by Bryce Moore
I left the room, doing my best to walk quietly. It wasn’t as hard as it was back in America. Our apartment here had all tile floor—cold as Pluto in the morning, but no boards to squeak. My parents’ door in the living room was closed, so I flicked on a reading lamp by the couch and started going through some books Uncle L’uboš had sent over when we moved in.
Librarians like my dad seem to need books around. By now, he had cataloged them all and put call numbers on their spines for easy organization. Way to go, Dad.
I browsed the call numbers, searching for something that might at least pass the time and feel quasi-useful. The 940s (European history) and 929s (family history) would be snoozeville. The 398s were more promising, though: folklore. Maybe I’d find something about the vodník that would help at least one of my problems. I grabbed three that looked most interesting, then glanced over at my parents’ door. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, but then again, I didn’t want them to find me nose deep in Slovak legends at two in the morning. Too many questions. Only the son of a librarian would be worried about getting caught reading illicit books in the middle of the night.
I took the books to my room.
The first two were duds, but when I opened the third, a yellowed envelope dropped to the floor. I put the text down and picked up the envelope. It wasn’t sealed. Inside was a collection of Slovak newspaper clippings, brittle and old. I took out the first.
New Evidence Points to Murder in Mysterious Disappearance
Trenčín. Police have uncovered what they believe is a crime scene involved in the disappearance of Alena Kováčová.
I sat up. That was Babka’s name. I scanned the top of the clipping for the date: June 17, 1985. I kept reading.
“All along we’ve been skeptical of the events as we understood them,” said Kapitán Martin Zajac. “For a family woman to disappear without a trace and with no reason—it just didn’t make sense. Now, the clues are falling into place, and we feel confident enough to change the classification from disappearance to kidnapping. Possibly murder.”
The scene was discovered when office manager Rudolf Novotny went to change fuses in the basement of his building. He came across a purse that was found to have belonged to Kovácová. Having read about her disappearance in the paper a week earlier, he immediately phoned the police.
After a thorough investigation of the basement, they came across signs of a struggle, as well as extensive water and fire damage, although they refuse to go into detail about exactly what was found. “The case is wide open,” Zajac said. “Some things, we need to hold back.”
I kept reading, eventually poring over every article in the envelope. They all had to do with Babka’s murder/disappearance. After I’d read it all, the course of events was pretty clear.
Babka had gone into work early that day, leaving L’uboš in charge. Apparently they had all planned on taking a trip to the mountains for the weekend, and Babka wanted to get an early start.
She never came home. My mom was the one who called the police. Until they came across the crime scene, no one had any clue what had happened to my grandmother. And then, after the discovery, people still had no idea. The police couldn’t make heads or tails of the water and fire damage (although exactly what damage was done was never described), and their leads dwindled. The articles came further and further apart and got shorter, until by the end there were just some side stories about how Mom and L’uboš were faring, parentless. L’uboš was already eighteen at the time, though, so apparently they did fine. The last article in the clipping was about my mom moving to America to go to school.
I put the clippings back in the envelope and sat back in my bed. How had I not been told about this? It was all I could do not to go wake my parents up and demand an explanation.
That was too brazen for me, but I got up and left my room, and while I put away the Slovak legends books, I wasn’t exactly quiet about it, nor was I gentle. If there were a superhero for books, that would have been my dad. He could hear a book being abused from miles away.
Sure enough, the door opened, and he poked his head out, his hair all over the place and his glasses crooked on his face. “What’s going on?”
“Can we talk?”
He checked the clock on the oven. “It’s three in the morning. Can’t it wait?”
“No.”
Dad thought about it, then nodded. “I’ll put on my robe. Meet me in my office.”
I brought the clippings with me and put them on his desk where he’d see them. His office wasn’t big, and the shelves were bursting with more books (the reference section, non-circulating). He kept his desk clean, though. A minute or two later, he came in and closed the door behind him.
“Now,” he said. “What’s so important that it couldn’t—” His gaze fell across the desk, and he froze. “Jiminy Christmas.” He picked up the envelope, then plopped into his chair. “Your mom is going to kill me.”
“Why I wasn’t told what happened to Babka?”
He sighed. “It wasn’t my decision. I know you’re upset—I can relate. Your mother didn’t tell me at all. I found out from L’uboš when I came to Slovakia for the first time, and she flipped when he told me. When we had you, she made it clear I was never to let on about what happened to Alena.”
That was garbage. “But why not? Why not just tell me?”
He shrugged. “It’s a sensitive subject with your mother, let’s just leave it at that.”
“No,” I said. “What’s up with her? Why is it she just ignores problems? Why do you let her?”
“Let her? What do you think I am, Tomas? Marriage is a complex thing. I can’t force your mother to do something she doesn’t want to do. I wouldn’t want to if I could. People are complicated. I love your mother, but you’re right. Any time there’s a sensitive subject, she does her best to avoid it. Pretend it doesn’t exist. Some of that has to be from whatever happened to her mom. That can do a lot to a person. Some of it . . . who knows? I’ve wished I knew for the past twenty years, but I’ve never been able to figure it out. We have to be patient with her.”
