“I didn’t know women fought in that war.”
“Women fight in every war,” Gus said. “Men don’t always notice.”
She was quiet for a while. Nick held still.
“It’s something we can do,” Gus said. “Remember that if you need it. Join the Légion Étrangère or the nearest available substitute. Vive la mort, vive la guerre.”
“This is crazy,” Nick said for the fiftieth time, and, helplessly, he began to cry.
“Hey,” said Gus. “Hey. Here, wipe your face. You don’t want to look all messed up in front of the witch.”
“We’re going to see her?”
“We’re going to see her. As soon as I think I can do it without hitting her.”
MAY 26
WANING GIBBOUS
Saint Joseph’s Hospital. Lissa stood just within the doors, struck hard by the memory of Baba on the gurney with her face slack and the blood already pooling in her veins.
If she had been home a few hours earlier, that day a month ago, she might have come in through those doors with a baba who was still living. Might have been able to say a real good-bye. Might even have seized a few more months for Baba. A few more years.
A family came in behind her, and she stumbled out of the way, shaking her head. She dug into her bag, closed her hand around the doll within its wrapping of scarf, and went to the admission desk.
They made her wait for thirty minutes, but finally a nurse took her through into the emergency ward, past rows of curtained cubicles and a few beds parked in the hall. A boy in a wheelchair spun himself in bored circles. A woman wept quietly.
“Mr. Volkov’s almost ready to go,” the nurse said. “You’ve brought him a change of clothes?”
She drew back a curtain. Lissa stopped short.
“They told me you’d been in an accident,” she said.
Maksim smiled sleepily with the side of his face that was not scuffed raw. “I walked in front of a truck,” he said.
“On purpose?” Lissa said.
Maksim laughed as if Lissa had been joking. He pushed back the coverlet. “My clothes?”
Lissa was going to ask what had happened to his others, but she could see the answer: deep scrapes marked the entire right side of his body that she could see around the hospital gown, all the way down below his knee. His right wrist was in plaster, and his hand bandaged.
He slid stiffly from the bed and took the bundle she passed him: the T-shirt he’d left at her house, laundered, and a pair of cargo shorts she’d picked up at Old Navy on the way over.
Lissa waited outside the curtain with the nurse while Maksim dressed himself.
“Someone close to him should keep an eye on him,” the nurse said softly, watching Lissa.
“Of course,” Lissa said blankly. She was wondering if her eggs would show up on a tox screen. Probably not. Even if they were superstrong compared to the last batch—strong enough to make Maksim unaware of his surroundings.
“The witness apparently said he just wasn’t looking when he stepped into the road. But still, someone should watch him. Okay?”
“Okay,” Lissa said. For a moment she wasn’t sure how those things went together, and then she understood: the nurse was hinting that maybe Maksim hadn’t stepped into the road by accident.
Nothing she could say seemed adequately reassuring. “Okay,” she repeated.
From the other side of the curtain, an intake of breath, which could have been laughter or a sound of pain, made Lissa fairly certain that Maksim had heard everything; but when he nudged the curtain back with his cast, he nodded politely at the nurse and thanked her for her care.
In the waiting room, Maksim went outside while Lissa called a taxi. He paced carefully. When Lissa joined him, he said, “My eggs were broken.”
“There’s more at home; I made lots this time.”
“Koldun’ia…”
“Yes?”
“I did not see it,” he said. “The truck.”
“I didn’t think you were trying to kill yourself.”
“The nurse thought I was. I told her I was sick. Hepatitis, so they would be careful of my blood.”
“But you weren’t.”
“No. I was only stupid.”
“Because of my eggs,” Lissa said. Her fault. When she’d been so pleased with getting the recipe right this time.
“Because of my nature,” he said. “Because I must do something to make myself safe, and whatever I do, there is always a price, only this one is higher than before, and I am afraid.”
He said it simply, without shame, and he did not look at her.
