"That's too long not to talk to your mother," Ana said, her full lips curving down. "She's worried sick about both of you."
"She never bothers to call me, Ana. Not anymore. Listen, what did you mean, she wouldn't be on board with us trying?"
Ana groaned and closed her eyes.
"I did say that, didn't I? I should keep my mouth shut until I get over this wretched jet lag."
"Too late now," Maria said. "Out with it."
"It's not for me to tell, is it? Things between you and your mother? I don't want to be that person in the middle."
"Look at it this way, my Ana," Maria said, watching the waiter approach with perfect timing for refills. "My mother put us both in the middle, not me. It wasn't enough to get me sterilized before I even started to grow up. Not for my mother. She had to hire some witch doctor to keep me from having mutated babies when I was still a baby myself."
"A what?" Ana said. "You're not making any sense."
"A witch doctor. Some kind of folk nonsense back in Transylvania. Last time we talked, Mama told me she got some old crone to bless me so I wouldn’t have deformed children. Mama believed a story about bad Communist medicine thirty years ago that made mutated babies. Leo and I are paying for that bullshit now. Well, our insurance is paying for every medical test under the sun to prove not a word of it was true."
"I don't know about any kind of bad medicine," Ana said, stirring organic honey into her fresh coffee. "And this whole idea isn't thirty years old, either. That's really what she told you?"
Cold settled into Maria's belly despite the boiling hot tea. She'd done her best to put her mother's delusions behind her when all the tests for abnormalities came back clear, but now her best friend was threatening to drag her right back into them.
"What else would she have told me?" she said. "She let some butcher cut me up, made a mess of my belly."
"You said you've been trying to get pregnant for how long?" Ana said. "Three years?"
"Four years. Two since we started seeing specialists. Please don't tell me she made all of that up for some sick reason, Ana."
The other woman sighed, rubbing at her mouth.
"I’m the wrong person to be telling you this," Ana said. "Maybe you will go back to New York with me before I return to Romania. Talk to your mother."
"No, not about this!" Maria tried to ignore everyone staring at them. "My mother's lies cost us years when I was younger, when we should have been trying. I can't ever trust her again. You have to tell me, please. Maybe it's something my new doctor can help with."
"Not this, Maria. Not a medical doctor, anyway. This is a lot older than that. Have you ever heard the word strigoi?"
"Not that I...I don't think so."
Maria was careful to look into Ana's blue eyes instead of into her teacup, but she was lying. A spark of recognition, slow and faint at first but gaining speed, moved out from her brain into her jittery nerve endings.
Ana shrugged. "Not many people our age have, I suppose. I had a bad habit of hiding and listening in whenever I could. Once people travel more, and definitely with the internet, such things die out or become jokes. It wasn't a joke to our parents, or theirs. Some of the older ones said Vida instead, but the legends were the same. With either one, they spoke of the undead."
"Surely you don't mean zombies?" Maria said, wishing she could laugh.
"Not really, not like you know today. They came back, but not to eat up brains and wander around. These returned to their families, almost like they never died. They were said to live on energy. Or on blood."
"Now you're telling me my mother believes in vampires? She hated that Dracula nonsense as much as everyone else back there."
"Like the zombies, this is not really the same," Ana said. "No capes or bats or long pointy teeth. Only an uneasy soul that won't stay in the ground the way it should."
"Okay then." Maria took a long, deep breath, trying to slow her heart. "Say my mother believes in this craziness. What the hell does it have to do with me, Ana? Why would she want to keep me from having children?"
"That's because if a strigoi lasts long enough, it can return in a body. And it can even have children who are the same. Some families believe that happened to them years ago, so they bury each other in certain ways to make sure no one comes back. You know those customs, with the whiskey and the garlic and watching the body. Those who don't follow the old ways..."
Ana paused, eyebrows raised.
"Are doomed!" Maria said more loudly than she meant to.
Both women fell into a fit of giggling. Ana sounded like nothing more than the giddy high school girl, overjoyed with seeing Maria again after years of nothing but letters between them. They'd invented this silly game when Ana tried to explain the last tumultuous years of Communism to Maria.
More appropriate patrons glancing at them only made the laughter worse. Trying to keep quiet made her head pound, but Maria welcomed the distraction from the hot tingling in her hands and feet.
"So it is said." Ana wiped away tears, her color almost normal instead of pale exhaustion. "You must remember our parents grew up so isolated from the world in those mountains, and Communism only made that worse. They abandoned the last of the oldest villages just this year, no one more than a cleanup committee to keep the grandmothers happy ever go there anymore. Just as well with such bad memories. All they had to hold on to was some ancient magic when life was so terrible."
"I don't see how that justifies what she thought she did to me," Maria said. "Much less what she really did. I saw the scans. Whoever did this ripped up my insides."
Ana grimaced. "I'm not saying anything justifies what happened then in more than just Romania, except people were trying to survive when that was almost impossible. I know your Mama loves you, and she's worried about you."
This time Maria stared out at the water instead of looking at her friend. The bright sunlight provided an acceptable excuse for her watering eyes.
"I know, Ana. Maybe when this is all over, I'll see her again."
