Anastasia Forever Read Free

right?
    â€œYou need to listen,” David says. He presses his hand against my arm—his palm very cold. “She told me. Really. But you’re going to have to figure it out for yourself. What’s inside you—it’s everything. Like Baba Yaga told you. It’s about what’s been, what is, and what will be. It’s the small stuff, Anne. If you stand too close, you just don’t see it. You have to look at it the right way. And then you’ll see. Understand?”
    â€œNo. David, I—”
    David grips my arm tighter. Our foreheads touch and his palm warms against my skin. “Anne. Really. It’s important. You could change things, you know. Lily. Mom. Me. And that guy Ethan. She told me about him too. How you saved him. She says you’re not sure about him. But I told her that my Anne is always sure. You learned that from me, right, sis?”
    It’s a dream, I tell myself again. Just a dream.
    I look at my brother. Watch as he morphs into Anastasia, lying on the bed next to me, her brown hair tangled, her face pale as death, hands fisted at her sides. She morphs again and David’s back, same as he was. But only for a moment. He changes once more, and even in my dream my stomach lurches.
    This time it’s Viktor I see lying there, face skeletal, eyes dark as ink. He smiles at me, his teeth white as bone. “You could have the secret, Anne,” he says. “Just as I do. But you’re not brave enough, are you? Just a weak little girl.”
    Somehow I force myself awake. Breathe, Anne. Breathe . I slip out of bed and shuffle down to the kitchen to brew some coffee. It’s not even morning, just barely four, but I know I won’t sleep anymore so I might as well mainline caffeine into my system.
    Halfway down the stairs, the aroma hits me. Someone’s beat me to the coffeemaker.
    â€œHey,” my mother says as I walk into the kitchen, half convinced that I should hightail it back upstairs and avoid what’s coming next. “Couldn’t sleep. You either, huh?”
    I shake my head. No.
    The coffee drips into the pot, the sharp scent drifting up my nose, a dark, thick smell.
    â€œI dreamed about David,” Mom says. In the soft glow of the night-light, I can see tears glistening in her eyes. She sighs. “I wish he was here, Anne. I wish I could have done something. Anything.”
    I shift my gaze to the coffeepot. Underneath my skin, the witch’s power stretches and grows. I force it down. Nothing surprises me these days—not the magic tapping at my insides, or that Mom and I have both dreamed about David.
    I want him back too, I think, but I don’t say it. Does she want me to? I don’t know.
    Viktor, I think, is right. I’m weak. If I wasn’t, it wouldn’t hurt so much that this is all Mom says. Her gaze slides down to my fingertips, flickering with that stupid power.
    But she doesn’t say anything else, just rises to her feet and pours herself a cup of coffee. Holds up the pot. “You want?”
    â€œYou know what?” I say. “I think I’m going to shower first.”
    Upstairs, under the water, I let myself cry.

Chicago,
The Present

Wrigley Field, Tuesday, 12:22 pm
Anne
    It’s the middle of the afternoon, and the David dream is still with me. So is my awkward moment with Mom in the kitchen. As for the dream, does it mean something? Of course it does. Everything means something these days. Which, let me say, totally sucks.
    As do the Cubs, but if you’re a fan, you’re a fan. That’s the way it works in Chicago. Every year, we hope for the best. Every year, we’re monumentally disappointed. Sometimes I think we’d be more disappointed if they actually won. It would throw off the “we lose but we can handle it” mentality. Possibly this gets us through our ridiculous winters.
    This is what I explain to Ethan as we park ourselves in our seats.