Authors: Melanie Rawn
The girl was no longer nameless. Going through the passports from Weiss’s office had yielded the information, although Nicky doubted the name was her own. When Alec pointed out that he wasn’t the only Hungarian with a Russian surname, he shrugged. But they had nothing else to call her, so “Natasha” would have to do.
Between them, Holly and Lulah carried the heavy cauldron to the head of the grave. Holly called fire to the contents as Evan and Cam dug the grave within the Woodhush family burial ground. Rain had softened the soil, and the coffin wasn’t all that big, so it took only a little while to hollow out the earth to receive it. Beneath an overcast sky, with thunder in the distance, they made grave-offerings as humans had done for millennia. The ancients had given food, jewelry, flowers, weapons, carved trinkets of bone or shell, stone or antler: these things, found in graves thousands of years old, revealed that humans had developed not only an understanding of what death was but a hope for what it might be. No one knew what they had truly meant with their gifts and rituals, but that there had been rituals and that they had left gifts for the dead demonstrated their grief, and a sense of community, and a contemplation of death and what might come after. It was, in all likelihood, the beginning of religion.
Natasha’s religion, if any, was a mystery to them. So they used bits and pieces of their own.
Lulah set white candles to burning, thirteen of them around the grave. Into the open coffin she let fall cedar, sage, and myrrh: purification, peace, protection, and the release of all grief. Finally she rubbed between her palms a sprig of marjoram, releasing the fragrance of the herb that traditionally accompanied the dead, and dropped it gently onto Natasha’s breast. She stepped back, and nodded at Jamey.
“There are supposed to be ten adult Jewish men present, a
minyan
, to say
Kaddish
,” he murmured. “I think I can be forgiven for reciting just a little of it here, on my own.
Y′hei sh′lama raba min sh′maya v′chayim aleinu v′al kol Yis′ra′eil v′imru: Amein. Oseh shalom bim′romav hu ya′aseh shalom aleinu v′al kol Yis′ra′eil v′imru: Amein.
” May there be abundant peace from Heaven and life upon us and upon all Israel. He Who makes peace in His heights, may He make peace upon us and upon all Israel.
Alec held out a large bead of pink quartz, carved into the shape of a rose. “The stone of serenity, of joy, of peace. To comfort the heart, to calm and console the mind. The gem of forgiveness, and of love. May it protect you from the cold, child.” Gently he placed the stone rose beneath the girl’s folded hands.
Evan, contending that there was a chance she’d been Catholic, had insisted on what came next. He spoke the words in English; Holly recited them in Irish Gaelic; Cam had Nicky translate them into Hungarian.
“Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.”
“Sé do bheatha, a Mhuire, atá lán de ghrásta, Tá an Tiarna leat. Is beannaithe thú idir mná, agus is beannaithe toradh do bhroinne, Iosa. A Naomh-Mhuire, a Mháthair Dé, guigh orainn na peacaigh, anois, agus ar uair ár mbáis. Amen.
”
“
Üdvözlégy, Mária, kegyelemmel teljes, az Úr van teveled, áldott vagy te az asszonyok között, és áldott a te méhednek gyümölcse, Jézus. Asszonyunk Szüz Mária, Istennek szent Anyja, imádkozzál érettünk, bünösökért, most és halálunk óráján. Ámen.
”
Nicholas didn’t use Hungarian. Rather, he chose a ritual formula from Rom tradition. “
Putrav lesko drom angle leste te na inkrav les mai but palpale mura brigasa.
” I open her way in the new life and release her from the fetters of my sorrow.
The casket was sealed. The men lowered it into the grave, then took turns shoveling. By the time they finished, the white candles had all burned out.
Holly and Lulah started back to the house together. Jamey arched a questioning eyebrow at Cam; he shook his head slightly, and hung back from the others. He glanced once more at the small graveyard. Standing there, listening to his own heartbeat, he nodded slowly to himself at the implacable reminder of that new grave, of the brief time there was to love, to work, to seek happiness, to make a life and a family and a home.
He caught and held Alec’s dark gaze. After a small grimace of misgiving, the older man murmured something to Nicky and approached Cam.
“Why did you lie to her, Alec?”
A sigh. “How did you know?”
