jack had been speaking, Emma's gaze had flicked to Irina's hands, where Sebastien's ring was prominent. With the way the band fit her finger, Emma was willing to bet the girl had never taken it off.

"Zdrastvooyte," she said in clipped, professional Russian before switching to English. "May we come in, Miss Stephanova? Hallways are not good places for conferences."

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"Da, of course," Irina nodded, already moving to shut the door and show them through the flat toward a sitting area. "Just Irina, please."

She sat opposite Jack. "You look good," she said. "Better."

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"Older?" Jack tried, an uneasy laugh in his voice. He'd forgotten what it felt to be looked at with an artist's penetrating eye. "Taller?"

By perhaps half an inch.

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"Not that," Irina almost scolded, and reached for his hands. Her fingers turned them, traced the line of scar tissue where Sebastien's ring had been cut off after the attack.

"You lost your ring."

From her tone, she already knew that meant something was wrong.

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This story was never going to get easier to tell, was it? Jack's stomach twisted.

"It doesn't matter," he said gently. "Or, it does, but it's a very long story. I'd rather spend our time figuring out how to clear your name."

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"We could simply spirit her out of Russia, and to hell with cleaning up other people's messes?" Emma suggested, but at the raised eyebrow Jack gave her, she sighed. "Of course not. That would be easy in comparison."

And Mr. Priest did so enjoy being difficult.

"Jack says you did not kill anyone, Irina, and I take his word for it," she continued simply. "Now, were you in the room when Lesya Sharankova was killed?"

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Irina looked horrified at the suggestion. (And still curious about Jack's "long story".) She released his hands before answering.

"I found her," she said, shaking her head for emphasis, then switched to Russian for the rest of the story. "I found the slashed canvas. I remembered Sergei, and it seemed best to me if I ... make myself scarce before whoever did this came back."

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"And do you have any idea who could have done this?" Jack asked, gentle as he could manage. "Any grudge against Lesya, or against you?"

In Sergei's death, Irina had testified against a revolutionary called Ilya, and he had hung. But the case had been far from clear. Jack idly wondered if the wrongfully accused could come back as ghosts.

Edited Date: 2012-01-24 06:11 pm (UTC)

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"Oh, someone has a grudge. Against who and why is the question," Emma stated. "A ring was found in Lesya's pocket; a court ring, sized for a man, and not a woman."

"Jack filled me in on some of the background..." Emma folded her hands in her lap and regarded Irina. "How sure of Ilya were you?"

Edited Date: 2012-01-24 06:13 pm (UTC)

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Irina shook her head again, fingertips brushing Sebastien's garnet on her wedding finger.

"He was who the police wanted anyhow," she said defensively. "Then I thought, maybe it was him. He could have. Now ... "

She huffed out a breath. "Whose ring?"

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"Starkad's," Jack supplied in a clipped tone. He understood Irina's pragmatic reasons for blaming Ilya, but he'd never liked them, and he liked them even less now. "Have you seen him?"

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"Better question," Emma interrupted. "Lesya was also one of your Starkad's courtesans, yes? Had she seen him recently?"

Vampires. Why did everything always come back to vampires?

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"No one has," Irina said, melancholy clear in her tone even five years later. "After he took our rings back he vanished. No one knows where."

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Well, that wasn't helpful at all, and Jack felt a stab of anger that Sebastien was so clearly a second choice for her.

"Irina," Jack said, "this would all be much easier if you'd tell your story to the police. Would you come with us?"

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"I think --" Irina hesitated, tugged at her hair. "Do you know where Inspector Kostov is? I'm afraid if he sees me, I'll never get a fair hearing."

Edited Date: 2012-01-24 07:08 pm (UTC)

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Kostov had been made a judge, because that was the way Jack's luck was running lately. But.

"He's not in charge of Lesya's case," he said firmly. "The man who is passed up a chance to accuse us. I don't think they're crooked -- or not on this, anyhow."

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"Some say he is in line to be minister of justice," a new voice said from the doorway, and Emma was whirling out of her seat, up and out and shimmering into diamond to place herself between the uninvited guest - who she had not even sensed - and Jack and Irina. "And then he will be dust."

