As White as Snow (The Snow White Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  The gravel of the cemetery path crunched under her shoes as Lumikki scrambled forward with her pursuer hot on her heels.

  At least protect me, she pleaded in her mind to the resigned guardian angel statues that gazed on at her flight with empty eyes. Spread your wings and raise up a storm to subdue my enemies.

  The hot mass of air didn’t budge.

  Her pursuer was fast. He was probably much better rested and hydrated than Lumikki, who only had a few hours of sleep behind her, not to mention her grueling walk to the cemetery. Sweat broke out on her skin even though she’d have thought she had already sweated herself dry.

  Lumikki rushed past the cemetery gates. Down the street was a metro station. Making a quick decision, she dashed toward it and down the stairs. Going underground with a killer on her heels wasn’t the most inviting plan, but she guessed there might be guards there and her pursuer probably wouldn’t do anything to her on a crowded metro platform. Heavy footfalls on the stairs told her he wasn’t giving up, though.

  The train was just pulling up to the platform. Lumikki was one of the first to rush in. Her pursuer had to dodge the people exiting, but that didn’t slow him down much. Lumikki continued her flight inside the metro train, moving into the next car. She glanced back as the man shoved people aside and resumed bearing down on her.

  Just then, a train arrived at the platform going the other direction. Its doors slid open and a wave of people changed to the train Lumikki and her pursuer were in. There were dozens of people between them now, and Lumikki watched as the man angrily pushed past them. Apparently, he didn’t care that he had an audience. His expression suggested he was ready to kill Lumikki with his bare hands even with all the other passengers watching.

  Lumikki tried to stay as calm as possible. She counted the seconds. She had to make her move at the very last instant.

  The man approached. The doors closed. The doors of the train on the opposite tracks were still open. When Lumikki saw them start to close too, she quickly pressed the “Open” button and rushed out. Sprinting across the platform, she swung her backpack off her back and held it in the air, turning sideways and just squeaking through the crack of the closing train doors.

  The first train pulled away. The second train pulled away. Lumikki caught one last glimpse of the man who had been chasing her, red faced and pounding his fists against the window, but in vain. The train accelerated in the opposite direction, as did Lumikki.

  Collapsing on a bench, Lumikki wiped the worst of the sweat from her brow with a shaking hand. A boy of about ten sat next to her, staring with undisguised admiration. The boy had a can of Fanta in his hand, which he extended to Lumikki, raising his eyebrows. Lumikki understood it as an offering. She was about to decline, but then changed her mind.

  Warm, slightly flat orange soda had never tasted so good.

  “Did you decide to run a marathon in this heat or something? You look beat.”

  Lumikki thought about how in a single day she had discovered a sister, been imprisoned by a cult, left her sister at the mercy of that cult, wandered a cemetery and discovered that Adam was lying, and now escaped a man who had obviously been sent to kill her—again. Banter wasn’t in the cards.

  When Lumikki’s expression didn’t crack, Jiři quickly wiped the smile off his own face.

  “What happened?” he asked in concern.

  “Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you,” Lumikki replied.

  They had arranged to meet at Jiři’s apartment at five o’clock. Lumikki had arrived five minutes early, and when no one answered Jiři’s door buzzer, she waited outside, looking around constantly.

  Before that, Lumikki had ridden around the city on various modes of transit until she was completely sure she had shaken her pursuer. Then she went to a store, bought a liter and a half of water, and drank practically the whole bottle. Her dehydration headache eased and the taste of the rag finally disappeared.

  Now Lumikki wanted a shower and a change of clothes. She wanted to rinse her skin clean of everything that had happened during the day, even if she couldn’t get any of it out of her mind.

  Jiři quickly opened the door and they climbed the stairs in silence. Lumikki didn’t want to announce what she had been through to the echoing stairwell, and Jiři didn’t push. He knew this was serious. When they arrived at Jiři’s floor, Lumikki noticed it first:

  “Did you accidentally leave the door open when you left this morning?” she asked.

