Moon Runner 01 Under the Shadow

by Jane Toombs

  "You dig. I watch."

  Sergei conceded the point. Under the circumstances, he needed Wolf with him.

  Sergei's Kamchadal dagger was sheathed in his boot and Wolf would assure he wasn't taken by surprise. He'd also borrow Gregor's spade from the barn.

  "One watcher?" he asked Wolf.

  Wolf nodded.

  Damn it, Sergei Volek was more than a match for one!

  On foot, they reached the shed on the dacha property with no interference. Its door was missing and Sergei stationed Wolf at the open entry while he wielded the spade. He'd dug about two feet down when the blade grated on metal. Probing carefully, Sergei uncovered a tin canister smelling faintly of tobacco. A mental image of Alexis with his pipe gave Sergei a pang. Inside was a bag of gold coins.

  Thank you, father, he said silently.

  Without counting the coins, Sergei crammed the bag into his pocket. "Let's go," he told Wolf.

  They were halfway back to the cottage when Wolf, trotting along beside Sergei, suddenly grasped his arm. "Ahead," he whispered urgently. "He hides behind trees."

  To skirt the spruce grove would take them far out of their way. With no guarantee the watcher wouldn't stalk them.

  "Whatever happens, you run to Gregor," he ordered Wolf, then shifted the spade to his left hand, eased the dagger from his boot and strode on, all senses alert.

  Wolf gave a strangled squeak of alarm. Sergei tensed. From the corner of his eye he saw a dark figure leap from behind a spruce. Moonlight gleamed on the attacker's knife blade. Sergei twisted to meet him. Too late to swing the spade. Sergei flung it aside and threw up his left arm. "Die, oborot!" the man shouted as his knife plunged down, missing Sergei's chest but slicing into Sergei's arm above the elbow. Agony ran red-hot along Sergei's nerves. Silver!

  He snarled in rage and pain, thrusting the sharp Kamchadal dagger into his attacker's chest, once, twice.

  As the man staggered back, the dagger embedded in his flesh, Sergei saw the spade glance off his head. Wolf!

  The attacker turned toward the boy. Sergei leaped, hooked his right arm around the man's neck and yanked, hard. Bones cracked.

  "Dead," Wolf said moments later as they stood in the moonlight over the attacker's motionless body.

  Sergei retrieved his dagger and plunged the blade into the earth to cleanse it of blood, wincing with the throbbing, burning pain in his left arm. He studied the dead man. Bearded, dark hair and eyes. Maybe thirty. An ordinary looking Russian dressed in ordinary clothes. With no more energy aura alive than dead, an extraordinary trait. A man who'd stalked him and tried to kill him with a silver knife. A man who called him a shapeshifter.

  He was certain he'd never seen the stalker before; the man was a total stranger.

  "Do you feel any other stalkers?" he asked Wolf.

  "No."

  "We must leave as soon as we reach the cottage."

  Wolf nodded.

  By the time they got to Gregor's, Sergei had his teeth clenched against the agony from the silver knife wound. Gregor's wife cleansed and bound his injury but, though the bleeding stopped, he could scarcely use his arm. He felt sickness spreading through him.

  Urgency thrummed in him. After listening to his father's story, he'd dreamed of exploring what was left of the ancient forests that had sheltered his forebears in an effort to trace what had created beings like himself. No more. Who knew what other perils lurked here in Russia?

  They must leave this dangerous, malevolent country without delay or they'd all perish.

  "Natasha will ride with you on your pony," he told Wolf. "If I can't help her get aboard the ship, you must. Do you understand?"

  Wolf, his eyes wide and solemn in the lamplight, nodded once.

  The trip to St. Petersburg's port was a nightmare of pain. Somehow Sergei managed to buy passage for the three of them on the three-master Silver Gull but he didn't recall boarding the ship, nor the first two days of the voyage.

  When he came to himself, he was sprawled on a lower bunk in a tiny cabin, weak and parched. The first thing he saw was Natasha's concerned face hovering over him, then he noticed Wolf crouched at the foot of the bunk.

  "Thirsty," Sergei croaked.

  "Thank God, you've come back to us!" Natasha cried, reaching for the water carafe.

