Touch of Darkness

by Christina Dodd

  "And you and I would have time for a honey-moon," Jasha said.

  "I haven't agreed to marry you, yet," Ann shot back.

  Jasha slid his arm around her shoulders. "But you will."

  She turned her head away, a woman sure of her man. "Maybe."

  "I would die without you."

  She turned back to him, touched the fading scars on his throat. "You almost died for me. That is enough."

  The screened kitchen door let in the warm, scented nir of a summer evening. Zorana served the pork with roasted red potatoes and carrots tossed in olive nil, and a massive Greek salad. Everything in the Wilder household seemed so normal . . . yet Tasya never forgot that she dined at the table of her enemy.

  Somehow, that seemed to be the right thing to do.

  Konstantine sat in his wheelchair at the head of the table, his IV bottle dangling from a hook, and poured enough vodka to fill the Black Sea.

  Jasha looked enough like Rurik that Tasya would know they were brothers, yet they were very different. Where Rurik had brown hair and golden brown eyes, Jasha's hair was black, and his eyes were an odd color, like ancient gold coins.

  Ann was very tall and very slender, with a shy demeanor that kept everyone at a distance—until she smiled. Then the whole world fell in love with her. Certainly Jasha adored her; he waited on her as if she were the queen and he her most devoted courtier.

  Tasya leaned to Rurik, seated at her right hand. "I like the way Jasha treats Ann."

  Rurik put a piece of potato in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. "He is so pussy-whipped." She looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. "Not that there's anything wrong with being whipped," he added hastily. Tasya took an olive from the appetizer plate. She

  fait into it until her teeth struck the pit, used her tongue to strip the flesh away, then slid the bare pit out of her mouth.

  Rurik's color rose, his eyes grew hot, and he leaned close. "Later, I'll make you pay for that."

  "But you're weak from your injuries . . . and from our reunion last night," she murmured. "You should rest."

  "I'm fine," he snapped.

  She smiled. "Then I'll count on it."

  "Ma, Rurik says he's fine." Jasha grinned at his loudmouthed brother. "So he can tell us what happened."

  Zorana started to shake her finger at her oldest, but Konstantine said, "He's almost done eating, and I, too, would like to know how Rurik survived the Varinski attack."

  Rurik put down his fork and knife.

  The table grew quiet.

  Rurik began, "Tasya told you that she saw me fighting Ilya in the air. . . ."

  Just as it had last night, the story had the power to horrify Tasya. Rurik had come so close to death, and as he told of slashing at Ilya, of the arrow piercing his breast, of turning human to reach the ground alive, she alternately flinched and applauded. She still could scarcely comprehend who and what he was, and how he'd escaped death.

  When he got to the part where Tasya shot Ilya, Konstantine poured himself a vodka and passed the bottle. "Everyone! A toast! To Tasya, our new daughter."

  Everyone raised their glasses and drank vodka.

  Except Firebird, who toasted with water.

  "To our three daughters." Zorana dipped her glass lirst to Firebird, then to Ann, then to Tasya. "They hold our hearts."

  Everyone drank again.

  "To Rurik!" Jasha said.

  "To Rurik!" everyone echoed.

  "May he finish his story uninterrupted!" Jasha glared meaningfully.

  Everyone laughed, drank, and settled back to listen

  once more.

  "Was Ilya dead on impact?" Konstantine asked.

  "No, he staggered to his feet, grabbed Kassian's pistol. I kicked his feet out from underneath him"— Rurik gave a crack of laughter—"and the son of a bitch shot himself."

  The table was absolutely silent. Then—

  "I guess . . . since he was a demon ... it was fatal?" Jasha asked.

  "Killed him deader than hell," Rurik confirmed.

  "A Varinski shot himself? Killed himself?" Konstantine sat and stared into space, his eyes narrowed, his fingers rubbing together over and over again.

  "Unheard of. Impossible. I wonder what is going on."

  "The pact is failing," Zorana said matter-of-factly "If we're lucky, they'll all kill themselves before they find us."

  "You keep hoping, Ma." Only a month before, Jasha and Ann had had their own run-ins with the Varinski clan, and although Jasha had healed, he still bore the scars.

