by Joy Preble
“He says it didn’t occur to him at first,” Ben continues, “but then something just clicked. He remembers because it was one of those days we kept having all those weird thunderstorms. The weather was really freaky for a couple of days, remember? And he says he saw you and Tess with the guy on campus. And that he might not have thought about it again except that he recognized you ’cause he used to hang with your brother. Says he would have said hello except he almost got hit by some huge bolt of lightning or something just as he saw you and Ethan running across Sheridan Road.”
My skin feels hot and cold at the same time. Carter remembered me. Of course Carter would remember me because Carter knew David. How could I be so stupid to forget that my brother had this circle of friends? Carter might not remember Baba Yaga flying at us in her mortar that day or a witch’s disembodied hands flopping onto Sheridan Road—like everyone else, he seems to have blocked that part out—but he remembers me and Tess being there. And he remembers Ethan. Is there any way out of this conversation?
I know I should feel guilty about lying to Ben. I do feel guilty. So I try for some semblance of honesty.
“Well, yeah.” I pause, fumbling for the right words. “I guess he’s right. We were hanging out that day. We’d gone to the campus to visit a professor friend of Ethan’s.”
It’s the wrong thing for me to say. In my mind, I see Professor Olensky’s body lying dead on the floor of his office. And I guess because of that, anger mixes with my guilt. I’m angry with Ben for poking at this so much. But more than that, I’m angry with myself.
“I told you I knew him,” I say. “I told you it’s no big deal. I’m entitled to have things you don’t know about, Ben.”
This is totally unfair, and I know it. None of this is Ben’s fault. He’s perfectly right to think that something strange is going on. But if I can’t tell him the truth, I don’t know what else to do. It’s not like there’s some rule book for how to behave when the guy you’re dating has no idea that you have magic powers, an all-access pass to a witch’s forest in my dreams, and an undeniable crush on a guy who just finished a century of immortality. Not to mention a stalker mermaid pal.
“Yeah.” Ben’s tone shifts to something a little sharper. “You’re entitled. That seems to be your story a lot lately.” He rolls away from me, sits on the side of the bed, and places his hands on his thighs. I can see the muscles in his biceps tighten. I brace myself for him to say something else, but he stays silent.
“Ben. It’s nothing. Really.” I move to sit next to him, my leg against his. I reach up and touch the side of his face. The silver bracelet slides down my arm and the little B&A charm winks up at me.
I know I’m confusing things more, but I kiss him again because part of me really wants to love him—the same part, I guess, that wants Ethan out of my head because having him in my head makes me feel out of control. My body relaxes a little when Ben stays quiet and kisses me back.
Against me, his lips still pressed to mine, Ben shivers. This is how I realize that the temperature in the room is dropping. I open my eyes.
The rusalka is hovering in the doorway, her wild hair flicking tiny drops of water onto the hardwood floor. Tears well in her gray eyes. She shakes her head at me and smiles. “Oh, my sweet, sweet girl. So sad. Don’t be. He is just a man. He will get over it. Men forget so easily. Not like us. Not like me. Have you figured it out yet? I have tried to show you as best I can. But it is hard. This body does not always do what I want it to. It has desires of its own. You understand that too, don’t you? So sweet, my Anne. My dearest Anne.”
My body floods with fear. The stupid, stupid magic rises into my fingertips. Ben yelps in pain as I yank my hand away from his cheek. On the smooth tan skin just at his right cheekbone, I see three angry red welts the size and shape of my three fingertips.
“What the hell?” He touches his hand to his face. But this is all he reacts to. He hasn’t heard her speak like I have, and though he saw her at the pool—I now realize she must have wanted him to—when he whips around to look where I’m still staring, he clearly doesn’t see anything but his door.
“Go to her,” the rusalka says. “The Death Crone. Baba Yaga. Give in to it. She has your answers. Let her help you fix what is damaged. Let me have what I deserve. I cannot do it on my own.”
“Leave me alone,” I tell her.
And then, in a blink, she’s gone.