  Wolf beamed at him.

  After that, Sergei rapidly got well. His poisoning

  from the silver and his need for care had apparently sparked Natasha's recovery. Though she never smiled, she was once more in possession of her senses. They shared one cabin, she and Wolf in the upper bunk, he in the lower until he improved enough to insist on switching to the upper.

  "You spoke of California when you were delirious," Natasha said. "Is that where we're going to live?"

  "I don't know," he told her. The ship, he knew, was bound for Brazil. When he'd booked passage he'd been too sick to care about its destination as long as it was away from Russia.

  Brazil was as good as anywhere, perhaps better than

  than California.

  The moon waxed. On the evening it was two nights away from full, Sergei, alone on the aft deck, began his protective chant in the language unfamiliar to him. "Suomilaino?" a voice called from above him.

  Sergei stopped chanting and glanced up. He'd been aware sailors were in the rigging but hadn't realized he'd be overheard.

  "Sorry," he said in Russian. "I don't understand you." The sailor, a blond man about Sergei's age, climbed down to the deck. "I heard you speaking Finn," the sailor said in accented Russian. "I thought you might be one, like me." Sergei shook his head.

  "You don't understand Finnish at all?" the sailor persisted.

  "Afraid not."

  The sailor took off his cap and scratched his head.

  "You sure as hell sounded like some noita casting a spell." The strange word hit Sergei like a hammer blow. "A what?" he managed to ask.

  "Noita. You'd call them wizards. Sorry to bother you." The sailor gave him a salute, put on his hat and sauntered off.

  "Noita." Sergei repeated the word to himself. "Noita." A woman's face shimmered in air before him, a beautiful woman with moonlight hair and silver eyes.

  "Come home," she whispered. "Come home to me. To Liisi."

  As her image dissolved, disappearing, an avalanche of memories crashed over Sergei, sending him staggering against the rail: Liisi--his beautiful noita wife. Mima. California--his home. Events from his twenty-five missing years rocked him. Love. Marriage. Death. The war. Californios. Dr. Kellogg.

  How could he have forgotten?

  When he recovered enough to move, he hurried to find Natasha and Wolf to tell them he was taking them home. To California.

  Neither Natasha nor Wolf seemed either excited or pleased when he finished his explanation. Natasha began to cry.

  "Your wife," she sobbed, "she'll turn me away."

  "What are you talking about?" Sergei demanded. "Liisi would never do such a thing."

  "The soldiers," Natasha wailed.

  Sergei wrapped his arms around her. "It's not your fault," he soothed. "Liisi won't blame you any more than I do."

  "But," she sobbed, "I fear I'm with child."

  At her words, Sergei's joy deserted him. They'd never know who the child's father was but that made no difference. Natasha's baby would be half Volek. With the dark Volek heritage. And, oh God, what if she carried male twins? He'd have to kill them.

  "You might be wrong," he said hopefully.

  Natasha drew away, wiping her eyes. "I pray I am wrong. But God has turned His face from me and I feel in my heart prayers are useless."

  "She pen me, your wife?" Wolf asked.

  Sergei stared at him, not understanding what he meant. "Like shaman did," Wolf added.

  Sergei did his best to convince Wolf that Liisi wasn't that kind of a shaman and he tried to persuade Natasha she'd be welcomed, pregnant or not. But he couldn't share his fear with her nor what the dreadful outcome must be if twin sons
were born to her.

  On a January afternoon seven months later, the three of them, on horses purchased in San Francisco, rode up a new road to the Volek stone castle. Sergei, impatient, eager to see Liisi, nevertheless noticed changes other than the new road. Granite columns flanked the entry to the drive and an evergreen hedge ran along either side. Green and orange globes of fruit hung on small trees--an orange grove!

  He'd pictured his wife pining for him, weeping from the loss. Perhaps she had, yet she'd found time to make improvements. Sergei shook his head at his pique. God knows Liisi must have been shattered when he didn't return from San Francisco. She hadn't heard from him in three years. He should be glad she'd held things together. And even prospered, by the look of the place.

  Did she know he was coming? He doubted it. He'd sent no word. And she hadn't been waving from the tower balcony this time.

