‘‘When you look at her, you look as slobbery as Jasha and Rurik do about their wives.’’ Right then, Firebird’s pang of envy felt more like a pain.
‘‘You haven’t had a chance to talk to Karen, but when you do, you’ll see how wonderful she is.’’ Adrik put his hand over his heart. ‘‘She saved me from the Darkness.’’
In this family, when they talked about the Darkness, they didn’t mean a lack of light. They were talking about evil, and hell, and the devil, all concepts far too real in their lives.
‘‘Then I love Karen as much as you do.’’ Firebird hugged him.
‘‘She found the third icon.’’ He breathed each word with the quietness and delicacy of a man delivering a precious secret.
Firebird forgot about Jasha and Rurik seeking the predator. She forgot about the cold. She forgot that she wasn’t a part of this family. She remembered only that she cared. ‘‘The third icon.’’ Her voice was as hushed as his had been. ‘‘Of course. How stupid of me. I forgot about the icon.’’
‘‘How could you? You were here when Mama had her vision.’’
‘‘Yes. I was here.’’ Firebird almost wished she’d been elsewhere. But then she’d be like Adrik, desperate to hear every detail.
‘‘Tell me everything. I need to know.’’ His eyes glowed in the dark.
‘‘It was too . . . It was awful. I mean, I know that Papa always said Mama was the oracle of her tribe, but she never ‘saw’ the future.’’ Firebird made air quotes with her fingers. ‘‘Not that I could tell, anyway. I figured she was a Gypsy fortune-teller; the tribe dressed her up in scarves, and she read your palm for a ruble. Two and a half years ago, on the Fourth of July, she changed my opinion. We had our usual bash with all the neighbors here.’’ She remembered the heat of the day, the food, the drink, the fireworks . . . the secret she had hid in her belly. ‘‘It was a great party, except for one thing. Remember the Szarvases?’’
‘‘The hippie artists down the road?’’ He grinned. ‘‘Yeah, I do. Sharon and River. They’ve got a daughter, right? You were best friends? Her name is Dewdrop?’’
‘‘Her name is Meadow,’’ Firebird said with crushing finality. ‘‘Are you going to listen, or are you going to tease?’’
He sobered. ‘‘I’m listening.’’
‘‘The Szarvases run an art colony, and they teach whoever shows up glassblowing and sculpture and whatever. I work for them in Internet sales, and it is a very profitable . . .’’ She caught herself, and turned to face Adrik, allowing her voice to reach no farther than his ears. ‘‘That day, they brought their usual contingent of apprentice artists, including this college kid who . . . He was quiet.’’
‘‘Serial-killer quiet?’’ Adrik caught on fast.
‘‘Exactly. He made a statue of me in clay, and it was the most uncanny thing I’ve ever seen. It looked exactly like me, and it really upset Mama. After all the guests left, the family was standing around the bonfire. Mama saw the statue on the table and smashed it with her fists. When she touched it, it was the clay that triggered something in her. When she turned back to the fire, she wasn’t Mama.’’ Firebird felt sick as she remembered. ‘‘Her voice didn’t even sound human.’’
‘‘What did it sound like?’’
‘‘Deep. Smooth. Flat. As if she were speaking from a long distance away, or from the bottom of a well.’’
‘‘Do you remember what she said?’’
‘‘I wish I could forget.’’ Firebird massaged her forehead. ‘‘She said, ‘Each of my four sons must find one of the Varinski icons.’ Right away, that was impossible. We hadn’t heard from you for years, and we thought I was . . . we thought I was the fourth child.’’
Adrik hugged her, but obviously he didn’t know how to comfort her. And since she’d had experience with her brothers when they fumbled around, trying to be considerate and failing utterly, Firebird was just as glad.
‘‘Mama said, ‘Only their loves can bring the holy pieces home. A child will perform the impossible. And the beloved of the family will be broken by treachery . . . and leap into the fire.’ ’’
‘‘I get the part about our loves bringing the holy pieces home. But what does the rest of it mean?’’
‘‘Do I look like an oracle?’’ Firebird demanded.
‘‘Does she know what it means?’’
‘‘Nope. Apparently it doesn’t work that way.’’
Adrik pondered. ‘‘How did she look?’’
