Destiny and Deception

by Shannon Delany

  Eleven stumbling, bleary-eyed wolves with bellies rattling like beggars’ bowls followed me. And one ran ahead, laying down our path with nothing but scent, a thinning reminder of his red hair and fox-like features. All together twelve wolves looked to me to keep them all safe.

  All we had was one another.

  And that amounted to next to nothing with hunters on our tails.

  Jessie

  Closing the door to Pietr’s room, I leaned against it and caught my breath. Only a few hours had passed since Tatiana’s death. Inside, Pietr dozed on his bed, exhausted from the impact of the cure and the emotional strain of losing someone he’d only just won back. Disbelief and anger at our failure warred within him.

  The same way they’d battled inside me when I lost my mother.

  Over the past months I’d dealt with my grief (certainly not gracefully), but it didn’t make me any better at helping Pietr through his pain.

  I was failing. I should’ve known the right thing to say or do to make things better. But every time his eyes met mine, my throat clogged and all the words stopped.

  There had to be something I could do.

  The temptation to have Dad come get me was strong. I could head home and saddle up Rio. A ride in the crisp wind might help clear my head.

  I closed my eyes. What would a ride do for the Rusakovas?

  Nothing.

  Now was not the time to be selfish. Now was the time to buckle down and do whatever I could for the people who needed it most.

  Even if most of those people were werewolves.

  … were werewolves. Past tense.

  With a groan I pulled away from the door and stumbled down the hall. I paused by the bathroom to assess the damage Max had done: towel racks torn from the walls; tile broken; chunks of plaster and a coating of white dust covered a floor that wallpaper brushed, trailing raggedly from the walls in long shreds. The mirror over the sink was shattered—by fist or paw, I couldn’t tell.

  What had he seen to make him lash out, intent on destroying his own reflection?

  The sink, tub, and shower were still intact. That was good, at least. I’d talk to Max about cleaning up a little later—but before Cat decided to talk to him and the tension between them grew even more difficult to control.

  Or … I stepped into the bathroom, glass grinding between my sneakers and the tile. Maybe I’d just clean it up myself.

  “Jessie.”

  I jumped, but breathed a sigh of relief seeing Amy in the doorway.

  She held a bucket and mop in her gloved hands. “I can’t do nothing,” she said. “I’ll do the physical cleanup, and you handle the emotional. You understand this better.” Her eyebrows pulled together, and she looked at the bits of glass sparkling on the floor. “I just don’t know what to say,” she admitted, squeezing past me.

  I nodded, although words seemed just as elusive to me.

  Out of the bathroom and down the stairs I went. I paused on the last step. I could straighten up the sitting room. Remembering that was where Alexi had Max move Mother’s body, my stomach twisted, deciding there’d be no straightening up there after all.

  Not yet, at least.

  Thinking I could clear the last things off the dining room table, I turned toward it but stopped short when I caught Cat reflected in the china cabinet. Her back to me, she focused on the wineglass that had held the cure—a wineglass that seemed even emptier than before.

  What could I say to her? I’m sorry it didn’t work—but we knew there was a risk when you broke past the cure? Maybe we should’ve said something right after that…?

  I backed away as quietly as I could and made my way to the kitchen.

  Maybe I could cook something so Cat wouldn’t have to, and Max wouldn’t make some comment that’d hurt her already battered feelings. It was a small gesture, but better than doing nothing. Tugging open the refrigerator, I saw the casserole Wanda had brought over only a little while ago. And the pie. Even though almost no one knew about Tatiana’s death, it seemed the few who did felt a need to feed the mourners.

  And in record time.

  My cell phone buzzed, vibrating against my hip. I yanked it free. Sophie. I let it go straight to voice mail. If I didn’t know what to say to Cat, I sure didn’t have a clue about what to say to Sophia. She’d been instrumental to our temporary success but she’d also made it clear she wanted a normal life.

  Just like I did.

