Ekaterina Read Online Free PDF Page A

man, presumably a monk, had been less than helpful when she’d inquired after Brother Timofea Petrov and instead pointed to the “No entrance without a tour,” sign. She took the hint, and bought the last ticket. She could only hope God’s intervention would hold out and she’d somehow find where they kept the active monks.
    “Move this way and you’ll find another chamber, dedicated to St. George.”
    Kat shuffled with the group into a small room, painted orange, red, and green, with an intricate mosaic of a young man slaying what looked like a dragon. While the rest of the group moved as close as the chains would allow to the painted walls, Kat slipped out of the room, quick-walked through the three prayer chambers of the monastery chapel and out into the sunshine.
    The sweet redolence of a white lilac drifted on the breeze and the low sun hid behind a scattering of pine trees to the west. Kat followed a cobblestone path past the chapel, deeper into the grounds. The chapel had obviously been one of the first buildings renovated since the Russian government began sinking money back into the church. She found the building in the brochure then read about the library and the school. The grounds were set on a hill, the fresh aroma of the Velikaya River drifting up from beyond the sandstone cliffs. The path wound around three other buildings, perhaps housing, then disappeared into the whitewashed wooden fence that surrounded the grounds. She stopped at a statue, a bust of some monk who had obviously given his life for the monastery. She read the inscription, tracing the date, c. 1007, and marveled that the monastery could be nearly a millennium old.
    Kat heard the cheery carol of a robin, and a gentle breeze lifted the hair from her forehead. The early evening sun sprayed off the golden cupolas of a community of green-roofed buildings and swept a kaleidoscope of color throughout the compound, reflecting a magnificent light display off the red and gold buildings and illuminating the centuries-old icons painted on the high gables. Kat closed her eyes. She felt light years removed from her morning battle with the Russian militia and easily believed God could be found in this place.
    Now, if she could only find Brother Timofea.
    Maybe he lived in the back buildings, not listed on the map. The brochure did boast an “active” monastery. Curiosity and hope pressed her up the path toward the buildings. For the first time, she wished Professor Taynov hadn’t left her with a “good luck” at the train station. He’d shaken her hand, and pointed her toward a taxi and hoofed off in the opposite direction.
    So maybe he wasn’t trying to start something she wouldn’t finish. She blushed, even thinking it. She might be traveling alone, but she didn’t need to suspect every person she met. A souvenir from living six years under Matthew’s hover. Or perhaps simply a scar of her painful reception by Russian customs. Shame pressed down on her chest, and it didn’t help that she’d now found the door to the first building and stood with her hand on the latch.
    She sucked a deep breath.
    “ Zhenshina ! Stop! Where you going?”
    Her knees nearly gave out. She yanked her hand off the door and whirled, her heart in her throat.
    “Are you lost?” She’d been nabbed by a monk, obvious from the brown robe he wore, but instead of softness, his dark eyes peeled layers off her deceitful intentions, leaving only the naked truth. She gulped, scraping up anything, even a grunt would do. Giving up on words, Kat shook her head.
    He gave her a shriveling look. “Can I help you?”
    “Maybe,” she squeaked. She scrambled for Russian, which had abandoned her, again. “I’m looking for. . .” What was that brother’s name?
    “Come with me.” He reached out and grabbed her by her shaking arm.
    Okay, God could make an appearance right about now. The Second Coming. Anything. She’d accept acts of nature, a finger-of-God tornado perhaps.