Touch of Darkness (36 page)

"Sit down, Mama," Firebird said. "I'll load the dishwasher."

"Yes. But first!" Zorana pulled a plate piled high with sconelike desserts out of the refrigerator, and put it on the table. Beside it, she placed a bowl of sour cream.
"Varenyky
with cherries!"

A few minutes ago, Rurik had thought he couldn't eat another thing. Now as he gazed at his favorite dessert in the world, he said, "My most wonderful mother, I adore you."

"As you should." Zorana served Konstantine, then seated herself and let Konstantine break off a piece and feed her.

"Both of my sons have a woman worthy of them," Konstantine repeated, "so I know these women who have chosen my sons will marry and reproduce many children. Many children."

Rurik stopped in the middle of explaining
varenyky
to Tasya. "Now, wait, Papa—"

Tasya's eyes flashed. "Mr. Wilder, I don't intend to discuss—"

"Papa, you are making so much trouble—" Jasha said.

Firebird slammed the dishwasher shut. The sound resounded in the small kitchen, shocking them to silence. Into the momentary lull, she shot a question. "So, Rurik, what are you guys going to do now?"

"I don't know," Rurik admitted. "I want to get back to my site in Scotland and direct the cleanup. Tasya wants to be free to wander to the wild places of the world in search of a story."

"I never said that!" Tasya said.

"You didn't have to." He understood her so well now. Understood her weaknesses, her strengths, her need to prove herself and to help those who were helpless to help themselves.

"The trouble is, both of our vocations put us in the path of the Varinskis. The Varinskis, who now know who Tasya is and that she escaped one of their assassination campaigns—they won't stop until she's dead. Plus they know where Jasha and Ann live now, so no one is safe. It's a damned mess." Rurik looked at Jasha. "Do you think we can cause the Varinskis enough trouble to keep them occupied so we can work?"

"You don't have to." Firebird spoke with just enough of an accent to sound like a fortune-teller.

Rurik jumped and stared at his little sister.
Shit,
not her, too.

"What do you know, pip-squeak?" Jasha asked.

"Boris is dead, murdered by his own family," Firebird said in a mysterious tone. "The leadership of the Varinskis is up for grabs."

"Did you have a vision?" Jasha's voice was hushed.

"No. I read it on the Internet!" Firebird laughed so hard she bent over and held her belly. "Jeez, you guys are suckers!"

Ann laughed, too, then Tasya, and finally Zorana.

The men were unified in their disapproval.

"That's not funny," Rurik said.

"I thought it was." Tasya grinned like the Cheshire cat.

"All right, daughter." Konstantine stared disapprovingly at Firebird. "You have had your little joke. Now tell us the details."

"They found Boris's body in a garbage pit outside of Kiev, apparently mauled by"—Firebird made air quotes with her fingers—" 'a variety of wild animals.' The speculation in the international press is that the Varinskis assassinated him because of his failure to halt the trial of the Varinski Twins and keep the whole episode out of the press. One of the Varinskis made a statement which said that while they grieved for Boris, he was their weakest leader in their history and will be replaced by someone who
has the strength to bring the Varinski family back to the pinnacle of power."

Ann sat forward. "Who said that? Who's their new leader?"

"He wouldn't say."

"Then they're fighting among themselves for command." Konstantine stroked his chin. "I wonder who it could be."

"There are quite a few candidates, although none of the obvious ones have the organizational skills as well as the ruthlessness needed to maintain control over those boys." Ann shook her head as everyone in the family turned to stare at her. "I'm not psychic, either, but I've done a lot of research in the past weeks."

"If there's a file on a computer somewhere about the Varinskis, Ann has found it," Jasha announced with pride.

"The younger Varinskis are online a
lot.
They play video games. They look at porn. Some of them even have MySpace pages." Ann smiled with the smug pleasure of someone who had discovered the weak link.

Konstantine rubbed his neck. "Such sloppiness." "I wonder what kind of information the right kind of interest could elicit from them." Tasya's eyes narrowed, and Rurik could almost see her mind working.

So Rurik gave his first command to his woman. "You are not going to flirt with a bunch of horny young Varinskis so we can find out what's happening in the organization."

"Never crossed my mind." But Tasya wasn't really paying attention to him.

Grabbing her by the shirtfront, Rurik brought her to her feet.

That got her attention.

