Niko answered, “Tomorrow late morning. I will come by and pick Pita up. We will return the rental and leave from there.”
“Ahhh…I will miss her. She very nice company.” Dorina smiled then began to gather the cups and saucers to place upon the tray.
“Thanks, the feelings are mutual. I will be back and hopefully, Sasha will have gotten here by then, which reminds me, I should call her. Do you mind if I call her in the morning?”
“Of course, child, you call her. I no mind.”
“Walk outside with me.” Niko said, his tone low, sultry.
“Sure.” She said a flush of heat rose through her body as his voice slid over her like a gentle caress.
Outside near the car, Niko pulled her into his arms and bent to kiss her. At first, the kiss was soft, attentive, and then it became seductive, full of need. Pita felt a tightening low in her body. His tongue caressed her lips, and she opened them, meeting it with her own. The tightness grew along with a primal, carnal need. Pita pressed closer, clutching his broad back tightly.
Niko’s hands slid up her back and into her hair. One held the base of her neck while the other moved down to the small of her back molding her pelvis tight against his. She felt the heat of his arousal which only fueled her own fire, sending shivers of desire through her. She quelled the urge to rub herself against his erection, though the unbridled need to feel him inside her sent better judgment careening dangerously into crash and burn mode.
Pita never wanted the kiss and the embrace to end, in fact, her wanton imagination wanted much more, but the sound of the front door opening and closing brought them apart.
Breathless, she tried to relearn the technique of breathing. Niko gazed down at her with such passion and desire in his eyes that her heart lurched in her chest. She watched as his eye color bled from hazel to pure amber. As she stared into them, they slowly cooled to their normal color. His hand slid down the side of her face in a gentle caress.
She caught his hand in hers and smiled. “Your eyes.” She breathed in a whisper so Tomas would not hear.
“Passion can bring out the beast.” He smiled. “No pun intended.” He pulled her to him for a final hug. “I will see you tomorrow about eleven.” Niko opened the driver side door of the vehicle. Tomas had already gotten in and waited in the passenger seat.
“Okay.”
When Niko let go, Pita swayed a bit, but felt it a major accomplishment to remain upright. Her legs had turned to mush.
Niko opened the window as he started the engine. “Sleep well.”
“I will.” After a nice cold shower, she thought. “You too.”
He smiled, winked, as if he’d read her thought, and then drove away. Pita sighed as she climbed the porch steps. She took a moment to allow her heart rate to slow and the overwhelming passion to ebb in the cool evening air. Only then did she enter the front door.
Once inside she went into the parlor gathered up her papers and called out good night to Dorina busy in the kitchen once again.
The older woman came into the hall, dishtowel in hand, as Pita climbed the stairs. “You sleep well, child. Read letter, and we talk in morning if you like. It private. I hope good news.”
“Thank you, Dorina, see you in the morning.”
Chapter 31
Pita forced herself to perform the usual nightly routine of washing her face, applying night cream; along with other mundane tasks she performed to ready herself for bed. She laid the brush on the bureau and crossed the room to turn down the bed. With each task, she mentally pressed down the excitement at what her father had left her so long ago. She wanted to savor this moment. A moment she never dreamed possible. To communicate with her father one last time.
Finally, she climbed into the bed, made a production of puffing pillows and cuddling into the down comforter before picking the letter off the night table. In the golden glow of lamplight, Pita began to read:
My dearest Pita,
If you are in Romania and in possession of this letter then it seems events have caught up with you and lead you here. Forgive us for not telling you, my sweet daughter. We were of the hope that somehow, this would pass you by, and we would never have to disclose the strange details of your birth.
I suppose I should start at the beginning:
Your mother and I came to Romania on a whim, an adventure, so to speak. I’d been offered a position here at the University that you have no doubt visited. We were excited at the prospect of learning a new culture and teaching a bit our own here.
Not only did we learn of the differences of lifestyles, we also discovered things that we never imagined existed.
I became infatuated with a small band of Gypsies or Rom, as they prefer to be called and followed them around in the name of research. They allowed me to observe them but soon tired of the scrutiny. I befriended a young couple, and we later discovered the young girl pregnant and cast out from the group and her family. Considered “marhime” or impure in the language of the Roma, she was cared for by an old “Drabarni,” a woman of magic or medicine woman. The couple had no chance at marriage because the young man was of the “gaje” or not of Roma origin. Either way, my dear Pita, the young woman died in childbirth. As you may have already guessed, you were that child. Your biological father whisked you away that very night and brought you to us. We made arrangements and left Romania several days after your birth, never to return.
We attempted to keep in touch with your biological father but after a few years lost track of him. I only know that he was from Hungary and his name to be, Stefan Pintakov. His family would not have accepted a child mixed with the blood of the Gypsy. He may never have told them of your mother or your birth.
