Scent of Darkness

by Christina Dodd

  "Three bedrooms, two and a half baths, fourteen hundred square feet in two stories," Rurik said as he parked the car in front of the Craftsman-style home.

  Ann peered through the windshield at the simple old house that sat alone in the dark, lights shining from every window and on the porch.

  ‘‘It was built in the 1920s, and when our parents bought the place, I guess it was pretty ramshackle. Mice in the kitchen, rotting floorboards on the stairs, peeling paint, and apparently some god-awful wallpaper in the dining room.’’ Jasha was in the backseat, Ann was now in the front, and he sat forward, resting his hands on Ann’s shoulders. ‘‘Papa thought it was just fine, because—’’

  ‘‘You know you’re a Russian redneck when your Cossack hat is made of a possum,’’ Rurik said.

  The guys chortled.

  ‘‘You know you’re a Russian redneck when you have a dancing bear and a coonhound,’’ Ann said. ‘‘You know you’re a Russian redneck when you can’t imagine eating your borscht without corn bread.’’

  The two men stopped talking and turned to look at her in blank astonishment.

  Oh, no. Had she offended them?

  Then Rurik burst into laughter. ‘‘Wow, Jasha, you told me your Miss Smith had great legs, but you never told me she had a sense of humor.’’

  Jasha had told his brother she had great legs?

  ‘‘That’s because you’re too simpleminded to appreciate her humor,’’ Jasha said.

  ‘‘No, it’s because you’re afraid she’ll fall for my looks and charm.’’

  ‘‘Not a problem. She also has good taste in men.’’

  ‘‘But she’s with you, so we know her vision’s lousy.’’

  Ann glanced between the two of them, following the repartee like a spectator at a tennis match. The brothers were so . . . normal. So much like the families she’d seen on the sitcoms, like the brothers she’d seen in real life. They gave each other crap and grinned. Watching them made her feel like an outsider desperately wanting to get in.

  Families always did that to her. ‘‘I see really well,’’ she said primly.

  Jasha smacked Rurik hard on the arm. ‘‘See?’’

  ‘‘It’s going to be a long night for you, then, isn’t it?’’ Rurik smirked and rubbed his bruise, then turned to Ann. ‘‘My parents are old-fashioned. Jasha and I have one bedroom. You’ll have to sleep in Firebird’s room.’’

  ‘‘That’s okay. I don’t mind.’’ Was every woman Jasha brought home having sex with him?

  ‘‘Does he snore?’’ Rurik asked solicitously. ‘‘Does he crowd? He’s a lousy lover, isn’t he? I’ve always suspected it.’’

  Her cheeks flamed, but in the dim light Rurik couldn’t see that, so she risked a daring retort. ‘‘He’s the best lover I’ve ever had.’’

  ‘‘So she was a virgin?’’ Rurik laughed.

  Jasha squeezed her shoulders. ‘‘Yes.’’

  Rurik laughed again. Clearly he didn’t believe a word of it.

  ‘‘Anyway‘—Jasha glared malevolently at his brother—‘‘Mama and Papa had huge fights about the house. Papa wanted to concentrate on growing the grapes, and told her to stop fussing, woman. So she started cooking for people to pay for the lumber and paint to fix stuff up. He caved—’’

  ‘‘Of course,’’ the brothers said together.

  ‘‘—and ever since, she’s run the house as she likes,’’ Jasha finished.

  The front door opened, and a tiny, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman stepped out.

  ‘‘There she is,’’ Jasha said affectionately.

  She gestured impatiently toward the car, then started toward them.

  ‘‘You’re in trouble now, man,’’ Rurik said. ‘‘You didn’t tell her what you were doing and she’s been worried. Worse, you didn’t bring your guest right in. Better go take your medicine.’’

  Jasha leaped out of the backseat and headed for his mother.

  Uncertainly, Ann turned to Rurik. ‘‘Should I . . . ?’’

  ‘‘Give them a minute.’’ Rurik watched his mother, hugging Jasha, then shaking her finger up at him—he was more than a foot taller—then hugging him again.

  On the drive up here, Rurik had been lighthearted, teasing, and he’d looked much younger than Jasha. He was handsome, with reddish brown eyes, smooth brown hair, and a height to match his brother’s. Except for the sculpted bone structure, he looked nothing like Jasha. Jasha had introduced his brother as the lead archaeologist on a dig in Scotland.

