by A. L. Knorr
I hadn’t set foot inside an ice rink since before my father died almost ten years ago. When I reached the rectangular, windowless building, I stood there looking at it for a few minutes before making my way inside. The smell of fries and sausages mingling with rubber and chemicals hit me as I stepped through the glass doors. The sound of people shouting, stick slashing on ice echoed through the metal double doors on the other side of a line in front of the snack bar. As rinks went, it wasn’t so different from the ones we had in Canada, but they offered things like sauerkraut at the snack bar, and everything was written in Polish.
I stood in line for a hot chocolate and then passed through the double doors to find myself a seat. The stands were half full, leaving plenty of space for me close to center ice where I could see everything. Settling on the cold bench, I blew the steam off my drink and looked for Antoni.
Hockey wasn’t a game I’d ever gotten into—actually, there weren’t any sports that I’d ever become a fan of. But it was hard to avoid and if I had to choose a sport to follow, hockey would have been it, simply because my dad had loved it so much. It took me a few minutes of play to find Antoni, and even longer to recall the main rules of the game. Most of the players were tall and long of limb, and with their helmets on and the pace at which they skated, it was difficult to find him. My gaze repeatedly swept over the benched players and those playing until I found him. He was number 88 and once I realized that, it was much easier to keep my eye on him.
It didn’t take long for me to learn that Antoni was a strong player, but that didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me was that he moved with a powerful, almost predatory energy that I wouldn’t have equated with him. Antoni was sweet, earnest, and gentle. This player was aggressive, bold, and full-on. He seemed to think nothing of elbowing his opponents, shoving them, charging through them, and yelling at them and the referee. Was I imagining it, or were none of his teammates playing with this same level of hostility? Puzzled by this, I became more engaged in watching Antoni’s behavior than in watching the game itself.
When the clock ran out for first period and intermission began, I stood up on top of the bench so Antoni could see where I was. I waited while he was in conversation with one of his teammates and then waved when his eyes wandered up to the stands and landed on me. He lifted a gloved hand but didn’t smile, and then filed toward the dressing room with the rest of his teammates. That confirmed my suspicion––something was wrong. Antoni always smiled when he greeted me, always.
I finished my hot chocolate over the middle period, watching with growing concern as Antoni’s playing style seemed only to increase in hostility. He ended up in the penalty box near the end of the second period and didn’t look my way before filing out for the second intermission.
During the final period, I watched completely bemused as he started a fight with an opposing player. The two big men grappled with one another, tottering on the ice and almost losing their balance before the referee stepped in and pulled them apart. There were a lot of shouted Polish epithets, at least that’s what I thought they must be, as they were said with enough venom. Antoni served another penalty, but even assisting in the tie-breaking goal in the last three minutes of play didn’t seem to cheer him up. He simply swung around the ice, stick out in front of him, not reacting while the fans (including me) celebrated in the stands. He touched gloves with a few of his teammates, but that was it.
I squinted at his face, hoping to detect a smile through his helmet, but there was no glimmer of white teeth. He looked up at me before heading for the change room. I sent him a thumbs up and he bobbed his head and gestured that he’d change and meet me in the lobby. I nodded and waved.
I amused myself by wandering along the glass cases filled with old black and white photos of hockey players from decades long past, tarnished trophies and medals, and vintage skates and hockey equipment. Players and fans talked and laughed as they left the building for the parking lot. The numbers dwindled and soon it was just me and the empty lobby.
The double metal doors clanked open and Antoni finally came strolling through, just saying goodbye to someone on his cell phone. There was a vein standing out on his forehead that normally wasn’t there.
I turned and waited, letting him come to me. His short hair was freshly washed and spiked out from his head in all directions like he’d simply raked it over with a towel. He wore black jeans and white sneakers with a puffy bomber and carried a bulky hockey bag over his shoulder.
“That was quite a game,” I said, deciding against asking directly what was wrong.
He tucked his phone away and met my eyes. His expression melted and he dropped his bag and reached for me.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I felt him tuck his face into my neck. He smelled like soap and his wet hair left a damp mark on my cheek. He squeezed me hard and let me go.
“Thanks for coming, Targa. I’m sorry it wasn’t one of my better performances.”
“I beg to differ. I was riveted by the drama, the action, the intrigue.” I smiled and touched his face and added, “The violence. I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“I know.” He bent to retrieve a hat from his bag, raked a hand over his hair and pulled it on. “It hasn’t been a good day. Come on, I’ll take you home.”
He took my hand and we walked out to the emptying parking lot. Our breath hung in the air in front of our faces.
He opened the door to his car for me and I slid into the passenger seat. Popping the trunk, he dumped his hockey bag in the back, slid into the driver’s side and started the engine. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road leading to the freeway heading south. I watched his profile in the darkness of the car, city lights blurring behind him.
I was about to finally ask him what was wrong when he said, “I’ve been thinking about Christmas. I have an idea.”
“Okay. Proceed.” I shifted a little to face him, curious.
