by Aleo, Cyndy
Donovan isn't sure which way to go, so she heads in the direction of the family room. The couch is comfortable, and she figures she can wait there if Vance is still sleeping. She reaches the stairs, though, and can't help but glance up toward his bedroom. He's standing at the top, in the hallway outside his room, his hair still damp from a shower. He's wearing nothing more than a pair of black sweats slung low on his hips, the gray band of his underwear peeking over the top in spots.
“Come on up,” he says.
Like she can do anything else. She climbs the stairs without blinking, unable to look anywhere else but at him. She stops a few stairs from the top.
“I'm a little early.”
“It's okay. We aren't going to class today. We have a lot to talk about.”
Her body moves ahead of her brain, and she backs down a step before she even understands what he's saying. Talks are bad things. Talks mean things like “last night was a mistake” and “look, I like you a lot, but” and “we'll always be friends, but.”
“Where are you going?” he asks.
She backs down another step. There’s still a way for her to save face here. She’s sure of it.
“Chodź tu,” he says.
“That's not English.”
He shakes his head.
“No, it's not. I remember, Dee. I remember. I remember everything, and English is not my first language. So if I make a few mistakes today while I get readjusted, please remind me. What I said was, 'Come here.’”
She hesitates.
He walks down the two steps until he's at her level, then takes a small step toward her, backing her against the stone wall. The thin wood railing presses into her back, but she has nowhere else to go but up or down, and he isn't giving her any room to pass him.
“Do you regret last night?” he asks.
She shakes her head, afraid to open her mouth and let all the things she's thinking come spilling out in a breathless gush.
“Do you think I regret last night?”
She starts to nod her head, then pauses and ends with a shrug. She isn't sure what to think. Old Vance was unpredictable, but there was a routine even in his lack of predictability. She’d have been able to plot his cycles on a graph, almost in a neat bell curve as his memory would grow, then peak, then ebb. If the Vance of before was a waxing and waning moon, this Vance is an apex predator: all sleek confidence and feral sexuality. There will be no ebb and flow with this Vance, no neat bell curve.
He leans into her, his nose brushing against her ear, and his breath warm on her neck. She closes her eyes, thinking how easy it will be to fall into this. Just as easy as it was last night, in fact.
Except this Vance is a total stranger to her. This Vance is no one she’s ever met before. The Vance of last night was scared of being alone and had no memories. This one remembers more than her Vance ever has. He speaks another language. He knows exactly who he is.
Her Vance would have wiped his memory blank before he'd ever let himself get to this point. Their kisses last night had been pure need. This — this is something akin to feline seduction. He’s sure of himself, panther-like, and she pushes him away.
“No.”
It's like a light switch; he turns right off.
“So you do regret last night.”
“It's not that,” she says. “You aren't … you. I don't know this you.”
“Oh.”
He takes a step back, and she instantly regrets her words. She feels cold without him pressed against her and lonely when he returns to the top of the stairs. She has to be an idiot to turn him away after waiting for him for so long.
“C'mon, then. You may as well come up here and get to know me. I'll tell you everything. You might want to run at the end, but I'll answer every question you have.”
He holds out his hand, and she takes it. She realizes that they’ve never, in all their years of friendship, held hands. His hand is large and warm, and hers folds into his perfectly. She might not know him right now, but her hand knows his. She feels safe with her hand wrapped in his. His fingers are so long they cover hers almost entirely, so she feels like her entire hand is encompassed in his.
No matter what happens now — no matter what he's going to tell her — he's going to keep her safe. She can tell just by holding his hand.
15: Waiting
With trepidation, Grace watches Donovan walk up the stairs to her son. Events are in motion, and there is no pulling them back now. She knows of the legend of Pandora and her box: Once opened, all the things could not be put right again once they had been unleashed upon the world, and she feels she has done this by allowing Jakub his full memories, perhaps before he is ready to have them.
Worse, she is allowing him to drag the human girl into their world, a place the girl has no business being. They are unlikely to be able to keep themselves safe, but bringing a human into this is probable suicide. Or at least, homicide. She sees no way to keep Donovan safe.
She tries to remember all the concerns she'd had about raising Jakub among humans. Him falling in love with a human had never been one of them. Donovan's body language when she walked up the stairs was all hesitation and nerves, but her eyes were clear and focused on one thing: Jakub.
The girl may not know it yet, but Grace knows her son could say he clubs baby seals and puts them on skewers for breakfast, and Donovan will eventually forgive him and likely offer to do the skewering for him, if not the clubbing itself. She has already accepted more than most humans would, and her blind devotion is a point in the girl's favor when Grace considers what will come.
Even now, Grace can feel his power humming through the house, and she has to wonder how much the sisters are aware of, both in terms of Jakub and the legend surrounding his existence. Is the prohibition against bearing males because of the disharmony they have traditionally brought to the tribe when they have been introduced, or because this has happened before, and they know this type of power is more than the sisters can control?
