"Madam, did you draw this?" I asked.
She smiled guiltily at her husband. "In my free time, which isn't much."
"Forgive my beetle-headed wife, she doesn't know how much of a waste of time this doodling is," said Mr. Warmond.
Before I could inquire, Voltaire tugged on my jacket sleeve. "We should make the rounds. Can you tell us where you saw her last?"
Mrs. Warmond sniffed. "Round back playing in the woods. She liked to take walks when she didn't have chores to do."
"Was anything amiss? Did you hear anything? Have any reason to be concerned?" I asked.
Mrs. Warmond shook her head, squeezing her lips together to hold back tears.
Her husband spoke when she couldn't. "She just didn't come home that night. We searched everywhere. Bram nearly got ate by a mountain lion on the other side of the valley." He nodded towards his youngest son.
We took our leave, apologizing again for disturbing them. Before we left, I noticed the youngest son, Bram, had tears running down his face. He looked only a few years older than his missing sister. He wiped the tears away with a sleeve before anyone else noticed.
When we were at the back of the house and out of earshot of the Warmonds, Voltaire asked, "What are we looking for?"
"If I knew, I would tell you," I said.
Behind the house was a small barn for storing equipment. A garden with nothing left but old stalks and brown vines butted against the barn. They'd harvested the majority of their fruits and vegetables.
The woods were a bright, airy cathedral to sunlight. The canopy stretched high overtop, letting in ample sunbeams that illuminated the undergrowth. We made our way down a worn path that led to the creek.
The water rushed past, frothing into foam along the sides, before entering an oxbow lake on the other side. Thick pine trees encircled the slow water, drooping like old men leaning forward to drink.
"I can see why she'd want to take walks. I can't imagine a lovelier place," said Voltaire. "Makes a man want to pen a verse or two."
"I wonder if a wild animal got her. A bear could have dragged away the body," I wondered aloud.
Voltaire made a noise warning me that someone was approaching. Bram hurried up while glancing over his shoulder.
"I can't stay long," Bram said. "My paw wouldn't like me speakin' with you."
"You have information?" I asked.
The young man opened his mouth, then shook his head, as if what he had to say didn't make sense.
"I've seen Nell," he said, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, "or I think have. I was down by the lake throwing rocks when I saw her face in the water. As sure as the sun, she was staring up at me, her face right beneath the surface as if she were standing behind a murky window. Then she was gone. I've done told myself that it was my imagination. That I was just wanting her to be alive. But that vision keeps in my head, not letting me go."
"Have you seen her since?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I come back every night, hoping to catch a glimpse. But I see nothing. Maybe I'm just wanting it, for me, for my ma." He glanced behind him. "I have to get back, said I was using the tall house."
"Thank you, Bram," I said as he started jogging back towards the house.
"Do you think she drowned and he saw the body before it sunk?" asked Voltaire.
"Didn't sound like it," I said.
We moved to the edge of the oxbow lake. The creek stirred up the water enough that it wasn't clear and lily pads clogged the other side where the currents had no say.
"We wouldn't see a whale in this lake unless it farted," said Voltaire, amusement on his lips.
"If this is your version of poetry, you might want to consider a new profession," I said.
He chuckled lightly as he used a fallen branch to probe the water. "I have a new profession. It seems I am your assistant."
I arched an eyebrow. "My assistant? That would imply I have received some assistance. Thus far, your title could be construed as air-breather and general odd-body."
"Still mad that I tried to murder you over a lack of powder?"
"It's crossed my mind a time or two," I said. "But thankfully, for your benefit, I experienced that powderless rage myself. So I shall not place you in the stocks."
We'd strolled around to the other side. I spied a trout carcass lying in the weeds, spilled guts half in the water. I held it up by the tail and the insides plopped out. The flesh had been torn and ripped.
Voltaire looked at me gravely. "Nell has gone feral?"
"I don't think it's as simple as that," I said, throwing the carcass onto the bank. "We need to speak to her."
Voltaire turned around as if Nell was going to be standing right behind him. "She's here?"
"I think so," I said, nodding towards the water, then cupping my hands around my mouth. "Nell. Please come out. We know what you are. We can help."
"We do?" muttered Voltaire under his breath.
"Hush," I hissed.
"You're not the only one like you in Philadelphia," I said. "I just want to talk to you and if you want, I can help you find a safe place."
The lake was still and quiet. Only the occasional bird caw intruded into our silence.
Voltaire shook his head. "I think you might be mistaken."
With a sigh, I motioned to return up the hill to the steam carriage. I was still shaking my head when I heard a voice whisper from the water's edge.
Peeking through the lily pads was the missing girl, Nell. Her face was racked with pain.
"Can you help me?" she asked, voice quivering with fear.
As I met her gaze, trying to project a friendly presence with a soft smile, I had a sense of dislocation. The same feeling I got with Chloris, except less pronounced. I wasn't losing track of time, but I felt a little light-headed.
"I can," I said, "though I cannot promise it'll be easy."
"What's happened to me? What am I?" asked Nell, holding her arms around her naked chest, water sluicing from her elbows.
