“Is that my arabica coffee?” he asked.
I nodded. “I will even let you have a cup if you answer my question.”
Saiman arched an eyebrow. “Let? It’s my coffee.”
I saluted him with the mug. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”
He stared at me incredulously. “Ask.”
“Are you holding a woman called Yulya hostage?”
Saiman blinked.
“Her husband is very upset and is offering to let us both go if we can produce Yulya for him. Unfortunately, he’s lying and most likely we both would be killed once said Yulya is found. But if you’re holding a woman hostage, you must tell me now.”
“And if I was?” Saiman rubbed his jaw and sat in the chair opposite me.
“Then you’d have to release her immediately or I would walk. I don’t protect kidnappers, and I take a very dim view of violence toward civilians, men or women.”
“You’re a bewildering woman.”
“Saiman, focus. Yulya?”
Saiman leaned back. “I can’t produce Yulya. I am Yulya.”
I suppose I should’ve seen that coming. “The man was under the impression he’s married to her. What happened to the real Yulya?”
“There was never a real Yulya. I will tell you the whole story, but I must have coffee. And nutrients.”
I poured him a cup of coffee. Saiman reached into the fridge and came up with a gallon of milk, a solid block of chocolate, and several bananas.
Chocolate was expensive as hell. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had some. If I survived this job, I’d buy a couple of truffles.
I watched Saiman load bananas and milk into a manual blender and crank the handle, cutting the whole thing into a coarse mess. Not the chocolate, not the chocolate . . . Yep, threw it in there, too. What a waste.
He poured the concoction into a two-quart jug and began chugging it. Shapeshifters did burn a ton of calories. I sighed, mourning the loss of the chocolate, and sipped my coffee. “Give.”
“The man in question is the son of Pavel Semyonov. He’s the premier volkhv in the Russian community here. The boy’s name is Grigorii, and he’s completely right, I did marry him, as Yulya, of course. The acorn was very well guarded and I needed a way in.”
“Unbelievable.”
Saiman smiled. Apparently he thought I’d p
aid him a compliment. “Are you familiar with the ritual of firing the arrow?”
“It’s an archaic folkloric ritual. The shooter is blindfolded and spun around, so he blindly fires. The flight of the arrow foretells the correct direction of the object the person seeks. If a woman picks up the arrow, she and the shooter are fated to be together.”
Saiman wiped his mouth. “I picked up the arrow. It took me five months from the arrow to the acorn.”
“How long did it take you to con that poor guy into marriage?”
“Three months. The combination of open lust but withholding of actual sex really works wonders.”
I shook my head. “Grigorii is in love with you. He thinks his wife is in danger. He’s trying to rescue her.”
Saiman shrugged. “I had to obtain the acorn. I could say that he’s young and resilient, but really his state of mind is the least of my concerns.”
“You’re a terrible human being.”