“I was going to invite you to come spend it with my family…” He opened his mouth to continue, but nothing came out.
“But? You hesitated like there’s a but.”
“Well, it’s a little presumptuous.” He shot me a sheepish look. “But Mom and my siblings already fill the place, and mine is just a little one-bedroom.”
I thought I knew where he was going with this and my heart jumped with excitement. “Why don’t you all come to the manor for the holidays?”
His hesitation morphed into relief. “Really? That would be so wonderful, Targa.”
“Imagine the manor all done up with lights, that big sitting room with a fire and a tree. It’s just been me and my mom for Christmas since my dad died, not including the one that Hal came to when I was barely old enough to remember.” I almost bounced in my seat and was suddenly reminded of Saxony. Excitement had a way of reminding me of my wild-haired friend. “It’ll be amazing. We’ll make a turkey dinner and do it up properly.”
Antoni was getting into the idea, his face brightening. “We can make coulibiac for Christmas Eve…”
“What on earth is that? It sounds like a sea creature, or a weed you can’t get rid of.”
He laughed and winked at me. “You’ll see. I also have to take you to the Christmas market in Gdansk. You’ll love it. Maybe your mom will come and I could bring mine?”
“Sure, that would be great.” My mom hated shopping, and she sure didn’t seem to be in much of a mood to do anything social these days, but maybe the festive season would help her feel better.
“This is going to be an amazing Christmas. Our first one.” Antoni smiled at me as he guided the car around a turnpike. His hands had relaxed their grip on the steering wheel. “Christmas at the Novak mansion. How Martinius would have loved it.”
The tension had gone out of his voice and I let out a breath. “You feeling better now?”
He shot me a look and then his eyes were back on the road. He took a moment before answering. “I am. Thank you.”
; “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He reached for my knee, his warm palm settling over the curve of my kneecap. I put my hand over his.
“Was it that obvious?” he asked.
I chuckled. “Antoni, you almost eviscerated one guy with your hockey stick, and I’m pretty sure the other one will be sporting not one but two shiners for the next two weeks. I’ve seen you step around a caterpillar on the sidewalk—imagine the difficulty I’m having putting those two concepts together.”
He shot me a crooked grin. “Fair enough.”
The car pulled off the freeway and onto the winding road which led to the manor. Dark trees over-crossed the road, throwing it into heavy shadow, while a line of white froth revealed where the water met the beach beyond.
Antoni had gone quiet and I wondered if it had been a mistake to ask him what was wrong.
Then he said, “What’s a shiner?”
I laughed, relieved. “It’s slang for a black eye.”
“Oh.”
Antoni entered the code at the gate and pulled the car into the driveway and up to the front of the manor where he put it in park.
“Not coming in?” I asked, hopeful.
He undid his seatbelt and turned in the seat. “I’d like to, but I have an early meeting tomorrow.”
He looked down in his lap and looked as though he was thinking about what to say next.
“I’d like to say I won’t keep you up, but we both know that’s a lie,” I said quietly, in an effort to lighten the mood. Antoni’s resolve about us sharing a bed hadn’t changed. He wanted us to wait. If it hadn’t been the way my own father had been with my mother, I might have throttled him for being so frustratingly traditional. If I was human, I might have felt the same as Antoni—after all I was still only seventeen, but I was a siren, a creature whose main imperative while she was on land was to find a mate and have at ’im.
Antoni smiled. “I’ll take you up on that one of these days.”
“You’d better.”
He smiled again, but his eyes were once again clouded with troubled thoughts. He rubbed a hand up under his cap and it slid off the back of his head. He set it on the console in front of the gearshift. “It’s my sister.”
“Lydia? What’s wrong with her?”
He nodded. “I think she’s fallen in with the wrong crowd.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It might have something to do with her asking me for one thousand złoty to pay off a debt.”
“That’s not that bad,” I replied, doing the math in my head. A thousand złoty equaled about three hundred fifty Canadian dollars. It was more than pocket change, but hardly a sum to freak out about.
“It’s not the amount I’m concerned about, it’s the frequency and the cause. This is the third time in as many months that she’s asked to borrow money.”
“Does she pay you back?”
He nodded. “Eventually.”
“And what’s the cause?”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know, she won’t talk about it with me. I know my sister. She would only keep something from me if she was ashamed of it.”
I frowned. “But you’ve asked her about it specifically, right?”
“I finally did, this time.” He cracked one of his knuckles by pressing his thumb on the joint at the base of his finger, something I was coming to know he did when he was aggravated. “She basically told me to mind my own business. She says she always pays me back, so why should I care?”
“Have you asked Otto about it?”
Antoni waved his hand. “If she won’t tell me then she won’t tell Otto. They’re not close and they don’t move in the same circles.”
“And your mom?”
Antoni’s eyes widened. “Definitely I will not be bringing it up with our mother. Lydia would make shoes with my skin.”
I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. I loved the way Antoni muddled English figures of speech.