  Yet someone had seen them coming for the front door opened before he reached it. A strange young woman wearing an apron over a dark blue dress smiled at him.

  "Welcome home, sir," she said, stepping aside so he could enter. "I'm Belinda and I've been asked to tell you that your wife is waiting in the sitting room. Jose will tend to the horses."

  Servants!

  Sergei thanked her and ushered in Natasha and Wolf, shepherding them through the entry toward the sitting room. If he couldn't surprise Liisi by his homecoming, she'd certainly be amazed to discover he'd brought home a pregnant niece and a Kamchadal grandson.

  He ushered Natasha, holding Wolf's hand, into the sitting room, his eager gaze searching for his wife.

  He'd half-expected her to come running to meet him as she had before. She did not. Seated on an overstuffed couch, Liisi didn't even rise to greet him. He strode toward her, then stopped abruptly.

  To either side of her sat a small boy of about two, each one with a thumb in his mouth. He gaped at them and they stared back at him from identical golden eyes. His eyes. In fact, the boys were completely identical.

  They were twins. His twins.

  Volek twins.

  "No!" he shouted. His mind churning with agonized fury, he swung around, strode from the room, through the entry and out the front door.

  The horses were gone. He raced around the house and plunged into the pine grove, dodging trees, running, running until he could run no more. At last he collapsed on the brown needles, exhausted.

  He lay there while evening shadows gathered and coalesced into darkness, his mind balking at what he'd seen, at what he must do.

  The moon rose. When its first rays slipped between the pine boughs to caress him, Sergei sat up. The moon, a hairline from full, gleamed silver through the trees. He knew he must begin the chant but the words wouldn't come.

  Yet he must. Sergei sighed and closed his eyes. He must.

  A howl rose, quivering on the night air. His eyes flew open. He sprang to his feet. Wolf? Coyote? He shook his head, listening, searching through the darkness with his special sense.

  The howl came again, a challenge ringing in the

  December night. Challenging prey? Or the night? Or--him? Bathed in moonlight, Sergei felt the first warning twist inside him. It was almost too late to begin to chant.

  He caught a flickering sense of someone--something?--in the distance. Not human energy, not the blue crackle of a witch. More like starshine, faint and elusive.

  What was this challenge from the unknown? The wrench inside him grew stronger, more urgent. Sergei raised his face to the moon, welcoming the silver light as it heated his blood. Soon it would be too late to resist what must happen. In his heart he knew the challenge wasn't aimed at him, not at his human self. What called in the night challenged the beast trapped within him.

  He was a responsible man. He had a fine home, a family. Money. Many who depended on him. He was a husband, an uncle, a friend, a grandfather. And, God help them and him, he was the father of twins.

  Because of a howling in the hills did he mean to turn away from everything he was? Everything human? Risk his own life and, for all he knew, the lives of those he loved?

  He hesitated only a moment before ripping off his

  jacket and flinging it to the ground....

  In the morning Sergei returned home wrapped in a blanket he'd found at the edge of the pine grove. It reminded him of that long ago time in Nogadata when the beast had escaped from the root cellar and Mima had left a blanket in the woods to cover his nakedness after he shifted back to human. No doubt Mima had left this blanket as well. At least someone cared about his welfare.

  He found Wolf and Natasha eating breakfast in the walnut paneled dining room, sitting side by side at a long table meant to seat twelve. There was no sign of Mima or Liisi.

  Or the twin boys.

  Wolf stared at him wide-eyed and Natasha, though she tried to be polite, sent frightened sidelong glances his way. She couldn't know what he'd done but he feared Wolf might suspect that the beast Sergei had promised him never escaped had run free under the moon last night.

  With--what? Only the beast knew.

  Sergei winced at the memory of his blood-stained hands when he woke at dawn in the pine grove near the carcass of a half-eaten mule deer. The taste of blood still lingered in his mouth despite the many creek water rinsings. With so much of the deer eaten, he had to have shared the kill with another but he had no idea who or what the other was.

  He might be better off not knowing, yet he'd never rest easy until he discovered what else hunted in the night when the moon was full.

  Meanwhile, he had more urgent problems here at home. "Where's my wife?" he asked Natasha.

