Mistletoe and Magic (14 page)

Pronunciation Guide For Polish Terms

Babcia: BOB-cha

Bardzo dobry: BART-so DO-bray

Bigos: VEE-gose

Choinka: HO-yink-a

Czy jesteś dobra: too YES-day DO-bra

Dobry rano: DO-bray RON-o

Dziadek: JA-dek

Gesiorka: gay-SHOR-ka

Jak są wy: yok so vay

Motyle: MO-tee-leh

Olimpijski: o-lim-PEE-skee

Paczki: POTCH-kee

Pozdrawiam: pose-dra-vee-OM

Przepraszam: zhi-PRA-zham

Serce: SEER-tse

Sernik: SEER-nick

Smocza Jama: SMO-cha YA-ma

Smok Wawelski: smoke va-VEL-skee

Szopki: SHOP-kee

Tadeusz: TA-da-oosh

Tu przyjść: TOO preescht

Ukochana: ook-o-HONN-a

Wawel: VA-vell

Wigilia: Vee-GEEL-ya

Wywiady: VIV-ee-a-da

Zlotys: ZLOT-is

Chapter 1

Polina Kominski snuggled into the meager warmth of her down jacket as she strode through the ancient city of Krakow, just another face in the crowd. Her plaid plastic boots crunched the snow under her feet, but did little to buffer the cold or moisture seeping into her socks. Why couldn’t her mother have come from Miami Beach? Or, at least, someplace that didn’t require a trip halfway around the world?

Interminable delays and transfers at three different airports while reaching Poland from Alabama had drained the last dregs of energy. Coffee would only screw up her sleep pattern, already skewed by the time difference. To counter the exhaustion and regain balance in her tumbling emotions, she breathed in the crisp December air and picked up her pace. She had to reach Planty Gardens in the Old Town historical district before dark.

Last time, she vowed. This was the last time Mom could rearrange her daughter’s plans to suit
her
whims. Pain mingled with relief at the thought. Mom’s dying wish, that her ashes be buried in her homeland, had caged Polina into a trip to Europe two weeks before Christmas. Her mother, always meticulous with details, had planned every bit of the itinerary, right down to her non-refundable return flight, which wouldn’t leave Krakow until the twenty-sixth of December. Like it or not, Polina was stuck here until then.

“Spend this Christmas in Krakow,
ukochana
, sweetheart,” Mom had whispered that last afternoon. “The beauty, the magic, will refresh you. After you do this one last thing for me, you’ll be free.”

Free. Free to pursue her own life at last. A
normal
life. At twenty-eight, she would no longer be forced to live her mother’s dreams. Maybe she could find a job that didn’t involve working with society’s outcasts. And then, someday, a real home with a white picket fence, normal pets like a dog or a cat or both, maybe even a husband and children.

One last task. She could do this. Head down, she propelled herself forward with the single-mindedness of a charging bull.

Street performers littered the sidewalks like trails of popcorn on a county fair midway. Every corner seemed to host a singer with a guitar, but she also came upon less common and more varied acts as she pressed on toward her destination. Marionettes, carved and costumed to resemble famous pop stars, “lip synched” and danced to the Top Ten hits of their celebrity counterparts, which blasted from the tinny speakers of a boom box. Several accordion players, dressed in traditional red and white Polish garb, performed polka music. A string quartet played Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
. Three young hippie-looking dudes thumped bongos. In Market Square, where multi-storied buildings housed Krakow’s international business interests, employees scurried past her, headed for their cars after a long day at work.

Polina stifled her impatience at the craziness around her. No wonder Mom had sent her here; the city represented everything her mother had loved: chaos, color, and cacophony.

She
, on the other hand, craved peace. After years of bright lights, loud music, and never sleeping in the same city for longer than a week at a time, Polina wanted nothing more than a quiet place where she could plant roots that dug deep. As deep as the ancient, gnarled trees lining the sidewalks here.

Even in the grip of winter’s chill, the grounds at the Planty Gardens were lovely. Snow painted the tree limbs in pristine white, sparkling on branches that reached to touch the lavender sky. On the other side of the gardens, ivory and gray stone buildings with high arches buffeted most of the wind. Dusk had fallen, and yellowish light from the nineteenth century oil lamps washed the grounds in liquid gold.

