“Thank you,” Nikita began, stiffly, “for showing up and–”
“Oh, no need for that,” Rob said cheerfully. “This is what we do: we’ve been hunting down those mindless bastards for over a year now. We still take paid work: putting down coups and lending support to the right sorts of rebellions. Helped topple a few dictators who had it coming. But lately, it’s just those things.” He mentioned them like someone regarding unfortunate relatives at a family reunion. “Will called last night, and told us he had it well in-hand. And then an hour later Much called, and said you were all going to get yourselves killed.”
When he smiled at Nik, he flashed teeth just crooked enough on top to be charming. “You did do a bang-up job, though, all told.”
Nik sighed. “Look, Will already gave us the join-up speech.”
“Good. He’s our best recruiter – has the best hair, you know. But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.
“I’ve been on the phone with your Trina’s captain. Once I explained who I was–”
“He believed he was talking to the real Robin Hood?”
“He believed he was talking to Captain Locksley of Lionheart Security, working under special permission from the CIA, FBI, and Homeland – which I am. He seemed quite impressed when I offered to get the Secretary of Defense on the line.
“He was quite impressed with his detectives, too, managing to go undercover within his precinct in order to expose and take down the Institute.”
Nikita felt his brows go up. “You convinced him of that.”
“I’m very convincing, when I want to be.” He chuckled. “Trina and Lanny won’t solve cases for the NYPD ever again, I’m afraid. But the footage Trina took is on its way to the right channels, no charges against the two of them have been filed, and their families will not only be left well alone, but be personally protected by the FBI.”
Nik let the words settle. Took a deep breath. “You did that?”
“I did.”
Relief washed through him. The good, cleansing kind of relief that left a person weak-kneed and giddy.
“And before you go thinking I’m only trying to buy your good will,” Rob continued, “rest assured that isn’t the case at all.”
“You just like doing good deeds?”
“I’d offer justification – but I have a feeling my reputation precedes me.” His eyes actually twinkled.
Nikita snorted. “I don’t like being beholden to people.”
“And you aren’t. The Institute – this branch of it, especially – has gone too far. We’ve been lax in examining it. What happened tonight needed to happen, and I thank you for taking the initiative that we should have long ago.”
He held out a hand.
And after a moment, Nikita shook it.
“I don’t know where you’ll go,” Rob said, “but you’re welcome to come to Lionheart. Under no obligation to fight and serve, obviously. But. If you need a safe place, our door is always open.”
Nikita glanced over toward his pack, all of them huddled together. As he watched, Alexei and Severin joined them, supporting a limping, unsteady Dante between them.
“I think…thanks, but I think I know where we need to go. For right now.”
“I thought so. I’ll leave you coordinates, and a contact number. Call any time, day or night, and we’ll pick up.”
Nikita regarded him again, this mythic figure of legend. Of history. Of pop culture. The inimitable Robin of Locksley, in his Lincoln green – a hero in the flesh, and not just in theory. As honorable and as fierce as the movies had always made him out to be. Maybe more so.
“Why was it me you wanted to talk to?” Nik wondered aloud.
“Because this is your pack,” Rob said, like it was obvious. “Yours to love and keep safe. You’re their leader.”
He rocked back on his heels. “I’m only a Soviet dog.”
“And I’m only a nobody woodsman, who happened to help the right king. It’s all in where your heart lies, my dear Captain. The world has plenty of kings. Sometimes, it’s the dogs that get the hard jobs done.”
47
Lanny stared up at the house he’d grown up in. A simple brick two-story in Queens, with more boys than bedrooms. His mother’s herb garden still persisted, in the planter boxes off the porch, but would go dormant, soon. She’d take the best sprigs out at the roots and pot them to sit in the kitchen window. The rosemary, sage, oregano, and basil that she used in her cooking. A little lemon balm for the smell; she used to run her fingers along the leaves and then stroke them through Lanny’s hair, when he was only waist-high, so he’d “smell sweet as lemons.”
