Chapter 6

In Which the Seamstress Acts All Melodramatic

Erika and Olga dashed through the sparkling white snow toward the icy hedge garden. This garden was enclosed in a rectangular stone wall and was a heck of a labyrinth; the tall, evergreen hedges – from which it got its name – were kept neatly trimmed to serve as the maze’s walls.
“Stop, Erika,” panted Olga, sliding to a stop. Turning into a neat alcove, she flopped down on the stone bench residing in one corner. “I think we’ve gone far enough, don’t you? Nobody will be out, anyway and MY ASS IS ABOUT TO FREEZE ITSELF INTO AN ASS-SHAPED POPSICLE.”
“All right,” said Erika finally, plopping her ass down next to Olga. “But you have to promise to answer my questions.”
Olga half-sighed at Erika’s request. “If I didn’t intend to answer, then why the heck do you think I let my now-ice-cubed ass be dragged out here?”
“Dragged?” demanded Erika. “As I recall is was your idea to come out here to begin with!”
“Well, it was what you would have said, anyway, even if I hadn’t,” Olga lied, rubbing a gloved hand across her inexplicably perspired face. “And it’ll be your fault if I freeze,” she added exasperatedly.
Erika sat, wriggling with impatience. “We came out here for a reason – tell me! Now!”
“Sure, fine, whatever,” said Olga, yielding. “Lucian is planning a Halo marathon in the Zurg Room before he leaves for Dallas. You know. Video games?”
“WHAT?” Erika stared delightedly. Then she sobered. “How the bloody heck does he expect to get Viktor to agree?”
Olga shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he’ll tie him down and torture him.”
Erika was growing more confused by the minute. “And why a Halo marathon?” she asked. “That’s silly. Why not a farewell block party? And besides, the Zurg Room is way too small to have an LAN party.”
Olga shook her head despairingly. “No, no, Erika, it’s not an LAN party. It’s a Halo cooperative play marathon. Which means two people play through the entire campaign modes of all three Halo games on the Heroic difficulty level. With the occasional food break.”
“Oh-h,” said Erika, comprehending. “But I still don’t see why—wait!” She leaped up. “Just who’s going to be the other person?”
Olga’s face crinkled into a smile as she sat back down, having regained her composure. “Take a while to guess,” she said.
Erika pretended to ponder this deeply. “I know,” she said. “A certain mean vampire chick named Amelia, perhaps?”
Olga howled with laughter. “She’s absolutely the last person on the planet that Lucian would want to play Halo with!”
“Tell me then,” said Erika eagerly.
“Come on,” said Olga, drawing each syllable out with relish, “don’t you know of a certain young vampiress…?”
“Young vampiress?” puzzled Erika – with an amazing quantity of stupidity, thought Olga. “No, I can’t say – unless it might be… gee, what was her name? She was here a few years ago, I’m sure, and I think she was Lorenz’s cousin. Wasn’t it Selene? Yeah. She and Lucian were really good at Assault On—”
“No, no, no, no, no!” said Olga. “You’re all wrong. It’s not Selene at all. Nothing like that.”
“Then, who the heck is it?” asked Erika, betraying a slight impatience.
Olga stalled, hoping Erika would guess on her own. “Come on, Erika. I’m surprised at you. Can’t you think of even one…?”
Sudden comprehension dawned on Erika’s face. “You… can’t possibly… mean…” She sank down on the bench, weighed down with the sheer thought of it.
Olga nodded, eyes alight like lit matches, gesturing for Erika to continue.
“Surely – no, it can’t possibly be… Sonja?” Erika asked incredulously. She leaned forward; Olga drew backwards. “Is it Sonja?” she asked breathlessly.
Olga said, “I wish I could be more courteous, but…… DUH!”
Erika looked as though she was about to spontaneously combust with the pure bliss of the unexpected. Suddenly she sprang up and tore though the hedged pathways, shrieking, “I DIDN’T EVEN KNOW SONJA PLAYED HALO!”
Olga sprang up in her turn; this was a reaction unlooked for even in unpredictable Erika. “Erika, shush! They’ll hear you!” she shouted after her. “Where are you even going?”
Erika didn’t turn around as she yelled back, “Kitchen!”