  The phone buzzed again and I shut it off, reaching over to turn on the radio instead.

  Maybe if Soph and I never talked about any of this, it’d just go away.

  A girl could dream.

  “The first large snowfall of the season is expected to make its way into our region late tomorrow night,” the DJ announced. “We’re expecting between three and six inches in the course of twelve hours.”

  Opening the fridge again, I discovered my mission, lame as it was. Snow was coming, and the Rusakovas were nearly out of milk. And bread. I dug into my jeans and counted my assortment of bills and coins. Yes. I could get supplies at the Grabbit Mart two blocks away and not bother anyone to drive. That’d clear my head almost as much as a horse ride and it’d get something they needed.

  I shrugged into my coat, pulled on a knit hat, and wrapped the scarf that made Hogwarts standard-issue scarves seem bizarrely short around my neck.

  Five times.

  With a final glance toward the stairs, I shoved out the front door, plunged down the porch steps and into the wind.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jessie

  The snow glistened, peppering down in slow-spinning eddies, just starting to stick to the grass and moisten the sidewalk. At the first intersection I paused as a car went by. Ignoring the light, I crossed the street and suddenly found myself on the other corner clinging to the light post, my vision blurred and my breathing ragged.

  Something twitched in the thin space between my brain and my skull and I let go of the light post and grabbed my head. A centipede ran prickling feet through me, setting my brain on fire.… My knees quivered and I stooped over, determined to keep my balance.

  My vision wobbled and my stomach matched it. In an image bubble-thin and nearly as transparent I saw a hand before me—not my gloved one, but a small, bare hand with chubby fingers. It reached out to a dainty and cooling teacup, something that wriggled and squirmed pinched between its fleshy fingers. A face reflected back at me as I edged closer to the cup: soft child’s features contorted in glee, blue eyes grinning as much as his mouth.

  He seemed familiar. I squinted, tried to get closer to him.…

  “Derek!” a woman’s voice cried out, and I reeled back as the centipede he’d held dropped, writhing, into the cup and the image burst into a thousand glittering drops that evaporated and left me panting at the street corner.

  I shuddered as the tickling sensation scuttled from my head and slithered in slow circles before settling into the base of my skull. Finally regaining control, I sucked down a sharp breath and stood straight again.

  Derek. Dead, but not so gone.

  Breathing deeply, I freed my cell phone. Alexi knew Derek had shot something into our heads during his death throes and he’d said we should tell him immediately if anything strange happened.

  That little episode totally qualified as strange.

  I pulled up his cell’s number. And drew down another breath. Steady, my finger hovered over the call button. But I didn’t press it.

  Instead, I searched my brain for lingering weirdness—any other strange sensation. And I reminded myself that Alexi’s mother—well, his adoptive mother—had just died even though he’d done his damnedest to concoct a cure and save her.

  How would he feel knowing I needed his help now? Besides, it was the first time it’d happened. It could be a fluke—maybe the only time. With that hope in mind, I hurried the rest of the way to the Grabbit Mart.

  * * *

  The Grabbit Mart on the corner—a little place that exi
sted because of convenience, not competitive prices—was nearly empty. A man worked behind the counter handling the occasional gas customer and glancing at the domed security mirrors out of habit probably more than interest. He nodded at me as I pulled the door closed and adjusted my hat and scarf. Then he returned to swapping glances between the mirrors and the pumps.

  I’d only been in once before, so it took me a minute to find their sparse stock of bread. Studying my choices, I was startled by the sudden appearance of someone else in the aisle. Slender, with close-cropped red hair, the guy approaching me had pinched features and a nose that pointed in a way that made me think he was as much fox as anything. I froze, and he looked in my direction as if he’d overheard my thoughts. He cocked his head. “Hey.”

  I nodded and snagged an anonymous loaf, my eyes stuck on him.

  He locked gazes with me and reached over to the opposite shelf. He grabbed three candy bars.

