Passion Read Free Page B

soft-top jeeps with giant fenders, bone-thin steering wheels, and the Soviet hammer and sickle painted onto the doors. But aside from Luce and her grandmother, there were no people on this street. Everything—except for the awful rumbling in the sky—was ghostly, eerily quiet.
    In the distance, she could see a river, and far across it, a great building. Even in the darkness, she could make out its elaborate tiered spires and ornate onion-shaped domes, which seemed familiar and mythic at the same time. It took a moment to sink in—and then fear shot through Luce.
    She was in Moscow.
    And the city was a war zone.
    Black smoke rose in the gray sky, marking the pockets of the city that had already been hit: to the left of the vast Kremlin, and just behind it, and again in the distance to the far right. There was no combat on the streets, no sign that enemy soldiers had crossed into the city yet on foot. But the ames licking the charred buildings, the incendiary smel of war everywhere, and the threat of more to come were somehow even worse.
    This was by far the most messed-up thing Luce had ever done in her life—probably in any of her lives. Her parents would kil her if they knew where she was. Daniel might never speak to her again.
    But then: What if they didn’t even have the chance to be furious with her? She could die, right here in this war zone.
    Why had she done this?
    Because she’d had to. It was hard to unearth that smal hint of pride in the midst of her panic. But it must have been there somewhere.
    She’d stepped through. On her own. Into a distant place and a faraway time, into the past she needed to understand. This was what she’d wanted. She’d been pushed around like a chess piece long enough.
    But what was she supposed to do now?
    She picked up her pace and held tight to her grandmother’s hand. Strange, this woman had no real sense of what Luce was going through, no real idea of who she even was, and yet the tug of her dry grip was the only thing keeping Luce moving.
    “Where are we going?” Luce asked as her grandmother yanked her down another darkened street. The cobblestones tapered o and the road became unpaved and slippery. The snow had soaked through the canvas of Luce’s tennis shoes, and her toes were starting to burn with the cold.
    “To col ect your sister, Kristina.” The old woman scowled. “The one who works nights digging army trenches with her bare hands so you
    “To col ect your sister, Kristina.” The old woman scowled. “The one who works nights digging army trenches with her bare hands so you can get your beauty rest. Remember her?”
    Where they stopped, there was no streetlamp to light the road. Luce blinked a few times to help her eyes adjust. They were standing in front of what looked like a very long ditch, right in the middle of the city.
    There must have been a hundred people there. Al of them bundled up to their ears. Some were down on their knees, digging with shovels. Some were digging with their hands. Some stood as if frozen, watching the sky. A few soldiers carted o heavy loads of earth and rock in splintery wheelbarrows and farm carts to add to the rubble barricade at the end of the street. Their bodies were hidden under thick army-issue wool coats that bil owed out around their knees, but beneath their steel hats, their faces were as gaunt as any of the civilians’.
    Lucinda understood that they were al working together, the men in uniform and the women and children, turning their city into a fortress, doing anything they could, down to the very last minute, to keep the enemy tanks out.
    “Kristina,” her grandmother cal ed, the same notes of panic-washed love in her voice as when she’d been looking for Luce.
    A girl appeared at their side almost instantly. “What took you so long?”
    Tal and thin, with dark strands of hair escaping from under the porkpie hat on her head, Kristina was so beautiful, Luce had to swal ow a lump in her throat. She