Pita, something else I must tell you. Magic, what the Roma call “draba,” flows through your veins. You were born of a shapeshifter. You will undoubtedly have the ability to change from human to wolf on the full moon each month though I have no idea when and if this talent will affect you, nor do I understand its existence in the scheme of life. I only know it is a legitimate phenomenon that I have witnessed. I have spent much time amongst the Roma and learned many things of their culture and politics. They are a proud people with a magical genealogy and colorful history. They are also an extremely private culture, and I am honored and awed for the chance of having been embraced by their trust, even if for a short time.
When your birth mother died, it is said that a wolf appeared to the Drabarni, the woman who stayed with your mother in her labor, and she recognized this wolf as the spirit of your mother. We do not know if your birth father shares this talent or affliction. Pita, please forgive us for not telling you of all this when we had the chance, but… we hoped this particular ability would not manifest itself in you.
I am sure you have been curious as to whom your birth parents were but you never asked. Whatever your reasons for not asking, please forgive us for not divulging the facts to you. For all that we kept from you, understand that we have always loved you and only strove to protect you from any hurt or harm.
One more thing I must tell you before I leave you to the decision of trying to locate your birth father if you so choose. Please be careful, my daughter. If you do pursue your heritage, you will have many friends to help you with your quest, though you will inevitably attract enemies along the way, as well. There are those that do not suffer the shifter to live. I have sensed an underlying war afoot. Take care, my daughter. Enclosed please find a key. This key is to a safety deposit box located in the National Bank in Hayden, Montana. All pertinent information is enclosed within the box. The items within will be self-explanatory. I hesitate to write within these pages too many details. There are secrets in the world of the Rom that are wondrous and there are those of darkness that are better left alone. You will have no choice but to delve in and seek your answers and limitations. I wish we were there to help you with your search, though I know if you are reading this letter that we no longer walk upon the earth with you. Keep us
in your heart always and know that we love you infinitely.
With all our hearts,
Mom and Dad
Pita lay back, letting the pages drop from her grasp. Tears flowed freely; tears of pent up grief and loss, tears of frustration and fear of what she might discover next. She turned her gaze to the nightstand, where the key, enclosed by the envelope, sat. A key to what? Every step she took seemed to take her further from her goal and only opened more doors into the unknown. Uncertainty and fear overwhelmed her. Pita crawled under the covers and cried until blessed sleep overtook her.
Chapter Thirty-two
The forest path wound through night-shrouded evergreens. Only the thin crescent moon in the cloudless sky offered its meager light to Pita as she walked aimlessly along the path.
Silent, but for the light wind rustling through trees and the crunch of dead leaves beneath her feet, Pita felt a peaceful communion with the woodland and all its mystery of life and spirit.
She’d grown up playing in the dense mountain woods of her home. When she felt ill at ease, she would wander the forest to seek solitude to think. Now she wandered the woods once again, though in a foreign countryside.
Darkness held no threat to her; the coolness of the evening helped to soothe her taut nerves. The letter opened up some more mysteries yet it cryptically answered some questions about her heritage. Why would Dad write the letter at all? Did he fear something might happen to them? Was the accident not an accident at all? She would have to go to the bank named in the letter and collect the contents of the safety deposit box. That would have to wait until she got back home. Part of the mystery of her heritage lay within the confines of a bank vault right under her nose all these years. Perfect.
The atmosphere in the forest changed. A strange undercurrent ran through the ground and forced Pita to jump as the energy climbed up her legs and shot throughout her body. Remaining stock-still for a moment, she became aware of a low insistent chanting. Pita moved in the direction of the voice, slowly, curious enough to block out any thought of turning back.
As she neared the source of the chanting, Pita saw the golden glow of a fire ahead in the darkness. Stopping for a moment to listen, she raised her nose into the wind and sniffed the air, chuckling softly. I am in human form not wolf, so why am I scenting?
She caught the tang of wood burning and could hear the crackle of the fire. In addition, the constant chanting rose and fell on the light breeze. Try as she might, she could not make out the words. They were in a strange dialect. No, not strange, it was Romanian, a Roma dialect.
She urged one foot forward then the other, moving quietly as to not alert the chanter. By its timbre, she discerned the voice to be female.
The path widened slightly, and Pita could make out the fire. On the ground beside it, a woman knelt. She wore her long dark hair loose as she rocked back and forth sitting upon her knees, staring deep within the flame as if mesmerized by them. The chant continued, her lips repeatedly forming the same incantations.
Pita made her way around to face the woman for a better look. Close enough to make out the brightly colored, multi-tiered skirt spread out about the woman’s folded legs and the low cut white peasant blouse, she worked her gaze up to the woman’s face. Pita gasped silently and covered her mouth to assure no sound escaped. The Matriarch! From further away she had thought it was a much younger woman. No, it was definitely the woman from the plane—the same high cheekbones, cold black eyes, stern brow—the woman who continuously haunted her dreams.
A chill passed over her as the woman peered up at Pita, moving nothing but her eyes as she continued chanting.