At last, she reached the center of the ring-shaped park and stopped on a bench across from the fountain. Rifling through her backpack—her only luggage—she pulled out Mom’s itinerary. What next? She scanned the list, ignoring the more bizarre instructions like, (5.)
Follow the dog
, and (8.)
Kiss a stranger
. Mentally, she crossed off (3.)
Visit Planty Gardens
and her finger stopped at (4.)
Have your fortune told
.

Naturally. Because Mom would continue to push her interests in the paranormal, the
abnormal
, even from beyond the grave.

Last time, she reminded herself again. Those two words, now a mantra, kept her moving forward.

Okay, fine. Get her fortune told. Where? As if on cue, a young girl, dressed in scarlet and tangerine scarves dripping with gold medallions, peered out from the closest alcove and crooked her finger in Polina’s direction. There, of course.

After replacing the list and zipping up the backpack, she made her way toward the archway where the dark-haired, dark-eyed girl with skin the color of Arizona sand waited. Inside the stone apse, the girl had set up a long wooden shelf littered with hand-painted wooden dolls and sequined trinkets. Polina hated sequins and spangles, hated anything anyone used to make shoddy products shiny. True quality didn’t need spotlights or halos, a lesson she learned early in life.

“I tell your future?” the girl asked in stilted, but understandable English. “Ten
zlotys
?”

“Yes, please.” She passed over the money, roughly three American dollars.

The girl stuffed the brass and black coins into a brightly colored woven box and shoved it under the shelf, then took Polina’s hand. The gypsy didn’t ask Polina to remove the glove or even attempt to read her palm, she simply riveted her dark gaze into Polina’s blue eyes. “You have suffered great loss,” she intoned. “But don’t weep. Someone very special waits around a corner. Follow the dog.”

“Follow the dog,” Polina repeated with a sigh. The same instruction her mother had given her. “What does that mean?”

“Sometime this evening, you will hear a dog barking. Walk in the direction of the sound to find your future.”

Great
, Polina thought.
That sounds exactly like something Mom would say. Did every fortune teller in the world use the same schtick
?

“I am sorry. That is all I can tell you,” the gypsy girl said, dropping Polina’s hand.

Oh, big surprise. Well, at least she hadn’t spent a fortune for a worthless fortune. “Thanks.” Polina turned away to hide her disgust. Really, what had she expected? She’d grown up around these charlatans, knew all the gimmicks and cons they used to get marks to ante up more cash.
Follow the dog
. Next, the girl would tell her someone had placed a curse on her, and for ten thousand
zlotys
, the gypsy could wrap an egg in a handkerchief and remove the ill will.

When had she become so naïve? Time to smarten up and remember. Mom didn’t invent the con; she’d just perfected it.

Jet lag was probably inhibiting Polina’s brain from functioning logically. She needed a chance to regroup before tackling the next item on her mother’s To-Do list. The mysterious barking dog would have to go on without her. Or find her tomorrow. Right now, she planned to check in to her room, a five or six minute walk away, and collapse for the night. A hot bath and several hours’ sleep would rejuvenate and prepare her for whatever Mom had planned for tomorrow.

Leaving the gardens, she crossed the thoroughfare and strode past the rows of storybook storefronts, all painted in rainbow hues. Funny. Whenever her mother talked about Krakow, Polina had always envisioned a bleak existence of dust and rubble, of poverty and grit. She’d never imagined this fairyland of twinkling lights on a primavera palette, music filling the air, and happy people everywhere. For heaven’s sake, the notorious Auschwitz concentration camp lay only forty miles away from this charming city. Then again, that was Mom’s true nature. Never see reality, cover up anything sad or unpleasant with garish colors and glitter.

When she turned the next corner, she spotted the now familiar copper spires of the Pulaski Hotel’s roof piercing the twilit sky. Soon, she’d be warm and comfortable. She passed a bakery, and the yeasty aromas that scented the air brought sharp reminders from her stomach that she hadn’t eaten in hours. Just another few blocks, she told herself and her rumbling empty tummy. Thank God, she still had half a sandwich in her backpack.

