by Amy Sumida
“Zere are two rooms upstairs,” Kirill said as he took our bags into the main bedroom. “Ve'll put Lesya in one of zose.”
“Okay,” I murmured as I looked around.
“Mommy, there's so much to smell!” Lesya exclaimed as she came barreling into the cabin. “So many smells! Smells I don't know!”
“Okay,” I said again. “Your little lion nose is going crazy, huh?”
“Uh-huh.” She panted, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide with wonder. Her nostrils flared with her rapid breaths.
“Your room is upstairs. Actually, you have two rooms to choose from. Why don't you go up and pick one before you smell everything?”
“Yay!” Lesya raced up the stairs while I watched her vulnerable ankles through the risers. “This is incredible!” her cry echoed down. “There are two beds in each room! I can jump from one bed to the other!”
“You'd think that we never take her anywhere.” I shook my head as Kirill came back from the master bedroom.
“Ve don't take her to new places on Earth very often,” he pointed out. “And zis is first time it's just us.”
“True. It's nice.” I stepped in against his side and lifted my face for a kiss.
We were just getting warmed up when Lesya came pounding down the stairs. Kirill and I broke apart with a sigh and a smile.
“What's next?” Lesya demanded.
“Remember that you have a princess bed hanging in the balance of your good behavior,” I said sternly.
“I know,” she whined/huffed, her shoulders slumping and her arms hanging limp. “I'm being good.”
“Da, you are.” Kirill bent to pick her up. “Just remember; loud voices are for outside cabin only. Ven ve go to town, speak in softer tone.”
“Even when we're outside,” I added.
“Okay. Can we go now?”
“I thought you were smelling things?” I teased her.
“I can smell things in town!”
Kirill chuckled. “Then let's go have a look around.”
“Maybe get some lunch,” I added as I headed back outside, where I stopped and inhaled deeply. “There are a lot of things to smell here; most of them good.”
“So, you like cabin?” Kirill asked as he stepped up beside me with Lesya still in his arms.
“Da,” I mimicked him. “Is good.”
Kirill rolled his eyes while our daughter giggled.
Chapter Eleven
Alūksne is a charming little town, heavy on the green space, although those spaces were a bit more brown than green at the moment. We parked on the street then strolled past shops, restaurants, and even a steepled church, Lesya walking—and sometimes skipping—between us again. The people weren't hostile, but I wouldn't call them friendly either. Most just glanced at us and looked away, some glances lasting longer because... Kirill. I mean, even the little old lady, hobbling down the sidewalk on her cane, couldn't help but give my husband a second look. Especially since he wore his hair loose; a silken cape of raven-black that looked so feminine it somehow made him all the more male. I like to say; the hair snags them and the rest reels them in. But even with Kirill's noteworthy appeal and Lesya's undeniable cuteness, no one spoke to us and only a few nodded at my friendly smiles.
“Is all of Latvia like this?” I finally asked Kirill.
Kirill looked around as if he couldn't figure out what I was asking about.
“The people are a little standoffish,” I clarified.
“Oh. Nyet, zey're just more reserved zan others,” he protested. “Here, vatch.” He paused as a man approached us then spoke to him in what I assumed was Latvian; it had a similar cadence to Russian but clearly wasn't, and I was pretty sure it was the same language I'd heard Vejasmate speak. Combined with the fact that we were in Latvia, I think it was safe to assume that was the language.
The man smiled and nodded then replied as he gestured up the street. He grinned at Lesya and me, saying something that sounded polite, then went on his way.
“I didn't know you spoke Latvian,” I said to Kirill.
“Not fluently, but I know enough.” He shrugged. “He recommended a place to eat. See? Zey are nice ven you take time to speak to zem; zey just don't believe in being overly familiar vith strangers.”
“All right; that's not such a bad notion.” I looked down at Lesya. “Never talk to strangers.”
“Yes, I know, Mommy,” she said in that beleaguered tone children use.
“Don't get hangry with me,” I chided her. “I'm already hangry with myself.”
“Restaurant is just up street,” Kirill pointed it out before his hungry lions started snapping at him.
“That's a hotel.”
“And restaurant,” he insisted. “Man said zey make good lemonade.”
“I want lemonade,” Lesya declared.
“Latvian lemonade,” I mused. “I wonder if it's any different.”
“It's lemons, vater, and sugar; how different could it be?” Kirill asked.
I grimaced at him. “Maybe Latvian lemons are different, Kirill.”
Before we could get into a discussion on the varieties of lemons, an ambulance passed by without sirens. I followed it absently then stopped to stare at its destination; a break in the buildings allowed access to the lake. A crowd was gathered there.
“Hold on,” I said as we reached the hotel. “I want to see what that's about.”