  Now she saw the attributes that made Rurik a leader. His expression was serious, almost grim; worry shaded his eyes, and Ann caught a flash of the steel in him.

  ‘‘With Papa’s illness and the vision and stuff,’’ he said, ‘‘having Jasha disappear just about sent Mama over the edge.’’

  Ann was assailed by instant guilt. ‘‘I’m sorry. I never thought anyone would be upset.’’

  Rurik flicked her a glance. ‘‘From what you two told me, there wasn’t a lot of choice. Mama knew that if Jasha disappeared, there had to be sufficient reason. Jasha’s as responsible as hell, never acting on impulse, always setting a good example.’’ At that, he pulled a long face. ‘‘But with the prophecy, we were afraid sufficient reason might be big trouble. Like death.’’

  What vision? What prophecy? But before Ann could ask, Mrs. Wilder started toward the car.

  She was talking before she even opened Ann’s door. ‘‘—can’t believe these boys didn’t bring you right in. You must be exhausted and starving.’’ She offered Ann her hand.

  Ann took it and was surprised by Mrs. Wilder’s strength as she helped her out. ‘‘No, really, Jasha and Rurik have taken good care of me.’’

  ‘‘They’d better have. Men aren’t good for much’’— she shot a glare at Jasha—‘‘but I raised these boys and I expect them to honor my training. Now, I’m Zorana.’’ She led Ann up the steps to the porch, still holding Ann’s hand. ‘‘This is our home. Make it your own.’’

  Ann had expected a large home with a simple flavor that reflected the country surroundings. Instead, she found herself drawn rapidly through the comfortable living room, where the television played to no one and a computer ran an eye-popping screen saver, and into a cramped kitchen with a large wooden table. The countertops were brown Formica, the refrigerator was huge and stainless steel, the gas range held a stockpot with steam rising, and the whole place smelled like fresh bread and roasted garlic—in other words, like heaven.

  A pretty blonde about Ann’s age leaped to her feet and ran to Jasha. ‘‘You idiot! You couldn’t have called?’’ But she hugged him mightily.

  ‘‘Hey, squirt, you’re positively glowing!’’ Jasha hugged her back. She’d gained weight, too, but he knew better than to mention that. ‘‘Let me introduce you to my administrative assistant, Ann Smith.’’

  Ann stuck out her hand. ‘‘It’s good to meet you.’’

  ‘‘I’m Firebird.’’ She shook Ann’s hand and grinned. ‘‘Love the outfit. Is that what they’re wearing in California these days?’’

  ‘‘In all the fashionable survivalist cults,’’ Ann snapped back, then realized what she’d said. ‘‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’’

  Firebird laughed out loud. ‘‘Don’t apologize! I’m just glad Jasha finally found someone who knows how to walk and chew gum at the same time.’’

  Zorana stood at the counter, chopping things with a knife half again her size, but she paused to survey her children with a keen eye.

  ‘‘He didn’t exactly . . . that is, we’re not . . .’’ Ann didn’t dare glance at him, because Firebird was making assumptions about their relationship, and so was Zorana, and all the way here, Rurik had been teasing them, and she knew Jasha would hate being tied to her like that. ‘‘That is, I simply work for him.’’

  ‘‘Yeah, right.’’ Firebird grinned. ‘‘It’s true love if he let you wear his camouflage.’’

  ‘‘That’s enough, Firebird. You’r
e embarrassing Ann.’’ Jasha put his hand on Ann’s back at her waist.

  Ann found herself stepping into him, as if he would protect her from his own family.

  Firebird looked her over. ‘‘She doesn’t look embarrassed—she looks like she wants to wear real clothes again.’’

  Ann wondered whether that was Firebird’s gift—a discerning eye—or whether she just had interpolated Ann’s wishes by her own.

  ‘‘Where is she going to get clothes?’’ Rurik lounged against the counter next to Zorana. ‘‘You and Mama are midgets compared to her.’’

  ‘‘Five-six is not a midget,’’ Firebird retorted. ‘‘Mama, on the other hand . . .’’

  Everyone turned to look at the petite Zorana. Ann knew she had to be at least fifty, but her skin was unlined and taut across her glorious cheekbones. She’d rimmed her eyes with liner, emphasizing the slant and the deep brown color. For a moment, Ann caught a hint of merriment, well suppressed.