Lissa saw the cab approaching. She held the door while he gingerly climbed in, and then she followed him in and gave the cabbie her own address.
“I’ll take you home in a bit,” she said, “but I didn’t think to bring any eggs with me.”
He laughed a little and winced. “They broke all over me when I fell. I still cannot think.”
“I can make you some food too. You’ve been at Saint Joe’s for hours. You must be ready to chew your own arm off.”
Maksim shuddered. “No … no, thank you, koldun’ia.”
Lissa watched bars of sun and shadow slide over the scraped side of his face and the eye that slowly closed.
She resolved to do it.
A moment later, she’d changed her mind.
Break Law? When she didn’t know the penalty? On behalf of a man she’d known only a month? She owed him something on behalf of Baba, and maybe something more because she hadn’t been more careful to warn him about the eggs, but how much?
He might be pitiful now, but he had not always been. He had done terrible things. He hadn’t told her any of them.
He was sleeping now, with his head tilted back against the cab seat, his breath whistling quietly between his teeth. The near side of his lip was swollen. Lissa didn’t think she’d ever seen him without an injury of some kind.
She paid the cabbie and tried to help Maksim out; he waved off her hand and heaved himself unsteadily up and onto the walk.
He followed her in, a little too close, dumb and blinking. She led him into the kitchen and microwaved some frozen chicken noodle soup for him.
She watched him drag his spoon through the bowl without taking a bite.
“Aren’t you normally kind of a big eater?”
He nodded, shrugged.
“Look, if it’s not good, I can get you something else. I didn’t even make this; it was one of the church ladies.”
“It is only that I have no hunger,” he said and then ate a big bite as if to oblige her.
Lissa went about packing up two dozen eggs, wrapping them in two layers of paper bags and then a plastic one. She’d made a lot this month, but she hadn’t counted on so many of them being hit by a truck.
A truck, for Christ’s sake, and here she was wondering why Maksim had lost his appetite.
She came back into the kitchen to see Maksim curled against the wall, with his plastered hand sheltered against his chest. He might have been sleeping.
“I’m thinking you ought to have someone give you a hand for a day or two. Your friend’s name is Augusta, right? How do I get hold of her?”
Maksim, without opening his eyes, said, “She does not have a telephone. But she will come to me in any case.”
“How will she know to do that?” Lissa asked.
“She will find the boy, or she will not. Either way, she will want to tell me.”
“But how do you know?”
Maksim jolted up, spilling his soup, and began to laugh, a sweet and slightly mad sound. “She is nearly here,” he said. “You may ask her yourself. And I would tell you to put away your breakables, only I do not think there is time.”
MAY 26
WANING GIBBOUS
“He’s here,” Gus said, seizing Nick by the wrist.
Nick already knew. The good smell. It was stronger, and there was blood in it. He edged up the walk behind Gus, n
ostrils and eyes wide, cataloging. Lilacs; a tree with nuts growing on it, like the one near the patio at the Cammy; someone cooking Indian food a few doors down. And something else.
He elbowed Gus in the hip.
“I know,” she muttered. “I know that stink.” The other smell, the storm smell, she meant. She didn’t tell him how she knew it.
It did not belong to Maksim Volkov, of that much Nick was certain. And it did not exactly smell like a storm, but that was the closest thing Nick could find to it in his nascent library of scents. It was the kind of smell that made his hairs rise, made him want to check the horizon.
It came, he discovered, from a girl.
She was his own age or thereabouts. Long fair hair in braids; round-cheeked, pink, plump. She looked like a Swiss girl in a butter ad, except that she was not smiling or wearing a frilly blouse, and she was blocking the doorway.
“Maksim’s been expecting you,” she said coolly.
Gus, despite all the whiskey, stood squarely in her heavy boots and crossed her arms. “You must be the witch.”
“You may call me koldun’ia,” the witch said.
“Where is he? What did you do to him?” Gus said. Her hands fisted in the fabric of her sleeves. Nick felt his own knotting in response.
