——
Leo knocked on his friend Luka’s door. He’d seen Teja, Luka’s wife chopping wood earlier from the grand window of his room. The couple were among the few people in the compound he’d gotten close to. He’d learned in his line of work that it was easier to keep secrets from people if there were fewer people to keep secrets from.
Luka answered the door. He ran his gnarled fingers through his short gray hair. “Come in. The coffee is fresh off the stove.”
“Thank you. I thought I saw Teja earlier, in the back.”
“Yes. She got up to chop wood before I had even rolled over. Now she is off to Ljubljana to meet her sister. I never know what those two women conjure between them.” Luka laughed with affection. Leo had no doubt the man loved his wife deeply.
Luka had become Leo’s sounding board after both his father and his brother had died. He and Teja had invited him into the community of aging hippies and idealists. The man was a good listener and only offered his advice if asked. Leo preferred his talks with Luka to confession and was usually more relieved of his burdens by the man’s thoughtful silence.
Leo sat at the heavy oak table. Luka returned with two mugs filled to the brim with milky Turkish coffee. “Have you eaten? I was about to toast some bread from yesterday.”
“I will never say no to Teja’s bread.” Leo sipped his coffee and watched Luka slice the hard bread and lay it on the warm griddle. While the bread toasted and filled the small house with the scent of breakfast, Luka gathered butter and homemade jam and other bits from the cupboards.
The table finally groaning with his generosity, Luka sat and sipped his coffee. “I do not think you came only for my mediocre coffee.”
“Your coffee is always better than mine. And you are right, as usual.”
“Leo, this conversation is not new, and I don’t need Teja’s tea leaves to see your future.” Luka spread a piece of toast with butter and his wife’s apricot jam.
“I have already sent a letter to the Father to tell him I am leaving the Order. I think he will be happy to see the back of me; he has regularly reminded me I am a source of consternation and unwanted curiosity.”
“I don’t wonder. A brother who chooses to live in a commune instead of cloistered with the others of his faith? Teja has never believed you were truly a priest of the Jesuits.”
“I did believe I was, and I have no issue with God. My work complicates matters.”
“As does your heart.” Luka laughed, but it was gentle.
Leo looked out through the open curtain to the snowy common area of the compound. Children from one of the flats in the main house were throwing snowballs at each other, their pink faces barely visible between their hats and scarves.
“Before Berta was killed, we spoke of having children. I had never wanted to be a father until I met her. The thought of a family was impossible to me after I took my vows.” Leo wrapped his fingers around his warm cup.
“It is still possible. To wait for a family, this is easier for men.” Luka sipped his coffee and waited for Leo to speak.
“No. The time for children has passed.” Leo’s gaze returned to his cup.
“Jo Wiley has already had her child.” Luka smiled.
“She has. And settling into a life like yours and Teja’s is not something I believe she longs for.”
“And you, are you willing to follow the life she will lead?”
“That is the question, my friend, the very one.” Leo finished his coffee except for the small swirl of fine grounds in the bottom of the cup.
Chapter 21
Faron took the last few steps up onto the flat surface of the deck. Ivanka had beaten him to the top, but barely. The sun was still a rosy glow on the horizon as he reached up to turn off his headlamp before sliding it into a pocket. The cold hadn’t been able to penetrate much while they were hiking up to the peak, but as his heart rate slowed a chill started to find its way through his clothes.
He and Ivanka had hiked to the top of Šmarna Gora more times than he could count. Its peaks held plague monuments, a wishing bell, and a church dedicated to St. Mary. It had been the site of warning bonfires when the Turks invaded. It was a place of refuge and safety with a view into the Ljubljana valley and to both the Julian and Kamnik Alps.
The last time he’d been there was to watch the sunset with Rok. It was probably the last time he would go hiking with his erstwhile uncle. Living that long didn’t seem to have many perks, or at least not ones that could outweigh watching everyone you care about die.
Ivanka dropped her pack on the deck near the rail and looked out toward the lights of Ljubljana, where people were starting the day. She was off work until the afternoon, and he’d suggested the hike to clear her head after the new graffiti at the teahouse the day before. He guessed she felt a little helpless to do anything about it. He did.
They stood next to each other at the rail and waited for the sun to pop up over the line of fog nestled against the midnight-blue mountains. It was reassuring. The sun would come up. It didn’t care if his mother could talk to dead people or that his father was an old, scary god. Daylight still came after darkness, even if he was whatever he was, or was going to be.
No one had offered to die in front of him yet, but the choice he was going to have to make hung over him like his own sword of Damocles. He wanted to keep Ivanka close, to protect her, sure she was the one he would have to save or watch die. He also wanted to tell her to run as far and as fast as she could away from him. She’d had enough death in her life already.
The sunrise shone pale gold on her face. She didn’t smile or relax, but it became difficult to discern if the light was shining on her face or if she were the light. He couldn’t remember the exact moment he’d fallen in love with her, but there must have been one. In his mind it looked like that moment.
She found his gloved hand with hers and squeezed. “Thank you. I needed this.”
Fat snowflakes drifted down, sticking to her hat and eyebrows.