What stood framed in the doorway was a bony man, pale-haired and strawberry-bearded and pale with the pallor of the hungry undead. He was taller than even Sebastien; now simply tall and broad, in his own age, Starkad had been a giant of a man.

He appraised Jack for a moment, paying no mind to the glittering girl, before casting his blue eyes, water-transparent as the jewels in the rings he gave his courtiers, to Irina. "So this is what you left me for? Another wampyr's courtier, and then the wampyr himself?"

"Not bad." Starkand's nose twitched slightly as he regarded Jack again. "If you like wolf."

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Emma was just going to stay between the others and their new guest, thanks. "And you aren't bad looking for a corpse," she quipped. It was a reasonable guess: he had that hollow quality that she associated with Sebastien. "A friend of yours, Miss Stephanova?"

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Irina stepped around Emma as if she were not there at all, as if she were made of iron and Starkad of magnets. His claim over her was still strong, even years later.

Whatever she said to him, she said quickly and in Russian -- Jack picked up just enough to know it was some torrent of a confused explanation. When she paused for breath, she still looked off-balance. To Jack, she directed a single word.

"Wolf?"

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"My long story," Jack said sheepishly, no pun intended. "I'm a werewolf, yes. Apparently. It's part of why we needed you to rejoin the court."

Then, with a look to Starkad that was half glare and half curiosity -- he'd never smelled anything half this powerful or ancient -- "Sebastien's court, that is."

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"Hence why we were so eager to get your case resolved," Emma put in dryly. "Breaking people out of prison is so tacky and predictable, and I don't think I like Sebastien quite that much to indulge him." Sorry, Jack. "Even if you do wear Don de Ulloa's ring."

Just in case you had forgotten, Irina. Emma didn't care either way which one you picked, but she could be a bit snotty on Jack's behalf.

She tilted her head, hair rustling slightly as diamond strands brushed against each other. "It seems someone desires your attention, Starkad. Is it only two of your courtesans that have been murdered, now, or are there more elsewhere?"

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"I have not yet ascertained," he said, softly, still looking only at Irina. "While all that has happened cannot be set right, I shall see that, for it, someone pays. They wish you to meet with a police officer?"

He did not even wait for Irina to reply.

"Then speak to the policeman you shall." Starkad ducked his head to smile at Jack slightly. "Such desecration deserves a response, and if there is an honest policeman in all Moscow, I trust the students of my brother Sebastien would have found him."

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Jack had no doubt at all that Starkad would get revenge. Vampires, he had found, did not lie on such matters; it was one of the things that made them such fierce predators when they chose.

He had picked one word out of what Starkad said.

"Brother?" he frowned. It wasn't unlike the blood to use family titles among themselves, but he'd never heard any besides David do it in reference to Sebastien. "So Evie was your sire, too?"

Evie, who had burned three years and what felt like several lifetimes ago. Dark, lovely Evie, who Sebastien would never cease mourning.

To Irina and in a low voice, he added, "Listen to him. Please."

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"I am the Norseman, child of Gaius," Starkad replied simply. "I was born even before Eudaline's grandsire Aethelwyn. But your patron has lived longer than most of the young ones, as did his sire. I made it my business to learn about him, and his court."

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Starkad thought Sebastien was young, and Jack was suddenly very aware the creature he was talking to could well have been born when the rule of Julius Caesar was a recent memory.

Could already have been old then, even.

The courtesan in him understood Irina's infatuation perfectly well based on that alone. The werewolf in him ...

It was best not to ask what the beast thought.

"Ah," he said, and -- realizing he had little more to add -- went to get the few layers of winter wraps he'd discarded. "He's on his way. He should be here tonight or tomorrow, depending on the trains."

To Emma, he added, lightly, "Best not to go on the street like that, love."

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Emma batted her lashes at him coquettishly, although the effect was somewhat marred by being a living diamond. "But I'm pretty," she protested, before closing her eyes to let the adrenaline drain away, and the shimmering stone melted away to flesh and blood.

"There," she said, opening them again and fluffing her hair. "I presume I am more satisfactory? Hand me my muff, darling, if we're to go out again."

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