“Let me finish. Spasibo. Raven, your week in the kitchen has taught me that this rotation is not going to work out between all of us. You have no concept of meals or planning ahead, Wyatt never reads directions, Christian boils potatoes with abandon, and Gem puts candy sprinkles on everything. Effective immediately, I will begin searching for a live-in servant. Someone who will cook our meals, do the laundry, and—”
“Keep our secrets?” Niko asked. “That’s a lot of trust to impart in someone.”
Wyatt pointed his fork at him. “Niko’s right. Maybe we should hire someone who’s deaf.”
Blue shook her head and laughed. “Deaf people aren’t blind.”
Viktor pinched the candle out and cut the cake as he would a pizza. “Would you all prefer to continue your life of servitude? I have a pile of underwear that could use a good ironing.”
“No complaints here,” I quickly added. “If you can find someone trustworthy, I fully support your endeavor.”
Wyatt gave me a smug look. “You haven’t cut your teeth in the kitchen like the rest of us. I say we let you practice for the next two months. You’ve already shirked your duties more than once.”
“You sure woke up with a mean streak this morning,” Gem remarked.
I picked up my fork and wiped off the prongs. “It’s only mean if you’re implying I can’t cook.”
She gave me a sheepish grin and scooped more pasta into her mouth.
Viktor passed out small plates, each with a slice of chocolate cake. It didn’t look pretty, but to his credit, it smelled delicious.
Wyatt gulped down his wine and then reached for the bottle. “I’m taking the day off.” He glanced at Gem, and they shared a private joke that had nothing to do with the wine or taking the day off.
The joke being Niko. Today he was wearing a hot-pink shirt—the one Gem had snuck into his closet. It generated quiet amusement among the team, but it was even funnier to me since they weren’t aware that Niko was in on their little secret. He drank his wine, pretending not to see the sparks of humor around him while Blue told a story about socking a male suitor in the mouth at the ball.
Claude suddenly spit his dessert out, a look of revulsion on his face. “What did you do to this cake?”
Gem’s mouth turned down when she tasted hers. “There’s no sugar.”
Wyatt gobbled up another bite and shrugged. “Just like my great grandmammy used to make.”
Claude pushed the cake away and resumed eating his pasta.
I mashed together the sweet icing and sugarless cake until I had a mushy pudding. “Looks good to me, Viktor. Sometimes you just have to be creative.” I took a bite, and it wasn’t half-bad. It wasn’t half-good either, but I’d had worse things in my life. In a gesture of appreciation to Viktor, others copied me and gulped down their wine after the first bite.
I quickly finished my plate and stood up just as Viktor popped the cork on the second bottle of wine. “I think that’s enough for me. There’s somewhere I need to go. Can I borrow a car?”
Viktor smiled warmly, his mood lightened. I couldn’t help but notice how the stress lifted off his shoulders after we closed a case. He was usually all business, but I liked when he cracked open a bottle and told stories about his childhood. “Take Shepherd’s. The van is still under repair, and his Jeep is reliable on ice.”
“Thanks.”
I left the room, relieved that no one had asked me where I was going. It was nice to have that kind of freedom where no one pried into my business. The laughter and boisterous chatter commenced as I left the room and journeyed down the long hallway toward the foyer.
A light knock sounded at the front door.
“Lock yourself out again?” I mused. It wouldn’t be the first time Christian had gone for a stroll and someone had locked the door.
When I opened the door, I looked up at a gentleman about Christian’s height, maybe a hair over six feet. His bleached-white hair was styled in loose, chunky spikes, and though physically he looked my age, I got a vibe that he might have been a few centuries older than that.
His hazel eyes sparkled when he smiled, and two vertical lines etched in his face at the corners of his mouth.
“How did you get past the gate?” I asked, noticing there wasn’t a car parked in the circular driveway.
While the collar on his grey coat was high, his earlobes around his black studs were bright red from the frosty air. “I walked.”
“Would you like to wait inside while I get Viktor? He’s just down the hall.”
