Ignis (Book 2, Pure Series) (45 page)

           
After ordering, we waited for our food in strained silence.
 
I tried to cover up my discomfort by sipping on a glass of water.

           
"I suppose I should begin with a word of explanation," Maksim said at last, addressing me and breaking the silence.
 
"You see, I am in love with your grandmother, and I have been for many years."

           
Maksim looked over at GM, and I was surprised to see a rosy glow color her face.
 
Once again, she looked years younger—and really beautiful.

           
"Maksim, you must not say such things," she said.

           
Maksim turned back to me.
 
"Your grandmother and I have not seen each other for a very long time, and I feared when she left Russia years ago that I would never see her again.
 
Losing her was the great tragedy of my life."

           
Though Maksim was looking at me, I had a feeling that he was actually talking to GM.
 
I glanced at over at her—she was wearing an unusual expression.
 
She seemed both pleased and uncertain—or was the second emotion shyness?
 
It was hard for me to be sure.
 
GM was seldom anything less than completely confident.

           
Maksim continued.
 
"As a matter of fact, I fully intended to marry your grandmother, until your grandfather got in the way."

           
I looked at him in surprise.
 
So did GM.

           
Maksim looked away from both of us.

           
"I see lunch has arrived," he said pleasantly.

           
After the waitress had set down our food and departed, GM leaned forward.

           
"Maksim, you must be careful what you say around my granddaughter," she said in a low voice.
 
"Katie is young and impressionable."

           
Amusement flickered in Maksim's eyes.
 
"You think I may be a bad influence on young Katie here?"

           
He switched his gaze to me.
 
"Tell me, does your grandmother still drive as if she has to outrun the end of the world?"

           
I couldn't help smiling a little.
 
"Yes.
 
That's a pretty good description, actually."

           
GM looked at me in shock.
 
"Katie!"

           
"It's true," I said.
 
"You have a desk drawer full of speeding tickets."

           
"I am an excellent driver," GM said emphatically.

           
"Yes, yes you are," Maksim replied.
 
"I am merely making a point—what constitutes a bad influence to one is perfectly harmless to another.
 
And I see nothing wrong in discussing the past—especially not if the past concerns true love."

           
"Oh, Maksim," GM said.

           
"So, Katie, what do you plan to do during your stay here in our humble town?"

           
"GM and I were going to get a Christmas tree this afternoon."

           
"How au courant of you," Maksim said.
 
"Though it is not traditional here, the western-style Christmas with a tree has become very popular.
 
I, myself, have never put up a tree.
 
But Russians do love an excuse for a celebration.
 
Our traditional Christmas is actually on January 7
^th
, according to the old Julian calendar, and it's a much quieter day—some might to go church, but that's about it.
 
What we really celebrate is New Year's.
 
We have a tree then, and our Grandfather Frost comes.
 
There is also a lot of food—and drink."

           
He shot a glance at GM.
 
"But here I must be careful what I say.
 
I don't wish to be a bad influence."

           
Suddenly a little spark of mischief leapt up within me.
 
"Would you like to come with us?" I asked Maksim.
 
"To pick out a tree today?"

           
Maksim and GM both looked at me in surprise.

           
"Since you've never put up a tree before," I said.
 
"Maybe you could even help us decorate it."

           
GM suddenly looked murderous.

           
Maksim's good humor seemed to desert him for a moment.

           
"Thank you for the invitation, Katie.
 
But your grandmother doesn't appear to be too pleased by the prospect."

           
As she looked at Maksim, GM's expression softened.
 
"Nonsense, Maksim.
 
We would both be happy to have you accompany us."

           
Maksim gazed at GM for a long moment, as if trying to gauge her mood.

           
"Thank you," he said at last.
 
"I would be delighted."

           
He turned to me once again.

           
"So, Katie, what else do you have planned beyond tree-shopping and decorating?"

           
I found myself at a loss for words.
 
I could hardly tell Maksim that there was a price on my head and that I was trying to find out who was behind it.
 
And I could hardly tell him that I was searching for information about a supernatural creature known as the Werdulac.

           
My mind, however, remained firmly fixed on inappropriate topics—I couldn't even come up with a good cover story.

           
"I hadn't really thought about what I was going to do," I said after a pause.

           
"Well, you might enjoy the Firebird Festival," Maksim said.
 
"That will be in two days on the 23
^rd
.
 
There will be a market during the day, and games for the children.
 
And then at night there will be dancing and food and drink.
 
As I said, we Russians love our celebrations."

           
He glanced over at GM, and the flicker of amusement I'd seen in his eyes before suddenly gleamed there again.

