Unfortunately, it turned out that the Moroi who lived in human cities were very good at keeping themselves hidden. There were a number of dhampir towns and communes in Russia but hardly any in Siberia, which made me believe most local Moroi would be familiar with his birthplace. Only, I didn't know where it was, which was why I was trying to find Moroi to help me. With no other clues about where Dimitri had gone in Siberia, heading to the town he'd grown up in had been my best chance of getting closer to him. I'd been arrogant enough to think I could find Moroi right away who could direct me to Dimitri's hometown in Siberia. I hadn't bothered with the Nightingale when I arrived in the city a couple weeks ago. Late in the evening, a band would set up in there, and couples would hit the dance floor. There was a large dining room filled with velvet-draped tables and booths, as well as a lounge and bar area where people could mingle. I'd toured it upon first arriving in Saint Petersburg.Īt the Nightingale, elaborate chandeliers filled with real candles glittered in the air, lighting up the gold decor so that even in dim lighting, the whole establishment sparkled.

It reminded me a lot of the WinterPalace, a royal residence left over from when Russia had still been ruled by czars. And, well, the whole place actually kind of looked like something from the old, royal days of Russia, with ivory walls covered in gold scroll-work and molding. No matter what time of the day it was, people at the Nightingale dressed like they were at an imperial ball. Back in the U.S., the Nightingale was well known among rich Moroi who traveled abroad, and now I could understand why. Its real name was something Russian that was beyond my ability to pronounce. That wasn't the club's true name, only a translation.

It had all started earlier at the Nightingale.

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