Enchantment

13

Picnic

Ivan saw his bags in the corner of his room. He hadn't unpacked, not even a toothbrush, since Mother had a new one waiting for him in the bathroom when he got home, and there were plenty of clean clothes. But the dirty ones in the suitcases needed washing. He wasn't even sure why he had been reluctant to unpack upon arriving. This was his home; and yet he felt as if he were only here in transit. He was married now; that meant he could never be more than a visitor in his parents' home.

He tossed the bags on the bed and opened them, pulling out the tightly rolled clothes. He couldn't remember now which were dirty and which were clean—Mother would insist on washing them all anyway, and this time he'd give in and let her. Into the laundry basket went the clothing.

Onto his desk went the books, the papers, the notes. His dissertation. His future? Not likely. It would be too hard, to devote a year or more to writing as if he were still as ignorant as any ordinary scholar. It was bad enough that dissertations all had to be written in the miserably pedantic language of scholarship; to have it be false as well would be unbearable. Did it even matter? He had to go back to Taina with Katerina, and if he lived he would be king there, at least in name. As a career choice, it was generally regarded as ranking somewhere above professor. Not to him, though, having no inclination for it.

I belong in neither world now—each has spoiled me for the other.

The bags were empty. On impulse he lifted each one and shook it. A slip of paper floated down and slid under the bed.

He fell to his knees, suddenly filled with urgency. He knew at once what this paper was. It was the note that had been left in Baba Tila's window. He was home now, and Mother had been Baba Tila's pupil. Now he understood what she had been learning. Maybe the note would mean something to her.

But Mother was as baffled as he had been. She and Katerina both looked at it; Mother held it up to the window, passed it over a flame, even laid it gently on a bowl of water, to see if some other message became visible. Nothing. It continued to say, simply, "Deliver this message."

"And you found it in Baba Tila's window?" Mother asked again.

"Between the stones, where she left notes for you before."

"I wasn't her only student."

Ivan shrugged. "It's not as if there weren't several years for someone else to find it."

"It's simple enough," said Katerina.

They looked at her, waiting for the explanation.

"I mean, the message is not for you, or you'd understand it."

"Then I should put it back," said Ivan.

"No," said Katerina. "It was for you to find. It says to you the thing that you must do."

"Deliver it—but to whom?"

Katerina shrugged. "Not to me."

"It can't be anybody in your world—I can't carry anything there."

"Mikola—" Katerina caught herself. "I mean, might it not be for Cousin Marek?"

"I should have thought of it, but it was in my bags, and I hardly opened them. A lot happened between finding this note and returning to Marek and Sophia's."

"It's not for him," said Mother firmly. "Baba Tila had no need of messengers or papers to send messages to the Farmer of the Wind."

"They were... connected?" asked Ivan.

Baba Tila knew Mikola Mozhaiski. Katerina could not help but wonder if Baba Tila and her Tetka Tila—but no, her aunt was not one of the immortals. More likely the name was handed down over the centuries, like the old language. Her language.

"Nothing so marvelous," said Mother. "They used pigeons. Baba Tila loved them." She grew thoughtful. "I wonder what happened to them all after she died."

"Maybe she took them with her," said Ivan.

Mother glared at him. "Don't mock what you don't understand."

"I wasn't mocking."

"The thing is," said Mother, "she probably did. There was a part of her in the birds. They watched things for her, or rather she watched things through them. When she died, it would have left them suddenly empty, or partly empty, and I imagine they died at once. Or soon after."

"How sad," said Katerina. "But how wonderful, to know the flight of birds."

"So we still don't know who it's for."

"You will," said Mother. "Keep it with you."

"On me?" Ivan didn't like that. For some reason it made him nervous, to think of keeping it in his pocket.

"Only if you want to," said Mother. "Near you is good enough. When you find the person you should give it to, you'll know, and then you should be able to get it quickly."

Until I get to Taina, Ivan thought. Then it won't be within reach at all. And somehow I can't imagine that telling the recipient about the message would be at all the same as handing him the actual note.

"I hope I didn't ruin it by letting it float on the water," said Mother.

"It was the flame that worried me," said Ivan.

"Sillies," said Katerina. "If it was made well, neither flame nor water could harm it. And if it was made badly, then it isn't a message of power and it hardly matters."

But all this talk about the message filled Ivan with other ideas. "Isn't there some way we can take things across the bridges, Mother?"