‘‘Like someone in a trance. I don’t know how else to describe it. Believe me, you would recognize it if you saw it.’’ Firebird shivered. ‘‘She said, ‘The blind can see, and the sons of Oleg Varinski have found us.’ ’’
‘‘For sure they have.’’ Oleg and Konstantine had been brothers, and when Konstantine had wed Zorana, Oleg had hunted them down, swearing to kill her and take Konstantine back.
Instead, Konstantine had killed Oleg, and his sons had vowed revenge—a revenge almost forty years in the making.
‘‘Mama said, ‘You can never be safe, for they will do anything to destroy you and keep the pact intact.’ Then she pointed at Papa and said, ‘If the Wilders do not break the devil’s pact before your death, you will go to hell and be forever separated from your beloved Zorana, and you, my love, you are not long for this earth. You are dying.’ ’’ The mere memory made Firebird’s palms grow sweaty. ‘‘Then Papa crashed to the ground. Ever since, he’s been failing by inches.’’
Adrik tapped the railing with his fingers, then lowered his voice even more and told her, ‘‘Last year, when I was trying to figure out what was going on with the Varinskis and the Wilders, I went to the Ukraine and into the Varinski house—’’
The Varinski homestead was famous in the Wilder family. They’d found pictures on the Internet; it was rambling, ramshackle and dirty, a frat house set in the middle of the steppes, stuffed with hard-drinking predators with no morals or discernible sanitary habits. ‘‘How did you sneak in?’’ she asked.
‘‘Believe it or not, I walked in.’’ At her disbelief, he shrugged. ‘‘There’re so many of them, and they all look alike—’’
‘‘And you look like them.’’ More important, you’re competent, smart, and frightening in your own way.
Sometimes she forgot that her father and brothers were Varinskis—Varinskis with a name change, but Varinskis nonetheless.
Adrik continued, ‘‘There was this old guy, Uncle Ivan, and he’s as sinister as anything I’ve ever seen. He drinks like a fish, he’s feeble, and he’s blind, with a film of white over his eyes. From what the Varinski boys were saying, Uncle Ivan occasionally has his own trances. Or something. One of the boys said, ‘He speaks with the devil’s tongue.’ ’’
‘‘What does that mean?’’
‘‘I couldn’t ask. I was trying to be inconspicuous. But I know he told the Varinskis that they needed to get their hands on the women the Wilder men loved, because the women were the key to preserving the pact.’’
‘‘Oh, no.’’ Firebird was cold, and getting colder. This whole conversation sent fear crawling up her spine.
‘‘He knew about Mama’s vision, too. That’s where I first heard about it.’’ Adrik scanned the forest again. ‘‘May I say, we do have something in common with most of those Varinskis.’’
‘‘Yeah, what?’’
‘‘They’re creeped out by Uncle Ivan’s visions, too. Make no mistake—they intend to wipe us from the face of the earth rather than let us destroy the pact.’’
The hawk winged toward them, dipped close to the porch, then flew over the roof.
‘‘There’s Rurik,’’ Adrik said. ‘‘Jasha can’t be far behind.’’
Firebird watched enviously.
‘‘It’s a good thing this is almost over,’’ Adrik said in a low tone.
‘‘If we live through the battle!’’
Adrik grinned. ‘‘The doctor may have proved you’re not related to us by blood, but you sound just like
Mama.’’
‘‘Sensible?’’ Firebird asked tartly.
‘‘I suppose. But isn’t it better to get this battle over with so we can be normal, like other men?’’
Firebird laughed, genuinely amused on the worst evening—or was it the second-worst?—of her life. ‘‘You, my dear brother, will never be a normal man. Nor will Papa. Nor will Jasha. Nor will Rurik. You are and always will be creatures to be treated with respect.’’
The wolf who was Jasha ran across the lawn, gave them a nod in passing, and continued to the back of the house.
‘‘Shall we go in and see what they have to say?’’
Adrik offered his arm. ‘‘Any bets?’’
‘‘Something was out there, but it got away before they found it—because if they’d found it, they would have taken it to the horse barn in back and interrogated it until it squealed.’’
‘‘You’re pretty smart for a little sister.’’
‘‘Smarts run in the family.’’ The irony of their discussion didn’t escape Firebird, for she was about to do one of the two dumbest things she’d ever done in her life—and this time, she’d be lucky to get away unscathed.
The sun was a hint in the eastern sky when Firebird bent over the crib where her son slept, and brushed his hair off his forehead.