  "So they were all dead. You were staked to the ground. And . . . ?" Firebird rolled her hands, trying to get Rurik to finish the story.

  "I was done for it. I was exhausted. I'd been shot. I'd lost a lot of blood. I was dehydrated and in pain, and I could not get that stake out of the ground so I could get away, get help."

  "Don't." Tasya's voice broke. "It got dark and cold, and I was delirious, in and out of consciousness. It was about dawn when I came out of it, and knew I was dying." Zorana clutched her fist in her blouse over her

  Ann wiped her eyes with her napkin, and Jasha put his arm around her.

  Firebird rubbed her hand on the mound of her

  belly.

  "I was in such pain, I was glad to have it

  finished. . . ." Rurik looked right at Tasya. "Then two people appeared to me."

  "Someone came to help you?" Tasya's bright blue eyes filled with tears, and she looked at Rurik with that expression that both broke his heart—and made it all worthwhile. "God bless them."

  He liked this new Tasya, made soft and tender by love. She touched him at every opportunity; she brooded over him while she thought he slept; she waited on him.

  He knew it wouldn't last. Well, the love would, hut her hanging over him wouldn't. A woman like Tasya needed meaningful employment, and they'd have to find something for her to do, and fast, but. . . a man could get used to that kind of treatment.

  "The sun came up behind them, so I never did see their faces." Rurik wanted to get through this part, and at the same time ... he wanted someone to explain what had happened. "They seemed to glow." Tasya's chin stopped trembling. She sat up straight, and she stared at him.

  "The lady gave me something to drink, water, I guess. Really good, clear water. I've never tasted water as good as that." Even the memory gave Rurik cheer. "And the guy ... he was sort of talking to me. At least, I could hear him in my head. He said I was never going to be able to yank that walking

  stick out of the ground, but if I could get my feet under me and use my other hand on the stick, I could pull myself up."

  "Why didn't he pull the stick out of you?" Jasha still didn't understand; no one had ever said Jasha was subtle.

  Firebird stared at him in disgust. "Because he was a ghost, you moron."

  "Oh, come on." Jasha made his disbelief quite clear. "You were hallucinating." Tasya twisted her napkin between her fists. "All 1 know is—it hurt like a bitch when I man-aged to pull myself free." At the memory, Rurik rubbed his shoulder. The tendons straining, the mus- cles tearing, the knowledge that he had to deliber-ately break his own shoulder blade. "Those people led me to this stream coming out of the side of the mountain. I just flopped down in that icy water and I let it wash my wounds, and got a good drink. I passed out again, and when I woke up ... the sun was rising."

  "Told you, you were hallucinating," Jasha said. Tasya looked between Jasha and Rurik. She opened I her mouth, and shut it.

  "You're lucky you didn't drown in the stream," Ann said.

  "According to the people in Capraru, that stream dried up when the Dimitru family was killed."

  Even Jasha said, "Whoa."

  Firebird shivered. "That's a better ghost story than I ever heard while I was camping."

  "Maybe I was hallucinating about the people and the stream, but the fact is, my wounds closed, I was conscious and able to stand, and there were no tracks or scents of that couple." Rurik watched his family absorb that,
then added, "I looked. The stick was still Muck in the ground, too."

  Tasya swallowed, and in a tiny voice, she said, "I know who they are."

  As one, everyone turned to her.

  "They were my parents."

  As if she'd already guessed, Zorana nodded.

  "They saved me"—Tasya lightly touched Rurik's arm—"and they saved you."

  Rurik took both her hands and kissed them, and held them. "Then we can safely say they gave us their blessing."

  Chapter 34

  "As do we. We—Zorana and I—give you our' blessing." Konstantine pounded on the table with the flat of his hand. "Another toast! To Tasya's parents, the Dimitrus!"

  "Antai and Jennica," Tasya supplied.

  "Antai and Jennica Dimitru!" Konstantine looked: into the glass of clear vodka. "Pahzhalstah, my friends. Thank you."

  Everyone drank again, Konstantine taking the li-quor into himself reverently, as if honoring the Dimitrus for saving his son.

  Zorana whispered in Konstantine's ear, then stood and started clearing the table.