"I should know?" she asked.

Katerina shook her head.

"What if I swallowed something," said Ivan. "Then it would be inside me."

"Don't try it," said Mother. "The rules about such things can be very strict, and it might be dangerous to you if you had anything but food in your body. Any opening of your body."

"These are honest spells," said Katerina. "Made to counteract a deceiver. They work against a deceiver. You see? The Wicked Widow can't use the bridge because she's made of lies, filled with them, covered with them. You don't want to see what would happen if you tried to cross as a sneak or a liar."

Ivan chuckled. "Then we should provide a service, and give certificates to politicians who can cross the bridges."

The Ukrainian word for politician baffled Katerina, and neither Mother nor Ivan wanted to try to explain it.

"You can take only what's in your head," said Katerina. "And in your heart."

"What's in my head is nothing but confusion. And Russian literature."

It dawned on Mother and Ivan at the same time. "Why not learn what you need to know in order to make things there?" said Mother, and Ivan was already nodding.

"Learn what?" said Katerina.

"There are weapons," said Ivan. "Bombs. I think I already have a good idea how to make Molotov cocktails—if we distilled alcohol..."

"Oh, excellent," said Mother. "Introduce vodka to Russia centuries ahead of time."

"I can't very well use gasoline."

"What are you talking about?" said Katerina. "I don't know these words."

"Modern things," said Ivan. "Weapons. Whatever we can learn how to make here, so we can teach the people how to make them and use them there."

"What weapons?" said Katerina. "You don't have swords—I've seen no one carrying them—and as for magic, most people have no idea."

"Oh, Katerina, you haven't seen weapons till you've seen what our civilization produces. Weapons that could destroy the whole world—though of course no one uses those. And weapons of disease—but we can't use those, because it would kill far more innocent people and might not reach the enemy at all. We need more sharply aimed weapons, right, Mother? Iron technology isn't at a point where we can make cannon, I don't think, not in the ninth century. Though they did cast early guns in bronze. That's worth a thought. What is gunpowder? I remember it has something to do with saltpeter... that's nitrate of something, isn't it? What about dynamite?"

"You're asking me?" said Mother.

Ivan laughed. "Oh, I know where to find it out. There've got to be wacko places on the Internet. If the government sees what I'm doing, they'll assume I'm a terrorist."

"Everything depends on what's available back then. Katerina has to help you with that," said Mother. "She'll know what can and can't be made there in her own village."

Katerina nodded. She prided herself on having a clear understanding of the work of every man and woman in Taina. She might not be able to do all the jobs—smiths and plowmen needed more strength and bulk than she would ever have—but at least she knew what they could do, and what they needed in order to be able to do it.

"And transportation," said Ivan. "We can't make cars, but maybe we can—what, I don't know, improve the cart?" He laughed. "Faster carts, that'll strike terror into Baba Yaga's heart."

Mother brought her hand down hard on Ivan's head.

"Ouch! What!"

"You said her name."

"We're not in Taina now," said Ivan, rubbing his head.

"It gives her the power to push past the protections of the house," said Mother.

"She's on the other side of the world, Mother."

"No," said Mother. "She's here."

Katerina at once grew alarmed. "Here? In this city?"

"A few days ago. Someone probed at the house. I felt it—no, I smelled her. Foul. Like... never mind what it was like. I went to the window. I couldn't see her—she had a glamour around her—but I could see where she was. Just across the street. Watching."

"Why didn't you say anything?" said Ivan.

"Because the house was sufficient to stop her. She's weaker here. I think she was angry to find that she couldn't get through our defenses."

"She knows where we are," said Katerina. "Oh, God help us now."

"Amen," said Mother. "But it doesn't change anything. You still have to learn whatever's worth learning, and you still have to go back."

"But with her at our tail," said Ivan.

"I've been thinking about ways to send her home," said Mother.

Katerina shook her head vigorously. "Don't think of it," she said. "You're very talented, but weak as she might be, you're no match for her."

"I think I might be, here on my own ground," said Mother.

"Don't try it, I warn you," said Katerina. "The very act of confronting her, that's pride, don't you see? It gives her power over you, because she rules through pride. You need to stay meek. It's the protection of Christ. The meekness of the obedient followers of Jesus, that protects us from the she-wolf."

"I'm not a Christian," said Mother.

"But you have never acted in pride before, have you? Never challenged a rival, have you?"