Ana probably didn't realize it, not with her slow-moving jetlagged brain, but she'd just given Maria the target her increasingly frantic mind needed.
Strigoi.
Whatever that word meant, wherever it came from, she intended to remember anything that affected her so strongly. To learn everything she possibly could about it.
From addiction to law school to the most unsympathetic jury, she'd never found a problem she couldn't master once she learned enough. Some foolish ancient Transylvanian folklore would not defeat her.
Chapter 7
Seven years ago
Leo sat beside Maria in the crowded waiting room, his elbow jammed painfully against the metal arm of the chair. His fingers were going numb from the pressure of his wife's grip, but he didn't dare let go.
Several overstuffed loveseats and sofas were arranged throughout the space, all covered in some variation of pink or blue fabric, but the two of them never sat in those. Neither mentioned believing the more comfortable chairs should be reserved for the couples already winning the procreation race. They just headed to the uncomfortable overflow area every time.
The nice furniture was usually full of fertility on display, and today was no exception. Men and women took the loveseats, invariably with his arm around her, mixed comfortably with several pairs of women in variations of the same pose. The sofas held couples of every gender variety with a predictable third party, a younger woman clearly in an outsider position. She sat on the other side of the couple, beside the woman if there was one, rarely in the middle. Despite that distance, the bond between the three was clear.
That last possible arrangement was what brought Leo here with Maria after years of repeatedly trying every other option available to produce a baby of their own. They'd both checked out perfectly healthy several times, aside from her scarred abdomen, yet nothing worked.
He'd been immensely relieved when she finally agreed to stop the IVF after
enduring month after month of anxiety and hope followed by heartbreak and depression so bottomless it frightened him. The drugs for the egg harvest and the potential side effects frightened him even more. At least the doctors here agreed they already had more than enough healthy eggs. No one could explain why Maria's healthy uterus kept rejecting them.
Three perky nurses with bouncy ponytails and bright pastel uniforms decorated with balloons, pacifiers, and bottles stepped out one after the other, calling people back. Sometimes Mr. and Mrs., sometimes two of each, names hyphenated or not. The nurses were very careful to call all of the names every time, including the surrogates. Leo wondered when—or if—they and their as yet undiscovered surrogate would move over to the sofas.
Maria squeezed his hand, or he thought she did, before she clasped both of hers in her lap. Leo sighed at the simple pleasure of moving his arm up and around his wife. He moved his fingers as little as he could, hoping she wouldn't notice him trying to cope with the painful pins and needles.
The excellent insurance they had through the studio had been wonderful. At first. Leo knew many of the couples they'd encountered in waiting rooms over the past decade had been paying everything out of their own pockets. Most of them likely didn't have the financial resources of a Hollywood talent agent and his movie and TV intellectual property attorney wife.
Leo was sympathetic and wondered how they managed, but that didn't stop his mental tally of what he and Maria had spent already. They were well into the hundreds of thousands of dollars for this so far fruitless effort. He feared surrogacy would put them perilously close to seven figures.
The last threesome who'd been waiting when they arrived, two men and a heavily pregnant woman, got up and walked back with the redheaded nurse. A slow churn that worsened with each visit started up in Leo's belly.
He'd gotten through the first eye-popping rounds of copayments and later full payments by reminding himself how hard they both worked. What was the money for, if they couldn't do something his bride wanted so badly? When they passed double, then triple the cost of an adoption, he'd mentioned it as gently as he could. Not yet, she'd said, tears standing in her lovely green eyes.
As the cost mounted and Leo struggled to keep it out of his mind for more than a couple of hours at a time, he knew not yet wasn't going to hold up much longer. He didn't want to be that person, that husband, but he couldn't keep watching so much money disappear. Especially when she'd never really told him why it was so damned important to her.
"Mr. and Mrs. Sabov?"
Leo stood, smiled, and held out his hand.
Chapter 8
Six years ago
The car was a little piece of heaven to Maria from the instant she saw it on the dealer's showroom floor. A pearlescent white Mercedes, pale blue leather interior. Loaded with every possible amenity to show off what could be done, even if hardly anyone would ever pay for such extravagance. Five years and many hours and miles hadn't dulled the gleam or the luxury for her. As Maria fell deeper into the pit in her empty belly, and further into desperation, her car still brought her comfort. Her car made her feel safe.
The big sedan purred quietly, the fan switching on and off to compensate for the air conditioner. Chopin filled the space and her ears, but Maria's body refused to respond to her beloved soothing music. She gripped the wheel tight enough to make her wrists ache and stared at the small brick ranch house across the street.
The neighborhood was neat and modest, with clean sidewalks and well-maintained lawns in front of the tidy houses. This was much more like where she'd grown up in New York and Leo had in Cleveland than the domain of professional gardeners and landscapers where they lived now.
Those modest origins explained a little of why he'd been so thrilled to buy her the Mercedes, back when they were really getting established in LA. Before either of them could have imagined the mess Maria's head had become. He hadn't shed an ounce of his Midwestern practicality, taking her out during the clearance sales for new models. But that light in his eyes, the confidence in his smile and his step when he walked back out with the key, reminded her why she'd fallen in love with him in the first place.