“No. I’m actually here to deliver a message.” He handed me a sealed envelope. “You seem like you’re in a hurry.”
“I was on my way out, but I’ll be sure Viktor gets this. Can I have your name?”
He offered a friendly smile. “Let’s keep it simple. It was lovely to see you again, Butterfly.” He inclined his head and stepped forward, never removing his eyes from mine.
“Do I know you?”
“You always ask me that,” he said obliquely. “I wasn’t here. You never saw me, and you won’t recognize me if you see me again. You found the note slipped underneath the door.”
When he turned around and closed the door, everything got fuzzy. I held the card in my hand and flipped it over, tracing my finger over the gold sticker. Why would someone slip mail beneath the door when there were delivery boys for that kind of thing? Someone might have accidentally kicked it beneath a rug or something.
Viktor entered the room. “I thought you were gone?”
I flourished the card in my hand as I headed toward the stairs. “Someone shoved this under the door. It’s probably for you since I don’t get love letters from secret admirers.”
“Don’t be dramatic. I have no admirers.” He tore open the envelope and took out the paper.
“What’s it say?”
He gave a dismissive shake of his head. “Someone who enjoys playing games.”
Viktor handed me the letter to read.
“I’m taking what’s mine. Signed Houdini. What’s up with this Houdini guy and his cryptic letters?” I handed it back to Viktor. “Maybe he should just tell you what he wants instead of all the veiled threats.”
“I’ll have Wyatt add it to the collection of fan mail we receive. Christian and Shepherd looked into it but found nothing. We confiscate many goods from the pawnshops. Probably a disgruntled relative. Are you positive you won’t join us for more wine?”
“Maybe tonight if the party’s still going. There’s plenty of leftover pasta in the fridge if anyone gets hungry for more.”
“Splendid. Go. Have a good time. Shepherd’s keys are in the ignition.” Viktor strolled toward a room where he stored a modest collection of good wine.
“And, um… Mr. Kazan?”
The silver fox glanced over his shoulder, an inquisitive look in his eyes. “Da?”
“Thanks. For giving me a second shot in life. I don’t know if I ever really thanked you.” In some ways, Viktor was the closest thing I’d have to a father in my new life. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
He gave a brisk nod. “Don’t let me down.”
Chapter 29
I never imagined that a graveyard could be so beautiful. My father would sometimes bring me out here to lay flowers on my mother’s grave. He would always remain behind for a few minutes longer after I went back to his bike or truck, whichever he had driven. I never understood why he wanted to talk to a tombstone. It wasn’t as if she were hanging around a graveyard. Then again, I never really knew her. Just a collection of random memories and a few photographs my father had kept.
“Sorry I haven’t been around much,” I said, still seated on the wet grass, the cold stone pressed against my back. I had kicked the snow away from my mother’s grave, but my trench coat offered a little protection from the wet ground.
I drank in the spectacular view of the setting sun. A buttery glow lingered in the air, caught within a thin veil of fog. It reflected off the crystalline snow and landed on the headstones in front of me, casting long shadows behind. The twisted branches of the trees were barren of leaves but glistened with melted snow. Icicles clung to the wings on a statue like ornamental jewelry.
“I talked with Daddy,” I continued. “I think we’re all good now. He doesn’t remember the conversation, but I’m sure you understand… wherever you are.” A long stretch of silence passed, the only sound being a crow in the distance. “I miss you. I didn’t really know you, but I can still remember the little things. Oh, who am I kidding? This is stupid. You can’t hear me.”
I packed a snowball and threw it.
When I thought of my mother, I didn’t think about heavenly angels or even ghosts. I thought about her remains locked in a coffin in the stone-cold earth, still wearing the same blue dress we’d buried her in, even though I never got to see it because it was a closed-casket funeral. I reflected upon my own death that would inevitably come, because even immortals could die. Even if I could live forever, who would want to? What would be the point?
Maybe the most depressing part about it all was that I wouldn’t have anyone to set flowers on my grave. No one would be around who loved me, who cared. No children. No family. Maybe not even a tombstone. I’d be one of the forgotten ones.