Kirill frowned at the collection of cars, all emblazoned with official-looking words and symbols, and the stoic expressions of the people gathered beyond them. “I don't know if ve should take Lesya.”
“Kirill, if there's something bad happening here, I want to know before we get settled,” I reasoned. “Why don't you go inside with her and get a table while I check it out?”
He frowned deeper. “I speak Latvian, not you. I should check and you go inside.”
“I'm just going to take a quick peek. I don't need to speak the language to do that.”
Kirill looked around as if one of the people he'd just praised might suddenly turn into an ax murderer.
“I think I'm safe enough to walk down the street without you.” I didn't add that I was the more powerful out of the two of us. He already knew that and was thinking it, if I was reading his expression correctly.
Kirill sighed then looked down at Lesya, who was watching the crowd avidly. “Okay, but be quick or I'll come out after you.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I teased then kissed his cheek.
“Come on , Kotyonok, ve'll get table.” He led Lesya inside.
“But I want to see too.”
“I'll tell you about it when I come back,” I promised and headed toward the lake.
The crowd was being casually restrained by a few people in uniforms but everyone seemed grim and resigned, more like they were serving as witnesses than oglers. I got a strange feeling from that, especially when I saw the body. A man's wet, faintly blue corpse was being slipped into a body bag; no wounds on him, from what I saw in that glimpse. Even the reserved residents of Alūksne should have reacted with some surprise or murmured conversations involving dismay and horror, but no one spoke, not even the police officers.
“Excuse me, do you speak English?” I asked one of the men.
He shook his head at me and muttered something I didn't understand, likely in Latvian. I grimaced, admitting that Kirill may have been right.
Then a woman said, “I do,” and moved up beside me.
“Oh, thank you.” I turned to her. “Do you know what's happened here? I just got to town with my husband and daughter and I'm a little concerned for our safety.”
She grimaced and shared a look with another woman who had come up with her. Then, in an accent similar to Kirill's, she said, “Alūksne is usually very safe place but ve've had problems lately.”
“Men are murdering wives,” the woman beside her hissed under her breath.
The first woman said something in Latvian to the second before telling me,
“Ve don't know vhat's happening. Only zat couples are disappearing; young couples vithout children. I'm sure you and your family are safe. Whoever is doing zis seems to be targeting locals.”
“You've got a serial killer here?” I asked in shock.
The second woman made a scoffing sound. “It's men; zey're going crazy, I tell you. Zey kill vomen zen jump in lake; kill selves.” She widened her eyes at me.
“In the lake?” I looked at the icy water and shivered. I don't know what was worse; the thought of drowning or of freezing.
“Cold helps preserve bodies,” the second woman added. “Men are vain even in death.”
“So, the women aren't drowned? Only the men?” I asked, thinking of the body that had been pulled out of the river in Saint Petersburg. Could it be the same killer?
“No, both are drowned,” the first woman said. “Don't listen to Emilia, she jumps to...” she frowned.
“Conclusions?” I offered.
“Conclusions,” she nodded and grinned.
“Is it possible that these are just accidents?” I asked.
The woman shrugged. “Six couples die so far. Twelve local people who knew vay around lake. Vhat you think?”
“I think you have a serial killer in Alūksne,” I murmured.
The woman nodded.
“Before we left Saint Petersburg, they pulled a body out of the river there,” I offered her some gossip since she'd been so forthcoming.
“Vhat?” She blinked at me and shared a glance with Emilia. She rattled off something in Latvian.
Emilia spoke back then grimaced.
“I told her I vas right,” the woman said to me. “I've believed zis vas outsider from beginning. No one in Alūksne vould do zis. I'll bet killer is Russian.”
“From big city. Probably Moscow,” Emilia added with distaste. “Big cities breed killers.”
“Emilia.” The other woman shook her head.
“I'm going to tell police; zey need to know it may be a Russian,” Emilia declared. “Be careful, Miss...”
“Oh, how rude of me!” I held out a hand. “I'm Vervain.”
“Emilia,” she said with a small smile even though I already knew her name. “Good to meeting you.”
“You too.” I held a hand out to the first woman as Emilia hurried away to tell the police her gossip; I mean information.
“I'm Magone,” the other woman said as she shook my hand.
“Thank you for sharing this with me, Magone. I appreciate—” I broke off when I spotted someone in the crowd.
“You okay?” Magone asked.
“Yes,” I recovered. “Yes, I'm fine. I just think I see someone I know.”
“You have friends in Alūksne?”
“Perhaps I do.” I smiled as brightly as I could. “Thank you again.”
“You're velcome. Be careful, Vervain. Vatch your husband.”