  "Upstairs, Uncle Sergei." Her voice quivered and she laid a protective hand on her distended abdomen.

  Unable to reassure anyone in his present mood of mixed guilt and anger, he turned and strode toward the stairs. He was halfway up before he noticed Wolf trailing him.

  "Stay with your cousin," Sergei snapped.

  Wolf stopped, hunching his shoulders as though expecting a blow. The gesture made Sergei grit his teeth in anguish but he continued on without another backward look.

  Liisi wasn't in their bedroom. By following the happy sound of children laughing, he found Mima in the twins' nursery, dressing them. The boys immediately grew silent. Mima glanced his way, neither smiling nor speaking.

  "Thanks for the blanket," he said gruffly.

  Her short nod showed him he'd thanked the right person. The little boys eyed him with doubt. Sergei stood frozen under their golden stares.

  "Hello," one twin said finally, his voice small but brave. The other boy echoed him. "Hello."

  Sergei swallowed, memories of Vlad and their childhood closing his throat with grief. Like these two, they'd done everything together. Until.... Sergei shook his head. "Hello," he managed to croak. His gaze shifted to Mima. "Where's Liisi?"

  "In her special room." Mima spoke flatly.

  He knew that room was in the tower. Damn it, did Liisi intend to hide from him among her casting stones and Finnish tapestries?

  He left the nursery and stomped up to the tower. The door was locked. He pounded on it, ready to tear the door down if she refused to let him in.

  He heard the bolt drawn. The door opened. Liisi stood before him, the colored light streaming through the stained glass windows turning her fair hair blood red.

  "Well?" she demanded, lifting her chin.

  Ready for a fight, was she? Sergei pushed past her into the room and slammed the door shut. "Why?" he asked.

  "One betrayal begets another." Her voice was as cold as the chill of her gray eyes.

  "Betrayal?" His voice rose. "What in hell are you talking about?"

  "You gave her a child, why deny me?"

  Sergei gaped at her. She couldn't mean Deer Woman. During his life with Liisi, because of his loss of memory, he wasn't even aware there'd been a Deer Woman in his past. And he'd fathered no other child. He started to say so and stopped abruptly.

  Gettysburg. The hex
witch.

  "I thought she was a dream," he blurted, off-balance. "You don't make babies in dreams."

  "But I--" He paused, trying to find a way to regain control of the situation. "How do you know there's a

  child?"

  "She sent word."

  "You mean you got a letter?"

  Liisi shook her head. "There are messages that have no need to be spoken or written or sent across telegraph wires. Oh, yes, she made very certain I knew. In case you're interested, your daughter is the same age as your grandson." Ten. As if trying to smooth his disordered mind, Sergei ran a hand through his hair, then hastily clutched at the slipping blanket.

  "Yet you run from the sight of my children," Liisi said angrily.

  "They're twins." Sergei's voice was sad. "Wolf was a single birth. Like a daughter, he can only pass on the curse to his children. But identical twin sons--" He sighed. "I learned from my father that one will be like me."

  "Is that all you're worried about?"

  Sergei couldn't believe his ears. "All? All? God knows it--"

  Liisi waved a dismissive hand. "Didn't I find a charm to control your changing?" She paused, giving him a level look. "When you choose to use it."

  He glared at her, angry because of his own guilt. She had reason to be upset about his deliberate shifting last night but, damn it, to come home to unexpected twin sons would drive any Volek man past reason.

  "I'll control our son's shifting as I did yours," Liisi assured him. "Which one is it--Ivan or Arno?"

  It was the first time he'd heard their names. He smiled despite himself--one Russian name, one Finn. How like Liisi. "I don't know," he admitted. "There's no way to tell until they reach manhood."

  Her eyes grew bright and eager and she leaned toward him. "You must tell me everything your father said. Everything."

  Her never-forgotten enticing scent, woman and lavender, filled his head, banishing everything else. He'd been away from her so long. Too long. And, oh God, she was as beautiful and as desirable as on the day they'd met.

  The blanket slid from his shoulders, falling to the floor as he reached for her. "Damn it, Liisi," he said hoarsely, "it's been three years. First things first."