Frank Kurns Boxed Set

by Natalie Grey

“Uh…” He tried to remember what he’d been thinking about. “It’s just, I’m a little worried about the competition.”

  “Why?” Barnabas looked at him. “You have made a superior beer. Unless something such as sabotage should occur, I can think of no reasons that you should not feel confident in your product.”

  “Yours and mine,” Marcus pointed out. “You chose the final hop combinations.”

  “I merely offered advice.” Barnabas seemed untroubled. “I am given to understand that advice is allowed in this competition.”

  “It is, but I’m the newest brewer here.” Marcus sighed and rolled his neck. “What if Bobcat finds something else like those hops?”

  Barnabas looked serene, as always. “I do not think it is necessary to worry.”

  “But what if he had some secret ingredient?” Marcus protested. “Shouldn’t we go check and just see? Look through his notes or something?”

  “That would be against the rules,” Barnabas said. There was a tinge of disapproval in his voice. “It would not be sporting, surely.”

  “He risked our lives to get those last hops!”

  “For which he gave recompense in the form of the hops themselves, yes?”

  Marcus shrugged and muttered, “I suppose.”

  “You have made an excellent beer,” Barnabas told him. “To you I advise the same thing I would advise anyone: focus on the fundamentals. Tricks and shortcuts do more harm than good. It is mastery of the basic concepts that produces results.”

  “Right.” Marcus sighed. “Thank you.”

  “And now if you will excuse me, I must speak with Tabitha.” Barnabas inclined his head and disappeared as quietly as he had come.

  Marcus sighed again and leaned on the window. Focus on the fundamentals. He had spent hours measuring and re-measuring his hops and getting the temperature exactly right. Barnabas’ approval had been very heartening then.

  But was perfection enough to outdo William and Bobcat and any tricks they might have up their sleeves?

  He sat behind his desk and tried to focus. He really shouldn’t snoop. Barnabas was right, that would be dishonorable.

  And he really didn’t want to piss off Barnabas. In his experience, the quieter a vampire, the worse it was if you annoyed them.

  He’d just have to hope his beer was good enough without any tricks.

  William chuckled to himself as he loaded the program and, with a flourish, hit one last key.

  His screen flickered and was replaced a moment later with a different desktop.

  Bobcat’s.

  Still grinning, William took another look at the video surveillance. Bobcat had left his computer a few minutes ago, heading out with Yelena so quickly that he forgot to shut the computer off.

  Rookie mistake.

  After all, as far as William was concerned, all was fair in love and brewing competitions.

  He brought up the web browser and looked through the recently viewed sites, and one stood out immediately: MYRCENE OIL.

  “Myrcene, like hops?” William brought up the website and looked through it.

  His first thought was that it was a scam. Surely if Myrcene Oil were real he’d have heard of it before, right?

  But Bobcat had bought some, and Bobcat knew a lot more about beer than the rest of them did.

  William frowned at the page for a very long time.

  Then he brought it up on his own computer and placed an order.

  Like hell he was going to let Bobcat get the advantage.

  Romania

  “Unchi!” Ecaterina held her arms out to Alexi with a smile.

  “Puiule.” Alexi enfolded her in a huge hug and smiled over her head at everyone.

  It was a gorgeous day. Summer had come in earnest and the scent of greenery was heavy in the air. Picturesque white clouds drifted lazily across a blue sky, and crickets were singing in the fields beyond the town. The mountains stood out against the sky, and Alexi saw with satisfaction that every member of Ecaterina’s party was looking around in awe.

  “Beautiful here, no?” He smiled.

  “Beautiful,” Nathan agreed. He hefted Christina in his arms, and pointed to Alexi. “That’s your mama’s Uncle Alexi. Do you want to say hello?”

  “Hello, Uncle Alexi.” Christina held out her arms immediately, and Ecaterina felt her face split in a smile as Alexi took the child. It was clear that the two had an instant understanding despite the gap in their ages.