“It took me a minute, but I made the connection. ‘Maximovich’ is ‘son of Maxim.’ And ‘Saksonov’ is really bad Russian for ‘von Sachsen.’ ”
They walked a few yards in silence before Alec said, “I’d hoped you wouldn’t recognize the name. Or remember it. Max was Mr. Scott’s counterpart in Europe. I can’t believe that his son would be a party to something like this.”
“But Holly was right,” Cam insisted. “Saksonov—or von Sachsen—
was
here at the Quarters, and he
did
work the magic at Westmoreland.”
“Very likely.”
“Why did you lie?”
The older man tilted his head back and gazed up at the darkening sky. “Traditions east of the Rhine are different from Celtic, or French, or even Italian and Iberian,” he said. “The Germans, Russians, the Rom—you’ve lived in that part of the world, you know the distinct character of those magics. Max was . . . severe in his discipline. After what he’d been through during the Second World War, it’s not surprising. A German Witch, living under the Third Reich—” He shook his head. “I’ll admit that Nicky and I never much liked working with him, but he was a good man and we respected him.”
“Have you ever met the son?”
“No. We’ll make inquiries, of course. We lied because until we look into this—”
“Alec—”
“We’ve been at this longer than you’ve been alive,” he said coldly. “Leave it alone, Cam.”
“You’ll tell me what you find out,” he persisted.
“I can see we’ll have to.”
BILL CUTTER, who had stayed behind to keep an eye on the children, greeted them in the kitchen with a pot of hot coffee and a dilemma.
“I can fake the death certificate, no problem. ‘Massive stroke’ will look odd on a girl her age, but she’d just given birth so eclampsia is a possibility. High blood pressure and so on. We can leave it at that. But what do you want me to do about the birth certificate? I phoned for pizza, by the way. Should be here in half an hour or so.”
“You’re a scholar and a gentleman.” Holly spooned sugar into her cup. “Use the name from her passport.”
“And the father? ‘Unknown’ and ‘decline to state’ are the usual options.”
“Use my name,” Cam said.
Jamey gave him a long, slow, searching look.
“It’ll settle any hassles about adopting her,” Cam added.
“Sidebar, Counselor,” Jamey said, grabbing Cam’s arm. “Excuse us, please.”
Holly watched them leave the kitchen, then traded a bemused glance with her husband. “Well, well, well.”
Evan went to the cupboards for dinner plates. “It’ll play merry hell with their sex life,” he commented.
“What sex life?” Holly shot back. “They don’t have a sex life. They haven’t even seen each other naked.”
“Yet.”
“How the hell are they going to raise a baby?” demanded Lulah, stirring her coffee with unwarranted force.
Cutter shrugged. “The same way other single fathers manage it. The same way
you
managed it, Lulah.”
Nicky gave a small nod. “The same way anybody manages it. One diaper at a time.” The expression he turned on his partner was wistful, subdued. Holly realized that however many college graduation photos lined the wall of their Connecticut farmhouse, they had no children that were truly their own. She knew again how lucky she and Evan were. And how lucky Cam and Jamey would be if—
“From what I’ve seen of her,” Evan said, with an entirely spurious expression of guilelessness, “she kinda looks like him.”
“The hair color’s about right,” Holly mused. “And the hairline. Evan, you know that picture of Grandmother Flynn? Her widow’s peak makes that baby’s—and yours!—look like amateur hour.”
“Nobody ever questions it when a single woman wants to be a parent,” Cutter said. “Why is it different for men?”
“It shouldn’t be, but it is.” Holly slid off her stool and started collecting silverware. “Look at them. One district attorney, one unemployed Witch—”
“—and one baby who needs a home where she’s wanted,” Evan finished. “It’ll be a lot to handle, when they’re so new.”
“New?” She snorted. “They’ve been dancing around this for twelve years. And from a purely practical viewpoint, as far as Jamey’s concerned, there’s the Family Values thing. What could be more valuable to a politician than a family?”
Alec had been listening to all this with a look of stricken incredulity. “Hello!” he almost yelled. “They’re
gay
!
”
“So?” Cutter asked.
“What do you mean, ‘So?’ They’re
gay
!
”
Nick paused in his gathering of glassware. Turning, he met his partner’s dark eyes. Something secret and fierce passed between them. “Alyosha,” he said quietly, “shut up.”
There was an awkward silence. Then Dr. Cutter said, “Holly, I don’t suppose you and Evan—”
“We already discussed it. It’s not very warm and maternal of me, but—”
“But Cam
wants
to.” Evan rescued the green beans from boiling over. “That’s the difference. We could take her, sure—but he
wants
that kid.”