  And shoved them into his coat pocket with a sly smile and a look that clearly dared me.

  My eyes must’ve widened because as soon as my mouth opened, his smile slid to one side of his face and he whispered, “You wouldn’t rat me out, would you?” He tilted his head in the opposite direction and studied me, eyes bright. Taunting. “We all have our little secrets.” With a wink he spun on his heel and walked back down the aisle and out the door.

  “Dammit.” Why’d I hesitate? I took three candy bars myself and headed to the refrigerator section.

  Milk, bread, and candy bars in hand, I set everything on the counter in front of the cashier and paid.

  “Want a bag?”

  “Yeah,” I said, my eyes lingering on the door. I wondered where he’d disappeared to. “Oh, wait.” I pulled the candy bars out. “Put those back on the shelf for me?”

  “Uh—okay.… You wanna return them?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Hold on, lemme do a return.” He groaned at the effort even the thought of doing a return evidently took.

  “No. You don’t have to do that. Just put them back—and leave the money in the till.”

  He squinted at me, confused.

  “Please?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” He placed the candy bars behind the counter, and I headed for the door. “You meet all sorts of weirdos in this place,” he muttered even before the door began to shut behind me. “Shoulda stayed in Farthington. Nice and normal there.”

  Alexi

  Dealing with death, every family faces unique problems. Some war over possessions the dead left behind. Some squabble about unanswered questions and fight out their inner turmoil, wondering if there was something they still should have done, if there were words left unsaid.

  There always are.

  My family was no different in those things. We all had doubts and questions. Worldly possessions came into none of it—they never had mattered when we thought Mother was dead before, so why should they now?

  But the unique problem we—nyet, I—was faced with was how to dispose of the body of a woman who never seemed to truly exist. Even in life, Mother had been more ghost than alive—at least when it came to open and public government documentation.

  Pietr did not want to think about it—not any of it. Having seen his haggard expression after the cure took hold, I could only imagine what it was like to lose two such amazingly important things so close together. I dared not ask him to help. The mere idea of suggesting we get rid of Mother’s body, not give her the burial, the respect, she deserved, would be too much for my youngest brother.

  I raked my hand through my hair, tugging at its roots; For nearly a month I had not wanted a cigarette like I did now. But Cat found every last one of them and emptied the last of the vodka, saying so many things had changed so fast, perhaps a few more dramatic changes were in order.

  It seemed wrong for my little sister to be smarter about life than I was.

  Standing before Mother’s carefully wrapped corpse, I decided there was nothing left to do but make a call.

  “Allo?” a voice rich as the finest cognac said, and I was too easily drunk on the mere sound of Nadezhda again. “Allo?” she repeated, this time the cognac slipping away and the word sharpening like the sting of a wasp. “Alexi, I know it is you. Talk to me or hang up. I am a busy woman.”

  “Nadezhda,” I whispered. “I need you—” I coughed and stuttered out a more acceptable truth. “I need … your help.”

  “Of course you do,” she snapped. “Everyone needs my help. ‘Day in and day out,’ as they say. I am a popular girl.”

  I envisioned her in some fancy hotel, checking her meticulously managed blond hair in a gilt-framed mirror far away from me. Far away from the trouble her associations with me brought.

  The distance did not matter so long as she was safe. I had to remember that and believe that.

  “Alexi,” she said again. “I have no time to chat. If you have merely called to hear the sound of my voice…”

  “Nyet.” It was true, but it felt like lying, listening as intently as I did.

  “Horashow. Then what is it, boy?”

  I blinked. She did that sometimes, called me boy though we were nearly the same age. Sometimes, she had joked to me at a party in Moscow, you surprise me by being the more mature one. I sighed so deeply she had to hear. “She is dead, Nadezhda.”

  “What?” Although she felt a million miles away, I heard the shock as plainly as if I had seen it on her face as her breath brushed out in surprise. “Who?”