“Nothing,” the witch said. “He’ll be okay. He walked in front of a truck.” Her eyes stayed level on Gus. Her breathing was even, though Nick could see the pulse beating in her neck.
For a second, Gus only stared back.
Then she bulled forward, tossing the witch away from the door like she weighed no more than a child, and disappeared into the house.
Nick followed. The witch had landed sprawling in her hallway, back against the stairs. She was coughing.
“Are you okay?” Nick said, lifting her easily to her feet. He could tell she wasn’t really that light, but it didn’t make a difference to him, the way he was now, any more than it had to Gus. He steadied the witch and tugged her tank top back into place over her bra straps and got another lungful of that crazy smell.
She rubbed a hand over the reddening bruise on her arm and nodded.
“Sorry about that. Gus is afraid of you,” Nick said.
“She should be,” the witch said, shaking off Nick’s hands and heading away down the hall.
In the kitchen doorway, the witch stopped, hands on the frame, blocking Nick’s path. But he could see over her head: Gus had Maksim in a headlock, her chin pressed into his hair. Her back was to them. Nick could hear the low thread of her voice growling incoherent words.
“I’m Nick Kaisaris,” he said to the witch, tapping her on the shoulder.
“Lissa Nevsky,” the witch said, without turning.
“Can you fix him?”
She shook her head and shrugged. “I’m doing what I can.”
Maksim and Gus both lifted their heads at that, turning. Gus’s eyes looked feral, bloodshot, pupils nearly eclipsing the blue; Maksim’s only looked human and very tired.
“Please,” Maksim said, in his low rasp, and Gus went slack, dropped her arms from about his head, and slouched against the witch’s kitchen table.
“I don’t like it,” she said, almost plaintive.
“I know,” said Maksim. “Please.”
“You aren’t yourself.”
“I cannot go on this way,” Maksim said, spreading his hands, showing the raw flesh where he’d met the road.
Gus made a low, unhappy noise, butted her head against his, and began to lick the dried blood from his face.
In front of Nick, the witch put her hand over her mouth.
“I kind of want to do that too,” Nick said. “Weird.”
“Is that … sanitary?” the witch asked.
“I guess they can’t catch anything they haven’t already got,” Nick said, watching Maksim shut his eyes and lean into Gus. “Wow. It’s like they can’t even hear us.”
Nick ducked under the witch’s arm. The blood scent was stronger with every step. After a moment, he realized he’d come closer and closer and was kneeling there with them and was putting out his hand to touch Maksim’s injuries and was bringing his fingertips to his tongue.
He tasted family. He knew now what it was that made a dog want to roll in its master’s soiled clothes. He put his head down to press into Maksim’s hand, and although the hand was swollen and stiff, the fingers coiled into Nick’s hair and held tight.
And Nick thanked God that Gus had made him drink the whiskey, because he thought that was what made it possible to watch himself do these things without going completely batshit insane and even to wonder, with some excitement, what might come next.
Halfway through that thought, Nick smelled lilacs and heard footsteps in the hall and looked up to see the most adorable girl standing in the doorway. She was wearing tiny shorts and flip-flops and a Kawasaki-green halter top, and a fine gold chain slid over the arc of her breastbone, and Nick imagined how good she’d taste if he could put his mouth right there …
… and that made him remember that his mouth was currently pressed to the forearm of the man who’d seriously fucked up Nick’s life and that maybe Nick wasn’t going to make a great first impression.
Nick stood up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and said, “Sorry.” He couldn’t think of what else to add—Sorry I’m doing unspeakable things with another dude in your kitchen?—and he just laughed a little, nervously.
The new girl turned to the witch and said, “Well. Now I can see why you haven’t wanted to introduce me to your friends.”
English. She was English. Too awesome.
“That’s Nick, and that’s Gus,” Lissa said, pointing. “Don’t offer to shake, Nick. That’s disgusting. This is my sister, Stella, who you are not going to mess with.”
