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

was him, sitting next to me in the back seat of this car, breathing the same air as me, his long fingers stroking mine. I stared at the dark hairs on his forearm, mesmerized.

“What if,” I whispered again.

My phone chimed. A message from Julian. “Nothing broken. Will be out soon.” I showed it to Owen and he smiled, letting go of my hand. “That’s good news,” he said.

“Yeah,” I answered, feeling an immense wave of relief. “That’s good.”

“You know,” Owen said, “we should grab some first aid stuff while we’re here.”

“That’s a smart idea,” I answered, and texted Julian.

“On it,” he answered back.

I was suddenly exhausted. I leaned my head against my door frame. The cold air from the broken window cooled my flushed face. I watched cars pull in and out of the parking lot. The moon continued to shine brightly down on the snow. Next to me, Owen fiddled with his phone. I closed my eyes.

The car door opened and a wash of colder air blew in. Theo sat in the front passenger seat and Julian started the car.

“They wrapped my ribs,” Theo said, “but nothing’s broken. Just a bad bruise.”

“I picked up a couple of first aid kids from the gift shop,” Julian added.

I smiled at them, relieved and tired. “Let’s go home.”

WHEN we got back to the house, Julian helped Theo into his bed and gave him his pain pills. When he came back out of room, his eyes were tired. “I know we need to talk about what happened, but I’m beat up and jet lagged. It can wait until morning.”

I hugged him tightly and he shut his bedroom door.

I went into the kitchen and started the electric kettle. I still felt wired and unhappy. I pulled out a mug from the cabinet and Owen walked into the room.

“Do you want tea?” I asked and at his agreement, I picked up another mug. “It’s peppermint, if that’s okay?” He nodded again and sat on one of the counter stools.

He was still covered in bukavac blood. I looked down at myself, so was I. It was flaking off my arms, gross. I washed my hands.

“We need to burn the body,” I said.

“It can wait for morning,” Owen answered.

I steeped the tea and then sat beside him. His presence felt restful. He bent his head over his tea and his silky, brown hair fell over his forehead. Geez, silky? I huffed a laugh.

“Feeling better?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I answered.

We sipped our tea.

Chapter 13

Ana was frustrated. She was frustrated with her husband, who backed out of their plans to cross-country ski today. She was frustrated with her mother who, when told about Sergei’s change of plans, unloaded a decade’s worth of marital annoyances with her own spouse onto Ana’s shoulders. Finally, she was frustrated with herself. What was she doing, trying to make plans with Sergei during his busy season at work? What was she doing, involving her mother in her problems with Sergei, like she didn’t know how Galina would immediately turn every irritation back onto herself and her own troubles in her second marriage?

Ana pushed herself up the ski trail, her resentment giving her skis an extra boost.

“I can’t believe you expect me to….” She thrust her poles into the crusty snow.

“And then he….” She pushed off, digging her toes into her boots.

“Why can’t you….” She pressed her knees in and her thighs out, gliding into a V pattern up the hill. Push and glide. Push and glide.

After a while, the rhythm of her skis drowned out the voices in her head. She started to pay attention to the woods around her. She startled a fox from beneath a snowy log and they stared at each other for a brief moment in time. The fox’s liquid black eyes were onyx jewels in its white face. Ana caught her breath and marveled.

This was why she was here. To marvel. This was why she wished Sergei could have come with her. He needed more marveling moments in his life. It was hard not to be a nag, but how could he have changed so much? In college, when they’d met, he’d been desperate to spend time with her. Now it took a calendar reminder, a sticky note on his desk, and a phone alarm to get him to meet her for an after-work walk around the neighborhood.

Ana sighed. She felt too young to feel so old and jaded.

She reached the summit of the trail and gazed down at the valley below. The river snaked its way through the valley, frozen here and flowing there with a sparkle. A metaphor for her life she decided, frozen here and flowing there.

She planted her poles and pulled off her backpack, grabbing a water bottle and her phone. She took a sip of water and snapped a few pictures. She had no signal but she typed a message to Sergei anyway, knowing it would send as she descended the trail “Wish you were here.”

She turned her skis and sucked in a breath. There was an animal in her path down the mountain. No, not an animal she decided. A yeti? What? It had shaggy fur that dragged in the snow, and a snout like a cross between a gorilla and a bear. It had horns – horns? – that curled on the top of its head. Ana wondered if she was having a stroke. It stared at her with beady, yellow eyes and then bared its fangs.

She screamed. She didn’t know why; it felt appropriate. The yeti, or ogre, or blond gorilla, took a step closer. It sniffed and growled, then dropped one of its long arms to paw at the snow.

She snatched her ski poles and held them in front of her, tips out. The monster approached, its heavy feet sinking in the snow. Ana felt a moment of despair. She reached deep into her subconscious, to her last memory of her grandmother. She lay on her deathbed, drawing