“What do you mean, Leave you—did you just burn my face?” Ben pushes off the bed and walks to the mirror over his dresser. I follow him. We stand reflected, his faced burned, mine horrified. For a second, I see the rusalka reflected between us, black hair dripping, gray eyes huge like storm clouds. Ben pivots and looks behind us. “What the—?” he begins, but once again, there’s nothing to see.
I reach out to touch his face again. If I’ve hurt him, maybe I can reverse it. It’s something I’ve been trying, something I haven’t learned to control yet. Not that I can control anything right now. But Ben pushes my hand away. The fear rises inside me again, and only one thing echoes in my head. Leave now.
“Shit, Ben. I’m sorry. I don’t know—I’m sorry. Oh, God, Ben. I just can’t—I need to go. It’s better if I just go—better for you. I can’t stay here.”
I don’t stop to let him respond. I just scoop my purse off the floor and run. Out of Ben’s room, through his house, out the front door, and onto the street. My only thought is to run.
Two blocks from Ben’s house, I finally stop to catch my breath. Should I go back? Will the rusalka go after him if I’m not there? Or is it just me she wants? I’m totally clueless.
I dig into my purse for my cell phone—my dead, waterlogged cell phone that I need to replace. Wonderful. Just damn wonderful. I should go back to Ben—Ben Logan, who loves me and didn’t ask to be a part of the weirdness that is my world. I’ll come up with something. That’s what I’ve become an expert at, isn’t it? Lying to everyone. Covering up the stuff they just wouldn’t understand or that I just can’t explain.
I’m about to slam the phone onto the sidewalk—smash it to bits, like I’ve probably just done to my relationship with Ben. I hear Baba Yaga’s voice in my head. Steady, dear, Baba Yaga says to me. You are stronger than you think. But you must embrace your gifts, or they will destroy you. And as though she’s placed it in my mind, I see myself on the train with Ethan and Viktor, the other time I’d trashed my cell phone.
“Okay,” I say aloud. “Okay. I get it. You don’t have to drop a house on me.” If Baba Yaga is listening in and gets the joke, she doesn’t let me know.
I wrap my hand as tightly as possible around my poor little phone. The AT&T people obviously didn’t have me in mind when they built this thing. And most people who know magic like mine probably use it for something other than burning their boyfriends and recharging their phones. Maybe once I figure it out, I’ll write a user’s manual to leave for the next girl who gets chosen for all this craziness. But right now, I just close my eyes and concentrate. The phone warms encouragingly in my hand.
A minute or two later, the result isn’t much: a couple of bars and a half-charged battery. The head shot of Ben that I’d been using as wallpaper looks dim and foggy. This makes my stomach knot up even more than it already is. I’ll walk back anyway, I think. It’s really what I should do.
But it isn’t Ben I call as my heart thuds faster than I’d like. I press in the numbers that I’ve memorized, even though I keep telling myself I should forget them.
“Anne?” Ethan’s voice sounds tired and alert all at once.
I swallow. No fear. That’s what Baba Yaga keeps telling me. “I need a ride. I hurt Ben. He’s okay. But I need a ride. Please, Ethan. Can you come get me?”
“On my way. Where are you?”
I tell him, grateful beyond words that he hasn’t hesitated in offering to come to my rescue.
***
I’m studying the prices on the specials sign at the 7-Eleven on Lake Street w
hen he pulls up fifteen minutes later and gets out of the Mercedes. It’s given me something to do other than obsessing over Ben or watching the various stoners choose their late-night junk food stash.
“So what do you think? Two ninety-nine a pound for Land O’Lakes American cheese? Or how about a blueberry muffin and a large coffee?”
“Hazelnut or mocha?” Ethan grins at me, but I can see the worry in those blue eyes. He’s wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt, and his hair looks like he’s shoved his hand through a few dozen times. But he’s shaved the stubble from his chin.
“The muffin or the coffee?”
“Neither. I’m thinking the cheese.”
We stand there in the fluorescent glow of the 7-Eleven sign. Two guys reeking heavily of marijuana wander up and begin a discussion about Slushie choices.
