by Amy Sumida
“Did you find anything?” Jarilo asked as he stepped into the room.
“Nothing suspicious.” I chewed at my bottom lip then blundered into the personal question, “Are Perun and your mother estranged?”
“Estranged?” He asked as if unsure over the meaning of the word.
“Do they not see each other anymore?”
“Vhy do you ask?”
“I smell a man in here but he isn't Perun.” I carefully shied away from referring to Perun as Jarilo's father. He obviously wasn't; not in the ways that matter most. “I assume that the scent belongs to Volos.”
“My father visits her a lot.” Jarilo nodded, confirming my assumption that the only man he considered to be his father was Volos. “As far as Perun, I don't know how often he comes here. Mother knows my distaste for him and rarely mentions him to me.”
“I can't pick up even the smallest hint of him.”
“Could it simply have faded?”
“Sure. But inside a structure, with no wind to disperse it, a scent should last weeks. At least for me.”
Jarilo's face shifted with satisfaction.
“That makes you happy?”
“I vant no part of Perun nor do I vant my mother associated vith him. If zeir relationship ends, I vould indeed rejoice.”
“We live a very long time,” I murmured. “You may feel differently someday.”
“Zen I vill behave differently after zat happens.”
“Fair enough.”
“I've got something!” UnnúlfR called up to us.
We hurried downstairs and found UnnúlfR in one of the numerous sitting rooms. He had a piece of cloth in his hands and held it out to me as I approached.
“It smells of human,” he announced. “And death.”
I took the scrap of material from him and sniffed it. My nose twitched with the reek of decomposition. “Yep; that's Eau de Dead Person all right.”
“Perhaps she took it from one of the victims,” Jarilo suggested.
“I could smack myself,” I huffed and shook my head.
“You want me to do it for you?” UnnúlfR offered with a smirk.
“No, I'm good, thanks.” I grimaced at him. “I mean; I should have thought of this sooner. In my defense, I can track but I'm not the best investigator. I sort of blunder my way through it.”
“Way to give the guy some confidence in your abilities, Vervain.” UnnúlfR rolled his eyes.
“I'll get the job done, it just takes me some time to figure things out,” I tried to assure Jarilo.
“You've already done more zan I could have, Vervain,” Jarilo declared. “Please, vhat have you remembered?”
“Ve should be searching crime scenes and homes of drowned victims,” Kirill stole my thunder.
I gave him an irritated look.
“You vere taking too long, Tima.” He shrugged and grinned.
“This scent should lead us through the last steps of one of the victims.” I shook the cloth. “But Kirill's right; I'd also like to investigate the places where the victims were found as well as their homes. Maybe investigating what Mokosh had will help us find her.”
“Good idea,” Jarilo agreed eagerly.
“Do you think you could sneak into the police station and get the addresses for us?” I asked Jarilo.
“Da.”
“All right, let's get back to the tracing building. I'll see if I can find Mokosh's trail and then we can head back to Alūksne.”
“Um, I think you mean; then we can go to lunch,” UnnúlfR corrected.
My stomach rumbled as if in response to his cue, and I grimaced. “It seems that I agree with you.”
Chapter Thirty
“Vhere are ve?” Vejasmate whispered in both horror and fascination.
I had tried to find Mokosh's trail and failed so UnnúlfR had taken Veja's hand and she took mine. I grabbed Kirill, and he held Jarilo's hand. UnnúlfR then directed our chain through the Aether to his chosen lunch spot.
The first thing I noticed was the heat; it was blessedly warm. Then I saw the “restaurant.” UnnúlfR led us around a rickety, ramshackle building, its red paint faded and flaking, drifting onto sand-colored gravel. A cement porch jut out from the front, covered in those rippled sheets of metal people put over garden sheds. Corrugated, I think it's called. As dilapidated as it was, it was also full of people. Or trying to be. A line of humans went down the porch steps onto the gravel-sprinkled yard where sparse, stunted trees created a patchy border that led to the road. Pickup trucks and beat-up cars parked along the road in that haphazard way that denotes urgency.
It had been well into the afternoon in Latvia, but I got the impression that it was early morning here. A pale light brightened the sky and people huddled over travel mugs of coffee while they waited; people in plaid flannels and boots. Good 'ol boys with cowboy hats and hard-earned dirt stains on their jeans. No-nonsense women who wore their hair in buns or ponytails. A few of the ladies were an exception to this, with big hair and perfect make-up, but even they wore boots, albeit pretty ones. Off to the right, a huge, open-air building dominated the area, looming larger than the rickety house with its line of people and crammed full of picnic tables. Hungry humans sat at those tables, hunched over plates of food.
The scent of meat permeated everything.
“Barbecue,” I concluded with deep, appreciative inhales. “Of course.”
“Not just any barbecue; the best barbecue in Texas,” UnnúlfR announced. “Snow's.” He waved toward the line. “Come on; let's get in line before it gets too long.”
