Dangerously Charming (28 page)

SUN
unpacked his few belongings into the plain pine dresser that was one of only three pieces of furniture in his narrow room at the
Shira-in Shashin
Monastery, the other two being a twin bed covered with a wool blanket and a wooden meditation bench. Once he'd been forced to admit that he was unable to regain his spiritual balance in the solitude of the Otherworld, Gregori had crossed through one of the few doorways between that enchanted place and the more mundane world of Humans, and searched for a likely alternative.

After much thought, he'd decided to become a Buddhist monk, hoping that the peaceful introspective path would finally enable him to find the connection to the spiritual world he'd lost when the crazy Baba Yaga Brenna had tortured him and his half brothers until they were nearly mad and on the brink of death.

In the end, the
true
Baba Yagas, Barbara, Beka, and Bella, had rescued them, with the help of Barbara's dragon-dog Chudo-Yudo and a hefty dose of the magical elixir known as
the Water of Life and Death. But even the powerful witches hadn't been able to get to them in time to save their immortality, and now he, Mikhail Day, and Alexei Knight were as mortal as the Humans they had chosen to live among. Mortal and more than a little bit broken.

It was a new experience for Gregori, who had spent most of his very long life in a state of poised, calm control, at one with the natural world and in harmony with the universal energy that surrounded him. He had always supposed that this was in his nature, although nurture had certainly played a part, since his mother had been a powerful Mongolian shamaness. Now that he had lost that connection and balance, he questioned everything he'd ever been. And had no idea of what he would become.

Gregori hoped that embracing the monastic lifestyle would give him back the equilibrium he had always taken for granted. At the very least, it should be quiet; quite the change from the years he and his brothers had spent as the Riders, companions and warriors for the Baba Yagas, who traveled together in between assignments, brawling and drinking and generally enjoying one another's company.

Those days were behind him now, for better or for worse, and the sooner he accepted it, the better off he'd be.

Broken bones eventually mended. Broken spirits were a much more difficult and lengthy matter.

Sun had chosen the
Shira-in Shashin
Monastery for a number of reasons, including its somewhat non-traditional approach, its roots in Yellow Shamanism, which sprang from the same Mongolian soil that he had, and its location in Minneapolis.

Admittedly, the location wouldn't have been a selling point for most people, with its bitterly cold winters and abundant snowfall. But Sun enjoyed the stark beauty of the landscape, which reminded him of the Siberian steppes where he and his long-lost mother had taken long treks with her disciples when he was a child. Its proximity to the Wilson Library, part
of the University of Minnesota, was the other basis for his choice, since he thought it was his best chance of actually tracking her down. If she was still alive, which even he realized was unlikely in the extreme, given the many centuries that had passed since last he'd seen her.

Still, as someone who had spent his life in the company of Russian fairy-tale witches and their Chudo-Yudo dragon companions, traversing the boundaries between the Human world and an enchanted land filled with faeries, ogres, and other mystical creatures, Gregori Sun knew better than most that unlikely was not the same thing as impossible.

He had already made the decision to enter a monastery; it was possible that a rare moment of sentimentality had influenced his choice as to which one. Either way, the
Shira-in Shashin
program offered him both discipline and freedom, a vital combination.

The expectations for a layperson living at the monastery were simple; hours spent in meditation and study, following the general rules of the residence (no alcohol, drugs, sex, or violence), and performing some form of community service. Other than that, his time was his own, which would allow him to pursue the knowledge he sought.

It was assumed that most who entered would eventually find the constraints of the spiritual life to be unappealing and leave. Those who did not would be allowed to continue the long path that would lead to becoming a monk.

Sun just hoped to find some kind of peace and perhaps a place to live out the rest of his life. Giving up the temptations of the outside world was no hardship at all. If anything, it would be a relief. There was nothing out there for him anymore.

*   *   *

CIERA
was doing some research on the computer at her desk when someone cleared his throat gently. She started, dropping the pen she was holding so that it hit the desk's cluttered
surface with a muffled thud, rolling from there onto the white tile floor. She prided herself on her ability to be aware of her surroundings at all times; she couldn't remember the last time someone had approached her without her sensing their presence. And yet a man stood in front of her desk, and she hadn't even known he was there.

Of course, now that she saw him, he was impossible to miss.

The dark hair and sharp Asian planes of his face were attractive—maybe even striking—but there was something more than mere handsomeness about him. Some might have thought his expression stern, but Ciera thought he had a kind of poised, self-contained air that made him stand out from most of the people she met, and yet there was a sadness in his black eyes that made her instinctively want to reach out to soothe whatever it was that had caused such pain.

The strength of her reaction caught her by surprise. Men weren't a part of her life, not outside of professional interactions, anyway. She'd made that choice a long time ago and never for one moment regretted it. Until now. She ducked under the desk and scooped up her fallen pen, using the action to get a grip on herself.
It's pheromones or something like that,
she told herself sternly.
A chemical reaction at the back of your brain. Ignore it and it will go away. At least as soon as he does.

She sat up, back straight as she put the writing implement down with a decisive click, and put one hand up reflexively to make sure that her unruly kinky-curly hair was still firmly tucked into the neat bun she always wore it in at work.

“Good afternoon,” she said in a pleasant voice. “Can I help you with something?”
There, see? Nothing but business.

“I hope so,” the man said, his voice smooth and deep and touched with the hint of an accent. Russian, she thought, although from his looks she would have expected maybe Japanese or Chinese.

