Rivals and Retribution

by Shannon Delany

  That was how I knew she had. And how I knew things had ended badly between them.

  Still, she frequented their shifting camps and it was there that she learned to read cards of any sort and tea leaves while I taught myself the tricks to reading faces.

  “Just drink the tea, Jessie,” Cat purred in a most dangerous fashion.

  “If you aren’t going to let me doctor it up, the least you could do is get a nicely flavored tea. Or, after a day like today, I’d even appreciate chamomile,” Jessie muttered.

  Pietr glanced at her, sipping obediently.

  “It’s supposed to calm you and help you sleep,” she explained.

  “Drink your tea, Jessie,” Cat repeated as warning.

  “Drinking, drinking,” she said, raising one hand in surrender as she raised the cup in the other. She chugged the potent stuff and slapped the cup down on the table at the same time Amy did precisely the same thing with hers.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Cat reprimanded in a way that brutalized the rest of us with a show of class, “you’re drinking tea”—she sipped from her cup, her pinky elegantly extended, her face a reflection of serenity—“not doing shots.”

  Both Amy and Jessie stuck their tongues out at her.

  She shook her head and tsked again before finishing her tea. Setting down her cup she snatched Amy’s up, peered into its bottom, and frowned. “Unremarkable,” she claimed.

  “What does that mean?” Amy asked, offended.

  “Oh, sorry,” Cat said, recovering her manners. “I don’t see any tremendous danger or anything horribly scandalous in your near future.”

  “No tremendous danger or horrible scandal doesn’t really qualify as reassuring,” Amy said flatly.

  Cat shrugged. “Shall we both be realists here and borrow Pietr’s Captain Obvious cape for a moment?” She arched an eyebrow at Amy. “You are dating a werewolf. And it’s Max. Danger and scandal are bound to follow. They are simply not of epic proportions. In your near future,” she clarified.

  “She has a point,” Jessie said, winking at Amy.

  Max just leaned back in his chair, stretching an arm around Amy’s to drag her closer. “Could be worse,” he said with a shrug.

  “Jessie…” Cat palmed her cup and gave it a cursory glance. She set it down quickly and reached for Pietr’s.

  “Not done,” he mumbled, raising it back to his lips.

  Leaning across the table, Cat hooked the cup’s base with a finger and tilted it up, making Pietr gasp, choke, and spit a moment, his eyes large and indignant as she snatched it away and he wiped at his dripping mouth.

  “Done now,” Cat murmured. She squinted, peering into the bottom of Pietr’s cup. She set it down and picked up Jessie’s again. “Oh,” was all she said before she rose from the table and busied herself with the dishes.

  We all looked at one another, equally puzzled.

  “What about mine?” Max asked.

  From the sink Cat let out an exasperated sigh. “I know what your immediate future is without looking. You do not have enough depth to qualify as complex.”

  He chuckled. “Call me shallow,” he dared behind a smug smile. “People drown in too much depth.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Marlaena

  I sent the pups off with Gareth with barely another word. He’d tell them some fascinating story—something with a moral that surely opposed the life I’d forced them all to live—and they’d forget my madness for the moment and fall asleep in comfortable beds.

  I paced the room until I was certain I’d wear a path in the cheap shag carpet that somehow smelled like smoke although all the rooms were listed as nonsmoking.

  The way my luck had been running, the rooms probably weren’t just laced with smoke but had probably been cook stations for meth production.

  That was my luck.

  Gareth returned, closing the door behind him slowly, a solemn expression on his face. But when wasn’t there one?

  “Rent’s due in a few days,” he whispered.

  “We’ll be out before then,” I promised, pointing to the bag I’d already started to pack.

  He leaned against the door, his broad shoulders filling the space, his complexion even richer and more mesmerizing against the pale white door. “And where to?”

  I shrugged. “We have a car.”

  “A stolen car,” he corrected. “That seats six at best.”

  I shrugged again.