“If she asks you again, say you’ll give it to her only if she tells you what she needs it for. How about that? It’s your money, you have a right to know where it’s going.”
“I will do that, but it might be another month before she asks me and what is she getting up to in the meantime?”
“You could always tail her if you were really concerned.”
He blinked at me, astonished. “Tail? Like follow?”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “She won’t tell you, which makes you worry even more. What other way can you find out?”
“That’s an invasion of privacy. You would do that?”
His scrutinous gaze made me shrink a little against the seat, but I nodded. I would do that. I wouldn’t think twice about it, especially if I thought a loved one was in trouble. But I lived in a world where demonic storm-ghouls attacked cities, and evil corporations plotted mayhem and chaos to feed their pet demons, not caring who they hurt to do it. I had to remind myself that most people lived in blissful ignorance about the preternatural world I was part of.
“And I thought your mom was the scary one,” Antoni muttered.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you’re worried about your sister, but if you’re not coming inside so I can pounce on you, then I’ll say goodnight. We’re polluting the yard.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” I smiled and leaned over the armrest for a kiss.
His lips were warm and pliant and the kiss lasted longer than I had been expecting. My body quickened, and I felt his breath come faster as I pulled away. I left my face close to his.
“You sure you won’t come in?” I asked. My lips still tingled from the kiss.
His expression melted into one of tortured longing. “You’re killing me.”
“You’re killing you,” I replied with a smile. “It’s your decision to wait, not mine.”
He grabbed his knit hat from the console and smooshed it against his face and groaned in a comic gesture of tortured emotion.
I laughed and opened the car door. “Just remember, if you need help tracking your sister, I can move like a ghost through a back alley. She’d never even know I was there.”
I got out of the car and peered in at him, one hand on the door.
He shook his head, gazing at me with something like admiration mingled with bewilderment. “Thank goodness we have no secrets between us, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.”
My smile faltered.
“Good night, love,” he said, his eyes soft and head tilted back against the headrest. My stomach gave a twist at the sweetness in his face. If he’d noticed my expression waver he didn’t give any sign. I was grateful for the dim lighting.
“Good night, darling.” I closed the car door and watched as he took the rotunda and exited through the gate.
No secrets? I had a whopper and had no idea what to do about it. It was a nice idea, to have a relationship without secrets, I thought. But it wasn’t realistic for anyone, let alone a siren. A secret I had, and that was the way it had to be. My mother had lived with it while my father was alive, and I’d have to live with it too.
I went up to my suite, yawning with exhaustion. It seemed I could hardly keep my eyes open enough to crawl into my bed, but it took a very long time for sleep to claim me.
5
Autumn became winter, the days grew short, and blustery gales blew in from across the Baltic. Sudden and intense winter storms left the coastline cities and towns coated in ice and out of electricity temporarily. The short-tempered fury of the Baltic stood in stark contrast to the deep cold Atlantic winter with which I had grown up.
The Novak mansion staff kept the rooms snug and cozy, with a throw on nearly every chair and couch, well-lit with yellow tinted sconces, and crackling fires in constant burn.
My weekdays became routine: breakfast at eight in the smaller of the two dining rooms, high school work alone or with an online tutor if need be (for math) until lunch. Lunch in
the front room where the big picture window displayed the trees of the front yard and the thin line of the Baltic beyond it. After lunch, I would meet with either Hanna or Marian for a couple of hours, and after three, my day was my own again. Occasionally I would go for a swim with my mom, but more often than not she’d be gone already and I would be craving time with Antoni anyway.
On nights when he wasn’t playing hockey, he would come spend the evening at the mansion or he’d take me out in Gdansk, to a museum, a show, a restaurant, or just walking the historic center. Holiday lights appeared in the historic streets of the city, adding to its already considerable charm.
I adjusted to life quickly and I loved it, except for one thing––Mom’s swims were getting longer and when she wasn’t swimming, she was lethargic. She seemed apathetic about the details of my day. This was not like her. Mom had always been invested in conversation with me, in the details of my life and my friends’ lives, but these days she was distracted in a way I had never seen her before. I started out concerned, but soon grew anxious.
One evening as I returned to the mansion, I spotted my mom talking to someone in the front yard under the cover of the gazebo. Squinting through the passing trees, I couldn’t make out who it was she was with.
“Who is that?” I asked Adam as he pulled the car up to the front steps.
“Looks like one of the salvage team from the jacket, Miss Targa,” he replied, bringing the car to a halt. “Only they have the crest on the shoulder like that.”
“Right.”
After saying goodbye to Adam, I went up the stairs to where the view of the front yard was better. Not wanting to seem like I was snooping, which was exactly what I was doing, I went inside the house. Leaving my winter gear on, I went into the front room with the huge windows and peered toward the gazebo again.
“Jozef Drakeif,” I whispered, realizing that Adam was right.
It was the first time I’d seen him in the flesh since returning to Poland. I’d asked Mom once if she’d seen him and she’d said no and made some excuse as to why not––a reaction that seemed as much a part of this lethargy that gripped her as anything else.