"Promise me you won't put yourself in their path. They know who you are now. They know you're unfinished business, and they have everything to prove. Don't contact them." He shook her a little. "You owe it to your parents, who came back from the grave to save your life, and mine."

"I promise, Rurik." Tasya laid her hand on his face. "Don't worry so much."

Don't worry?

He slowly sank back into his seat.

A woman like this, who charged in first and thought afterward, didn't want him to worry.

She'd given him everything. She'd told him the truth about herself and the truth about him. She'd made him embrace the wild part of himself. She'd brought the icon to his parents and proved he meant more to her than her own ambitions and her own revenge.

He had to protect her now—from the Varinskis, and from herself.

"Really. Rurik. I won't contact these guys online. Calm down." Tasya took his hand and put a fork in it. "Eat some
varenyky,"

"Yoo-hoo!" A sweet, high lady's voice hailed them from the open door.

As one, the family jumped and turned.

Miss Mabel Joyce stood there, her face pressed to the screen. She was tall and big-boned, with only the slightest dowager's hump. Her hair was iron gray and had been for as long as Rurik could remember. Once upon a time her eyes might have been hazel, but now they were faded to a wispy gray. Her jowls drooped over her jaw-line, her cheeks drooped toward her lips, and her whole face was a monument to the softening nature of old age. But her skin was clear of spots; Rurik had never seen her outside without a hat to protect her from the sun.

She held one in her hand now, a wide-brimmed straw hat that would have looked at home on a Cozumel beach.

"Come in!" Konstantine waved a generous hand.

Zorana bustled to the door to flip the lock.

"Who's that?" Tasya whispered as she stared at the old woman.

"She's the retired schoolteacher here in Blythe. In high school, all of us kids had her." Rurik saw Tasya's wary expression. "She's an amazing old lady. Taught way past the age of retirement, and she's only recently needed "a cane."

"How come you guys didn't hear her arrive?" she asked.

"She's pretty all-round amazing." Rurik remembered more than once when Miss Joyce sneaked up behind the boys when they gambled or fought.

Tasya moved uneasily in her seat. "Do you think she heard us? Heard what we were talking about?"

"Naw. She couldn't have been there that long." He stood and offered his seat.

Miss Joyce waved him back. "I can't stay but a minute. The Milburns from in town volunteered to bring me. They wanted a flat of raspberries from the fruit stand. They're making jam, bless their hearts, and they'll share with me. I had something for you, so I hitched a ride."

Zorana brought her a glass of iced tea—Miss Joyce didn't drink alcohol—and the teacher drained the glass.

"Thank you. Whew!" She waved her hat before her face. "It is really warm this summer." Digging into her purse, she pulled out a long envelope.

Rurik could see the foreign stamps, the stained paper, the scratchy writing that had etched their address on the front.

"This was delivered to me by mistake—that substitute mailman from down Burlington way is an idiot!" Miss Joyce frowned. "The post office should screen their people better. But when I saw where the

letter was from, I thought it might be something to do with, well . . ."

"Adrik," Zorana breathed. Jasha slowly rose to his feet. Rurik followed. Of course. Adrik.

Rurik was furious with his little brother for leaving their parents without a word, but at the same time ... he was blood of his blood, bone of his bone. Rurik's heart began a slow, hard beat.

Zorana snatched the envelope out of Miss Joyce's hands. She opened it easily—it was so tattered the letter barely hung in there. Dropping the envelope on the floor, she spread open the thin sheet of paper. Miss Joyce leaned down, picked up the envelope, and smoothed it between her hands.

"Read it to us, Zorana. Let us all hear the news." Konstantine's voice rang with optimism—and fear.

"The American consul for Nepal is sorry to send us such bad news, but Adrik's . . . Adrik's badly decomposed body has been found and identified. He's been cremated." Her voice wobbled, then strengthened. "His remains are being returned to
us."

"Oh, no," Ann whispered.

Firebird gave a muffled sob.

"My poor darlings, it's exactly what we all feared. I'm so sorry!" Miss Joyce patted Zorana's back.

Tasya hugged Rurik, and Rurik leaned heavily
against her.

"It is as we suspected." Konstantine, who only a few minutes ago had been flushed and happy, was now drawn, gray, and looking fragile. "Our son and
brother is dead."

Beneath the family's grief, there was another horrible realization—there was no hope.

Without Adrik, without the woman he loved and the icon he was fated to find, the pact could never
be broken.

Konstantine was damned to hell. They were all condemned . . . forever.