“Maybe if we both—”
Dad peered over his glasses, his eyes strong. “What would you do if it were Katka? Would you pressure it out of her? What about you—don’t you have some secrets you’d rather other people not know? Secrets can be important, Tomas. Sometimes it’s best to leave them alone.”
A pang of guilt shot through me. Should I tell my dad about the vodník? That was different. “What else do you know?” I asked. “All I got from the clippings is that Babka disappeared and was maybe murdered.”
Dad nodded. “That’s about all there is to the story. They never found a body, never even had a single suspect.”
“What about the water and fire damage?”
He spread his hands. “I don’t know. Your uncle looked into things at the time, but it’s not something I ask about these days. L’uboš was obsessed with it for years until he finally swore off it. Your mother made him promise not to tell you, and if she found out I was discussing it with you now . . .” He glanced at the door, then back to me. “I’m sorry you had to learn this way. It wasn’t my idea. And I know you have a lot of questions about it. The thing is, there are no answers. Trust me. Now you know, and let it end there. End of discussion.”
Yeah, right. “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Why does Mom have the right to be dictator whenever she feels like it?”
“Because her mother was murdered. That gives her the right.”
“No it doesn’t,” I said. “I’m a part of this family too. Alena was my grandmother.”
“Tomas,” Dad said. He was giving me his Serious Expression. “I mean it. Don’t bring it up. I’ve been dealing with this for almost twenty years. Don’t ask Katka about it, either. With her health, she doesn’t need any surprises. I want you to promise me not to bring this up.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
I grunted. “Fi
ne,” I said. “I won’t bring it up. But if anything pops up in conversation, I’m not going to stick my head in the sand like you. I’ll talk about it.”
He nodded. “Fair enough. It won’t come up in conversation. Your mom and L’uboš have too much practice pretending it didn’t happen.” He stood up, still holding the clippings envelope. This was probably the last time I’d ever see it. “Good night, Tomas.” He left the room without waiting for a response.
I went to bed, but I lay there for what must have been hours. I was thinking about what Ohnica said, how the ability to see mythical creatures was hereditary. Had Babka been seeing things before she died? What about my mom? Katka couldn’t see them. Could my uncle? My anger and frustration with my mom had a big streak of fear running through them. Fear that maybe she knew something I didn’t. Something important. Should I be as scared about this as she was?
And I was thinking about extensive fire and water damage. Why had the clippings been in folklore books? Was there a connection between Babka and the vodník? Could I get L’uboš to tell me more? And this was on top of the news about Katka. When I fell into an uneasy sleep at last, my dreams were filled with fire women, green water, and a Rollerblader’s skates sticking out of a fountain.
Love’s first kiss (LFK) is actually a very underrated commodity, especially these days, when those kisses are happening sooner and sooner. It used to be when you needed a good LFK, you could just whisk by the local village for a lovelorn farm boy up for an adventure. Now you’re lucky if you can find a teen who hasn’t made it past first base.
I woke up when my door opened. The moon shining through my window traced the outline of a woman as she walked in, highlighting the slope of her shoulders, the curve of her cheek. I could see through her. Was this a dream?
She wasn’t a ghost—no crazy auras around her body, at least. She stood there by my closet, and I could see the closet handle behind her, rippling slightly as if it were underwater.
“Hello?” she said, coming closer.
I was in that half-awake, half-asleep phase, my mind foggy. This had to be a dream. I could see she was made out of water, much like the thing I’d seen my first night in Slovakia. Where Ohnica had been crafted from different shades of fire, this woman had no variations. Her skin looked the same as her clothes and her hair. All of it rippling, all of it clear. If it weren’t for the angle of the moon and the way she reflected it, I don’t know if I could have made out her features.
As it was, the nose gave it away: the girl from my water visions.
“Hello,” she said again. She reached out to touch my face.
Her skin was very wet, and very real. Not a dream. I gasped and bolted upright in bed, then did what any able-minded sixteen-year-old would do if a strange water creature loomed over him in the middle of the night.
I screamed.
She slapped a hand over my mouth. Droplets of water sprayed from her palm and splattered on the wall. She tasted like tears. “Calm yourself,” she said in a low feminine voice. “No one can hear you, and I’m not here to kill you.”
What a relief. I shook off her hand and backed up in bed until I was against the wall. “Who are you? What are you? What have you done with everyone else?”
“My name is Lesana, and I’ve slowed down time for us. The vodník said that you’d had that happen before, so it shouldn’t be too much of a surprise for you.”
“The vodník?”
She nodded, then walked over to my dresser and ran a finger over the top, as if she were checking for dust. “That’s why I’m here. He wanted me to tell you something.”
“What are you?” I asked. “Are you like Ohnica?”
She frowned. “That deceitful víla? We’re as different as night and day. She’s bound to fire now, thank goodness. I am free to walk where I will.”
“Are you the vodník’s messenger?”
“Whatever you want to think,” she said. “He wants to meet with you. Soon.”
“More like he wants to kill me.”