At the corner of my vision, I noticed Voltaire dumbly wandering into the water with his jaw hanging down.
I yanked him back from the edge. "Voltaire!"
"What?" he asked, perplexed.
"Don't look at her," I said.
"But you are," he said.
"I think it affects men more, or I'm just used to it," I said. "Apologies, my dear. It's not your fault."
"W...why isn't he looking at me? What am I?" she asked.
"In some parts of the world, you're called a rusalka. A river"—I hesitated, as I'd almost said monster—"woman."
Slender fingers tugged on her lower lip. "How can that be? How can I be a rusalka?"
"I'm afraid I don't know that, but we're trying to figure it out," I said.
"My family thinks I'm dead, don't they?" asked Nell.
"Just missing, for now," I said, "but your mother's in a lather about what's happened."
"I can't tell them what I am. They'll think me a monster," she said, then glancing down at her half-submerged self, "I am a monster."
"You're not a monster, Nell. Please don't call yourself that. You're a beautiful young woman who's just a little different now," I said, trying to comfort her.
"A little different?" she cried. "When Bram came to see me, all I could think about was luring him into the water to drown him. That's not different. That makes me a murderer."
She pulled hard on her lip as if that would make it all go away.
"But you didn't do anything," said Voltaire. "It's not our thoughts that count, but our actions. All men are beasts. It's the choices we make that civilize us."
"But how can I live in this lake? What happens when it's winter and it freezes?" she asked, brow tight.
Voltaire gave me a grave look.
"I know a place you can go," I said, "but it's going to take some time to get things ready."
There were a bunch of things I wasn't sure about. Could we move Nell across land without hurting her?
I knew Chloris sometimes moved around when it was raining, but what if it wasn't? Winter was coming fast.
I didn't even know if Chloris would welcome another rusalka in her pool. How territorial were they?
Nell spoke up while I was thinking. Her words were soft and ache-filled. "I just want to be back with my family."
"Don't worry," I said. "We'll get this sorted out. Just stay in this lake and try not to hurt anyone. We'll come back as soon as we can."
Voltaire and I marched to the house. We found Bram waiting for us at the base of the hill.
"You found her, didn't you?" he asked. "She's in the water like I thought."
"She's alive. But you can't tell anyone. And you can't go near the lake. It's not safe." I thought for a moment. "But if you can sneak some food and leave it near the lake, that will help her. Just don't look at the lake."
He nodded sharply.
"What should I tell mother?" he asked.
"Nothing for now," I said. "We can help your sister, but we have things to do first."
A pained smile appeared on Bram's lips. He wanted to believe us, but his lips wouldn't cooperate.
We took the long way around the house and back to the steam carriage to avoid further entanglements with the Warmond family. Once the vehicle was churning, Voltaire turned to me.
"How did you know what she was?" he asked. "Or that we could help her?"
"I realized why those others were missing—like Professor Walker, or the family in upper New York you investigated," I said. "They're not missing, they were turned into those monsters...I mean creatures, somehow."
"So that means...?"
"Yes." I nodded grimly. "We killed the people we were trying to save."
"Merde," said Voltaire, rubbing his forehead. "How are we going to help this Nell turn back into a young woman?"
"I haven't the slightest idea. First we need to figure out how they're being changed. Then maybe we can determine a counter," I said.
"What if there's no way to stop it or change them back?"
I sighed and looked out the window at the autumn sky. "Then our plague of monsters has begun."
Chapter Fourteen
The second contest came with the crunch of autumn leaves. Ben Franklin had not yet returned from the Ottoman Empire, so Voltaire was forced to return to Kings Mountain with me.
The Nell ordeal had not been resolved by the time we left in the steam carriage for Gastonia. Chloris had refused to harbor the young rusalka, claiming that her kind preferred solitude, exceptions being given to their own family who were protected from their charms.
I'd asked if she remembered much of her mother, but Chloris had merely shaken her head and slipped back into the water, a sudden sullen mood ending the conversation.
I'd also hoped to see Simon during that visit, but he was at the capitol on government business. While the attack on Russia had been delayed by news of the annihilation of Napoleon's Grand Armée, it wouldn't stay delayed forever.
When we arrived in Gastonia, a group of men gathered at the steam carriage. I was still playing the part of the no-nonsense scholar, wearing a simple cream blouse and box pleated brown skirt with my hair wrapped into a matronly bun. Voltaire, being his flamboyant self, wore a Continental Army uniform in bright blue fabric and golden threads. He looked like the leader of a marching band, rather than a military figure. With a stupid grin on his face, he produced a snuff tin from the inside of his jacket and inhaled a pinch.
A rough-looking man with a scraggly beard and a bully stick in his fist led the gang. They formed a half-circle around us, preventing us from entering the inn.
"Yur not welcome here," he said, using all five of his teeth to enunciate the words, though each syllable came with a spray of spit.
"This is America," I said, letting my accent roll freely. "We are welcome everywhere."
My statement confused the tooth-challenged gentleman and he looked to his compatriots for support before regripping the bully stick in his other hand and pointing a finger at our chests.