“I’m nervous,” he said aloud.
Beside him, Trina squeezed his hand. “Rob said they won’t be bothered by anybody.”
He snorted. That wasn’t what he’d meant, and they both knew it – but he appreciated her trying to deflect his real anxiety.
They went up the steps, and he used his key, calling “Ma!” as they went into the cramped entryway.
It looked so much smaller than it had when he was younger: the wallpaper, and the hook for coats, the rack for shoes; the glimpse of the living room, where he and his brothers had watched so many football games. The stairs that he’d slid down each Christmas morning, the banister prickly with garland, seemed narrower. The floorboards were shiny down the middle, from the passage of feet.
It smelled the same, though: like fresh-made bread, and pasta sauce simmering for later. A hint of the cigars his dad wasn’t supposed to smoke in his study, but always did.
“Ma!” he called again, heart pounding, towing Trina down the foyer.
His mother stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and he felt a sharp, swift pain up under his ribs when he saw her.
She wore a long, airy skirt, paisley print that would have looked ridiculous on someone else, but which suited her perfectly; matched her layered blue top, and the bangles rattling on her wrists. Her hair, more silver than black now, lay in waves down her back, her makeup only the subtlest touch to bring out her natural olive skin tone.
“Roland!” she shouted, and dropped the towel.
“Hi, Ma–” She barreled into him, and he caught her, returning the tight squeeze she gave him – but gently, oh so gently. He’d thought she felt fragile, by comparison, when he started fighting. But, now, as a vampire, she felt like twigs and bird bones. He knew he was stronger than Trina, and was careful, even though she was all muscle and sinew and tenacity; but when had his mother become breakable?
As quick as she’d flown to him, she pulled back, and swatted his chest. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve called, and I’ve called – and poor Trina’s had to deal with me! Hello, Trina,” she said in an aside, “thank you for dragging my delinquent son home.” She hit Lanny again.
“Ow!”
“That doesn’t hurt, tough guy! Where have you been?”
“Ma – Mom.” He caught her wrists. Didn’t squeeze, only held her. But the strength of his grip caught her attention. Her head lifted, and her tirade stopped.
“Lanny,” she said, gaze searching his face. “Lanny. What?” She exhaled. “You’re scaring me.”
“I need to tell you something, Mom,” he said, softly, and her face showed surprise that would quickly turn to panic. “I have to go away for a while, and I need to explain it to you, first. It’s going to sound crazy…” His chest tightened, and he swallowed it down. “But, see, the thing is, I was sick…”
48
Occasionally, it snowed at Halloween in Buffalo. This was one of those years.
Trina rolled over in the circle of Lanny’s arm – it tightened, briefly, on reflex – and cracked her eyes open to see gray dawn turned ethereal white by the reflection of the snow that lay over the hills of the farm like cotton batting. A thick, fluffy, sticky snow, pretty as a Thomas Kincade painting.
Condensation beaded the window, drops rolling down as she wat
ched, leaving lines of clear glass behind. She could see the sun hunkered down at the horizon, amidst the evergreen boughs, Christmas gold.
Lanny pressed his face into the back of her neck and groaned. “Time is it?”
“Early.” She sat up, and leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. He hummed in response, eyes still closed. “Go back to sleep. I’ll come get you when it’s time to set up.”
“Sure…” he murmured, already drifting off again.
She slipped out of bed, stepped into a soft pair of her mom’s old slippers, and cinched one of her dad’s soft flannel robes around her waist. Skipping the squeaky floorboards from deeply ingrained memory, she padded down the hall, past the living room, where Jamie slept on the fold-out sofa, and into the kitchen, where it already smelled like coffee and, if her nose wasn’t mistaken, coffee cake baking in the oven.
Her mom, in a terry cloth robe printed all over with little white rabbits, sat at the long plank table, in the seat with the best view out the big picture window, and turned with a smile ready when Trina walked in. “Morning, honey. Get you a cup and come sit down.”
