Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I by K. Panikian (essential reading txt) 📗

out of town for a family matter, they would probably let it slide. “Okay, Mom. I can do that. I’ll swing by my apartment for my stuff and get on the road. I’ll get there late, probably around midnight, so don’t wait up. We can talk in the morning.”

“Thank you, Verena. I’m sorry to ask you to miss school but this is really important.”

I disconnected and fought off another shiver. The car heat had warmed up by this time; this shiver felt more like my intuition warning me. That wasn’t one of my strengths so I grabbed my phone again and texted Theo: “Everything cool?”

“Yes. Why? Something going on? I just saw a missed call from my dad.”

Bingo. Uncle David hated using the phone. Something was going on with the family. I told Theo I was heading home to see my folks and he sent back: “I have a weird feeling. I think you should bring the bag. Later.” I whistled in excitement and put the car in gear, speeding into the night. I arrived at my apartment in record time.

Two hours later, I pulled off the highway and headed down the winding driveway that led to the farm. The snow looked deeper than in Anchorage and I could tell Grandpa Basil had been out with the plow. The stars were bright above the house and the porch light sent a yellow glow across the yard. The vague feelings of foreboding I’d been feeling off and on along the drive dissipated. I parked, snatched my bags, and ran for the door without my hat and coat.

In the arctic entry I dropped most of my bags, just taking my laptop and overnight stuff. Then I opened the inner door and tiptoed through the family room into the kitchen. There was a light on over the stove and I quickly downed a glass of water before heading deeper into the house to my bedroom. Inside, my bed was made with fresh sheets and I could smell the lavender, rosemary, and thyme sachet my mom kept in the linen closet. My nightlight glowed. I was home.

THE next morning, I woke up as muted voices from the kitchen drifted down the hall. The sky was still dark outside even though my phone said it was after 9am. I had a couple of new texts from Theo asking if I remembered the “bag” and what was the name again of that beer he liked from Midnight Sun, the Anchorage brewery that he loved to visit when he was in town. I typed a reply.

I brushed my teeth, splashed some water on my face, and changed out of my fleece pajamas. I made my way down the hall to the kitchen. My dad was sitting at the circular table with his laptop open in front of him and a mug by his elbow. His mug had a picture of the largest member of the deer family and the phrase: “I Moose Have My Coffee.” I walked over and kissed his cheek. “Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, Verena.”

“What’s the big news?” I asked as I sat beside him and reached for the paper to read the comics.

My mom, standing by the stove with a spatula in her hand, turned and called over to us, “Wait until Grandpa Basil comes in. He’s checking on the chicken coop. We may have another bear problem. Eggs, Verena?”

“Yes, please,” I answered and got up to snag my own mug for tea. After I started the kettle, I went over to the counter and saw Mom had the dill out. I reached for the knife and chopped a few teaspoons for the eggs; Mom smiled her thanks.

A couple of thuds from the entry announced Grandpa Basil’s return and I walked quickly over to help with the fresh eggs he carried. Grandpa Basil was old, in his early 90s, but looked a spry 75. His pale blue eyes beamed at me and he grasped me in for a tight hug. “How’s our smart girl?”

“Fine, Grandpa,” I answered and we walked into the kitchen. My eggs were ready beside my steaming tea and I dug in while Mom and Dad exchanged glances and then Mom looked at the clock. She cleared her throat and I hurriedly swallowed my mouthful.

“How are your classes going?” Dad asked. “And your martial arts training?”

“Classes are good. It’s still my goal to be done by the end of the semester. I’m TA’ing for my Russian Lit professor and I’m really enjoying working with the undergrads.” I took a sip of my tea. “I just switched dojos again. The last one was starting to ask questions about why I wouldn’t compete in any of the tournaments Outside. I think this new one will be a good fit though, for at least a little while.”

Grandpa Basil nodded his head. “And what about your magic training?”

This time I took a minute to organize my thoughts before I answered. “I’ve been practicing my Sight; however, I don’t think that’s where my strengths lie. My results are vague and I’m not confident I’m getting true readings.

“I’ve tried creating energy bolts and usually don’t get more than a spark, though it’s a nice spark. I can do that on command.

“I’ve been levitating my pencils pretty reliably recently, but not above a few inches and not for more than a few seconds. I may try further experiments there…” I trailed off and then continued, my voice echoing my frustration. “I know that I have greater magic than these small tricks. I can feel it inside of me. But I don’t know what kind it is or how to bring it out.”

“Be patient, Verena,” Grandpa Basil said, leaning forward to pat my hand. “You are a late bloomer, that is all.”

It was the same thing he always said but I worried. Every generation of my family seemed to have a little less magic than the one before. Maybe sparks and pencils were it for me. It was a depressing thought.

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