"You need to leave Gastonia," said Toothless.
"And why is that?" I asked.
Toothless set the bully stick against my shoulder. "Or we'll make ya leave."
With considerable distaste, I wiped the flung saliva from my cheek. "Shall I remind you what happened with your friends when they tangled with our vehicle? I notice Mr. Blue Skin in back still hasn't washed his colors clean, and I doubt the fine gentleman with four fingers on one hand would like to learn how to use three. That was just our steam carriage. I imagine what would happen if you attempt to injure our persons. I can say with considerable authority that it would not go well for you or any of your friends, though we will make sure we use you as our foremost example of our talents."
Toothless went wide-eyed, and his friends took a step back from him. To make sure they didn't have any second thoughts, I continued.
"I'm sure you might think we're bluffing," I said, "but remember that upon each visit, we go up the mountain, to the places you do not dare to go, and then return each morning, whole of mind and body."
The men melted away, hurrying in separate directions as I took a step forward. Only Toothless' last desperate glance over his shoulder told me that my little speech hadn't completely eliminated their ire.
"Nicely done," said Voltaire. "I was going to propose a duel to settle the matter, but I prefer not getting shot or stabbed if I can help it. Especially since bloody wounds do not go well with my attire."
"I don't think they were the dueling types," I said. "And I don't think we're free of those ruffians yet."
"Ruffians? That sounds positively romantic," he said with an eye roll.
"Wiping his spit off my face was anything but romantic," I said. "Let's get on with the show."
"What about the carriage?" asked Voltaire with a raised eyebrow.
"Leave it where it is," I said. "I told Djata about the previous visits, so he made some adjustments to the vehicle."
The innkeeper took our coin, which was a bit of a farce, since everyone knew we would go up the mountain. Before we left, I changed into an outfit more suited to the climb and the eventual trials for Neva.
The evening climb up the mountain proved chillier than expected. I spent much of the time rubbing my hands together, wishing I'd brought a fur muff.
When Neva's hut lurched out of the darkness, Voltaire put a hand to my sleeve. "What do you think will happen this time?"
"I don't know, but I worry about my son. He'll blame me for the death of his beloved. He's always blamed me for his troubles," I said.
"You and Pavel have a strained relationship," he said.
"Without a father to guide him politically, I had to take control of his career. He never liked that I took him to England for university. Said it made him too European, which didn't set well with the other Russian nobility," I said.
"Are we a disease to catch?" mocked Voltaire.
"You misunderstand," I said, looking at the tiny hut that held so much space inside. "Europe's past is the Republic of the Roman Empire. It's in Socrates and the Renaissance. The heart of Europe has always been the continued enlightenment of man. Russia has no storied past. Its history is Imperial darkness. Its people have always been ready to follow the strongest man. It's why first Emperor Peter and then Empress Catherine wanted to drag Russia out of the darkness by building Saint Petersburg, by bringing us closer to Europe. Russia is a great nation, but it can also be a terrible one, full of fear and false pride, which makes Russia most dangerous when it's at its weakest."
"The rise of America sent Russia into the arms of Otherland?" asked Voltaire. "Rather convenient excuse, don't you think?"
I sighed, ignoring his comment. "It's important that we get into Russia, so we might find a way to stop this god Veles, if there is still time."
"Which makes your son more dangerous," he said soberly as he climbed onto the porch and then held out his hand to help me up. "Though I protest y
our use of the word god. That implies religion, and those are worse than the gods themselves."
Neva was waiting inside, tall and thin, the ebony wrap that came up to her neck making her body appear featureless. The disapproving stare over her enormous nose faded to disappointment.
"You're late," said Neva.
"The full moon begins today," I said. "We're not late."
She scoffed regally. "It was yesterday. Your astrological acumen is lacking. I've already taken your son to the location of the second contest. He toils without competition."
My heart leapt in my chest like a jackrabbit. "Then take us there."
Neva stayed perfectly still. "I do not take commands from the likes of you."
"Your calendar is at fault. By Poor Richard's Almanac, today is the first day of the full moon," I said, my frustrations getting the best of my voice.
"Your son arrived on the proper date," she said, looking down her large nose.
"I thought you could travel through time?" I asked.
"These things have limits, but I shall endeavor to hurry, despite your rudeness," said Neva. "Only for the sake of the contest. I would not want anyone to think me unfair."
"Thank you," I said, catching my breath. "And apologies for my shortness. There is much riding on the outcome."
"I am aware," said Neva, glancing at Voltaire, who had wandered away and was examining the glass hookah pipe near the painted partition.
"What is the second contest, so I can begin once we arrive?" I asked.
Neva's eyes crinkled at the corners. "Do you know what it means to be born behind the veil?"
The term was familiar but I couldn't place it. Before I could shake my head, Voltaire spoke up.
"A caul," he said, looking back at us. "When a babe is born with a shimmering membrane over their head, signifying an important birth."
I furrowed my brow at him. "Do you have a secret history as a practitioner of the arcane?"
Nightfell Games (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 5) Page 11