  Zorana waved them off as if they were as unimportant as gnats. ‘‘I am big enough to birth giant overgrown obnoxious children who don’t know how to offer our guest hospitality.’’ She turned to face them, a full plate in her hand.

  ‘‘No, really, please, Rurik stopped at a Starbucks so we could grab a scone and a cup of coffee. . . .’’ No one paid any heed to Ann’s protestations.

  Zorana’s children scrambled into action, and in less than a minute, Ann found herself in the cushioned chair at the head of the table, a shot of clear vodka and a plate of appetizers before her.

  Jasha pointed at each thing and named it. ‘‘Pickled mushrooms. Chopped herring. Rye bread. Cheeses—’’ He grabbed a piece and popped it into his mouth.

  Without turning around from her chopping, Zorana said, ‘‘Don’t steal from our guest. I’m filling more plates right now.’’

  Firebird and Rurik grinned at him.

  Ann was astonished. ‘‘How does she—’’

  ‘‘We don’t know, but we suspect the worst,’’ Jasha answered.

  Ann remembered what he’d said about the Sight, but surely Zorana saved that for bigger things?

  ‘‘I’m your mother. I changed your diapers. Do you think anything about you is a mystery to me?’’ Zorana slapped another two plates in the middle of the long table.

  ‘‘Hey, Jasha, what did you do to your throat? Cut it shaving?’’ Firebird hugged him again.

  ‘‘Let me see.’’ Zorana pulled back his collar and bared the red slash the Varinski had inflicted. Her face went carefully blank. ‘‘Hm.’’

  Jasha caught her fingers and kissed them. ‘‘It’s okay, Mama.’’

  ‘‘So you keep saying, but what else are you keeping from me?’’ She turned to the stove, where a big pot was bubbling. ‘‘Jasha, go get your father. You know he’s awake. Rurik, you help him—you know how to handle the walker.’’

  ‘‘He’s out of the wheelchair?’’ Jasha’s smile blossomed.

  ‘‘We still have it, but you know him. He won’t use it.’’ Rurik shook his head.

  ‘‘He is a stubborn mule,’’ Zorana said. ‘‘Like his sons. Only a week since . . . since he was felled, and already he pretends like nothing happened. Firebird, get me the bowls. Hurry, boys, before the borscht gets cold.’’

  Jasha stopped in the doorway and opened his mouth.

  Ann knew what he was going to say. She knew he was going to ask about corn bread. She pointed her finger at him, just pointed it.

  He shut his mouth, turned, and left.

  Ann glanced to see if Zorana or Firebird had noticed.

  They both had. They stared at Ann in amazement.

  ‘‘I don’t know what that was about, but I’m impressed, ’’ Firebird said.

  Zorana was less impressed and more wary, but her voice was kind when she said, ‘‘Drink your vodka, Ann. It’ll warm you, and you’ll sleep tonight.’’

  ‘‘Shoot it,’’ Firebird advised, and put a glass of water in front of her. ‘‘It’ll make the rest of the drinking go easier.’’

  The rest of the drinking? Somehow, doing shots had never been Ann’s idea of a family evening.

  But really—what did she know?

  At Firebird’s nod, Ann threw the shot back, tried very hard to catch her breath, and drained the water in the hopes of putting out the fire.

  From the living room, she heard a low rumbling voice, like the growl of a great bear. It got closer and closer, until its owner burst into the room and the sound became a shout.

  Konstantine Wilder leaned heavily on his walker. He had an IV in one arm and an oxygen tube in his nose. His complexion was waxy and pale. But he was still massively muscled, he’d imprinted his sons with his features, and he dominated the kitchen. ‘‘So you are Ann Smith who I talk to on the phone,’’ he boomed. ‘‘Handsome girl.’’

  Ann stood to greet him.

  ‘‘Handsome girl. Tall girl.’’ He smiled, and his teeth gleamed even and white. ‘‘Although I like short girls best.’’ He shot Zorana such a lascivious glance, Ann wanted to shield her eyes.

  ‘‘You say that out of fear,’’ Zorana said.

  ‘‘Of course, ruyshka,’’ he answered comfortably. ‘‘It is a foolish man who does not fear his wife.’’

  ‘‘Papa, let’s sit you down and you can talk to Ann.’’ Jasha hovered on one side of his father, Rurik on the other.

  Konstantine slashed a hand at him and scowled. ‘‘I sit when I want.’’

