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I’ve heard it before, and I want to finish our walk and go home. I want to throw my arms around Papa’s shoulders and warm up in our posh Party home near Rubleyka.
    “I don’t think I’ve told it to you before.” She holds the feather out in front of me. “Pay attention—this is important.”
    I groan; Zhenya tugs back toward the sidewalk, but Mama holds firm.
    “Once upon a time, a hunter stumbled into the realm of Koschei the Undying while chasing a beautiful bird covered in all the hues of flame. He caught the firebird, but she begged and pleaded for her life. The hunter hated to lose such a prize, but he had a kind heart, so he relented, and the firebird left him a single feather as thanks. ‘What use do I have for a single feather?’ the hunter grumbled, and tucked it into his belt. But it was too late for the hunter; Koschei the Undying, evil sorcerer that he was, already knew the hunter was on his land.”
    I am leaning forward now, imagining how it might feel to hold a fiery feather in my hand and watch it shimmer with red and gold.
    “The hunter had fallen in love, you see, with one of Koschei’s princesses, kept locked up in his realm, and sought to free her from Koschei’s grasp. But when he battled Koschei, he found that Koschei could not be killed. The hunter lay wounded and dying, clutching the firebird’s feather, heartbroken because he’d never know the princess’s love.
    “But when he held the feather, it summoned the firebird to him. She told him the secret to defeating Koschei—she told him where he kept his soul, so the hunter could go destroy it. He smashed the egg that held Koschei’s soul, and Koschei was Undying no more. The hunter and the princess lived happily ever after.”
    Mama runs the feather against the side of my face. “Do you understand, then, the firebird’s lesson?” she asks.
    Zhenya is busy picking his nose, so I answer for both of us. “Sure. You think if we hold on to this feather, someday the bird it fell off of will show up and help us defeat an evil sorcerer.”
    “No.” Mama tosses the feather back into the snow and hoists Zhenya to his feet. “I’m telling you to pay attention. Because no matter how tiny, how weightless, how inconsequential something may seem, you never know when you can use that knowledge or that thing. One day it might just save your life.”

 
    CHAPTER 4
    THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY’S headquarters, unlike the very public KGB building looming over the heart of Moscow, is shrouded in trees in northern Virginia and padded with horse stables and palatial French mansions. Papa drives us for what seems like forever along the cliffs overlooking the Potomac to reach it. “Remember,” he tells me as we wind through the forest, “this location is secret.”
    And then we pass the gatehouse swarming with men with machine guns.
    The building itself is more Soviet than I’d expected: squat, cobbled from concrete slabs, swerving and contoured in that space-age style. Closed-circuit cameras whine as they twist from the awning to follow our approach. Valentin closes his hand around mine while Papa strides ahead of us, whistling again, his flared trousers skimming the steps.
    I swallow my breath as we enter the gleaming main corridor. Marble everywhere—blue, gray, and white. The Agency’s seal—an eagle (only one-headed, unlike our mutant double-headed Russian eagles) clutching a shield to its breast—winks at me in silver trim from the center of the floor. To my right, brass stars spangle the marble wall in perfectly even lines.
    Papa swings his arm toward the wall of stars. “The Memorial Wall,” he says in English. “Each star is for an agent who has died in the line of duty.”
    The line of duty, I suspect, includes battling Russian spies.
    “Well, I’m off. Have fun, you crazy kids.” Papa looks at me for a moment. I will his lips to press against my forehead. There was a time in my life when he couldn’t stop fawning over