“I need your help, Ethan. I hurt Ben. God. I—the rusalka. I saw her again.”
“I’m here. Just tell me everything, and we’ll figure it out. No more secrets, okay?”
I don’t know if I’m ready for that, but I nod my head anyway. I’m pretty sure he’s got some secrets of his own. “Okay.”
Ethan puts his arm around me. He doesn’t ask me any questions.
“Raspberry’s better than bubblegum,” I comment to the taller of the two stoned dudes as I let Ethan clasp my hand in his and lead me to the car. “You won’t be sorry.”
The car still smells like pond, and thus, the rusalka. “Maybe I should just go back to Ben’s,” I say, more to myself than to Ethan. “What if he’s not safe?”
“Is that what you want?” Ethan glances over at me from the driver’s seat.
“Yes. No—no. Let’s just go. Are you still in that same loft?” I feel silly that I don’t even know where he’s staying.
Ethan shakes his head. “I’ve got a flat in Evanston. I really am going to school, Anne. That part’s true.”
I don’t ask him how long he’s been back or exactly how someone in his position pays for things like rent. When you’ve been around as long as he has, I guess you figure these things out. Who knows? Maybe the Brotherhood had some kind of pension plan.
“Oh. Well, then. Let’s go.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” I lie. Once again, Baba Yaga’s voice echoes in my head. Embrace your gifts, girl. You must believe in what lies inside you.
I don’t know what this means or where it will lead or how it connects to the rusalka, but honestly, I don’t see any other choice. Whatever answers I need, I’m not going to find them in the 7-Eleven parking lot.
I’m embracing, I tell Baba Yaga silently. I just wish I knew what.
THURSDAY, 11:42 pm
ETHAN
I brew tea while Anne roams the apartment. She calls Tess, and after a whispered conversation, calls her mother and informs her that she’s sleeping at Tess’s. “Fine, then,” she snaps into the phone. “Don’t believe me. I am not spending the night at Ben’s.”
Anne flashes me a sheepish expression. The color rises in her cheeks. She isn’t at Ben’s. She’s with me.
“Well,” she says when she’s finished the call, “looks like we’re back to where we started.” She gestures to the mugs of tea on my small kitchen table. We first talked over tea that day last fall, across from each other at the table in my loft, her face so pretty and earnest.
She takes a tentative sip of tea, then resumes pacing, mug in hand. “Could you stop being so calm? I’m freaking out here, Ethan. And you’re serving tea.”
“Would you rather have coffee? Water? Just tell me.”
“I’d rather not be here. I’d rather not have just singed Ben’s face with my hand and run out of his house like a maniac. I’d rather a lot of things.”
“You did what?” I try to keep my voice even but fail. Foolishly, when she said hurt, I’d thought of something other than physical. “How? When?” I follow her into the living room. Our footsteps echo on the wood floor. Carpets, I think ridiculously. I haven’t bought any carpets for this room. I need to make it feel less empty. This, I’ve learned, is what happens sometimes when a problem is too big to easily solve. The brain shifts to something more feasible.
The story pours from her—not all at once, but in waves. She sips the tea, although she tells me she doesn’t want it, and later, she eats the sandwich I make her, even though she protests that she isn’t hungry. I butter thickly sliced bread, add tomatoes and salt. She pulls off small bites with her fingers, eats as she continues to pace, coming back to the table now and then until she’s finished it all.
“I keep dreaming about her—Baba Yaga. Only I don’t think it’s just a dream. I’m with her in her hut. I talk to her, and she tells me things. It’s like—well, it’s like she’s confiding in me or something. Really weird. And Viktor’s there too, I think, only I can’t see him. And it seems to upset her that he has to be there. I think she’d kill him if she could; only she can’t.”
