Beka watched Marcus help Tito find the right stance on the board, one large hand on the boy’s narrow shoulder, the other pointing out to sea. She tried not to stare at his wide shoulders and tight butt, thankful for the dark glasses that hid her gaze. Marcus might be cranky and rigid with her, but he was patience personified when it came to Tito.
“Uh, I don’t. Have him, I mean.” Beka could feel herself flush and hoped the other woman would blame it on the heat of the sun. “That is, we’re not a couple. I’m just paying him and his father for the use of their boat, that’s all.”
Candace arched one dark brow. “Really? I thought I picked up on a vibe.”
Beka played with the sand next to their blanket, building a tiny castle complete with an impenetrable moat. Some things were only possible in fairy tales. And not the kind of fairy tales that Baba Yagas featured in; those tended not to have happy endings.
“Nope. No vibe,” she said lightly. “If you’re interested, go for it.”
Candace gave her a wide-eyed look. “Me? God, no! I mean, he’s a great guy and all, but not my type. A little too much of a good thing, if you know what I mean. I prefer my guys on the skinny, geeky side, to be honest.” She laughed. “Tito looks just like his father, minus about a foot in height and a pocket protector.”
Beka tried to convince herself she wasn’t relieved. After all, it wasn’t as though it made any difference. Hell, there was a whole beach full of women who probably all liked the tall, rugged, impossibly manly type. It wasn’t his fault he was by far the sexiest guy on the beach.
“No vibe, huh,” Candace muttered with a snort. “Better tell your hormones that, girl, ’cause from where I’m sitting, there’s vibe all over the place.”
“Mom! Hey, Mom!” Tito had progressed as far as the shoreline and waved at his mother madly. “Come see what I can do!”
Candace gave Beka a wry smile, but there was a bounce to her walk as she went down to join Tito and Marcus. It was clear that she needed this day out as much as her son did.
Beka couldn’t imagine what it would be like to have a child who was sick and not be able to do anything about it. Motherhood was a tough job. Of course, Candace struck her as a pretty tough woman, but still. Beka wasn’t sure how she’d handle things, under the same circumstances.
She watched the three of them playing amid the waves. Marcus, Tito, and Candace looked like a not-so-unusual California family, the dark-skinned boy and his mother romping alongside the tanned sailor. Beka wondered what it felt like to be a family; that wasn’t something she had ever experienced. Obviously, no family was perfect; Tito only had a mom, albeit one who clearly adored him, and Marcus and his father barely spoke most days. Still, Marcus had come back to take care of the older man when he was needed, because that was what family did.
Beka couldn’t imagine having someone who would do that for her. Her own family was long gone. Brenna had followed a silent call of magic one day twenty-five years before and found Beka at the other end, crying piteously next to her dead mother’s stiffening body in the back corner of a dank, abandoned building full of empty-eyed druggies. No one had known who Beka’s father was or cared that Brenna was taking her away. Even her original name was lost in misty memories of hunger, loneliness, and vague fears that probably meant something to her four-year-old self.
Brenna had renamed her Beka and raised her in the hut-turned-painted bus as they traveled around the country. The old Baba Yaga had trained Beka to be her successor, and taught her everything she’d deemed important for a Baba to know—but she hadn’t taught her anything about what it meant to be a part of a Human family. Sometimes, Beka thought it was probably far too late for her to figure it out on her own.
* * *
MARCUS LEFT TITO and his mother giggling as they took turns being knocked off the surfboard into the low breakers near the shore. He’d turned around to wave at Beka, and there was something so sad about the way she was sitting all by herself on the blanket watching them romp, he’d moved without thinking about it, drawn to her like a magnet to a lodestone.
Her eyes were hidden behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, and her thoughts were hidden behind her usual cheerful expression, but something about the way she sat, still and silent, made him certain that her thoughts were less than pleasant. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t question it either.
“Heya,” he said, plopping down next to her on the wide woven cloth, its bright black and yellow stripes making it look like she was riding a giant bumblebee. Considering the bizarre effect she seemed to have on him, maybe it would be more appropriate to envision her riding a broom. God knows, she had cast some kind of spell on him; he hadn’t stopped thinking about her since the day they’d pulled her up in the net, like a Mermaid captured from the arms of the sea.