As a child, Jakub had been striking in his communion with the Matka, catching on as fast as any sister in the Ways. As a nearly mature adult? She is almost frightened of what he may be capable of.
She has to trust she has taught him everything that is right, that nothing they have done in all these years away from her sisters has perverted and shifted inside him, because she is fairly certain she will hold no dominion over him when he is fully unleashed.
The mere undercurrent of that power pulsing through the house is enough to have her worrying about how much time they have before the sisters will track them. The mother in her wants to be packing, running, urging him to once more retreat to the safety of his amnesia, where his power is subdued and they are safe, safe, safe.
But he is no longer a child. She has promised him that he — and his mate, should Donovan choose to be so — will be allowed to decide their path. He is aware now of what will come. The sisters will not have forgotten Grace's transgression. They will not have forgotten Jakub. They will not have forgotten how much time has passed. They will have been counting the days and months and years the same as she has, and when they come, they will do so with one purpose in mind: to finish what she refused to.
One lone tear falls, a weakness she has not allowed herself in these 200 years since she ran. She has always known this day was coming, but it does not make it any easier in the knowing.
~
Bożena has to give her sisters an answer to Edyta’s incessant demands, but what answer will it be? Which is the right thing to do? Hunt Grażyna and her son, as they have in the past? Or wait to see what happens?
She knows the legends, knows that any male born of them has the power to kill them all and end the Dziwozony. She has come here, to the edges of the forest, to think. The sisters, to their credit, have given her a wide berth.
She has asked Edyta and the others to give her a day to come up with a plan, and for once, they are obliging her. There's a possibility Edyta hopes
she will fail, that she will make the wrong decision and present an opportunity for Edyta and the sisters who agree with her to take over the running of the tribe.
Edyta, she knows, wants to rule. Bożena has never ruled, only guided. As the oldest, she has seen more than the others, experienced more than the others. What she has never experienced, however, is a male being allowed to live.
She weighs the options. Grażyna has been out in the world with her son for decades now. It’s been so long they’ve lost track, but they sense him. He’s reached the age of maturity among humans. He will know their ways better than anyone. The sisters, on the other hand, have been avoiding the world. Grażyna would have the advantage.
Every legend Bożena knows, however, says any male permitted to live will rule the forest, indicating he will return to them. Would it not be better to face them on the ground the sisters know as theirs?
Grażyna left the forest, and the forest has changed in her absence. The male has never been here other than his birth. It makes sense for the sisters to wait and meet Grażyna and her son where the sisters are comfortable, and sure, and Grażyna and her boy will not be.
But here, away from her sisters, she can allow herself the worry. Letting Grażyna and her son come to the forest means allowing them close to Tadeusz, allowing them to bring danger here. To her home. To what and whom she cares about.
Not for the first time when she has too much on her mind, she dresses and begins the walk to catch a cab to Tadeusz’s flat. She never goes to him unexpectedly, but often she does this late at night — she goes to his flat and stands guard outside the building, as if she can protect him by simply standing there.
What would he do if she snuck into his bed like this? Would he be angry or welcome her presence? Sometimes she thinks he wants to ask her to give more, to stay with him, maybe even to marry him. In that, she envies Grażyna her freedom.
She would. She would marry Tadeusz if she could leave the sisters. She would live in a house and wear clothes and maybe have boy children she could keep and not kill.
But she is not Grażyna, and she will never marry or hold boy children in her arms. She is Dziwozona. She needs to do what's best for her sisters, not what she wants, even if she could tell Tadeusz what she is, even if he would understand why she never seems to age.
She stands outside his building, in the rain, and knows what they must do. They must meet Grażyna where they are sure they can win. They must let her come here. And Bożena knows that she — and her son — will.
Bożena formulates her plan without noticing the rain dripping down the back of her neck.
16: Introductions
He’s not entirely used to thinking of himself as Jakub again. In his mind, he’s still Vance, and when he sees Donovan, he still feels the same as he has every single day when he sees her. Nothing has changed for him at all.
But it's obvious from their encounter on the stairs that it has for her, and much as it pains him, he has to respect that.
He watches her walk into his room. She's been in here countless times, but she's acting like it's the first time, or like some kind of monster is lurking behind a door waiting to jump out at her. He waits for her to sit on the bed before grabbing his desk chair and pulling it over. He doesn't want to make her uncomfortable, but she looks a little disappointed in him. Because he doesn’t sit next to her on the bed? He’s never felt this awkward with her.
He pulls the chair as close to her as he dares and sits.
“Before I get started with this whole story, I want you to remember I’m still the same person you’ve always known. The only thing that’s different is I remember everything. I remember every day we’ve spent together. I remember you were the only person who befriended me. I remember you stuck by me no matter how many times I forgot who you were.
“You may be at least a little bit right when you say you don't really know me, but that's only my name. You know everything else about me that's important. I promise.”
“I don't know your name?”
Trust her to focus on the one facet he thought was the least important part of the whole thing.