  Ann pushed back her chair and walked to his side. She laid her hand on his white knuckles, straining to hang on to the rail of the walker. ‘‘But I can’t sit until you do.’’

  His bushy eyebrows rose above his startling blue eyes. ‘‘I like you, Ann Smith. You show respect for your elders.’’ He shot a glare around the room. ‘‘More children should show such respect.’’ He headed for the chair Firebird held out for him.

  The process of putting him in it was prolonged and painful as the oxygen and the IV were placed on either side of him.

  While his sons and his daughter adjusted and assisted, Zorana came to Ann and placed her hand on Ann’s cheek, and nodded her thanks. Then she hustled back to the stove and started filling the bowls.

  Konstantine waved Ann back toward the other end of the table. ‘‘Sit in the chair of honor. Eat. And drink!’’ He slapped his hand on the table. ‘‘You have no vodka!’’

  Rurik brought the bottle to the table. The glasses were lined up on a tray. He filled each to the brim, then carried them from one to another.

  Jasha handed Ann a glass, then took one for himself and sat beside her.

  Ann stared in fascination at the clear liquid. She drank wine almost every day—it was one of the benefits of working at a winery—and occasionally she splurged and had a Cosmo. But two shots of vodka in ten minutes?

  Konstantine lifted his glass. ‘‘Za vas!’’

  ‘‘Here’s to you,’’ Jasha translated. ‘‘Za vas!’’

  ‘‘Za vas!’’ Ann said, a beat too late. Again the vodka took her breath away, and as she looked around, the world tilted to the right and assumed a rosy glow. ‘‘I had better eat something,’’ she decided.

  Jasha pushed the appetizer plate closer. ‘‘Try the herring, the bread, and the cheese. That’ll soak up some of the liquor.’’

  Everyone was silent as Ann took a taste. ‘‘Wonderful! ’’

  The kitchen exploded into pleased noise, as if they’d been holding their breaths in anticipation of her reaction.

  Rurik seated himself next to his father.

  Firebird and Zorana served Ann a bowl of borscht. They poured a dab of cream on the top, then stood on either side of her, their eyes gleaming.

  She’d learned her lesson the first time. She made a show of tasting the soup of beets, potatoes, and cabbage, and smiling broadly. ‘‘Wonderful!’’

  Once again, they were ecstatic.

  Zorana pulled a plate of hot breads topped with garlic from the oven and placed it o
n the table.

  The women seated themselves, and the whole family began to eat.

  Ann tried to adjust to the sound level, tried to eat enough to keep everyone happy, tried to observe the family. They were overwhelming, loud, and boisterous. Their smiles gleamed; their pleasure in one another’s company was almost tangible. They ate the borscht with gusto and caught up on the events that had occurred since last they’d met.

  How odd to see Jasha here in the midst of his family, fitting in so easily as they talked and drank. It seemed as though she’d lost her exclusive right to him—and in the time they’d lived in the forest, she hadn’t truly wanted that right.

  Now she felt like an outsider, and she wanted to go back. She wanted him for her own.

  As Rurik poured his father another shot, she leaned over to Jasha. ‘‘Should he be drinking?’’

  ‘‘His doctors would kill us if they knew. He’ll kill us if we don’t serve him.’’ Jasha shrugged. ‘‘A little vodka’s not going to hurt that man.’’

  Ann glanced again at Konstantine, and was shaken to the core to find his gaze on them.

  He’d heard her. How could he have heard her?

  Jasha observed them both. ‘‘He’s a force of nature.’’

  As if to prove the truth of Jasha’s comment, Konstantine used his knuckles to knock on the table.

  The conversation died.

  ‘‘So, my eldest son has returned from a trip into the wilderness. He didn’t warn us he was going to leave. He came back with a woman, and a slash on the throat. So, Jasha’’—Konstantine fixed Jasha with a keen eye—‘‘tell us why you worried your mother.’’

  Jasha turned to Ann. ‘‘Show them.’’

  The icon. Of course. He wanted his family to see the icon. She pulled open her pants pocket, took it out, and cradled it in her palm. The icon felt warm to the touch, smooth, and alive. When she placed the representation of the Madonna in the middle of the Wilders’ kitchen table, the colors gleamed against the dark wood, drawing every Wilder eye.

  No one breathed; no one moved.

  They were so intensely still, Ann felt light-headed, as if all the oxygen were sucked from the room. It was so quiet, it seemed she’d lost her hearing.