There were plenty of foreigners who did research at the Wilson Library, with its many special collections covering such esoteric areas as the Ames Library of South Asia and the East Asian Library, both of which were part of her areas of expertise, as was the Bell Library located on the fourth floor, which housed non-circulating rare books, maps, and manuscripts that documented trade and cross-cultural interaction throughout the world prior to around 1800. Maybe he was a professor she hadn't met yet, or some kind of visiting expert. He certainly didn't seem like a student, although these days, you never could tell. She thought he might be in his thirties, or possibly a youthful forty.

“I was told that you might be able to assist me with some research I am doing,” he said, bowing slightly with both hands in front of his chest. “I am afraid it is somewhat eclectic in nature, covering a wide range of obscure topics, but I will be happy to do the digging myself if you can simply point me in the right direction.”

Ciera tried to ignore the fact that something about the timbre of his voice sent a frisson of heat down her spine in a most disconcerting manner. “Some of our collections are only available by appointment,” she said in her best impersonal librarian tone, “but I'm sure we can help you find what you need. Can you give me some idea of the areas you were interested in?”

“I am looking for references to a particular obscure Mongolian shamaness named Iduyan and the sect of worshippers and disciples who followed her, as well as anything on modern shamanism in a fairly widespread area—Mongolia, Russia, and China, to start out with. In addition, I need any information there might be on the legend of Shangri-La or related lost cities.”

Ciera blinked. “That
is
a rather strange and eclectic set of search parameters. It might take some time to turn up anything useful, assuming there is anything to be found at all.
Some of the items you are looking for might be in the East Asian collection, I suppose. Either way, most of the books and maps you'll need can't be taken out of the building, so I'm afraid you'll have to do the bulk of your research here. But there are a number of spaces in the library where you can have relative privacy and quiet.”

The man nodded politely. “There are many worse places to spend one's time,” he said softly. “I have been in most of them. I am certain it will be a pleasure to spend a portion of my days here.”

Another shiver fluttered down her spine and she reminded herself again that she wasn't interested in men. Especially not mysterious men who had an aura of danger around them like this one did.

“I'll write down a few books you can start with,” she said, pulling a pad out of the top drawer. These days most of the people she dealt with would whip out a tablet or a smartphone to take down the information, but he didn't strike her as the electronics type somehow. “And I'll compile a more detailed list over the next day or two. Can I get your name?”

“Gregori,” he said. “Gregori Sun.” That hint of an accent made the name seem exotic and foreign, although his English was flawless. Maybe a second-generation immigrant.

“Very good, Mr. Sun. I'm Ciera Evans. If I'm not here when you come back, I'll leave a folder for you at the front desk. I hope you find everything you're looking for.” She handed him the list, then turned purposely back to her computer.

She barely heard him when he muttered, more to himself than to her, “I suspect that is very unlikely.”

*   *   *

SUN
was so focused on his search, he hardly noticed the librarian behind the desk, other than to note that she had seemingly taken the stereotype to heart, complete with drab, modest clothing, square black-rimmed glasses, and hair pulled tightly back into an unflattering bun. A pity, really,
since she had the potential to be quite beautiful, but it was just as well, since he couldn't afford distractions, even abstract ones. It was bad enough that he was already splitting his focus between his path to spiritual enlightenment and his search for his mother—which admittedly, was at odds with his goal to detach from the world, but that was the way these things went.

With any luck, he would be spending all of his time at the library with his nose buried in obscure reference books and dusty maps, and any other distractions would be kept to a minimum. Especially oddly intriguing ones wearing glasses.

*   *   *

IRONICALLY,
Sun probably wouldn't even have recognized her when he saw her later that evening, if it hadn't been for those same glasses. The drab professional attire had been replaced by equally nondescript jeans and a black hoodie, the dark hair was still pulled back, although this time into a tightly woven braid, from which tiny curls escaped at her nape and around the edges of her forehead. Only the glasses and the slightly prickly exterior remained the same.

Plus, of course, he hadn't expected to run into her at the homeless shelter.

He'd been assigned by his teacher at the monastery to do his community service at a soup kitchen in Minneapolis, one attached to a homeless shelter that served many local homeless youths, along with a number of mothers with children. He wasn't sure which population was more heartbreaking. Sun wasn't sure if the volunteer work was intended to test a novice's ability to be compassionate without becoming emotionally involved, but he could see how that would be a challenge for many.

For someone like Sun, who had lived more than a thousand years and watched countless shorter lives come and go, it was a little less challenging. He had had to learn to keep a certain distance long ago.

What he found so fascinating was that someone like this librarian seemed to have learned it too.

He studied her from across the room while listening with half his attention to the head of the shelter explaining how the food kitchen worked, and what Sun's duties would be as a volunteer. Despite what he thought were attempts to blend into her surroundings, almost chameleon-like when he factored in her completely different appearance at the library that afternoon, she stood out like a peony among a field of daisies.

It wasn't just her beauty, although that certainly drew the eye, no matter how much she tried to disguise it with plain clothing and lack of makeup. Wide lips and dark, slightly kinky hair spoke of an African American contribution, while the high cheekbones and fine features suggested some Native roots. The light hazel eyes were probably Caucasian, but that tawny skin was a shade no white person ever achieved. Either way, no matter her origins, she was striking and unusual looking, as though someone had taken the best parts of a varied gene pool and combined them into a rare and gorgeous creation.