Trina did just that, both hands cupped around the warm mug. Outside the window, cardinals, blue birds, and gold finches swarmed the feeders, spilling sunflower seed down onto the snow that the waddling doves no doubt appreciated. A woodpecker hung by his talons from the suet feeder. And, despite her father’s insistence that he was going to “shoot all those damn squirrels,” three sat plucking kernels from the ears of corn left out especially for them. All the food was freshly laid over the new snow, one pair of size eleven bootprints marking where her dad, in robe and ear-flapped hat, had trudged out to make sure the wildlife had enough to eat after Mother Nature had dumped what looked like at least a foot of snow on them.
She glimpsed a flash of silver, distantly. Val and Kolya sparred with blades down by the guest house where Val, Mia, and the le Stranges had been housed for the past week.
A week that had been odd, to say the least – but necessary. Healing.
She wondered now why she’d ever questioned their welcome. She’d brought two princes, a baron and baroness, a revenant, a mage, and two former detectives to her parent’s doorstep, and all they’d done was smile, and ask who was hungry, and start calculating the number of beds and air mattresses that could be spared.
When Rachel learned who Val was – “A prince! And Dracula’s brother at that!” – she’d insisted he and his take the one guest house. It had been dusty, and cobwebbed in the corners, but Val had proclaimed it lovely, and Mia had sank down gratefully into an ugly plaid chair like it was the best thing she’d ever seen.
Up the hill, Trina’s grandparents had put up Alexei, Dante, and Severin. Trina didn’t know what the sleeping arrangements were in that whole situation, and didn’t care. Dante had proved himself enough for her peace of mind – Severin, too. They were good as pack, now, unless Alexei decided tsars needed to strike off on their own – which he’d given no indication he thought, so far. He’d deferred to Nik’s judgement in everything, so far.
Sasha had been Trina’s one worry, not because her family bore any prejudices – but because her grandfather was Nikita’s son. And surely they’d all understood that Nik’s love for Sasha wasn’t purely platonic, surely…but she’d doubted. A moment. And judging by the look that had crossed Nik’s face, he had, too.
But Steve had smiled, and fished a key out of his pocket. “Nik, there’s a little cabin up by the tree line. You two are welcome to anyone’s couch you’d like, but if you want a little privacy, it’s not bad. Just big enough for two.”
Nikita’s hand had closed around the key, and he’d swallowed like he had a lump in his throat, his words just a whisper. “Thank you.”
Here they all were. But Trina knew they couldn’t stay forever.
“You know,” her mother mused quietly beside her, drawing her from her thoughts, “I didn’t think the whole long hair look did it for me, but that Val’s something else, isn’t he?”
Trina nearly choked on her next swallow of coffee. “Mom,” she laughed into her mug.
“He’s just so pretty.”
“I’m telling Dad you said that.”
“Don’t. He’d get terribly jealous.”
Trina doubted that, but nodded.
In their circle of trampled snow, Kolya parried an overhand strike with his crossed knives, and Val’s mouth opened on a shout of laughter they couldn’t hear.
“He’s restless, though, isn’t he?” Rachel said, growing serious. “Twitchy as a cat.”
“His brother’s off to war. I think he feels like he should be with him.” And even if he’d denied that he wanted to fight, personally, Trina thought that he didn’t understand how real his more violent urges were. He was Vlad’s brother, after all.
“Well. You gotta do what you gotta do, I guess. I get being there for your family.”
“Yeah.”
“No reason you and Lanny and Nik have to go with him, though.” She phrased it like a question; curious, probing a little, her voice tightening.
When Trina turned her head, Rachel was looking at her with a gaze that was prepared for anything. Guarded, careful. It surprised her. “No,” she agreed. “No reason.”
“But you will go, won’t you? You want to.”
Trina set her mug down on the table. “I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Her mother’s expression broke, then, a slow, almost wistful smile touching her mouth. “You’re restless, too.”
