Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) by Stephen D. Sullivan Page B

door and toweled herself dry.
    Pyotr knocked perfunctorily and opened the door a crack without waiting for a reply. He stuck his arm in, holding the dress. “Is this the one?”
    He knew it was; her wardrobe had been destroyed along with her apartment; she had only one green dress in her luggage. “Yes. Thank you.”
    “I’ve something else for you as well,” he said. “I think you’ll be pleased.”
    His penis , she guessed. Men!
    But that’s not what he was thinking. In fact, he seemed to be trying very hard not to think of something. That worried her.
    She peered at the door, trying to bore through it with her gaze, trying to delve into his thoughts—but he’d gone already, moved to the other side of the room, at the very edge of her read-through-the-door range, and she got nothing more than vague excitement.
    Frustrated, she dressed quickly, not even bothering to fix her hair.
    “What is it?” she asked, bursting into the parlor, trying to seem enthusiastic, rather than anxious.
    Smiling, he held out a plain brown box, the size of a hatbox, to her.
    A totally irrational part of her mind screamed “Bomb!” But no. Surely she would have sensed something if Pyotr were about to kill them both, and all she read was pride and love.
    How could he love her so much?
    “What is it?” she asked, still hiding her nervousness.
    “Open it,” he suggested, handing it to her.
    Warily, she undid the string holding the box closed. She listened intently, but heard nothing. The package did smell rather odd, though, almost like … spices. She lifted the lid.
    Inside lay a strange collection of knickknacks: colorful stones, cut crystals, candles, incense and burners, a bit of modeling clay, feathers, chalk, pins, and other things she did not immediately recognize. She felt … puzzled.
    “I know it’s probably not exactly what you need,” he said with puppy-dog enthusiasm, “but hopefully it will be enough for you to work with.”
    “I ...” she began, unsure what to say.
    “I asked Major General Bepov to have some of the other Section operatives pull together a replacement kit for you after we left. Of course, none of the rest have your level of expertise, but they did the best they could and sent the package by special courier almost immediately after we left Moscow. I arranged a dead drop with Petrenko earlier, and picked it up while you were in the tub.”
    He had left the hotel while she’d been bathing? She cursed herself for being so wrapped up in her own problems that she hadn’t even sensed it. If she had missed that, what else might she have missed?
    “So,” he asked, “what do you think?”
    “I ... Thank you, Pyotr. I can see you went to a lot of trouble.”
    “Will it be enough? Will you be able to use your ... powers?”
    “Perhaps.”
    “Well ... Go ahead.” he urged.
    “Not now. I’m hungry. I don’t do my best work when I’m hungry.”
    “We’ll eat, then. You can try after.”
    Her innards tensed. “Yes,” she said. “Later.”
    “Shall we eat at the Black Dog?”
    “Only if we want to be poisoned,” Lina replied.
    Pyotr tensed. “You think the assassin will be there?”
    “No. I think they’re probably barely fit to serve liquor, never mind food. Their cuisine might kill us without even meaning to.”
    He chuckled. “Pick another place, then.”
    “The bistro half a block down smelled tolerable.”
    “The bistro it is.” He extended his arm to her and looked toward the door.
    She smiled at him. “Let me fix my hair first.”
    He helped brush her hair, which made the process take longer than it should have, but she enjoyed it. The unexpected arrival of the box full of magic paraphernalia had renewed the anxiety the bath had soothed away.
    Somewhere on these streets lurked someone who knew about the previous attempt on her life. The actual assassin might even be here, skulking in every shadowy doorway, window, and alley. Once she and Pyotr left the relative safety of their