He’s stilted when he begins dumping the basics at her, almost robotic in his rushed recitation.
“My given name isn't Vance; it's Jakub. My mother and I have been in hiding for a long time, and it's been important that we blend in while we were. Having names that sound the same as everyone else's is important. I haven't been called Jakub in so long that other than a few dreams, it's completely foreign to me.”
“But you spoke to me in … Was that Russian?”
“Polish. And yes. For a long while, even once we switched names, my mother and I spoke Polish at home. I didn't switch to speaking only English until we started altering my memory to help hide us further, and now, when everything feels so new, I may switch back and forth until I get used to everything. Please remind me if I forget and you don’t understand me.”
He watches her carefully. Each new piece of information will be harder for her to accept, he's sure, and he has to build up to the things she’ll struggle with more as well as know when to pause and give her a break. He doesn't want her to run. He’s not sure he can survive if she's afraid of him.
“So your name is Jakub, and you speak Polish, and you’re in some kind of danger, which is why you've been making yourself forget using some kind of barbaric old equipment and drugs. Where exactly did you get that ancient torture device?”
“I bought it when I was younger.”
He decides the lie here is better than the truth. Donovan already has a lot to process, and his mother’s procurement methods aren’t something he needs to add to that. Nor are they relevant, really.
“Well, I figured that much. I mean, who was selling it?”
“The original manufacturer.”
“That has to be illegal.”
“It wasn't when I bought it.”
“Please. That would have to have all sorts of government approval and —“
“Dee,” he interrupts, “when I say I bought it from the manufacturer when I was younger and that it wasn't illegal when I bought it, I mean it. There was no oversight of devices like that when I bought it.”
“Oh, please. Those things have been regulated for at least—”
"Not a hundred years ago they weren't."
The minute he says it, he wants to kick himself. So much for breaking all his news to her gradually to make sure she doesn't bolt.
“You’re trying to tell me you’re over a hundred …”
“Closer to 200, but I'm still me. Still exactly me. Nothing is any different about me than it was yesterday. You just know now that it takes a lot longer for me to grow up than even the most immature guy you knew before. For what I am, I’m still young. I was this old yesterday. It's just that neither of us knew it, and today we do.”
He takes her hands before she can pull away from him and leans forward so she’s forced to meet his eyes.
“Dee, look at me. Really look at me. I’m still me. I still like bands no one else has heard of. I still have a drawer full of t-shirts with holes around the neck. My hair is probably still standing on end because I'm rubbing the top of my head like Aladdin's lamp hoping a genie will pop out who'll tell me how to make everything okay with you. I want things to be okay with you. I need them to be.”
It crushes him when she flinches away from him and pulls her hands free, like he's some sort of monster. For the first time, he wonders how much of his chivalry was about protecting her from the Dziwozony and how much was about protecting her from a truth that would undoubtedly alienate her. Right now, she doesn't look like she's ready to so much as talk to him ever again, much less start playing house any time soon.
He has to face that she may not want him now. And what will he do if she doesn't? Yesterday she seemed okay with finding out answers, but today —
“I think I need a few minutes to wrap my head around all of this, you know?” she says.
“I mean, first you tell me you have a different name, then you tell me you're even older than my great-grandfather. I need a few minutes here to process that I’m suddenly the heroine of a teen novel.”
She doesn't give him a chance to answer. He can sense that pushing her even a little right now will drive her away for good, so he moves his chair back to give her room to pass.
She stands up and walks out of his room. For the second time, he watches her walk away from him, wondering if she'll return. His power feels heavy in his grasp, and now he remembers the weight of it on his shoulders, the reasons he wanted to be normal, to be human. He wishes the responsibility wasn’t his to carry, and for a moment, that he could be what she wanted him to be: a normal, human man who wants nothing more than to marry her — eventually — and make babies with her. He has so much in his grasp, but not that.
They’ll never have that.
17: Opening
Donovan goes downstairs to the family room, looking for an empty couch where she can sit and get her thoughts together. Instead, she finds Grace having what her own mother would call a “moment”: those seconds no one is supposed to see when a mother has a tiny breakdown in the facade she shows the world.
Of all mothers, Donovan guesses Grace has fewer of these moments than most, even in the multitude of years Van — Jakub — says they have been on their own, in hiding, with no family or country where they belong.
She debates whether or not she should make some kind of noise to alert Grace, but in the end, her nervous fidgeting makes the decision for her. Grace looks up and appears unashamed of her vulnerability having been witnessed.
“You'll forgive me, please,” she says. “I did not think you would be downstairs so soon. I was thinking of making some tea. Would you like some?”
Donovan nods and follows Grace to the kitchen, perching on a bar stool while Grace moves from the counters to the stove in the graceful manner Donovan has always associated her with. Donovan never asks which type of tea is going to be handed over; it's always perfect and suited to whatever kind of mood she happens to be in. If she has to guess, though, today's will be sweet and calming. Probably something with chamomile.