“I’m not,” Trina protested, but it tasted like a lie. She sighed. “I don’t want to be restless,” she amended. “There’s nothing left for me in the city. I should just – be happy to be here. With you, and Dad. Quality family time.”
“Those boys are your family too, though, aren’t they? Pack?”
Her throat felt tight, suddenly, and she nodded.
Rachel glanced out the window again, and breathed a one-note laugh. “How many times has your father threatened to shoot those squirrels? But he’s the one who bought the corn at the nursery for them, and he was up in his long-johns putting it out earlier, too. Because life is precious, he always says, and if he can help something, even the squirrels who chew holes in the bird seed bags, he will.
“That’s you, too, Trina.” She turned back, smile wider, fond and sad all at once. “It scared me to death when you said you wanted to be a detective, but I’d been expecting it. I always knew you’d want to be in a position to help people, even if it was dangerous.
“I won’t pretend I know what’s going on with this ‘war.’ Honestly, until real recently, I thought Dracula was just a guy with bad hair and a cape in movies.”
They both snorted.
“But I don’t see you sitting around here taking up knitting when there’s something you feel like you ought to do.”
Trina let out a shaky breath. “I’d love to say you’re wrong, but…”
“But I know my baby.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
Rachel covered the back of her hand with her own. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.” She patted her hand. “Just…maybe let the pretty, bulletproof prince be the first one to charge in, okay?”
She smiled. “Yeah, okay. Sounds fair.”
“Good.” Rachel pushed to her feet. “Now go wake up Lanny and Jamie. They can help me get the big tables out of storage.”
~*~
“Hail, good gentlewoman! ‘Tis a delightful seasonal morning in this fair kingdom,” Val called in a really good – but really overdone – British accent as Trina skirted the trampled ring of snow where he’d been sparring with Kolya.
Fulk made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat.
But Trina smiled, and Val smiled back, all dazzling sharp fangs and steaming breath in the chill.
Kolya gave her a small nod of greeting, which wasn’t unfriendly, and felt very him.
“Morning, boys,” she said, dodging
a pile of snow in her mom’s Wellies and pulling her coat more tightly shut. “Don’t mind me. I’m actually looking for your better half,” she told Val.
“She means Mia,” Fulk explained.
“Yes, I know.” Val’s smile flickered, his former joy warring with an obvious concern, his brows knitting at mention of his mate. “She and Annabel are inside. Having coffee, I believe.” He said it in the voice of someone only recently learning about things like morning routines with coffee. “You’ve come for a visit?” he asked, still concerned, and, though subtle about it, protective now, too.
Trina halted, and sent him her most sincere smile, hoping her good intentions were something he could read – doubtless he could, if what she’d learned about vampires was anything to go by.
His tension eased a fraction, as she’d hoped.
“I wanted to thank her,” she said, softly. “For what she did the night of the raid.”
“Ah,” he said softly back, brows quirking. “That. She’s terribly humble about it, you know.” And he was still worried about her reaction to it, if his face was anything to go by.
“I would be, too,” she assured him.
He studied her a moment, expression softening, and said, voice threaded with emotion, “I’d be grateful for anything you might say to her.”
She nodded, and picked her way to the door of the guest house.
From above, the house was shaped like a cross, with a bedroom off to the right, and the bathroom across from it to the left. The rest was all one long open-plan kitchen/living area. Kitchen in the front, living in the back…with a wide picture window that over looked the pond, frozen at the edges now, early sunlight reflecting off its surface and giving the room a pale glow that, on hushed snowy mornings, almost seemed holy.
Annabel and Mia sat bundled into the wide chairs that bookended the window, a fire snapping in the stone fireplace. Anna wore an oversized hoodie with the hood up, obscuring all but the tip of her nose and chin.
Mia had a blanket tucked over her legs, and held her mug in both hands, steam curling beneath her chin as she stared out at the water.
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