  Jiři strode over to the open door.

  “Absolutely not.”

  The apartment was complete chaos. Furniture was upended, the contents of all of the cupboards were spread around the floor, all of the drawers were open, the books had been pulled off the shelves, and binders and papers littered the top of the piles. However, the thin HDTV was still in its place, as were Jiři’s desktop computer and SLR camera. In other words, this wasn’t the work of burglars, because those were the first things they would take.

  Jiři let out a string of curses in Czech.

  “Is anything missing?” Lumikki asked as she started collecting her own things.

  All she had left in the apartment were clothes and her toiletry bag. The whole day, she had carried around her battered Jo Nesbø novel and her wallet, which had her passport in it. Carrying the paperback had been pointless, since quiet moments to sit down and read seemed to be few and far between on this trip. Lumikki’s clothes were all there. The only strange thing was that her bras had been cut open. Did the intruder think she was hiding state secrets in the thin cups?

  “There’s no way to tell what could be missing in all this mess,” Jiři grunted in reply. “They were probably looking for something specific. What, I don’t know.”

  He tossed a duffel bag on the floor, into which he haphazardly shoved clothes, binders, and papers.

  “It isn’t safe for us to stay here,” Jiři explained when he saw Lumikki’s inquisitive expression. “Whoever was here could break in again at any time.”

  “Where should we go?” Lumikki asked. She had already packed up her few belongings.

  “A place where they have guards at night.”

  Lumikki stood concealed behind a tree and waited. She had already been waiting for two hours, but she could wait longer if she had to. She took a drink from her water bottle. Fortunately, it was shady under the trees. When Lumikki had run away from this house earlier in the day, she hadn’t dreamed she would be back.

  The black iron fence looked like prison bars. A prison. Was that what this cult was for Lenka? Lumikki couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that way. Lenka wasn’t free to go where she pleased when she pleased, she wasn’t free to study or work or associate with other people. She couldn’t do what she wanted. And if she had been lured into the White Family through a bogus genealogy, the prison seemed that much more sinister to Lumikki.

  She had told Jiři about her find in the cemetery as they were hurrying toward the Super8 building, where Jiři thought they should spend the next couple of nights.

  “According to my information, Adam Havel was born in 1950. There is no way Klaus Havel could be his father if he was only ten years old,” Jiři had said. “This is exactly the kind of inconsistency their family tree is full of. But the more important piece of information is that Adam is their leader. I’ve tried to get information about who’s in charge from everyone I’ve interviewed, but so far, no one dared reveal his name. I knew Adam Havel was a member, but I didn’t know his position. I’ll have to take a closer look at his background.”

  “And I need to get a message to Lenka.”

  “You seem to care a lot about her.”

  Lumikki had contented herself with a nod. Yes, she cared about Lenka. She had a sister now, and she had no intention of giving her up.

  That’s why she left Jiři digging into Adam Havel’s past at Super8 and traveled back to this awful house, deciding to wait until Lenka showed up in the yard.

  So far, only the middle-aged
woman had been outside. She had watered the white roses with a large, badly rusted watering can. Lumikki had retreated farther into the shadows. The woman had raised her head and seemed to be listening, but then she went back to the task at hand.

  Lumikki’s feet started to go numb from standing in place so long. She shifted weight from one leg to the other and stretched them carefully. Lenka would have to come out at some point. Lumikki fervently hoped so, at least.

  Finally, the back door opened and Lumikki saw that familiar crown of braids. Lenka. She looked sad, somehow even more beaten down. Lumikki let out a low whistle. Lenka looked in her direction and made eye contact. Lumikki quickly lifted a finger to her lips. They couldn’t take the risk of the other residents of the house seeing her. Lenka looked around hesitantly and then walked closer to the iron fence. She made a slight motion with her head toward the house and then shook her head almost imperceptibly. Lumikki understood from the sign that Lenka couldn’t go beyond the yard.