  Tasya and Ann tried to get up and help, but Zorana put a firm hand on both of their shoulders. "The kitchen is small. Let me do it."

  "So, Rurik." Konstantine put his glass on the table with a resounding thump. "You had had a spear in your shoulder. You had been shot by an arrow. Your lingers . . . they were broken?"

  Tasya frowned in confusion. "His fingers were line."

  Rurik shook his head. He knew where his father was heading.

  "Because I have been living here in a house for a week with three weeping women, and all it took was one little phone call." Konstantine's volume swelled.

  "One phone call, Rurik! You could have reversed the charges!"

  Zorana rattled the dishes in agreement.

  Jasha relaxed and grinned.

  Rurik grinned back and said, "I don't know, Papa. You're pretty strict about not spending your money on long-distance calls."

  Tasya slammed Rurik with her fist. "He's right. Why didn't you call?"

  With one glance at her furious face, Rurik got serious in a hurry. "Look. I managed to get to the convent. That took me all day, walking and crawling. There was food and water there, and that's where I stayed for eight or nine days. Or ten. I wasn't dying anymore, but I wanted to. I felt like hell, and I couldn't make it down to Capraru on my own."

  Jasha raised his eyebrows. "Staying at a convent didn't turn you to cinders?"

  "I stayed out of the chapel. I didn't touch any of the holy objects. But it wasn't fun, I can tell you." Rurik shuddered at the memory of the cool cloister, the hard, narrow cot, the nightmares brought on by fever and pain. "Not just because I'm a part of a pact with the Evil One, either. Any guy would be freaked about sleeping in a nun's bed. Lucky for me I was so damned sick I could barely raise my head."

  "Sorry, man." Jasha shook his head.

  "Finally, a woman from Capraru showed up. Apparently Mrs. Gulyas ventured up once a month to check on Sister Maria Helvig."

  "I'll bet you looked bad." Firebird caught the hot, wet washcloth her mother tossed her, and wiped the table.

  "Bruises all over, holes in my clothes that went all the way through my body, dried blood . . . and the way Mrs. Gulyas screamed, I was afraid I'd scared her to death." At the memory, Rurik wiped his face with a napkin. "Then she realized the nun was dead."

  "Oh, dear." Tasya covered her mouth.

  "I didn't speak the language—"

  "Oh, dear," Tasya said again.

  "I wouldn't have thought a woman of her girth could move that fast"—he rounded his arms to show her size—"but she ran back for her car, and I couldn't catch her. I knew she'd be back, which she was—"

  "With the cops?" Ann guessed.

  "They dragged me down to the local jail. They went back to the nunnery, exhumed Sister Maria Helvig, discovered I hadn't murdered her, found the Var-inskis, were quite pleased that I'd killed them— Ruyshvanians are not fans of the Varinskis." Rurik smiled at the recollection of the fine, festive meal he'd been served. "When someone finally remembered they'd seen me with you, Tasya, they wanted to know where you were. I told them you escaped through the tunnel. . . . They didn't believe me about that, either, but they went up and checked it out, discovered your tracks going in and coming out. They held a huge celebration. Then they let me go."

  Tasya took a long drink of her vodka.

  If he hadn't felt such tenderness for her, he would have laughed. She was so brave when it came to physical challenges, and such a coward about feelings—the feelings of others, and especially hers. But she would learn. In a family as demonstrative as his, she would have to.

  "Tasya, don't you want to know why they were so happy that you'd escaped unharmed?" he asked.

  "No."

  "Tasya," he said reproachfully.

  She surrendered. "Why?"

  "Because they recognized you as the Dimitru princess."

  "They couldn't. They didn't." Tasya spoke too quickly, putting words together in an excess of denial. "They didn't say anything. Who recognized me?"

  "Mrs. Gulyas visited while they were releasing me. She showed me a miniature she owned of a medieval painting. A Dimitru queen. Tasya, she looked exactly like you. Dark hair and beautiful blue eyes. Strong genes in your family."

  "No. They can't have recognized me. Why didn't anybody say anything?" Tasya pushed her hair off her sweaty forehead. Clearly, she didn't know whether to be pleased or aghast.

  "They recognized you, and your wish for anonymity, and they respected that. Then . . . when the Varinskis came through, they recognized them. They told terrible stories about the night your parents were killed."