“ERIKA! Take off your daddang boots before parading around my freakin’ kitchen!” Grushenka howled at Erika as she tromped in, her boots covered in snow.
“Oh, sorry, Grushenka,” Erika apologized, hurriedly yanking her boots off without bothering to untie them. She tossed them unceremoniously in the mudroom. Coming back out, Erika sniffed the air, determined to make a third attempt to solve the pie mystery. “Wow, that smells good! Is that heck of a pie in the oven yet?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” replied Grushenka, somewhat mollified at Erika’s flattery.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what kind it is,” hinted Erika. Maybe it was apple. Apple pie was a rare delicacy, even in the Žewłakow kitchen – but no, that couldn’t be right. It didn’t smell like apple anyways.
“Well,” said the chef thoughtlessly, busying herself with putting things away, “I suppose there’s no harm in you knowing. It’s—” she broke off suddenly in dismay.
“What?” Erika asked anxiously, afraid that Grushenka’s reasonable mood had already expired like old milk.
“Never you mind,” Grushenka snapped. “It doesn’t concern you anyways! I’m under strict orders to keep this under my hat! Lucian wants nothing to circulate. Nothing!” she told Erika indignantly.
Yup, it had definitely expired. Seven whole seconds, that’s gotta be a new record, Erika thought. “Can I get you anything, Grushenka?” Erika asked out loud.
“Nope,” said Grushenka abruptly. “Just get the heck out.”
Erika’s face fell. “Come on, I was just asking. Don’t get mad,” she entreated.
Grushenka relented. “Why don’t you run along? I won’t be needing you for a while.”
“Okay,” said Erika. Like a bolt of Because-It's-Dramatic lightning, suddenly she had an idea; though she had always assumed that the mystery of why the Zurg Room was shut up would always remain such, it had just occurred to her that the seamstress might know about it. “Grushenka,” she said, “do you know whether the seamtress is off work yet?”
“How the heck should I know?” Grushenka responded irritably. “Although I suspect she isn’t. She’s got a lot of work to do, sewing up Sonja’s shirt from the time a bunch of screaming fans nearly tore off her clothes.” Fans did that kind of thing. “At least she hasn't sunk to tearing them off HERSELF. Yet.” Grushenka gave a loud snort of disgust that was mostly put on; she was really quite fond of her employers.
Erika didn’t notice. “Thanks, Grushenka. I’ll be back in a bit,” she added, and dashed out the kitchen door. She turned down a small side hallway. Slowing down, she peered about the dark corridor. There were several doors on either side, each one leading to a different workroom. Or could you guess? Erika hoped that she could remember which it was – wait. Ah, yes, here it was, right at the end of the corridor. There were more doors in this house than there were muppets on Sesame Street.
Erika seized the ornate doorknob and turned it with difficulty. The heavy door swung open soundlessly; Erika peered in.
At first glance, the room looked almost bare; there was a table in one corner, a cabinet, and a footlocker, as well as a chair or two, but the rest was lost in shadows. A single window was set high in the wall; a stream of cold sunlight mingling with silver dust motes filtered through, creating a square beam of light that illuminated a chair.
In it, a middle-aged woman was seated, bent over a shimmering golden blouse. Her dark hair, bound up on her head, glistened, giving her an almost regal appearance. Slender hands, almost translucent in the frosty light, worked deftly with the delicate fabric.
“Whoa,” Erika sighed involuntarily, stunned by the yeah-right-happenstance of the composition.
The woman jerked her head up, startled from her contemplation; her face relaxed as she recognized the girl. “Hey, Erika,” she said. “What do you want?” Even while she spoke, her hands automatically continued their work; push, pull, push, pull, in and out of the fabric, binding the pieces together into one shimmering sea of golden. Erika dragged her eyes away from the rhythmic movement with an effort; she was met by the seamstress’s veil-like blue eyes.
“I’m not actually here on work,” she said, not knowing exactly how to put her purpose into words.
The seamstress frowned meditatively. “What are you doing here, then?”
“I, uh, wanted to talk to you, if you don’t mind,” Erika said slowly, unsure of how to act. She noticed the locket again, fleetingly.
The seamstress kept sewing. Apparently, it didn’t occur to her to use a sewing machine. Erika's respect for her plummeted. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
“Well, I want to know about the Zurg Room,” Erika confided, growing slightly bolder and stepping forward a bit. She hung on the edge of the shadow by the door. “I thought you might know – I wasn’t sure how long you’d been here, but—”
The seamstress looked at Erika, with an overdramatic admiring glint in her eye. “You’re a lot bolder than the other slaves,” she said. “Not a lot of the others come in here, even for work. Yet here you are.” She smiled wryly. “There’s a crapstorm of rumors circulating around the space alien disguised as a seamstress.”
Erika smiled, almost laughing. “I guess I am kind of bold,” she admitted. “Sometimes I wish I weren’t, but I do stuff anyway.”
The seamstress was watching her intently. “That’s good. Erika, I think I can enlighten you. But first I need you to do me a favor.”
All Erika’s apprehension returned with a rush. “Uh… what?”
“I need you to tell Lucian a story,” she said, in a low tone.
Erika almost burst out laughing. “You mean, like… a bedtime story? What should it be, then? Henry and the Dragon? Curious George Goes to the Hospital?”
“No, dumbass! I’ll tell it to you first. It should answer your questions.” Her face was serious. Theatrical. “Erika, you’re young. You need to be sure that you’re ready to take on this responsibility.”
Impatience surged over Erika like a wave. “Will you stop being so freaking dramatic? It’s getting on my nerves! Just tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it!”
“I need your help, Erika.” The seamstress’s eyes were beseeching. Histrionic. “If you’re willing, come to my apartment tonight. I’ll be waiting for you.”
“As long as you knock off the theatrics.”
“And be sure to come alone.”
“BEH!”