  Fortunately, Lumikki was prepared. She flashed a piece of paper to Lenka, then crumpled it up and tossed it over the fence. It landed just a couple feet from Lenka.

  Just then, the back door opened and a young man came out. Lenka swiftly sidestepped and discreetly set one foot on the paper without looking down. The man yelled something at Lenka. Lenka answered. The man’s tone turned impatient, but Lenka just shrugged. The man sighed, made one more sharp comment, and then went back inside. Quickly crouching, Lenka picked up the paper and hid it in her pocket. Then she cast a last glance at Lumikki and went inside.

  Lumikki released the air from her lungs. She had been holding her breath without realizing it.

  The message she had written said that she wanted to meet Lenka the next day at twelve o’clock at the same place they first talked. Lumikki trusted that Lenka could come up with some way to slip out by then.

  Lumikki’s feet felt strangely heavy as she set off back to the city center. Sweat ran down her back in rivulets. When she licked her lips, the taste of salt was strong and biting.

  The long summer day was finally winding down and the sky had turned dark blue. The lights of the city reflected off the large glass windows of the Super8 building. From the ninth floor, Lumikki could see the whole city, all the way to the castle, lit up beautifully like it was every night. Lumikki fought to keep her eyes open. She was so tired she was afraid she might fall asleep sitting up.

  Jiři had spread out two camping pads in one corner of the office and even found them sleeping bags.

  “Good thing the company has a mountaineering division,” he said with a grin.

  Apparently, that wasn’t a joke.

  Jiři’s computer glowed with a blue light. He had been sitting at it without moving for the past three hours. Before that, he had only moved once to accept the cardboard delivery cartons from the Chinese restaurant. He’d assigned Lumikki to go over the family records, which were full of Jiři’s annotations, question marks, and arrows. Lumikki hadn’t found any new earth-shattering secrets.

  She decided to close her eyes just for a second. Just to rest them. The day had been so long. If she just closed her eyes for a second or two . . .

  Lumikki woke up when her forehead hid the stack of paper. Jiři looked up.

  “You should go to sleep. You’ve had a rough day.”

  “I’m fine,” Lumikki said, just as her mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

  “Or eat some chili tofu. That’ll wake you up.”

  Jiři pushed a carton across the desk.

  “Cold tofu? Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll hold off on that gourmet experience,” Lumikki replied. “Besides, I’m still stuffed. You ordered enough food for three people.”

  “Your choice. But then don’t—bingo!”

  Jiři yelled the last word so loud that Lumikki jumped in her seat.

  “Come look!”

  Lumikki came around the desk to see. On the computer screen was a picture of a man of about thirty dressed in a tailored, white linen outfit. His long hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail. Lumikki recognized the piercing gray eyes and bushy, almost owlish eyebrows even though he was much younger in the picture.

  “Adam Havel,” Lumikki said.

  “Actually, Adam Smith. Alias Adam Havel. This picture is from 1980, but even I recognize him, and I’ve only ever heard descriptions of what he looks like,” Jiři explained excitedly.

  “Nebraska,” Lumikki read from the caption.

  “Exactly. There was a cult there called the White Brothers. They only admitted young men as members and claimed they were all related to Jesus. The group’s leader was Adam Smith, but he disappeared—as it turns out, only to appear later in Prague using basically the same concept. This time he just decided to include women too.”

  “Why did he disappear?” Lumikki asked.

  “He convinced the other members of the cult to turn over all their property, which he was supposedly going to donate to charity. So they would be as pure as possible when they met their death.”

  Jiři looked at Lumikki, his face darkening.

  “They were going to commit mass suicide. Adam Smith along with the rest of them. But then someone tipped off the police, who managed to save most of them. They found them lying in a cabin, unconscious from carbon monoxide poisoning. Adam Smith was gone. With the money, of course.”

  Suddenly, Lumikki’s drowsiness had vanished.

  “The White Family isn’t planning an attack on anyone,” she said slowly.

  Jiři shook his head.

