“We should go swimming,” Keira said.
We all knew that a relaxing day at the beach wouldn’t be happening, but it was nice to dream. “There are no frogs in the sea.”
“Why would I be interested in frogs?”
“Jim told me one time that he didn’t swim unless there were frogs involved. I assumed he ate them.”
“That’s disgusting,” Keira said. “You really should stop listening to my brother. And he swims like a fish, by the way. The Cat House has an Olympic-sized pool and he swims a couple of miles every time he stays over. Frogs. That man has never eaten a frog in his entire life.”
Aunt B laughed.
We started down the winding road. The gravel path smelled of rock dust. Dense blackberry bushes formed a solid wall of green on the sides. I suddenly realized I was starving. I pulled a handful of berries off the bush and stuffed them in my mouth. Mmmm. Sweet.
“Berries are always best off the branch,” Aunt B said. She wore a bright yellow dress with a white paisley design on it, sunglasses, and a straw hat. Keira wore a sundress with a light brown bodice and a wide skirt made of strips of light turquoise, white, and brown fabric. It came up to her knees and made her look five years younger. The two of them appeared to be on vacation, while I, with my sexy bruised face, big boots, jeans, and a sword, looked like I had a camp of bandits to destroy.
“What’s the connection between you and our handsome host?” Aunt B asked.
Blackberries taste much worse when they try to come back up your throat. “Uhhhh . . .”
“Uhhh is not an answer,” Keira informed me.
Andrea must not have told her about Hugh, and I had no desire to explain who my dad was. “We never met but we were trained by the same person. Now he works for a very powerful man who will kill me if he finds me.”
“Why?” Keira asked.
“It’s a family thing.”
“That explains the attraction,” Aunt B said.
“Attraction?”
“You’re that thing he can’t have. It’s called forbidden fruit.”
“I’m not his fruit!”
“He thinks you are. The word you’re looking for is ‘smitten,’ my dear.” Aunt B smiled. “I’m sure the way Megobari looked at you made Curran positively giddy.”
Hearing his name was like being burned. “Will you stop meddling in my love life?” I growled.
“I’m not meddling. I’m offering commentary.”
Ugh. “I just want to go home.”
“Not until we get all of the panacea we’ve been promised.” Aunt B adjusted her hat. “You have no idea what it’s like to lose a child to loupism. True, you’ve endured Julie’s tragedy, but I had given birth to my babies. I nursed them, I nurtured them from the time they were tiny and helpless, I fanned the tiny flames of their potential. I had so many dreams for them. Children think you are a god. You are the center of their universe, you can fix anything, you can shield them and protect them, and then one day they find out you can’t. I remember the look in my sons’ eyes before I killed them. They thought they were abandoned. That I had betrayed them. Raphael will not go through this. Not if I can help it.”
Her voice told me that the wound was still there. It had formed a scab over the years, but Aunt B still mourned her dead children. When she told me that she came on this trip to keep an eye on me, it was a white lie. She had come here for panacea and she would do anything to get it. The one bag she’d earned wouldn’t be enough. I thought of Maddie in the glass coffin. I couldn’t blame Aunt B. I would do anything to spare my child this kind of pain.
If I didn’t have children with Curran, I wouldn’t have to worry about it.
Wow. I wasn’t even sure where that came from.
“I’m glad this Volodja came to you,” Aunt B said.
“Why?” My fight must’ve made a bigger impression than I thought.
“Because some Abkhazians speak Russian. They’re neighbors. You’re the only one in our group who can translate in a pinch.”
And here I thought she was awed by my incredible martial skills. One deflated ego? Check.
We went through the streets. Abandoned houses stared at us with empty windows, shells of their former selves. On the wall of an empty apartment building, little more than a gutted carcass of concrete and steel, someone had drawn a pair of angel wings. Hope for a better future, or a memory of someone who died. We would never know.
“That must be the statue.” Keira pointed to a bronze djigit on a horse. It rose in the middle of a small plaza. Behind it sat a small café.
Aunt B inhaled. “We should go this way.” She made a beeline for the café. “He is a werejackal. He’ll find our scent.”