SOMEWHERE ONLY WE KNOW ➻ DEMETRI VOLTURI

D I C I O T T O

Three days had passed before they heard from Anya again. In the meantime, they had fulfilled their roles as tourists in a nearly perfect manner. Visiting the Kremlin, Cecilia spent hours wandering inside the castle, staring longingly at all the ancient books that covered the walls there, even though she couldn't read a word in Russian. They had also visited an old friend of Demetri's and his mate. They had been surprised when Cecilia mentioned that she was actually a Cullen, apprehensive even. It was almost as if the association with her family made them fear for what the Volturi would do. She had shut up after that, smiling kindly and nodding every once in a while, but letting Demetri do most of the talking.

Now the two of them were walking back to the hotel, their hands intertwined. Slowly but surely, Cecilia was growing accustomed to the streets of Moscow. She turned to Demetri, her fingers playing with the cords of her hat absentmindedly. "I don't think Pyotr and Emma like me that much."

Demetri shrugged, not looking particularly bothered about that fact. "I think Emma likes you just fine," he said. That might have been true, considering the redheaded German girl had kept on talking to her while Pyotr kept on giving her nervous glances. "For Pyotr it's different."

"Why?" she asked curiously. There was a slow, but steady drizzle of snowflakes falling down on them and one landed on her eyelashes. She blinked it away, realizing that the snowflakes wouldn't melt on her skin. "It is because he was turned earlier?"

"It has got something to do with it," Demetri admitted. His eyes were plastered on the hotel they were nearing, but he wasn't looking, not really. Cecilia knew he was far away in his thoughts, like sometimes happened when he was remembering something that happened centuries ago. "You know that the Romanians ruled before the Volturi came and overthrew them?"

"Yeah," Cecilia said quietly, giving an affirmative nod. "My dad always said that their rule was messy and inconspicuous."

"It's true. Before finding his mate and leaving, Pyotr belonged to an ancient Russian coven. It had strong ties to the tzars of that time and they supported the Romanian rule, even after the Volturi had been installed. Pyotr had left just in time, because his whole coven was killed for high treason. Ever since then, the Masters have kept a close eye on him, but he has stayed clear. Still, he doesn't like to be associated with family's or names that are enemies of the Volturi."

Cecilia didn't reply, lost in thought. Though her father had never explicitly told her so, he had always implied that the Volturi would simply eradicate covens and people who didn't blindly follow them, removing all traces of them. Now that she had been at court for a couple of years, involved in almost all meetings, she knew it was true. Pyotr's story confirmed it simply once more.

They strolled into the hotel again, finding their way to the room easily. As soon as Cecilia walked into the room, ready to drop herself on the bed, she noticed a thick envelope laying on the pillows. Raising her eyebrows in curiosity, she snatched the paperwork away, tearing the envelope open carefully. She reached into it, drawing out a bulky file. On top of it was a note pinned.

The address was Ulitsa Pervoprokhodtsev, 15, Norilsk, Krasnoyarsk Krai. It was a hotel, not a house, and you were staying in room 63. You were eight years old. You, Demetri and the place are hidden. Meet me at Parkovyy Pr-D., 6, Novomoskovsk, Tula Oblast the coming full moon. Just you, alone.

Impressed, Cecilia passed the note onto Demetri and opened the file. It looked exactly like the type of files one might see in a crime show which held all of the records and information about the suspect. Instantly her eyes fell on the picture of a woman attached to the papers with a paperclip. It was black and white, obviously taken a while back ago, showing a woman in an old-fashioned dress and coat, a hasty expression on her face. Next to it was another picture, this one in colour. It was the same woman, wearing a modern dress this time, even though she hadn't aged a day. Grabbing the pictures, she turned them around, observing the dates written on them, 1930 and 2011.