  “What would you do? Split the pack?” He stared at me in disbelief, his expression slowly twisting through a wide range of emotions as he tried to read my face. “Oh,” he said finally, crossing the room to wrap his arms tight around me even as I kept my arms crossed over my ribs, forming a cage against his kindness. “You don’t know what to do, do you, Princess?”

  My spine collapsed, and I fell against him, sobbing.

  Jessie

  It wasn’t long after having the worst tea service ever that Dad and Annabelle Lee showed up in a cab. On the Rusakovas’ doorstep he tried squeezing the life out of me with a giant bear hug. “What’d they do to you, Jessie?” he asked, his huge, calloused hands—the reassuring hands of a farmer—on either side of my face as he turned my head back and forth to see its every angle in the porch light.

  “Dad,” I protested. “Come inside for your inspection, okay?”

  Grumbling, he released me, but as soon as we were in the foyer his eyes narrowed and he was examining me all over again. He paused, seeing my wrists bandaged up. His Adam’s apple slid in his throat once, twice, as he swallowed his fear and spoke. “You’ve struggled with depression after your mother’s death,” he began.

  “Crap, Dad,” I said, wrapping my arms around him this time. “They taped me up and then tied me up when I cut through the tape. My wrists are bruised and raw and … hairless,” I admitted, scrunching up my nose.

  “It won’t grow back darker,” Cat called from the kitchen. “Do not worry.”

  I snorted. “See? Good news all around.”

  “And everyone else?” Dad asked.

  “Far from hairless,” Max said with a shrug.

  Amy punched his arm. “Smart-ass.”

  “Language,” Cat warned her.

  “Nearly normal,” I said, seeing the exchange.

  “Nearly normal’s as normal as it ever gets in this household, huh?” Dad remarked. “Where’s my hug from dear daughter number three?”

  Silence.

  “Where’s my hug, Amy?” Dad bellowed.

  She flew into his arms, laughing, and he gave her a squeeze and a peck on the forehead.

  “You okay, kiddo?”

  “Good as can be expected—maybe even a little better,” she admitted.

  “Better’s good,” Dad said. “I like better. Why don’t you come on home with us tonight, Amy?”

  She smiled, but shook her head. “I appreciate the invite, Mr. Gillmansen, but I belong here.”

  “They treat you good, do they?”

  “They treat me better than good, sir.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with that, then.” He looked at me. “You ready to go?”

  “Sure. Just…” Pietr had stolen in on silent feet to watch us and I grabbed him, dragging his head down to where I could plant a quick kiss on him. But my quick kiss took just long enough Dad cleared his throat.

  Three times.

  “Okay, okay,” I mumbled, tearing away from my view of Pietr’s gleaming eyes. “Later.”

  He nodded. “Later,” he agreed, handing over the truck’s keys, and we headed out the door.

  In the truck, Annabelle Lee sat with her nose pressed to the glass, her face pale. The moment she realized I’d seen her, she pulled back, sitting stiffly in her seat, a book open in front of her face.

  I climbed in and looked at her as I snapped my seat belt’s buckle together. “Hey,” I said, as if a return from a kidnapping was as common as heading to the store for milk or bread.

  “Hey,” she replied as Dad
got himself situated and began to ease the truck away from the sidewalk.

  “Your eyes go bad since this morning?”

  “What?” she asked, not moving the book from where the open pages nearly brushed her cheeks.

  “You can’t possibly read that way.”

  Dad spared us a glance, simply saying, “Now girls…” But he was driving, and Dad was particular about driving, especially since Mom’s death. We all were.

  “Annabelle Lee,” I whispered.

  “Stop it,” she hissed. “I’m reading.” She sat up even straighter. “And I hate when you call me that.”

  “Fine,” I said, leaning back and folding my arms. “Anna. Please put the book down and look at me.”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “No.”

  “What are you reading, anyhow?” I asked, leaning in to glimpse the book’s back. I snorted. “You are not reading that.”

  “Am too,” she defended herself.

  “It’s my book.”

  “You weren’t reading it. You were gone.” Her voice cracked.