He was handsome and smart, a miniature of his father in face and form—except that Aleksandr’s hair was dark and straight.
A tear dropped from her cheek onto Aleksandr’s, and Firebird wiped it away, then wiped her damp face.
For more than two and a half years, she hadn’t allowed herself to think about Douglas and their affair. Now she could think of nothing else.
Aleksandr popped his eyes open, awake as only a toddler could be—totally aware and without a hint of sleepiness. ‘‘Mama!’’ He reached out his arms.
She picked him up and held him close. ‘‘Aleksandr, Mama has to leave.’’
His lips stuck out. ‘‘No!’’
‘‘Yes. But listen.’’ She put her hand over his little mouth. ‘‘Listen! While Mama’s gone, she’s going to get you something.’’
‘‘What?’’ Rebellion still flashed in his brown eyes.
‘‘Something you’ll like very much.’’
Aleksandr considered her suspiciously. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Something very special.’’
‘‘What?’’ His arms flew into the air in an excess of toddler exasperation.
She laid him down, tucked his blanket around him, and handed him Bernie. ‘‘If you want this very special, very wonderful thing, you be good for Grandpa and Grandma. Brush your teeth. Take your naps. Take care of Bernie.’’ Her hand lingered on the worn fuzz of his constant sleeping companion. ‘‘Can you do all that?’’
‘‘Yes!’’
‘‘Then I will go and get your daddy and bring him back to you.’’
Because Douglas Black was the Wilders’ true offspring, their fourth son, their only hope . . . and only Firebird, his runaway lover, could convince him to help.
Chapter Seven
‘‘Gramma?’’
Zorana half woke at the sound of a little voice beside the bed. ‘‘Hm?’’
‘‘Aleksandr and Bernie get in with you and Grampa.’’
Zorana used her rear to urge Konstantine over. With a deep grumble, he moved.
Lifting the covers, she gestured Aleksandr and Bernie in. She hugged Aleksandr close, this grandson of hers, and felt another piece of her heart break.
Damn that doctor. Damn Miss Joyce. Most of all— for Zorana knew whom to blame—damn the devil and his machinations.
‘‘Gramma, guess?’’ Aleksandr wiggled like a fish.
Never mind that it was barely dawn. He was awake, and he wasn’t going back to sleep until he took his nap after lunch. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘Mama’s going get Aleksandr a present.’’
‘‘She is?’’ Zorana smiled. ‘‘What is she getting you?’’
‘‘My daddy!’’
Zorana sat up, dislodging Konstantine on one side and Aleksandr on the other. ‘‘What?’’
‘‘My daddy. My daddy! Mama get Aleksandr my daddy!’’ His voice got louder with each repetition.
Zorana sat very still, her mind buzzing as she tried to put the pieces of this puzzle together. ‘‘Where is she getting your daddy?’’
‘‘Costco,’’ Aleksandr said with impeccable childish logic.
Konstantine didn’t sound at all sleepy as he rumbled, ‘‘Do you buy daddies at Costco?’’
‘‘Yes. And a new puzzle for Bernie.’’ Aleksandr chuckled as he imagined the delights to come.
‘‘Aleksandr, stay here. Grandma’s going to go talk to your mama.’’ Zorana started to climb over the little boy.
Konstantine stopped her with a hand on her arm. ‘‘Firebird left half an hour ago.’’
Zorana turned on him. ‘‘You heard her leave? And you didn’t do anything?’’
In the breaking dawn, he was a broad lump under the covers. Light glinted off the chrome of his oxygen tank and his IV pole, and she could dimly see the plastic tubes that ran up his nose and into his arm. Yet for all that the disease ate at his body, his eyes were still sharp and bright. ‘‘Zorana. Liubov maya. We have all had a horrible shock. But none of us has suffered as Firebird is suffering. If she felt she had to leave without telling anyone—’’
‘‘Aleksandr!’’ Aleksandr said helpfully.
‘‘—without telling anyone except Aleksandr,’’ Konstantineagreed, ‘‘then I know better than to stand in her way.’’
‘‘But where is she going?’’ Zorana demanded.
‘‘Costco,’’ Aleksandr said. ‘‘For Aleksandr’s daddy.’’
‘‘That sounds reasonable to me.’’ Konstantine tugged Zorana back down on the bed and put his arms around her and Aleksandr.