  “So...” Ecaterina looked around. “Where’s Ivan?”

  “Bucharest for a few days.” Alexi’s voice was quiet. He looked suddenly grave. “He said he wasn’t sure your friends would be pleased to see him. He said it would be better for everyone if he weren’t here when you arrived, and that you’d call him if you wanted to see him.”

  “Ah.” Ecaterina rubbed her head. She hadn’t even thought of bringing Gabrielle with her, for that exact reason.

  She supposed it was nice of Ivan to anticipate that, though it was also a bit dramatic in her opinion.

  Well, that was Ivan. She rolled her eyes with a sibling’s good-natured humor. She’d call him—and make sure to give him crap for being a coward.

  She drew Alexi away from the others a little bit. Here at her uncle’s house, with its gently sloping roof and rough-hewn walls, there was a sense of contentment radiating from every tree and flower. Ashur and Bellatrix were already leaping through the gardens, sneezing and yipping happily, and Yelena was following them with a distracted smile that said she was thinking of Bobcat.

  Nathan, meanwhile, had Christina’s hand in his own and was walking with her through the meadow grass.

  Something in Ecaterina’s throat constricted for a moment. She had expected, for many years that she would raise a family here. In this town. Near these mountains. Under this sky. It was only later, when she saw how the men of this town behaved when confronted with a woman as strong-minded as she was, that she realized her dreams would not come true.

  She’d found Nathan, and for that she was happy beyond belief.

  But seeing Christina here in Alexi’s garden made her wish, just for a moment, that she could live out her days here.

  She would have to spend as much time here as she could before they went through the gate. Christina should know her family.

  She looked back to see Alexi smiling at her. “It’s good to be back, but a bit sad, I think,” he guessed.

  “Yes,” she admitted. “I’ve been so busy that I lost track of time. I wish I’d come back more often.”

  “Bah,” he said with good humor. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Sure, that spaceship—”

  “Space station.”

  “Doesn’t have mountains like this, but you are doing good work, yes? And you have a good man and a good child and good friends. That one, with the dogs—she is trustworthy.” He nodded decisively in Yelena’s direction. “Dogs always know,” he added, as if he hadn’t imparted this very piece of information to Ecaterina dozens of times before.

  She smiled at him. “Yes, Yelena is a good person. And she’s turning into a hell of a boxer, too.”

  “She is…”

  “She has Wechselbalg blood, yes.” Ecaterina nodded. “She can’t shift, but she can understand Bellatrix.”

  Alexi nodded.

  He lapsed into silence, staring at the mountains with his arms crossed across his broad chest.

  His research into the traps had gone nowhere, and as much as he wanted to talk to Ecaterina about it, he didn’t want to worry her. It was obvious to him that she worried about having left, and he did not want her to feel as if she owed it to him to stay.

  He had meant what he said about her being happier now than at any other point in her life. Ecaterina had always been headstrong, able to survive on her own in the mountains, and fiercely intelligent—but a piece of her had been missing before now.

  Alexi had never said as much to her. For one thing, he valued his life. But now that she had a life that made
her happy, he didn’t want her to give it up for anything.

  He had failed to remember, however, that Ecaterina knew all his moods.

  “What is it you’re worried about?” she asked him bluntly.

  He looked over at her guiltily. “What?”

  “Oh, come on.” She stepped out of the way as Bellatrix shot by at high speed with Ashur in hot pursuit, and Christina running after both of them, shrieking happily. “I could tell something was wrong even on the phone.”

  Alexi sighed. “First tell me why you are here.”

  Ecaterina hesitated, but a moment later she was recounting the story of Bethany Anne’s seed vault animatedly. Her hands waved as she described the concrete-and-glass building at Svalbard, and she began to discuss how the seeds would be stored on the Meredith Reynolds.