“Wow,” said Nick to Lissa. “It’s like you can read my mind.” And then he remembered that she was supposed to be a witch, and maybe she really could read his mind, and the humor fell right out of him.
Lissa’s eyes held his as she said, “Nick and Gus just came to take Maksim back to his place, because he’s had a bit of an accident. They were just leaving.”
And damn it, she was a real witch, because in about five seconds flat, Nick found himself on the porch of her house, with Maksim propped up between himself and Gus, and the door shutting firmly behind them.
MAY 26
WANING GIBBOUS
Stella waited, arms crossed, while Lissa shut the door and washed her hands and poured a glass of water.
“I had an idea,” Stella said, just when Lissa thought she might not speak. “A bit of a crazy idea, but you know, I’m open-minded. I could sort of maybe believe there are things in the world that are stranger than philosophy—or whatever it was from Shakespeare; I think I mangled it. And you know what? My crazy idea? It wasn’t even half as weird as seeing these people drinking each other’s blood in your kitchen.”
“I didn’t know they did that,” Lissa managed.
“What, you never read Dracula? Oh, wait, I guess they’re not vampires because of the part where they didn’t burst into flames when they walked out the door—but seriously, you can’t pass off the Russian Mafia thing on me anymore, because I know for a fact that being in the Russian Mafia does not make people drink blood.”
“I really didn’t know,” Lissa said. “Honest to God. Baba told me Maksim was kin, and at first, I thought she meant he was related to us somehow.”
“Wait a second. I have a vampire stepfamily?”
“That’s not what I said—”
“To go with my witch stepsister. I guess it all makes sense now.”
“Wait. How did you know?”
“Do you think I’m completely daft?” Stella cried. “You have an entire bloody library of magic books. Just because I can’t read Russian—there are, like, pentacles and things all over them, for Christ’s sake. I mean, I didn’t think it actually worked. I thought maybe you were one of those people who believe in crysta
ls and all that too, but clearly, if there are vampires—”
“They’re not vampires.” Lissa set her glass down roughly enough to spill cool water over her hand. “I don’t think. They’re people. Really old, violent, scary people.”
“Nick doesn’t look very old.”
“He’s not. He’s brand new. Maksim just infected him, or whatever you call it.”
“Whoa,” Stella said. “That must be a mindfuck.”
“Yeah. Wait. Stop. You do not go there. He is not your new fantasy boyfriend.”
“What? Come on, Lissa, I just met him! I only meant he doesn’t look as scary as all that, not like the other two.”
“Well, he is.”
“I didn’t see you hiding under the table while these scary people were making out in your kitchen.”
“They were not making out.”
“Whatever. You’ve been having them over for breakfast. All the time when I’m not around. Don’t you think I notice how many eggs this house goes through? Who knew vampires liked omelets?”
“They’re not vampires,” Lissa said again, weakly.
“If they’re so bloody dangerous, explain to me,” Stella said. “Tell me what you’re doing with them. Tell me the whole goddamned story. Give me my two weeks’ notice if you have to, just talk to me.”
Lissa gulped in a breath that hurt her chest. “Okay. Okay. Hang on. I will … I’ll tell you. I just need…”
“A stiff drink,” Stella decided. “A nice, strong G&T, and then we’ll settle in to share the weirdest family secrets ever.”
Eight
MAY 26
WANING GIBBOUS
“Wow,” said Stella. She squinted into the bottom of her glass. “I don’t think there’s enough gin in the world.”
“You asked.” Lissa shivered a little at a breath of cool from the window; night had fallen while they talked.
“I’ll get my head around it,” Stella said. “I mean, it’s like everything else, right? You think the world is one way, and then you find out it’s another way, and you have a few days where you have to keep reminding yourself that guy I thought I loved is actually a creepy stalker, and then it kind of integrates itself into your reality, and even if it sucks, you start moving forward.”
Spells of Blood and Kin Page 18