“If he wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. He could have taken your soul at the pool, but he didn’t. That was but a warning.”
Now she was inspecting my closet door, opening it and closing it for some bizarre reason. “How did you fall in with him?” I asked. “I’ve been having these vis—”
“This isn’t about me,” she cut in, slamming the door shut and facing me. “It is about you and him. When you’re ready to talk, he’ll wait for you by the castle well.”
“The Well of Love?”
She frowned, the moon tracing out each line on her face. She didn’t look any older than she’d been in my water visions. She was angry. She was also beautiful. “I loathe that name,” she said. “It sounds like something from a cheap carnival. But yes, that’s the right well.”
“Why didn’t he just come here himself?” I asked.
“Because he did not wish to. I don’t have to justify his decisions. I only deliver the message. So may I consider it delivered?”
Talk about grumpy. “Sure,” I said. “It’s delivered.”
“Good.” She reached inside a fold in her skirt and took out something that looked like a marble, then threw it on the floor at my feet, where it exploded in a puff of mist. In an instant, she rushed over and jumped on top of me. If I had thought I couldn’t get more surprised, I was wrong. Did I mention that where she landed, my pajamas soaked through at once? Cold.
Lesana put her lips to my ear and whispered, “I’m sorry it must be like this. He is ever watching. That dampening charm will distract him for a time, but we must hurry.”
I tried to lean away from her, but she clutched me tight, further drenching my clothes. Actually, now that I was used to the wet, it was easier to notice how soft she felt. I was basically being straddled and held close by a girl in my bed.
And I tried to lean away from her?
“You need to stay near,” she said. “If we separate too far, the spell won’t work.”
“What are you doing?”
“Don’t interrupt. I need your help. If the vodník finds out what I am doing . . . I’ve been his captive for so long. If you can’t help me, I don’t—I’ll never be free. I’ve been sending you the water visions whenever I can. It’s the only way I can communicate. When he sent me to spy on you the first night, I established a connection with you that let me send the visions without him seeing them.”
She paused for a breath, and I spoke up. “What do you mean help you?” I asked, my voice breaking. “What am I supposed to do?” Where was I supposed to put my arms? Around her? By my side? Concentrating on the damsel’s cry for help was difficult when you were easily distracted by damsels in general, let alone by damsels in your lap.
When Lesana spoke again, her voice trembled. “I don’t know. Something. Anything. Just get me away from him. Do not trust him, and do not trust whatever I say when I am not whispering to you like this. Will you help?”
What was I supposed to say? She was a watery Princess Leia, and I was her only hope. “I’ll do what I can,” I found myself saying.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Without another word, she got up and left the room.
2.25.1—There may come a time when you need to prove you aren’t insane, despite the cautions listed later in 7.3. On the whole, humans can be a suspicious lot, but have no fear: a quick potion will make this book visible to even the most skeptic, and once they’ve read something, humans tend to believe it. It goes without saying that you should refer to Appendix D2 for instructions on filing appropriate paperwork.
The next morning, I had another water vision.
This time, it was on purpose. I filled up the bathroom sink with water, and got ready. The reasonable part of my brain had to do some convincing before the incredibly-afraid-of-water part decided to go along with the plan. What if I hit my head and fell unconscious? What if my head got stuck in the sink? What if—
I stopped thinking and dunked my head in.
<
br /> Rushing wind, blinding light.
This time I was old and overweight, dressed like Bach and striding through pouring rain and flashing lightning up to Sleeping Beauty’s town house. It had a tower with a pointed roof, complete with banner flying in the wind and parapets.
I burst through the main door, up a staircase, and straight to Lesana.
“I can’t believe this!” I roared.
The room had low ceilings with beams crossing close to my head. Lesana stood in front of me, her right hand bandaged—the one the vodník had bitten. Her eyes were sunken, from stress or the vodník bite, I didn’t know. Her skin was a bit green, as well. Then again, there was that storm raging outside the window, and much of the room was greenish. Either way, she looked better than she did when she was totally made out of water. I remembered her on top of me. I should have put my arms around her then.
Focus, Tomas.
“I don’t see why your opinion enters into this,” Lesana said. Despite her appearance, she still managed to put a whole lot of vigor into those words. She put her unbandaged hand out to hold a chair next to her—to steady herself?
“Of course my opinion matters,” I said, my voice high and whiny. “A Gypsy? No daughter of mine should even be in the same room with one, let alone married to one. They’re animals, not people. Would you marry a bear? I’m not going to be the fool of the city at my own expense. There are plenty of other nápadníci who would—”
“I’ve made up my mind. I love him. He’s a good man. If I need to, I’ll leave without your approval.”
That stopped me mid-rant. I patted down my clothes until I found a pipe and took it out. Thankfully, I didn’t light it. Instead, I stared at Lesana—my daughter, apparently. “I’ve already lost a son,” I said. “I refuse to lose a daughter.”
She seemed to relax, her face going slack and her shoulders slumping. I continued, “If I must, I will lock you in your room until you see reason. I would rather see you dead than married to a common Gypsy.”