Woof
!
Woof
!

She stopped in mid-step. No. It couldn’t be.

Woof
!
Woof
!

Yes, it was. A barking dog. Gloved hands fisted at her sides, she steeled herself to ignore the animal. Her gaze remained pinned on the hotel looming only a few blocks away. Thoughts of a soft bed in a warm room filled her mind, pushed her feet forward. Food, bath, sleep. In that order. No dog.

The barking, however, grew louder and, crazy as it seemed, even more insistent.
Follow the dog. Woof
!
Woof
!
Follow the dog
.

Exasperated, she threw up her hands. Okay, okay. Apparently, the dog was in cahoots with Mom and the gypsy girl. A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she turned around to follow the barking sounds, but she consoled herself with the thought that she’d only walk back one block. After that, if he had something to show her, the dog would have to run up and introduce himself.

Once again, she passed the bakery. God, she was starving! Maybe she should splurge on a real dinner tonight. Grab a cheeseburger deluxe with fries and onion rings. And some fresh apple fritters for dessert.

This time around, she couldn’t help but stare longingly at the glass display case where lighter-than-air pastry shared a starring role with loaves of freshly baked bread. Gaze riveted on the goodies in the shop window, she turned the corner.

Wham
! Something huge collided with her midsection and knocked her onto the slushy sidewalk. Stars exploded in her skull as the back of her head slammed against the pavement. When she finally opened her eyes, a hairy gray face came into view, with sharp teeth inches from her nose. A wolf! She cried out and raised a hand to shield herself from a vicious bite.

A wet black nose snuffled into the space between her elbow and her chin, and she gave a low whine, squeezing her eyes shut, tensed for the attack.

“Hunter,
tu przyjść
!” a brusque voice ordered.

Who was that? Slowly, she lowered her arm, opened her eyes, and came face to snout with her attacker. Not a wolf. A dog. A tremendous, wiry-haired dog with a toothy grin.

Slurp
!

A dog that had just licked her nose. Ick. She wiped a sleeve across her cheeks to swipe at the doggie slime.

“Hunter,
tu przyjść
!” The order, dark as smoke, came again. Lucky for her, the man patted his thigh, and the dog immediately bounded off her to stand beside him.

Polina looked up beyond the not-so ferocious beast that had vacated her chest to check out the owner of both the smoky voice and the overly affectionate animal. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and despite the frown he flashed at her new furry friend, very appealing with a wide face and hazel eyes, framed by thick honey-colored hair. His clothes were expensive, shoes gleamed. Money. He smelled of it,
reeked
of it.

“
Przepraszam. Czy jesteś dobra
?” He held out a hand to assist her to her feet.

With her very limited grasp of the Polish language, she had to rely on the man’s body language to assume he was apologizing and, maybe, asking if she was hurt. “I’m okay,” she replied with a smile she hoped would translate.

“You speak English?” Surprise glazed his words stronger than the very British accent he used, and he gripped her hand a little tighter.

She nodded. “I’m American.”

His smile beamed white, lighting up his face, and Polina’s heart sat up and took notice. “Oh, thank God. My Polish isn’t exactly flawless yet.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a leash and clipped it to the dog’s collar. “I apologize about the dog. He belongs to the son of a colleague, got away from the kid, and I’ve been chasing him for the last three blocks. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Uh-huh.” Her brain spiraled into free fall as his gaze raked her from disheveled head to booted toe. In an attempt to regain some sense of calm, she turned slightly and hitched up the nylon backpack. “I landed on this. Not exactly a plush cushion, but it’s better than full contact with cement.” Of course, the knot blooming on the back of her head said differently, but she opted to keep that a secret. Along with her now crushed and useless sandwich. She didn’t want to engage in explanations or additional conversation.

He continued to stare at her, saying nothing.

A rush of heat bathed her, and her throat dried up, leaving her tongue feeling thick in her mouth. All she wanted right now was a juicy cheeseburger, then a soft bed to dive into, where she could escape the crazy thoughts racing through her head.
Follow the dog
. How stupid could she be? “Well, nice meeting you…I guess.”

He shot out a hand to grasp her jacket sleeve. “No, wait. Where are you headed?”