Zorana had never felt less sleepy. ‘‘All this time, she never would tell us who Aleksandr’s father is. Why would she go find him now?’’
‘‘Last night, for Firebird, everything changed.’’ Konstantine tapped his forehead.
Yes, and now Zorana’s heart was torn. She loved the child she had cherished as a daughter, and she longed for the baby she had lost.
Tears sprang to her eyes. Tears for her, tears for Firebird, and, most of all, tears for her son.
Where was her baby? Happily adopted by another family? Abused and beaten? Or dead, an infant not allowed his chance at life?
She struggled to sit up. ‘‘I’m going to call Firebird. Tell her to be safe.’’
‘‘No. You are not.’’ Konstantine held her in place. ‘‘If she wanted to tell you where she was and how long she’d be gone, she would have woken you before she left. As for being safe . . . we have raised her to be smart, and be safe. But we also have raised her to do the right thing, the responsible thing, and we have to trust her to know what that is. She is a grown woman. Leave her alone to do what must be done.’’
Zorana relaxed and leaned her head into Konstantine’s shoulder. ‘‘If I knew then what I know now, I would have never had children.’’
His laughter thundered through him. ‘‘Yes, you would.’’
‘‘No, I wouldn’t.’’
‘‘Yes, you would. You had no choice. In those days, all the time, we were humping like bunnies.’’
‘‘Konstantine!’’ Zorana covered Aleksandr’s ears.
‘‘Humping like bunnies,’’ Aleksandr repeated in a clear, thoughtful tone.
‘‘Aleksandr!’’ Zorana glared at her husband.
Konstantine stretched and grinned at her, looking young and carefree for the first time in months. ‘‘Those were the good old days.’’
Delighted, Aleksandr repeated, ‘‘The good old days. Humping like bunnies.’’
‘‘Zorana, we have lived here for almost forty years. Your tribe swore to take you back from me. The Varinskis swore I was mad to love you, and that they would take
me back. None of them ever found us— and they should have.’’ Konstantine sounded less like Zorana’s kindly husband and more like a general preparing for battle. ‘‘I never asked you why.’’
Her whirling thoughts stilled.
‘‘But last night, a stranger came into our valley. Our very talented sons sought him, but despite their best efforts, they couldn’t find him, and when we were alone, they told me he carried the scent of a great cat.’’
‘‘A great cat,’’ Aleksandr repeated thoughtfully.
‘‘Yes, my boy.’’ Konstantine stroked Aleksandr’s hair. ‘‘A panther, like Dyadya Adrik, or a tiger, a lion, a cougar. So the stranger was a Varinski, an enemy. I think perhaps for almost forty years you have been protecting us from prying eyes, and I think perhaps something has changed. Heh?’’
How could Zorana have imagined she could fool Konstantine? Konstantine, who was so intimately familiar with the supernatural . . . and with her? ‘‘I don’t talk about it. I don’t understand how it works. But I am a seer. I foretell the future . . . but I have no control over when and where. I wish I did. Two and a half years ago, I burp forth a prophecy and our whole world goes to hell. If I could just tap into that power again . . .’’
Again Konstantine hugged her, silencing her self-recriminations. ‘‘We are grateful for any knowledge sent to us by the good God.’’
‘‘Yes. Of course we are.’’ She hadn’t meant to complain about what she did know, only what she didn’t. Sitting up, she wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘‘I have another talent. It’s a little thing. With my mind, I can make a bubble, like Teflon, over the place where I am. It wards off the bad things. Storms that would ruin the grapes or split the cherries. People who wish us ill.’’
‘‘Yes.’’ Konstantine understood. Of course he did. ‘‘So how did one of them get here last night?’’
‘‘Maybe he followed Firebird in. I think that might be it. Or maybe I . . . Lately I’ve wondered . . .’’
‘‘Wondered?’’ he encouraged.
‘‘When we married, the line between good and evil blurred. There are still men, women, beasts who have given themselves totally to the devil. And there are men, women, and beasts who are completely God’s creatures. But most people are struggling to do the right thing, and succeeding or failing. You and I and our kids . . . we fit into that group. And maybe whoever it was last night—maybe he fits into the group, too. Wanting to do evil, but not easy with his decision, or evil and struggling toward a change.’’ Zorana turned her head to Konstantine. ‘‘He was one of us.’’