  Neither of them had to say it out loud. Still, the words surrounded them, cold as ice.

  Mass suicide.

  MONDAY, JUNE 20

  Lumikki checked her phone: 11:45 a.m. She could still make it to their meeting place on time if she hurried.

  She and Jiři had agreed that Lumikki would go meet Lenka and try to get her to leave the cult immediately. It was also important to find out if the date for the suicide was already set. Jiři had a meeting at the same time with the boss at Super8 who had assigned him the story about the cult in the first place.

  Lumikki understood too late what was happening when strong hands pulled her off the street into a car and shoved her against the backseat. The cold muzzle of a gun kissed her neck.

  “If you try anything or make one single sound, you’re dead,” the man hissed in her ear.

  Lumikki hadn’t been this close to her pursuer yet, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. She saw his other hand fumbling with a roll of duct tape. Lumikki guessed he was going to put tape over her mouth, tape her wrists and ankles together, and then drive somewhere far out to do whatever he intended.

  Lumikki didn’t want to find out what that was. Burning rage flared inside of her. Once again, she had been dragged into the middle of something she didn’t want anything to do with. Entirely without her consent.

  There was no time to waste. She had to act. Taking advantage of the element of surprise was only possible for a brief moment.

  Lumikki pretended to nod that she understood. But instead, quick as a flash, she continued the motion and struck the man in the nose with her forehead. The man’s grip loosened more from surprise than pain as his nose spurted blood onto Lumikki’s white cotton shirt.

  Lumikki tore herself away, got the vehicle door open, and tumbled out into the street. As she darted forward, it wasn’t until the crowds grew thicker that she realized she must be near the Charles Bridge, which drew Prague tourists like a giant magnet. Near the bridge, the throng became even thicker. People stood in place staring up as Lumikki tried desperately to get past them. What on earth were they waiting for?

  Lumikki glanced up, and then she understood. A bugle player had appeared on a balcony and was just beginning to announce the twelve o’clock hour. The mouth of the bridge was distressingly dense with people. Lumikki looked back. Had she managed to lose her pursuer? She couldn’t see him. Lumikki moved farther into the crowd to hide. Her heart pounded ala
rmingly.

  Suddenly, Lumikki heard a sound behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of the man some distance away, but not far enough. He spotted her too and shoved past a few old ladies, who began screaming curses at him in French.

  Lumikki’s mind raced. Should she try to get away across the crowded bridge or continue along the same side of the riverbank? Making any headway on the bridge might be impossible. On the other hand, her pursuer would have the same problem. And maybe he wouldn’t dare attack her or shoot at her on the bridge. There would be too many witnesses.

  She had made her decision. Lumikki crouched to slip under the arm of a Japanese tourist just as he raised it to get a cell phone picture of the bugler. She heard but didn’t see as, a few seconds later, the hit man collided with the tourist and the phone went flying through the air onto the cobblestones. Based on the Japanese man’s agitated protestations, the phone didn’t survive.

  The statues of thirty saints stood guard on the sides of the bridge. Saint John of Nepomuk, Saint Vitus, Saint Luthgard, John the Baptist, Saint Wenceslas, Saint Sigismund, Saint Jude Thaddeus, Francis of Assisi. The names listed in the travel guide ran through Lumikki’s mind in time with the thudding of her feet on the stone pavement of the bridge. The Stone Bridge. That was its original name. The imagination of whoever named it had run absolutely wild.

  Salty, stinging sweat ran into Lumikki’s eyes and she swiped at them with the back of her hand. She wouldn’t be able to run on the bridge blind. Dodging the tourists, kitsch vendors, and street musicians was hard enough as it was. Her sandals rubbed her feet raw. They weren’t running shoes, and her soaking wet cotton shirt wasn’t a running shirt. Eighty-five degrees also wasn’t the best possible running weather, but Lumikki couldn’t change the conditions now. She just had to keep moving and try to get away.

  The man was keeping up with her, only a few yards behind now.