Setting plates on the counter with a thunk, Holly turned and scowled. “Jamey has to want this, too. He can’t agree to take the baby just because he thinks he’d lose Cam if he didn’t.”
Lulah glanced up from folding napkins. “They’d have to get an actual car. Can’t strap a baby onto that crotch-rocket of Jamey’s. They’ll also need household help, especially after Cam finds work. He can keep all the cloth in the house clean—he can even fix it so her diapers don’t stink—but I don’t think he does windows.”
“I don’t, as a matter of fact.”
Everybody swung around to face the kitchen door—absolutely choreographed, Holly thought, amused. What interested her more was the geometry of Cam, Jamey, and the child. The angle of Jamey’s shoulders and elbows as he held the baby. The curve of Cam’s smile, and of his arm around Jamey’s shoulders. Parental architecture, she decided. A family.
“Well, Peaches,” Holly said. “Bit of a glitch with the birth control, was it?”
“I promised not to be jealous,” Jamey offered earnestly, his eyes dancing.
She went on aiding and abetting. “Camellius Ruaidhrí Griffen, where exactly
were
you last December?”
“Well . . .”
Jamey’s gray eyes went as big and round as glass doorknobs. “ ‘Camellius’?”
Evan arched a brow at Holly. “That was foolish. What’re you gonna threaten him with now?”
She waved it blithely away. “The simple power of suggestion is half a Witch’s arsenal at times.” She considered, then went over to pluck aside the pink blanket Bella had come home in over two years ago. Dark red hair. Long widow’s peak. With next summer’s sunshine, skin that fair would without doubt acquire freckles. Very deliberately, Holly said, “She looks
just
like you, Cam.”
Lulah joined them, digging into a pocket. A slight length of delicate silver links with a single plain disk was pressed into Cam’s palm. “Her mother’s. Keep it for her.”
Cutter harrumphed. “As a physician duly licensed by the Commonwealth of Virginia, I haven’t heard a word of this.”
“And as officers of the court,” Evan added, “neither have we, Jamey.”
“I’m still back at ‘Camellius,’ ” the younger man admitted.
“Speaking of names,” Cam interrupted firmly, “what are we going to call her?”
“Elizabeth,” Jamey told Cam. “For your mother. And mine, by the way.”
“Really?”
“And for Holly, of course,” Jamey added.
She caught her breath; Evan caught her eye. “Your reward for—well, I’m not sure exactly what it was that you did, besides embarrass them both, but you get rewarded anyway.”
“Elizabeth Griffen,” Cam said thoughtfully. “Okay, I like it. But she needs a botanical name, too.”
“Peach Blossom,” Evan murmured irrepressibly.
“Plumbago,” said Holly.
“Tiger Lily,” Evan countered.
“Mugwort.”
“Ragweed?”
“Enough!” Cam ordered. “I need a drink.”
“Bring the bottle,” said Evan.
“Bring two bottles,” said Alec.
Holly followed Cam into the parlor and watched for a moment as he poked through the selection of single-malts. Before she could say anything, he slanted a glance at her and smiled.
“Freckles, darlin’, if you ask me if I’m sure about this, I’ll do something really vile to your pillowcases.”
“Save your energy, Peaches. You’re gonna need it.” She hesitated, then asked, “This is both of you, right? Having a gun to your neck while you’re holding a baby can be quite a shock to the system. Oh, stop glaring at me in that tone of voice,” she chided. “You know what I mean. Have both of you really thought this out? When you live with somebody, and you want to go on living with him—hell, if you want to go on
living
!—you don’t make unilateral decisions about something as huge as this and then try to survive the fallout.”
“It’s both of us. Yes, I’d do pretty much anything for him. But he’d also do the same for me.” Sloshing the bottle of The Macallan to judge how much was left, he added, “And the only thing that ever really made him unhappy about being gay was that he’d never get the chance to be a father.”
“And then you went upstairs to look at her. Cam, that’s how babies do it, how they get you to put up with the noise and the stink and the sleep deprivation. They’re just so damned adorable that you can’t help but forgive them for all the nasty stuff.”
“Granted,” he replied calmly. “But you know what Jamey said? He stood there watching her sleep and told me he didn’t think he’d be able to stand watching somebody take her away from us. So don’t worry about it, Holly. We don’t know what we’re doing, but we know what we’re doing.”