“Me, too.” He moved behind her and wrapped her in his arms as they watched the sunlight move across the valley. If it was Ivanka’s life or his mortality, he would choose to save her, every single time. His father probably knew that already.
——
The city still glowed orange under artificial light as Jo set out to meet Gregor at the Napoleon statue on French Revolution Square. He’d agreed to drive her to Vrhnika in the predawn hours without too many questions. It was a strange birthday request, but he had been the one who offered her anything she wanted.
She’d forgotten it was her birthday until Gregor had asked a couple days before. He’d popped into the teahouse after Vesna summoned him, pissed off Jo and Fred had cleaned away the graffiti without calling the police. Vesna had forgotten Jo’s birthday, too, and the look on her face had reflected the gears spinning in her head. There would be some kind of surprise when Jo returned to the teahouse later in the day.
Surprises weren’t high on her list of birthday wishes, but Helena’s words about not pushing everyone away kept churning through her thoughts. And while it wouldn’t hurt to let Vesna have her fun, she was absolutely not going to wear a paper hat. Vesna had a persistent idea about all Americans celebrating birthdays with “pin the tail on the donkey” and paper hats. Jo had pointed out repeatedly that more than 330 million people couldn’t agree to any one thing on all occasions, and paper hats and parlor games were mostly for the under-ten set. There had to be a line.
Gregor arrived and pulled his car into the spot closest to where Jo stood, trying to shield herself against the worst of the wind and the blowing snow.
Once they were strapped in, Gregor started in on the questions he’d hedged on the day before. “Is there a particular reason you are going to hike an hour into the barje in the snow?”
“It’s my birthday, do I need a reason?�
��
“Yes. It’s below freezing and still snowing.”
She shrugged against the leather seat. “Some things need doing when they need doing.” Her grandmother’s oft-quoted words took her back to the dream momentarily. She didn’t plan on freezing to death in the marsh. “If you have to know, I need to make amends with Achelous.”
“It can’t wait until spring?”
He couldn’t see the side eye she gave him, but Jo suspected he could feel it. “You are the very person who told me to figure out what I needed to do to deal with all this … stuff. I need this.”
His silence indicated concession, and he changed the topic. “Are you and Matjaž a thing?”
“No. Decidedly not. He’s a good guy but–”
“But your heart lies elsewhere?”
Where did her heart lie? Did her heart even know what to do with itself? She had turned down Matjaž, even with Snippy the Evil Queen’s stinky lily magic trying to do its thing. Because there was still the troubling connection to Helena, and there was Leo. Leo, who would break his vows for her. Leo, who fancied himself her knight protector, even when she’d made it clear she didn’t need or want that from him. Leo, who was her friend. Leo, whose presence made her as self-conscious as a teenager. And when she was being honest with herself, Leo, whom she loved.
“Jo?”
“Sorry. I was thinking.”
“About?”
“Leo.”
Gregor pulled off at the first available opportunity and put the hazard lights on. “Of all the people on earth you could finally fall in love with, you choose a priest?”
“Apparently.”
He took a deep breath. “Jo.” The anger that had underlain his question dissipated. He sounded disappointed in her instead.
“I know. I drew that line in the sand, and he walked right over it and said he’d leave the church and he drove all the way up to Tolmin to tell me and there was this roadside Madonna and we kissed and … shit. What is wrong with me? I can’t do this. I cannot be the reason he leaves the church. Me? I cannot.”
“Jesus. Take a breath. Maybe two.”
She did, but the exhale was half-sigh, half-snort.
“If he loves you and you love him, I will dance at your wedding. Did it occur to you that if he so handily fell for you, he maybe already had issues with the church?”
“Wedding? And he’s never discussed that with me. Well, not in depth.”
Gregor threw his head back against the seat rest. “Did you ask?”
“No.”
“It’s a good thing I love you, or I’d push you out of the car.”
“Thanks.”
“Really, Jo. That a man, even a priest, told you he loves you in a not Jesus-like way and you haven’t gone screaming back up into the mountains is progress. I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Thank you, Dr. Freud. Can we get going? I’d like to get back in time to be of some use at the shop today.”
Gregor pulled back onto the road and turned the volume up on the car stereo bluetoothed to his phone. Blur’s “Song 2” whoo-hooed at them. At least somebody was happy.
——
Gustaf waited nervously in the courtyard. His phone had rung at what he believed to be an impolite hour of the morning. When Dušan Črnigad made a request, the Board, and therefore the Observers, answered with compliance. Ruffled feathers aside, he was eager to further discuss the advent of Faron Wiley’s abilities. Resurrection was not an unheard-of gift, but the Board tended to keep an especially watchful eye on those who possessed it.
Bettine, his contact with the Board, was distrustful of anyone who could interfere in the natural order of things in such a singular way. Why, he did not understand. Bringing the dead back to life was only slightly more disruptive than speaking with them or outliving everyone currently alive. In his book, any supernatural being or ability was part of the larger whole of those things that must be kept behind the cloak of the Veil, and he differentiated little among them. Perhaps with the exception of demons. Those he would gladly do without.