  “It’s not even a genre you like.”

  She sighed, a slow push of breath that seemed to deflate her. “I don’t even think a term of French declension like genre should be used when describing this pulp you suffer through reading,” she said, her voice undulating and thin. She sniffed at the end of her sentence. “It’s awful,” she said, finally closing the book to sit it on her knee. “I am fiercely determined that the existence of paranormal romance is a sure sign of the fall of civilization.” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she snorted and wiped clumsily at her nose.

  “Then for heaven’s sake, girl,” Dad said, his eyes wide, “quit reading that stuff.”

  I sneaked an arm around my little sister, my impossibly bright, opinionated, and stubborn little sister.

  “You’re worried,” I commented as she shook free of my half-hug.

  “For the fate of the world and the intellect of lovers of great literature everywhere, yes.” She rubbed fiercely at her eyes.

  “Pffft. You’re worried about me,” I said.

  She nodded vehemently. “You read such garbage.…”

  But I knew what she meant. “You missed me. You would’ve never picked up one of my books unless you picked my lock and were rummaging through my room because you missed me.”

  “Picked your lock?” Dad muttered. “Anna…”

  “Picking your lock doesn’t mean I love you.…”

  “You just said it,” I taunted. “You love me, Annabelle Lee. And you were worried about me.”

  She picked up the novel and slapped it down on my knee. “I should be worried about you,” she choked. “Your IQ probably dropped the moment you opened this book’s cover! I’m probably scarred for life now—no scholarships for me!”

  Dad just shook his head.

  “Yuuup,” I said, grinning at her. “You love me. Deal with it, little sister.”

  “I will never understand you girls,” Dad admitted. “Coming to terms with werewolves and the locality of the Russian Mafia makes more sense than you two do.”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though, would you, Dad?”

  Dad’s head shook again, slowly, a smile creeping across his face. “Nope. I wouldn’t. Anna, hug your sister. Jessie, wipe that smug look off your face.”

  I did my best, but Anna’s task seemed far simpler than mine.

  Alexi

  He was at the window whenever he wasn’t pacing. “What is it, Pietr?” I finally asked from my seat at the dining room table where I spun my cell phone, watching with passive fascination for the position it would end up in when it stopped. Right side up or not.

  She loves me, she loves me not.

  “Where do you think she is right now?”

  I stopped the phone mid-spin and pulled my palm away. She loves me not. “You know this answer. Jessie is home and safe with her family. I expect Gareth has things better under control now.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “What? You didn’t mean Jessie?” I watched him more carefully now, looking for hints in his body language. He was almost always worried about Jessie and with good reason. “Who did you mean?”

  “Never mind,” he said, shifting his weight. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “If you insist…”

  He spun to face me, his lips drawn back from his teeth. “I insist,” he said. “Stay out of my business.”

  I blinked at him. “I did not think…”

  “That is your problem, brother—not thinking.”

  My mouth hanging open, I watched him storm from the room and stomp his way upstairs.

  How very strange.

  I tapped the phone’s face and turned it on.

  I should not call Nadezhda. I knew that. She was involved with her partner, and I did not deserve to suffer that drama. Or perhaps I did. Perhaps this was some karmic backlash for all the lies I had told. Perhaps the universe was determined to make me pay.

  I snorted.

  Perhaps I was more like Hazel Feldman than I thought, getting caught up in concepts like karmic retribution. I pressed the button and summoned my courage.

  She picked up on the second ring. “Alexi,” she said. “I did not expect to hear from you.”

  “I did not expect to call.”

  “I am glad you did,” she said, her voice softening. “How are the States treating you?”

  “I am alive,” I said.

  She laughed, and I could not help but smile. “There are days I think that is the only thing I can hope for,” she admitted.

  “Tell me all about it,” I suggested, kicking my chair back from the table to rest my shoes on its surface and wait for Cat’s scolding response.

  But the scolding never came, and we talked until the television show Cat, Max, and Amy were watching in the other room was turned off and the lights flickered out around me. “It is late,” I said.