  Tasya cast a glance around the table. He could see her thoughts in her eyes. Last night she had slept with a born predator. Today she had dined with her enemies. Incredulity fought with acceptance.

  Taking her hand, he cradled it in his. "The Ruyshvanians are kind people. They suffered under Czajkowski. They're cautious, but not cruel. They have long memories, and they are very happy that you survived. Very happy." Leaning forward, he cupped her neck in his hands and kissed her. "So am I."

  Her lashes fluttered down, then up, and a half smile lifted her lips.

  "And that is why we belong together." How could he resist? He kissed her again. "I love you."

  "I love you, too," she whispered. In that disgusted-brother tone, lasha said, "Get a room."

  "Sh. It's sweet," Zorana said. Rurik kept one hand on Tasya's shoulder as he said, "Anyway, Papa, by the time they put me on the plane, I figured another twenty-four hours wouldn't make a lot of difference, so I surprised you in person instead."

  "All right." Konstantine nodded. "I accept that. And now—we are a family. Both of my sons have won women worthy of them—"

  Zorana interrupted. "And if they work very hard at improving themselves, in perhaps forty years they might be worthy of their women."

  Konstantine looked at his wife, then across the table at Tasya. "She says this because we have been together only thirty-five years."

  "So you're getting close, Pop," Rurik said cheerfully.

  "We'll reassess at forty years." Zorana smiled, but her lips trembled—according to the doctors' prognoses, Konstantine didn't have another five years, and then . . . Rurik couldn't bear to think what would happen if Konstantine died with the weight of all his sins on his soul.

  "Sit down, Mama," Firebird said. "I'll load the dishwasher."

  "Yes. But first!" Zorana pulled a plate piled high with sconelike desserts out of the refrigerator, and put it on the table. Beside it, she placed a bowl of sour cream. "Varenyky with cherries!"

  A few minutes ago, Rurik had thought he couldn't eat another thing. Now as he gazed at his favorite dessert in the world, he said, "My most wonderful mother, I adore you."

  "As you should." Zorana served Konstantine, then seated herself and let Konstantine break off a piece and feed her.

  "Both of my sons have a
woman worthy of them," Konstantine repeated, "so I know these women who have chosen my sons will marry and reproduce many children. Many children."

  Rurik stopped in the middle of explaining varenyky to Tasya. "Now, wait, Papa—"

  Tasya's eyes flashed. "Mr. Wilder, I don't intend to discuss—"

  "Papa, you are making so much trouble—" Jasha said.

  Firebird slammed the dishwasher shut. The sound resounded in the small kitchen, shocking them to silence. Into the momentary lull, she shot a question. "So, Rurik, what are you guys going to do now?"

  "I don't know," Rurik admitted. "I want to get back to my site in Scotland and direct the cleanup. Tasya wants to be free to wander to the wild places of the world in search of a story."

  "I never said that!" Tasya said.

  "You didn't have to." He understood her so well now. Understood her weaknesses, her strengths, her need to prove herself and to help those who were helpless to help themselves.

  "The trouble is, both of our vocations put us in the path of the Varinskis. The Varinskis, who now know who Tasya is and that she escaped one of their assassination campaigns—they won't stop until she's dead. Plus they know where Jasha and Ann live now, so no one is safe. It's a damned mess." Rurik looked at Jasha. "Do you think we can cause the Varinskis enough trouble to keep them occupied so we can work?"

  "You don't have to." Firebird spoke with just enough of an accent to sound like a fortune-teller.

  Rurik jumped and stared at his little sister. Shit, not her, too.

  "What do you know, pip-squeak?" Jasha asked.

  "Boris is dead, murdered by his own family," Firebird said in a mysterious tone. "The leadership of the Varinskis is up for grabs."

  "Did you have a vision?" Jasha's voice was hushed.

  "No. I read it on the Internet!" Firebird laughed so hard she bent over and held her belly. "Jeez, you guys are suckers!"

  Ann laughed, too, then Tasya, and finally Zorana.

  The men were unified in their disapproval.

  "That's not funny," Rurik said.

  "I thought it was." Tasya grinned like the Cheshire cat.