  “Mother.”

  “Oh, Sasha—dear, sweet, Sasha…”

  The back of my throat burned at the shift in her tone and attention. I coughed to keep from strangling the words fighting to get out. “It will be all right,” I assured her, though I knew I was bluffing.

  “Shhh,” she soothed. She knew I was bluffing, too.

  Damn it.

  “Breathe, baby.”

  But how could I when she was being so gentle with me? Damn the woman. I needed guidance, not tenderness. I needed logic and calm, the cool of rational thinking and emotional distance.

  How would she respect me if I let grief overwhelm me and I buckled now?

  “I simply need to know how to…” My breath caught, wedged around a lump swelling in my throat. “… how to dispose of her body.”

  Nadezhda sighed.

  I pushed ahead, using the awkward momentum the words helped build.

  “She cannot be found … by anyone.… Is there a place? A method?”

  “Da,” she whispered. “There is always a method.”

  Carefully and quietly she explained the most efficient way to destroy all physical traces of the only woman who’d truly known me and still loved me—knowing all.

  Jessie

  I shoved the milk into the fridge and tossed the bread on the counter. Knowing all that I did still didn’t help me know how to help Pietr. I wanted to go home—back to the farm and the horses and the regular rhythm of what some people in Junction still called “city folk” presumed was a simpler life.

  Normalcy. The sweet lure of an average life.

  I wanted that. And now.

  But I couldn’t leave because the thought of going home so soon after Tatiana’s death made my stomach twist. I’d be abandoning Pietr.

  And I couldn’t do that.

  But I was no good to him as some shadow occasionally wrapping its arms around him and muttering soft and soothing noises. My contribution to his happiness was utterly lame. I’d lost my own mother and I still didn’t know what he needed now that he’d lost his.

  Propping my elbows on the counter, I rested my head in my hands. It felt heavy—oddly foreign. Maybe something more was going on inside some deep recess of my brain.… The hairs on my arms rose in warning. Fumbling for my phone, I considered calling Sophie. Maybe she’d had some weird vision thing, too.…

  The phone rattled in my hand.

  New Message.

  Dad.

  I returned the call. “Hey.”


  His tone made it clear that my greeting didn’t mask my worry. “How’s everyone holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected?”

  “Come home, Jessie,” he suggested. “You can’t do more than you’ve already done.”

  “I know … but…”

  “Would a curfew help? I can make one right now.”

  I’d never really had a curfew—I’d never been enough trouble or been in enough trouble to need one. But that’d changed. Like everything else. “No, I don’t know what’d help. But I need to stick around a little longer. I’ll have Max or Alexi drive me home tonight, okay?”

  Dad got quiet, considering my suggestion. “Give me a call when you’re on your way.”

  “I will. I love you.”

  I slid the phone back into my jeans and looked up the staircase and toward Pietr’s bedroom.

  Resting my hand on the banister, I wondered what I still needed to do before going home. And I weighed that against what I wanted to do with my boyfriend in order to forget everything else.

  To just forget for a little while …

  I felt so stupid. I should have been exactly what he needed. And putting together the need and the want, I wondered if I could successfully combine the two and provide Alexi with the time he’d quietly requested for the removal of Mother’s body.

  The Queen Anne–style house echoed with emptiness even as full as it was with inhabitants. Amy was tucked away in the basement; Cat had disappeared upstairs to her room; Alexi stood in the parlor as silent as the unmarked grave he prepared to fill; Max sat at the dining room table staring at the same glass that had briefly held the cure—the glass no one wanted to touch again.

  And me?

  I was as hesitant and heartbroken as the rest.

  Pitiful.

  We had been so close to success.…

  A shiver shook through me, and I forced my feet into action. As quiet as things had become, I had the nagging sense trouble wasn’t far away. And that at least part of that trouble was the filthy film lingering over my brain with Derek’s fingerprints all over it.