“Zis is short?” Veja asked dubiously.
Jarilo's nose worked aggressively. “I don't care how long line is, I vill vait.”
UnnúlfR chuckled and pounded Jarilo's back in approval as we got in line. “And it will be worth the wait; I promise.”
“Best brisket in Texas,” the cowboy in front of us declared in agreement. “I was here waiting when they opened.”
“And you're still at the back of the line?” I asked in surprise.
“We were all here waiting.” He waved at everyone else, grinned at me, then gave me a quick appreciative glance before tipping his hat and adding a, “Ma'am.”
I grinned back at him like an idiot. I love sweet-talkin' cowboys and this one was all-American handsome with sandy-blond hair peeking out of his cowboy hat, a million-dollar smile, and worn jeans that fit him perfectly.
Kirill cleared his throat. Right; I love sexy werelions with long hair even more than cowboys. I wound my arm around Kirill's bicep, and the cowboy nodded at my husband in a manner that seemed to both acknowledge Kirill's claim and commend him for it.
“Ven do zey open?” Kirill asked.
The cowboy lifted his brow at Kirill's accent then said, “Eight AM. Where y'all from that you don't know what time it is here?”
“Oh, we just got in from Latvia,” I covered. “Came straight from the airport. We're a little jet-lagged, I'm afraid.”
“Latvia?” He asked and blinked. “That's pretty far, ain't it?”
“Da,” Kirill said simply.
The cowboy frowned.
“Yes,” I translated. “He means; yes, it's far. A very long flight that has left us very hungry. You know they make you pay for every packet of peanuts these days.”
Or so I'd heard; I haven't flown in years. At least, not on a plane.
The cowboy's light blue eyes narrowed suspiciously then widened at something over my shoulder. His expression flicked through shock, horror, then settled on anger. His cup went flying, tossed aside, and his hand dove beneath his jacket. He pulled out a gun, and we jerked away from him.
“Gun! Get down!” The cowboy shouted to everyone. Then, to a specific group, he added, “Drop 'em, boys. I said drop 'em!”
I turned to see a group of men approaching with shotguns raised. They were human, as far as I could tell; no god would bother with a gun and after the last attack from fishermen, I just kind of figured this wa
s more of the same. They had their guns aimed at us but the cowboy's threat had caught their attention and they swiveled to aim at him. They fired. I didn't have a spell handy to protect the man or I would have. I wasn't worried about us; we'd all survive a gunshot, but the human wouldn't, and I hated to see valor struck down.
But I was mistaken. The shots hadn't come from the approaching men but the other customers waiting in line. Our cowboy wasn't the only one packing and his fellow barbecue enthusiasts had come to his defense instead of ducking as he suggested. As I stood with my mouth hanging open, the whole damn line seemed to fire at the men with shotguns. Even the beauty queens pulled handguns out of their designer handbags. A few guys ran out of the barbecue hut with shotguns of their own and added their lead to the mix. It was like being in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
The men were dead in seconds.
“Fucking Texans,” UnnúlfR whispered, not in derision but awe.
“Someone check 'em!” The cowboy shouted. “And get those guns away from 'em!”
Men hurried over to the downed shooters with guns at the ready and kicked the shotguns away from limp hands before kneeling to check for signs of life. I almost started to laugh; those guys were full of so many bullets, they were more holes than whole. If any of them still lived, I'd know I was wrong about them being human.
“We're good!” One of the pulse-checkers called.
“I'll call the police,” one of the men who had from inside the restaurant said as he headed back the way he'd come. He wore a stained apron around his waist.
“Don't bother, Clay,” the cowboy next to me shouted at the man. “I'm here; I've got it.” He pulled out his cellphone and dialed, all while staring at me in an unsettling way.
I started to get nervous. I would have suggested that we leave if the cowboy hadn't been keeping me in his sights. Why was he looking at me like that? Meanwhile, Kirill had his arms around me, his body wrapped around mine like a human—or demigod, rather—shield as his stare scanned the area for more attackers. UnnúlfR wasn't wrapped around Veja, but he stood aggressively before her, scanning just as actively as Kirill. Jarilo just sort of blinked a lot. But the truly hilarious thing—if you can find humor in mayhem, which I can—was that no one got out of line. Only the men who checked the bodies left their places and then they swiftly returned.
The cowboy got off his phone and slipped it back into his jacket. But he didn't put away his gun. It remained in his hand, pointed down at his side. “You say you just got in today?” He asked me.
“Ye-e-s,” I drew the word out warily.
“You got a lot of enemies, Ms... ?” He drew out the Ms. with no wariness at all, only suspicion.
“Veronica,” I offered him a fake name instinctively. “Veronica Lane.”
“Ms. Lane.” He inclined his head as if we'd just been introduced by friends at a party.