  She knew that Alexi would appreciate her thoughts on the base ship’s gardens, and so she launched into a discussion of the types of plants she wanted to bring from the mountains surrounding their town.

  “I thought we could take Christina out,” she suggested. “I want to show her the forests.”

  “Not yet,” Alexi said instantly.

  “What? Why?” When he said nothing, her eyes narrowed. “Unchi, tell me.”

  He sighed. “I have been finding traps in the forest.”

  Ecaterina was instantly alert. Most people in their town knew the old ways well enough to respect what they hunted and hunt their own game in the old ways. But every few years, someone came along who thought they were above taking lives themselves, who preferred to let their prey die in agony simply for the hunter’s convenience.

  She hated such people with a passion. She had grown up seeing her uncle pay visits to such people. He would hand them their traps back and say a few words—she didn’t know what words, since she wasn’t allowed to listen—and usually the man would go pale and stammer an apology.

  And the traps would stop for a while.

  But this time he had not been able to find the owner of the traps.

  “We will find out who it is,” she promised. “And they will take all their traps up.”

  He shook his head, “Child, I do not think it is a local person.”

  “What?”

  “When it is a deer or anything someone might eat, the body is not taken. It is…left by other traps. I think they are trying to get wolves for the pelts.”

  Ecaterina swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. Fur trapping was one of the least honorable ways to hunt, in her opinion. Not only was it trapping, it was wasteful, sacrificing all the wrong animals instead of taking what the forest offered.

  Because that was the thing about traps: they did not differentiate between a fawn and a buck or a wolf and a rabbit. They took life without compunction.

  And that, Ecaterina could not stand.

  “We are going to find these people,” she said fiercely.

  “Puiule, I was afraid you would say that. You do not need to be responsible for—”

  “This was my home,” she told him. “I will not leave while something like this is happening.” She smiled and looked at Nathan. “If they want wolves, then maybe they had better be careful what they wish for.”

  Chapter 3

  Hainaut, Belgium

  Secret ingredients were good, but that only gave William an insight into Bobcat’s strategy. And Marcus’ was going to be more difficult to reproduce.

  Marcus, after all, had Barnabas.

  William knew better than to even try to bribe Barnabas to give up Marcus’ secrets. He suspected that might be fatal. On the other hand, Barnabas was not the only person in the world who knew the secrets of Trappist beermaking.

  Which was how William found himself in Scourmont Abbey, generous donation in hand and with the ostensible mission from Bethany Anne of looking through the monks’ library for a full accounting of local plants.

  One of the monks, a man who called himself Brother Michel, led William through the herb gardens and pointed out various varieties of herbs.

  “Like many monasteries, we have maintained our own gardens for centuries,” Brother Michel told William. “Over that time, we have developed our own strains of herbs for potency and medicinal properties.”

  William dutifully took notes. He knelt by a flower with five sky-blue petals and bent to sniff it, then jerked his head back.

  Brother Michel laughed. “That is borage. It smells foul, yes, but it is believed that borage has natural antidepressant properties, and an oil made from the seeds can be used for skin ailments.”

  William asked him, “Would you include it in the seed catalog?”

  Brother Michel considered. “Likely not. Its uses are not well known, and each use can be better approximated with other plants, if you can recreate the correct growing conditions. We maintain it as a part of our tradition. Each of these plants has been maintained for many generations.”

  Despite his focus on the beer, William found himself drawn in. “You seem...”

  Brother Michel tilted his head in question.

  William shrugged. “I don’t know how to describe it. You seem to find meaning in cultivation of these plants.”

  “There is meaning in it,” Brother Michel said quietly. “I think your employer knows this. We were born here on this Earth, surrounded by these plants. Watching them grow, learning to be attentive to their needs, making them into medicines…it is a part of who we are.” He lifted one shoulder contemplatively. “In truth, anything can be made into a prayer if you want it to be one. Here we seek to find meaning in every task.”