The cold made his nose run as the snowflakes fell more thickly, obscuring what little of the cobblestones remained visible from the previous afternoon’s melt. He took off his glove and dug into a pocket for his handkerchief.
Črnigad caught him wiping his nose as he entered the courtyard. “Gustaf, good of you to meet me.”
“I did not have to journey far.” His apartment wasn’t more than a few meters above their heads.
The teahouse was still dark; it was too early for Jo Wiley or any of her staff to be in. The antique dealer would not be open until closer to midday. The accountant’s office had been emptied, and the New Age shop next to the teahouse had long closed. Its windows were still papered over. The residents of the building were dwindling to only those who lived their lives hidden from the mundane.
“But it is early, and the weather is miserable.” Črnigad produced a single key to open the door to the former accountant’s office. “I wanted to show you what will be the new gallery.”
“Gallery? Here?” Had he informed Ms. Wiley he would be in a prime position to watch her every move?
“Jo and I already discussed it. The space is ideal, and if I am going to be back in Ljubljana full-time, I’ll need something to keep me busy.”
Gustaf nodded. “I hadn’t realize you had planned to stay in Ljubljana.”
“It seems appropriate, I think.” Črnigad walked to the back of the truncated space and turned on a row of can lights. The cool light made the white walls glow. It would be a perfect backdrop for the black-and-white photographs the man was famous for.
“I suppose. Will you live in town, as well?”
“Yes. Marija has decided to stay in New York. Perhaps Gregor has another flat here? It would be convenient to be close by.”
Gustaf sputtered. “Are you certain that is a good idea? I mean, there is an empty flat — three in fact — but why would you choose to live so close to Ms. Wiley?”
“I hope you do not call her that to her face. She would hate it.”
Gustaf caught himself staring. The man was more brazen than he had remembered. Necromancers and alchemists were notoriously self-possessed, but to move in next to the woman he had abandoned?
“I do not think I have ever known you to be at a loss for words, Gustaf. It is quite the sight.” Črnigad chuckled and produced a chair out of the cold, stale air of the empty gallery. He sat on it and crossed his legs. “Sit. We have some details to hammer out.”
Another chair sat facing him. It hadn’t appeared so much as it had coalesced.
“That is not the trick of an alchemist or a necromancer.” Gustaf stepped back toward the door and the perceived safety of the open courtyard.
“Gustaf, it is time you learned a few things even your precious Bettine does not want you to know.”
——
Jo took off her seatbelt as Gregor maneuvered off the road at the closest point to Močilnik, one of the springs of the Ljubljanica, where it burst onto the marsh before winding its way into the city.
“Are you sure about this?” Gregor looked out the windshield at the leaden sky and accumulating snow.
She nodded. “Sure” was probably not the best description of her feelings. A soup of worry, fear, and determination sloshed in her gut. If it didn’t happen now, it probably wasn’t going to happen.
“If I come back here in two hours and you aren’t standing on the side of the road stamping your feet in the cold, I’m going to call Mountain Rescue. They will be pissed.”
“I hardly think Mountain Rescue will need to fish me out of the barje.”
“You say that …”
“I am almost certain I do not meet my sticky end by freezing to death. Promise.” She pulled her scarf tighter and plopped her “hideous�
�� tam on her head. No need to rile up the local shades while she was on a mission from god. Or to a god. She laughed.
“This isn’t funny, Jo.”
“It’s not funny, but the Blues Brothers are.”
“Is that where your head is this morning?”
“Hey, I take my humor where I can find it.” She kissed him on the cheek and opened the door into the cold. It felt like a much worse idea than it had yesterday, but she had to go. She sensed Achelous was waiting for her now, and he would be less than pleased if she bailed on him.
“Call me. I will call out the dogs or whatever is necessary.”
She nodded again and closed the door.
Walking along the river through the frozen marsh was not her idea of a good time. The earth crunched with every step, and the wind continued to whip up the snow from the ground to meet the flakes falling from the sky. The canopy kept most of it from settling, but it still made the frozen, muddy spots slicker than owl shit, as her grandma would have said. She needed to find a stick, or she was going to wind up on her ass or in the water.
The stone Leo had given her after Helena’s death was tucked into her coat pocket. She wanted to hold it but was afraid it would slip too easily from her gloved hands and be lost forever. There was a small possibility Achelous could still want to drag her into the river to be his drowned bride, and her judgment and senses had been manipulated too much lately for her to trust her instincts. The rock was the best substitute, unless its power to point out dangers didn’t apply to the machinations of gods.
When she’d finally picked her way through the snowy forest to the source, the pool was calm and edged with a frozen crust as thin as waxed paper. It had been years since she’d come with Faron and Rok to see Jason’s Fist, the impression above the spring that looked like a giant had punched the rock wall. Legend named this place the end point of the Argonauts’ trek up the Ljubljanica River. They’d had to overwinter, then portage to the Adriatic to get home. Apparently Jason wasn’t too pleased about that.
Our Lady of the Various Sorrows (Voices of the Dead Book 2) Page 17