“No enemies that I know of, Mr... ?”
“Wright,” he said. “Austin Wright of the L.P.D. at your service. Which it appears you had need of.”
“Why do you think this was about me, Officer Wright?”
“Those men had their guns pointed at you, darlin',” he drawled. “Any guess as to why?”
“I'd guess that you're mistaken. We just got here; it's not possible that we'd be the targets of a shooting.” I glanced at Kirill, and he scowled.
“Right. So you said. I'd like to see your tickets, if I may.”
“We're here already; we don't have our tickets anymore. They're in an airport trashcan.” I paused. “You live in Texas and your name is Austin?”
“My parents are die-hard Texans,” he answered as if he'd said the line a million times before. Then he went right back into interrogating me, “What about your luggage? They'll be tags on them.”
“We only brought carry-ons.”
“How convenient.”
“Are you accusing my vife of something?” Kirill asked in a low, gravely tone. His warning tone.
“Just trying to figure out why my breakfast was interrupted by gunfire.” Officer Wright focused on Kirill. “You from Latvia, Mr. Lane?”
“Da... yes,” Kirill said. “And ve're just here to eat, like you, Officer Wright.”
“Hey, they were probably aiming randomly,” UnnúlfR said, putting some extra American into his accent. “They couldn't be aiming at us. That's just ridiculous.”
The sound of sirens whirred closer. Cowboy-Cop's eyes grew narrower. He chewed at his lip and holstered his gun. Had he been keeping it out for us? I'd like to say he was paranoid but his suspicions were technically spot-on.
“Does everyone carry a gun here?” I asked him as I watched one of the women stick her gun back in her purse and pull out a compact to fix her make-up.
“It's Texas,” he said. Then scowled at me. “You didn't scream.”
“Excuse me?” I asked in an appalled tone.
“When the shooting started; you didn't make a peep, Mrs. Lane.” Officer Wright looked at Vejasmate. “Neither of you did.”
“None of the other women here did either,” I pointed out defensively.
“They're Texans.”
I laughed; I couldn't help it. His lips twitched.
“Seriously, Officer, who do you think we are; Latvian spies evading mobsters? I'm American, by the way. So is my husband, we were just visiting Latvia.”
“There aren't any mobsters in Latvia, Veronica,” UnnúlfR needled me.
“There could be mobsters from other countries following Latvian spies,” I argued, forgetting about the cop in light of my burgeoning relationship with my brother-in-law.
“No, there couldn't,” UnnúlfR said simply.
“Uh, yeah, there could be,” I huffed. “You don't know what's going on secretly in foreign countries. You're not a spy.”
UnnúlfR rolled his eyes. “You saw Alūksne, do you really think those people could be spies?”
“It's close to Russia, and Russia is like the spy capital of the world.” I crossed my arms and lifted a challenging brow.
Kirill made an amused sound into my hair. Jarilo just scowled as if he was trying to follow the conversation and failing miserably.
“Fine; then there would be Russian spies evading American spies or secret service agents or something like that. Not mobsters. That's just dumb.”
“It would be us,” I grumbled and waved a hand at the gaping cop. “He's saying that we're the spies. We'd be the Russian spies evading the Nazis.”
“Where did Nazis come from?” UnnúlfR asked in amazed confusion.
“Uh... Germany. Duh,” I said in my teenager tone.
“You are the worst debater in all history,” he declared.
“Okay. Enough.” Cowboy-Cop held his hands up in defeat. “You're obviously not spies; Russian or otherwise. Please, just stop, darlin'. You're making my head spin.”
UnnúlfR snickered. Veja elbowed him. I rolled my eyes.
“Could you just back me up here, Officer?” I pleaded. “There could be mobsters following Latvian spies, couldn't there? Anything's possible.”
Officer Wright gaped at me. Sirens drowned out anything he might have said then cut off abruptly. He looked up at the cops swarming out of their vehicles. An ambulance pulled up next, though it came silently. No need to rush. I'd been seeing way too many of those recently.
“Stay here,” Officer Wright growled then stamped off. “And save my place,” he called over his shoulder.
“Time to go,” UnnúlfR whispered.
“Time to go invisible,” I whispered back. “I want a closer look at those bodies.”
“They're human, Vervain; bullets killed them,” UnnúlfR said. “What else do you want to know?”
“Perhaps why a bunch of humans attacked us. Again,” I said pointedly. “And maybe how they found us so quickly. It's not as if you advertised your choice of eatery before we traced here.”
“Fine,” UnnúlfR huffed as he cloaked himself in invisibility.
We all
followed suit and none of the humans seemed to notice; everyone's attention was on the bodies and the cops circling them. We crept up to the police-huddle and waited for a chance to sneak in for a closer look.
“No wallets,” one of the cops said to the cowboy-cop.
“These aren't locals,” another added. “Look how they're dressed.”