  She chuckled. “I disagree. It is early.”

  “Where are you now, I wonder…”

  “You know it is best if I do not say.”

  “Pravda. True. Have a good day, Naddy.”

  She giggled. “Have a good night, Sasha.”

  Jessie

  “Why are you still up?” Dad asked, shuffling back through the kitchen on his way upstairs.

  “I should ask you the same thing.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t sleep as well anymore, knowing there are werewolves in the world.”

  “Huh. I actually sleep better knowing there are werewolves in the world.”

  He nodded. “It’s a matter of perspective, I guess.” He looked me over. “School on Monday. How will you…?” He pointed to his own cheek, and I touched mine.

  “Looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?”

  He nodded again. “You should know it’s generally accepted that it’s only attractive when guys are scarred up.”

  “Hey! I watched that Mel Gibson flick with you and Mom that time when they got so into showing each other their scars.”

  His eyes popped wide open. “Don’t you get any ideas, young lady.” He rolled his eyes, a smile softening his lips as he remembered. “I warned that woman: They’re impressionable. That Jessie’ll get the wrong ideas. We shouldn’t let her see anything other than G-rated movies till she’s at least twenty-three.”

  “Hey!”

  We both laughed.

  “Wanda called and asked about you.”

  The laughter died in my throat, remembering what Alexi had accused Wanda of. And it couldn’t be disputed. Wanda had at least helped capture the Rusakovas’ parents. She may have even pulled the trigger, ending their father’s life. “Oh. What did she say?”

  “The usual. ‘How’re the kids? Jessie staying out of trouble?’ You know.”

  “How’s she doing?”

  “Seems okay. Doesn’t talk much about work. Guess she’s not supposed to, but it’s weird not talking about something.”<
br />
  “When’s she coming back?”

  “We don’t talk about that, either,” he said, his mouth opening in a huge yawn.

  A huge fake yawn.

  He didn’t want to talk about it, so I wouldn’t pursue it. At least not now. Instead I stood up and walked over to him, giving him a big hug. “Good night?”

  “Good night,” he agreed.

  I waited until he had gone to bed to do the same. I slipped out of the clothes that looked and smelled as rough as they felt, thanks to my time in the shed and my less than graceful slide down the mountainside. Sneaking to the shower, I let the trauma of the day slide off my body and disappear in a spiral down the shower’s drain along with the filthy water pouring off me. I let the water wear at me, massaging at the knots in my back and shoulders.

  My defenses down, Derek returned.

  I was in his house again. On the Hill. Reliving the life of a dead teenage boy from behind Derek’s eyes. Curled in someone’s lap, my sneakers tucked beneath me. My head rested on someone’s soft chest, and I looked up to see the face of Derek’s mother as she dozed in a spattering of sunlight that spilled through a tall window in what appeared to be a private library. It was difficult staying on that lap of hers—it had gotten so small over the last few months. My sneakers kept trying to slide out from under me and spill me onto the rug below.

  I just held tighter, listening to the steady beat of Mommy’s heart. My feet felt like they’d peel away from Mommy’s lap, the air around me grabbing my waist to steal all of gravity’s power to let me fly free, unencumbered—free of the troubles and rules of the world, free to do and be whatever I wanted.…

  Beneath my grasp Mommy trembled and I heard her heart race. I wrapped my arms more tightly around her—as far as my arms would reach since she’d gotten so fat with the baby inside her—and she twitched and gasped, her eyes flying open. They went wide, eyes rimmed with white, her mouth an “o” of horror.

  “Ow!” she cried, grabbing at her big, swollen belly, “Owww … oh no … no, no…”

  I was floating, loose and free and filled with energy, looking down on the little boy still snuggling into his mother’s bosom as, panicking, she tried to push him off her lap. She yelled and cried out in pain and I just hovered there, feeling the strength Derek was bathed in, the strength of his mommy and the baby inside her … a strength, I realized with horror, that was beginning to ebb, beginning to fade and soften.…