I nodded back at her as I wove around the crowd, trying to get past the police cars and the ambulance to the other side. By the time I got there, he was gone.
“Son of a witch,” I hissed and stared around the quaint town that had suddenly become menacing.
Chapter Twelve
“What's happening at the lake?” Lesya asked as soon as I sat down. “Do they have ice skating?”
“The lake isn't cold enough to freeze so there's no ice skating, honey. Is this lemonade for me?” I asked to buy myself some time.
“Da.” Kirill frowned at me in concern.
I took a sip then went on, “Someone caught a huge fish. It must have been... oh...” I looked up meaningfully at Kirill “two hundred pounds.”
“That's the size of a whale!” Lesya exclaimed.
“Not quite.” I chuckled. “Closer to the size of Daddy.”
“Wow,” she whispered. Then she scowled. “We should have gone to look, Daddy. I want to see a fish as big as you.”
“I'm a little bigger zan zat.” Kirill winked at her. “But maybe ve can go fishing.”
“Okay!”
“How many fish did zey catch?” Kirill asked me.
“Twelve.”
His eyes widened.
“All from the lake,” I added. “And... I think I may have seen Uncle Loki.”
“Uncle Loki?” Lesya asked eagerly. “Why is he here? Did he come to see us?”
“I don't know, sweetie,” I said and looked at Kirill again. “I'm not even sure it was him.”
“Loki is here?” Kirill asked in a low tone; a growling tone.
Loki and I had a rocky past. He'd done some cruel things to me, even threatened to rape me once—in sabertooth tiger form, no less—but had changed his stripes as it were. Loki is Fenrir's father and to get closer to his son and his extended family, the Froekn, Loki's tried to become a new man. So far, he's done well with it. He's more than made up for what he did to me, at least in my opinion. Thor isn't so forgiving since Loki was partially responsible for our relationship ending. Some of my husbands agree with Thor, though not for that specific reason. Mainly, they don't trust a man who has ever wronged me.
I can't say that I blame them; I'd never trust a woman who hurt one of them.
“I don't know,” I said evenly. “It looked like Loki but his hair and eyes were dark.”
“It's Loki,” Kirill concluded.
Loki, in addition to being the Trickster God of the Norse, is also a shapeshifter. But he's a shapeshifter like Odin is; able to transform into anything. Changing the color of his eyes and hair would be nothing to him; a minor disguise. The question was; why did he feel that he needed a disguise at all?
“Why change those two features and not his entire appearance?” I asked Kirill. “And why run when I tried to approach him?”
“He ran from you?” Kirill asked warily. “Zat's not good sign, Tima.”
“Maybe he wanted you to chase him?” Lesya suggested.
“That must be it.” I grinned at her. “You know how playful Uncle Loki is.”
“I wonder if he wants us to find him?” She asked eagerly. “Hide and Seek!”
“We'll look for him after lunch,” I offered with a heavy glance Kirill's way. “Now that I think about it, he may not have run at all but simply shifted into another appearance.”
Kirill cracked his neck and narrowed his eyes at me. I had a feeling that if Lesya wasn't there, he would have bared his teeth for good measure. Or bad measure, rather. Why doesn't anyone ever use that term? If there's a good measure it falls to reason that there's a bad measure. I think I might try to make it popular.
Speaking of bad measures, I hoped that Trevor's grandpa was backsliding into his old ways. If was Loki was involved with these drownings, it would crush Fenrir.
Chapter Thirteen
We ambled all around the main part of town—Lesya racing ahead of us to peer around every corner first—but never found Loki. I wasn't all that surprised. When a god doesn't want to be found, he usually isn't. I hadn't thought to get a sniff of him. If I had, I would have been able to hunt him down. I'd smelled Loki before, of course, but his wasn't a scent I kept on file in my mental Aroma-Rolodex. I'd need a refresher sniff to track him. We could have simply gone to his hall and confronted him, but I didn't want to interrupt our vacation over what may have simply been a coincidence or even possibly a case of mistaken identity. Loki had a stunning face but without his purple eyes, I couldn't be absolutely certain it was him.
So, after strolling around town and purchasing provisions, we drove back to the cabin and grilled our dinner outside, within a heat circle that I generated. Then we made another fire, this one in the fire pit, and I banked mine to enjoy it. We sat around the crackling flames in our coats, watching embers float up toward the dark sky to challenge the stars with their golden brilliance, short-lived as it was. Lesya got to roast her coveted marshmallows but even those crispy puffs of pure sugar couldn't keep her awake. She did the sleepy sway until Kirill picked her up and took her inside. When he returned, we finally had a chance to speak
about the body they pulled from the lake.
I told Kirill everything I'd learned from the women, and he started growling halfway through my report.