On the ground in front of her, the woman slowly stirred the contents of a small pot. She added herbs and flowers with her free hand. Behind the Matriarch, Pita sensed movement. Out of the darkness, like sentinels on either side to flank the woman, came two wolves, one dark as the night; the other light with darker highlights. Both stared at her with eyes cast amber by the firelight.
The shock of recognition slammed into her.
“Oh my God! No! I trusted you…I trusted you both,” she cried and fell to her knees.
****
Pita awoke in the living room of her cottage home. Tears still wet on her cheeks, she glanced around at the familiar surroundings. Blinking, she shook her head in confusion. Sprawled in her lap was a manuscript entitled, The Curse of the Marhime. She touched the course paper, lightly running her fingers across the title.
“No…” she whispered. “I couldn’t have dreamt the whole thing.”
Leafing through the pages, she picked out bits and pieces of the story. A girl travels to Romania in search of her identity and birth parents—
“No…no…no.” Pita jumped up out of the chair spilling the manuscript with a loud thud to the floor. Pacing about the room, she began to shiver. How can this be? Everything seemed so real…
Then something else hit her, knocking the breath out of her and making her heart lurch to a stop for a second. Niko. Oh my God, he’s not real…he’s just a figment of my imagination, something triggered by my reading this book.
Slowly Pita sat back down, buried her face in her hands and let a low keening wail escape. Am I losing my mind? How could someone’s novel do this to me? Am I so pathetic?
Suddenly the tears turned to a hesitant giggle, and then progressed to near hysterical laughter. “Okay. Get yourself together. This is just some sort of weird sign. You have to get a life. Some adventure.”
She got up and headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on for tea. Pita picked up the phone and dialed Sasha’s number. After two rings the cheery voice sang, “Hello?”
“Sasha, hey… Hi. You won’t believe what I dreamed.”
“I’m sorry,” the familiar female voice said, “you must have the wrong number. There is no Sasha here.”
Pita laughed. “C’mon, I know it’s you, stop playing around.”
The woman said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about; you have the wrong number.”
The line went dead.
Staring blankly at the phone, Pita jumped when the rapping began softly and then became more insistent.
Chapter Thirty-three
“Pita! Pita!” The familiar voice broke through her abyss of confusion that surrounded her.
Pita opened her eyes and relaxed as the familiarity of the simple room sank in—the scent of last night’s spiced tea, the heavy antique furniture gleaming in the early morning sun that stabbed its brightness through the split in the heavy drapery.
“Dorina?” Blinking, she pinched herself hard and looked around the room once more. Satisfied that she had truly awoken and this setting was real, she threw the quilt off, dropped her legs over the edge of the bed, and sat a moment longer.
“Yes, of course, child, who else? Please open door. You sleep late.”
Pita grabbed her robe and crossed the room to open the door, then walked over to the window for a look outside to be sure she would see the now familiar Romanian hills and scattered hay obelisks. “The dream was a dream,” she whispered, “a nightmare.” She sighed.
“Pita, why you lock door? You never lock door. Are you okay?” Dorina asked setting down a tray with tea and biscuits on the table.
“Locked? I didn’t, I mean I don’t remember locking the door.” She scrubbed her hands over her face and pushed her hair back. A heavy grogginess hung over her, like the sluggish after-effect of a sleeping pill, though she taken nothing before going to bed. “Oh, Dorina, you will never believe the night I have had.”
“Sit child, you do not look well.” Dorina picked up the teapot. “I pour you nice cup of tea.”
“Thank you.” Pita said as she sat and took the proffered steaming cup of liquid. The warmth felt comforting in her cold hands. “I had the weirdest dreams— nightmares, really.”
“Tell me.” Dorina said as she sat down on the edge of the bed next to Pita with her own cup in hand.
“Well…I d
reamed that none of this was real.” She spread her free hand in a wide arc. “None of you were real. You were all characters in a manuscript I had been reading. I awoke in my living room at home with the pages of the story in my lap. The name is still fresh in my mind. Its title was The Curse of the Marhime. The story paralleled what’s been happening to me lately with slight differences.”
As she told the older woman all the details, Dorina’s brows knitted and her eyes squinted in what Pita surmised to be strict attention. She seemed to hang on every word of Pita’s descriptive imagery. At the tale’s end, Pita took a deep shaky breath. “I am so glad I’m not losing my mind. I was so confused; I’d thought for sure someone was messing with me. It was all so real.”
“Perhaps you are closer to truth than you think.”
Pita stopped in mid sip and put the teacup down. “What do you mean?”
“Eh, how you say, someone messing with you? Perhaps someone strong of the draba try to confuse you with spell. They mess with your dreams and try to confuse you.”
“Are you serious?” Pita swallowed her laughter because she but did not want to insult Dorina. “First I find out I may turn into a wolf, now you’re telling me someone is putting spells on me and invading my dreams?” She got up and began to pace the room. “This is really getting to be too much.”
“There is much you must understand, child. Romania is full of the draba. Why do you think Romania is setting for so many of your American stories of magic, vampires, werewolves? From history comes legend, Pita.”
Curse Of The Marhime Page 14