Leo didn't simply talk a good game, making her and everyone else a bunch of promises he couldn't keep. He worked his ass off until he made all of it come true and more, especially for Maria. That determination and previous success, for her and his clients, made it so much harder on him now that he and everyone else were running out of suggestions for why they still failed to conceive.
Maria checked her hair and makeup, though she wasn't sure why. None of the practitioners, whether of Reiki, witchcraft, or gemstones, gave a damn what she looked like. After over a dozen failed attempts, with more than half proclaiming her healed, Maria sometimes wondered if they only cared whether her credit card was valid.
"That's not fair, Counselor," she said to her reflection, then got out of the car.
This woman came highly recommended after a focused online and in-person search, and Maria hoped she would be as dedicated and sincere as all the others had been. Whatever their method—crystals, cards, or chanting—all the healers either believed in what they were doing, or they were missing their calling as breathtaking actors and actresses.
And still all of the medical procedures and three attempts at surrogacy had failed.
Once she got herself moving, Maria strode up the sidewalk toward the basement entry as if heading into a courtroom. She'd learned long ago to exude confidence when she was terrified inside. In her own way, she was as good at acting as anyone she represented.
Maria never walked into a courtroom or negotiation unprepared, and she'd never dug more deeply into any problem in her life. Short of getting on a plane right now and going to Transylvania herself to investigate, she'd learned everything she possibly could about her mother's crazy beliefs and crazier actions. Logic and determination crashed headlong into fear and superstition. If doctors and Western medicine were going to keep failing her, Maria was ready to follow Ana's lead and turn to something older.
A middle-aged woman several inches shorter than Maria answered the door. She was wearing a full typical tourist Gypsy outfit, complete with swirling red skirts and noisy jewelry. Her dark green eyes and olive skin at least seemed correct. Before she could say a word, Maria spoke in Romanian. She was in no mood for shows and games.
"I'm Maria. I was born in Transylvania, but I grew up in the US. I need your help if you're willing to give it."
The woman tilted her head and looked Maria up and down, no doubt evaluating everything from her simple gold jewelry to her Jimmy Choo heels. Maria wasn't in full lawyer mode today, trading her black suits for gray linen pants and a jacket. She wasn't in attack mode either, but she insisted on being taken seriously.
"Come on in, Maria," she said, her English perfect. "I'm Julia. I grew up here too. Studied under my Romanii grandmother. Happy to drop the act so we can talk."
Maria followed Julia into a basement sitting room decorated like what most people assumed a Gypsy caravan must look like on the inside. Multicolored fabrics covered the walls and ceiling, and thick cushions sat in front of a small table. The expected crystal ball was on the table, and candles glowed from every other surface.
"Just ignore all this," Julia said, waving a hand toward the room as she opened a door to the right. "No matter how many times I explain what I really do, most people expect the stereotypical getup. Coffee or tea?"
"Tea would be wonderful, thank you."
The kitchen at the top of the stairs was bright and cheerful with yellow walls and curtains, a sharp contrast from the mysterious space in the basement. Maria recognized plates and bowls from Romania displayed on shelves, their delicate raised designs not for everyday use. Julia brought out sturdy white porcelain mugs and saucers.
"I appreciate the break from the smoke and mirrors." Julia put a heavy black kettle on the stove and sat across from Maria. "What can I do for you?"
"I hope y
ou can help me figure out why I'm not getting pregnant," Maria said, wrapping her fingers around the cool mug. "We've tried every medical option, even surrogacy."
"Why me, though? I can give you a blessing, but that's not my normal thing."
"I know." Maria took her usual deep breath before she crossed her last rational line. "I'm here because I heard you can remove curses. Is that right?"
Julia scowled. "A curse to keep you from getting pregnant that would keep a surrogate from getting pregnant too? I don't mean to sound rude, but what gave you that idea?"
Maria couldn't breathe for a moment, looking into those no-nonsense green eyes. The typical song and dance might have made this easier after all.
She'd said it easily enough to all the others, maybe because she didn't expect them to believe her. She had a strong feeling Julia would. When the kettle started to sing and Julia got up, Maria found her own voice.
Chapter 9
"My mother thought all the kids were given bad medicine by Communist doctors," Maria said. "She and my aunts and uncles thought we'd have deformed babies. She got a shitty doctor to sterilize me, then got some old woman to bless me so I couldn't have any children."
"She called that a blessing, huh?" Julia said, pouring tea for both of them. "Any chance the medicine part was true?"
"I don't know." Maria rubbed her jaws and the constant ache there. "My husband and I both had genetic screenings, and nothing seems to be wrong with my eggs or any other part of me besides my fallopian tubes. The eggs just don't work. I mean, doctors can put them together with my husband's sperm, but it doesn't take no matter what we try."
Julia held the tea up to her nose, breathing deeply.
"I'm guessing you've tried other people like me, too."
"I've tried everything," Maria said, rolling her eyes. "New Age woo to old time voodoo, and everything in between. Several people have declared me cured once I paid the bill, but here I am. You're the first person I've found from Romania. And the first to drop the act instead of trying to dazzle me."
Until Death Page 3