Anne paces some more, the mug of tea clutched in her hands. She sets it gently back on the table. “God, Ethan, this is what I haven’t told anyone. Not you, not Tess. I mean, I guess you two are the only ones I could tell. But I haven’t. And I’m sorry. The power didn’t fade away after Anastasia went back to die. Or even after you left. It kept getting stronger. There were little things at first, things I could explain away. I nicked my thumb one day while slicing an apple, and then I wrapped my fingers around the cut so it would stop bleeding. But when I let go, the cut was gone. Not just healed over, but gone like it had never been there. Another time, I was having an argument with my mom while we were at Starbucks. My hands were around my latte, and all of a sudden, I could feel it boiling in the cup. I can’t make people do stuff, I don’t have a clue about spells or anything like that—not like you and the Brotherhood. But I can change the nature of things somehow. It’s more than what you taught me I could do before. More than just warding spells or getting a padlock to open. There’s something in me, Ethan. And I need to figure out what. And why.”
I take Anne’s hands in mine. They’re warm against my skin. A thin silver bracelet slips down her arm; the round disc hanging from it taps lightly against my wrist. “Show me. You showed me today with the padlock. Now you need to show me this.”
“I don’t know if I can. I haven’t consciously tried. Well, not much, anyway.” Her cheeks color again. “Tess was right. I did poke Brett Sullivan with my pencil. But he deserved it. All that staring at girls’ boobs—it gets annoying. So I figured it was as good a time as any to try things out. Although I have to say, I was pretty amazed that it worked.” A tiny smile plays on her lips. It fades quickly. “God, Ethan—I hurt Ben, and when I pulled myself together to try to heal him, he just pushed me away. Maybe I could have done something. Maybe I could have—”
Heal. Something occurs to me. “Wait. In the pool, the first time, when Ben dived in. Do you remember what the rusalka said to you? I heard her speak too, you know. I don’t think Ben, Carter, or Tess heard. But I did, and you did too, didn’t you? What did she say, Anne? Do you remember?”
“She said,” Anne begins slowly, “that only I could swim with the rusalkas. Which, let me say, is seriously creepy, because that means there are probably more of them, and personally, I think one’s enough. She also said that I had to go to the Death Crone—to Baba Yaga—for her to teach me. She told me that only then could I heal. But it doesn’t make sense. Heal from what? And what does Baba Yaga have to do with the rusalka? I mean, is there actually a connection? I—oh, wait a second. When I healed my cut and wanted to help Ben—do you think that’s what she meant? Did she know that she’d startle me so I’d hurt Ben and then try to fix what I did?”
“I don’t know. It’s part of what we’ve got to solve. But it feels right. The magics Viktor taught us—they bent nature too. Only not like this. I can—or at least, I could—do certain basic tricks, as you know all too well. Protection spells. Magic that helped defend me. Basic wards and glamours and the like.
Joining the Brotherhood gave me those powers.”
“Plus the immortality.” Anne gives my hands a light squeeze, then let’s go and fingers her silver bracelet.
“Well, that came only after Viktor created the spell that used Anastasia. But none of it was automatic. I had to perform spells or concentrate to will it to happen. It didn’t just—”
“It didn’t just flow out of you.” Anne finishes the thought for me.
“Exactly. So—if, theoretically, you gained your powers from me as a conduit to the Brotherhood’s magic, then why is your power different from mine? Why can you do things I never could? Why is it getting stronger even though the magic’s original purpose has been fulfilled?”
“You’ve been thinking about all this, haven’t you? Be honest, Ethan. Why is it, really, that you’re back?”
I knew that she’d ask eventually. Even so, as I walk to the leather sofa across the room and Anne follows, I fumble for an answer that makes sense.
“A lot of reasons. The university established a fellowship in Alex’s name. It felt like a worthy thing to continue his work. I’ve studied informally for years. The folklore, the literature, the art—they’re what I grew up with, what I lived with. I speak Russian and English and passable Bulgarian and Czech. It seemed a good fit, a good next step—something a little more permanent after so much that hasn’t been.”
“So what did you do? Take your SATs? Add in a few AP courses while you were in Europe?” Her brown eyes sparkle with laughter—and possibly a bit of gentle mockery—in the soft light of the desk lamp.