           
"Of course, if you do go out in the evenings, I must caution you to be wary of the witch-fire."

           
I was instantly alert.
 
I had remained curious about the blazes GM and I had seen on our way into Krov, and if the witch-fire was indeed something supernatural, then I needed to know about it—anything supernatural could turn out to be a threat to my life.

           
"What do you know about the witch-fire?" I asked.

           
"A local phenomenon of recent origin," Maksim replied.
 
"Mysterious fires have been flaring up in the forests in and around Krov—fires that burn brightly, but somehow do not seriously burn anything.
 
These fires began around the same time that a series of unpleasant grave robberies began here in town.
 
The more superstitious amongst the villagers say the fires are evil spirits being summoned from realms of darkness—spirits that will use the stolen bodies to walk the earth."

           
A wave of fear washed over me—such a story might sound like nothing more than local superstition to most people.

           
But I knew that such things could actually happen.

           
"Nonsense," GM said firmly.
 
"Nothing but nonsense."

           
Maksim smiled.
 
"You don't believe in witch-fire?"

           
"I certainly do not."

           
"But we saw it last night," I said.
 
"On our drive in—fires flaring up in the forest."

           
"Farmers burning brush," GM said dismissively.
 
"I thought that last night, and I think that now."

           
"Yes, I recall that you never had much use for the supernatural," Maksim said.
 
"You dislike it almost as much as you dislike raisins."

           
Maksim was rewarded for this recollection by a small smile from GM.
 
But she was warming up her arguments and didn't seem to notice that Maksim was simply teasing her.

           
"First of all, why is it called 'witch-fire'?" GM asked belligerently.
 
"That doesn't make any sense—not if the fires are caused by evil spirits."

           
"Ah, yes, but it's witches who are summoning the evil spirits," Maksim said.
 
"Witches are instigating the entire operation.
 
Evil spirits can hardly summon themselves."

           
"And what of these 'realms of darkness'?" GM said.
 
"Can anyone identify positively where one of these places actually is?"

           
"I assume the witches know."

           
I thought then of Galina.
 
On my last trip to Krov, I'd heard that some of the villagers called her 'Baba Yaga'—it was the name of a witch from Russian folklore.
 
Was it possible that some of the locals thought she was behind the witch-fires?

           
Galina's door had been unlocked—had she been forced to flee her home for her own safety?

           
"Have the villagers identified any witches?" I asked, alarmed.
 
"I hope no innocent people have been accused of being witches."

           
"That is an excellent point you make, Katie," GM said approvingly.
 
"Superstition can lead to all kinds of bad behavior, including violence.
 
I hope no citizens of Krov have engaged in any rash acts."

           
"No, no, of course not," Maksim said, sounding ruffled.
 
"There are whispers, rumors, talk against this person or that one, but there is no persecution here.
 
Krov is not a medieval village.
 
It is a thoroughly modern place.
 
And I am proud of it."

           
GM's stern expression softened again.
 
"I am proud of Krov too.
 
That's why I wish the superstition would disappear.
 
There is nothing wrong with folk tales.
 
There is nothing wrong with studying them, honoring them.
 
But there is something wrong with believing them as literal truth."

           
"You are wise as ever, Anna."

           
GM and Maksim exchanged a long look.
 
At the end of it, GM smiled.

           
Krov was certainly a dangerous place in some ways.
 
But at the moment, I was truly glad we had come.

           
After lunch was over, Maksim did indeed go with us to select a tree at a small farm.
 
Choosing a tree was an activity that drew an unusual amount of laughter from GM, and she and Maksim spent a lot of time smiling at one another.
 
Eventually, we found a tree, and Maksim and the young man who sold it to us attached the tree to the top of GM's rental car.

           
GM, Maksim, and I drove home then, and Maksim helped us get the tree into the house and into a stand that GM discovered in a closet.
 
Maksim declined to stay after that, and GM walked him to the door.

           
After he had gone, GM went up to her room and brought down a box of ornaments and decorations.
 
Vague memories of Christmases I had spent in this house stirred in my mind.
 
The Christmas I remembered most clearly was the last one—it was the year that Odette had spent Christmas with us.
 
I remembered that I'd thought she looked just like the angel that had sat at the top of our tree.

           
As GM and I got to work on the tree, she explained that when I was a child celebrating Christmas had been my father's idea.
 
Most of the ornaments were actually his.

           
I was suddenly hit by a wave of longing—I wished my mother and father—and Odette—could be here as they all had been once.

           
But I knew those days were gone for good.