  William thought that perhaps Bethany Anne should have come. Though she did not speak of it often, he knew that her faith was deeply important to her. For her, it was not simply the rote recitation of prayers or the habitual attendance of services—sometimes she did not do those things at all.

  Bethany Anne’s faith was a piece of who she was. It affected everything she did, and every choice she made.

  He wondered if Brother Michel was correct—if Bethany Anne did not want to make a seed vault because of logic and caution, but instead because she knew that cultivation of plants from Earth was important to humans.

  Perhaps it was part of what made them human.

  He was going to be thinking about this visit for a while.

  “In the libraries, you will find early manuscripts detailing the proper way to maintain a basic herb garden as well as an extensive one,” Brother Michel told him. “That information is freely available. I wanted to show you the garden first, so that you would appreciate the words on the page.”

  “Thank you,” William said honestly.

  Between the man’s calm words and the buzz of the bees that flitted from plant to plant, he felt a strange clarity washing over him.

  He liked this place.

  “I had one other question, actually.”

  “Oh?” Brother Michel smiled and spread his hands. “My time is yours.”

  “I don’t want you to feel obligated because of the donation,” William said.

  “I do not,” the monk assured him. “Truthfully I am very interested in this project of yours, and I think you will do good things with the information.”

  William nodded.

  “Now, what else did you wish to know?”

  “Well…” After the seriousness of the last subject, William felt a bit embarrassed. “You see, I’m in a contest with two friends. We are each brewing a beer, and another friend will judge them.”

  “Ah.” Brother Michel’s eyes lit up. “Then you must come to our brewery. It is famous, you know.” He laughed. “I shouldn’t be proud of it since I do not even brew the beer myself, but I am. I would be happy to help you find inspiration.”

  “Yes! Inspiration.” William nodded eagerly. “You see, one friend has been brewing beer for years, and the other… Well, he’s working with a man who, ah…was trained in beermaking by Trappist monks.” That seemed like the easiest way to explain Barnabas.

  “Train
ed?” Brother Michel looked truly intrigued. “That is…unusual.”

  “Yeah, he’s a pretty unusual guy.”

  He’d never uttered such a massive understatement in his life.

  “I see. And you say he trained for…how long?”

  “Uh, maybe thirty years?”

  “I see,” Brother Michel said again. He laid a hand on William’s shoulder and looked at him gravely. “You should drink a few beers with us.”

  “So I can learn about them?” William asked hopefully.

  “No,” the monk said. He looked a bit awkward. “Let us say, to ease your disappointment.”

  “What?”

  “I fear very much there is no way for you to win this contest.” Brother Michel hid his arms in his sleeves and regarded William. “However, you must look on the bright side.”

  “Which is?” William asked, prickly.

  “Your friend will make you very good beer. Such things are worthy of celebration in and of themselves.” Brother Michel gestured to a building nearby. “Now, come... Let us look at the libraries and then drink many beers.”

  Romania

  Ecaterina laced up her old boots and smiled.

  She really should be wearing something newer. The boots were old and not in the best repair. but going to the closet in Alexi’s house and pulling out her own clothing and footwear had been too much to resist.

  They had both woken up as the very first light of dawn was making the horizon grow pale. Ecaterina had come downstairs to find Alexi making a pot of strong coffee in the kitchen, and the two of them had chatted over coffee and eggs.

  As Alexi spoke of where he had found traps so far, Ecaterina built a map in her head.

  She suspected that these trappers were motivated by profit, not by hunger. Anyone who lived in this area knew where the deer roamed and knew what types of traps to set for smaller game as well. A hungry man did not disdain rabbit or squirrel for a meal, and he was careful to set his traps where there would be the most chance of getting food.

  These traps, however, were scattered almost randomly.

  Or so Ecaterina thought at first. However, the closer she looked, the more a pattern began to emerge. At last she fell silent, cradling her now-empty coffee mug in both hands.