"No," said Mother. "I've never needed to."

"You don't need to now, either," said Katerina. "You must believe me. I don't know as much as you about these things, but I know more than you about the Widow. If you face her, challenge her, she has you then."

Mother shuddered. "Well, then," she said. "Well, then."

"Don't tell me you were looking forward to it," said Ivan.

"No, no, no," said Mother. "The opposite. And I'm relieved to think I don't have to. And frightened to think how close I came to trying it when I faced her there through the glass of our window. I came this close."

There was a greater sense of urgency now. No more time for desultory talks with Father and Mother, for pleasant household chores with Katerina and Mother, for explorations of language with Katerina and Father. Now Ivan spent his days at the computer terminal in his bedroom, linked to the university computer system and through it to the rest of the Internet. He wrote thirty emails to various people he knew, and began to get answers: How gunpowder was made, how to make a match, where deposits of the necessary minerals were known to have been located in the Carpathian foothills, or how they could be extracted from plants or what substitutes might do almost as well. Constantly he quizzed Katerina about materials, though most of the discussion was always spent trying to find language to describe exactly what he was trying to find out about. Father even got into the fray, querying his own network of friends.

They didn't stray from the house, Ivan and Katerina. Mother and Father were safe enough, Mother decided—though she insisted that Father wear a charm, which just about killed him from shame; but he went along. Ivan and Katerina, though, walked only around the back yard—which was large enough at first, but seemed to grow smaller as they spent day after day unable to leave it. The only consolation for Ivan was this: If he had to be trapped on a desert island, at least he had Katerina for company.

Partly it was the project they were working on. As he made his first batch of gunpowder—which nearly blew his hand off—she began to gain new respect for him; but he also gained respect for her, as she insisted on learning how to do everything herself, as well. "What if one of us is killed?" she said. "Does she then win the victory?" And then she made him take her hands and guide her through the process of grinding the material to powder. He was terrified of killing her with a mistake, but she joked all through it, teased him about how protective he was. He was close to her hour after hour, the smell of her, the touch of her breath on the hairs of his arms or on his ears as she leaned over his shoulder to watch. He thought sometimes he might go insane with desire for her; but he could not think of a way to change what lay between them, and though he thought she liked him well enough now, he still didn't know if their friendship was yet the thing a marriage should be made of.

Do you love me? he wanted to ask her, to demand of her. But, fearing the answer would be a wan "I'm sorry, Ivan," he did not speak.

She learned to throw practice Molotov cocktails, she learned to make and strike matches. They made a still in a Sears storage shed Father bought for that purpose, grumbling all the time about how it would look in the papers, "Professor arrested for making vodka in back-yard shed."

They decided they would test everything on the Fourth of July. "Nobody will mind a few explosions and fires that day," Father said, and he was obviously right. They'd find out then what their gunpowder could do. Minute quantities, for they didn't want to blow anything up, just to see if it would explode at all. Firecrackers, really. And a few Molotov cocktails thrown at a pile of logs, so they would be doing nothing more than igniting a celebratory bonfire. Afterward they'd roast sausages over the coals like good Americans. Well, not quite—they could never bring themselves to eat those clammy, nasty wieners Americans used as their hot dogs. Good, hearty Polish and Russian and Italian sausages, that's what they'd eat, and on a hearty bread, not those squishy spongy confections designed so that you didn't need teeth to eat them.

And then Ivan got the phone call from Ruthie.

"No one sees you anymore, Ivan. Are you hiding? Is the honeymoon still so engaging?"

Was she being bitter and nasty? Or cheerful and friendly? Hard to know. "She's learning the language," said Ivan. Which was true enough—though the language she was learning at the moment was modern Russian. As with so many Russian schoolchildren for generations, it was Pushkin who was her teacher, as they read to each other before going to bed. The stanzas of Tatyana's dream had disturbed her greatly—the girl being chased through the snow by a bear. Ivan wondered, then and now, how close Pushkin's vision had been to what Katerina herself went through, before she was enchanted in that magic place. He wondered also how Pushkin could have known. What influence did the bear still have in the world, at the time when Pushkin wrote?

Ruthie's voice brought him back to the present. "I'd like to take you on a picnic for the Fourth."

"A picnic?" It sounded bizarre. But if you looked at it another way, it was rather sweet, too. "That would be nice, but—"

"The three of us, of course. I still think of you as a friend, Ivan. Can't I? Is that wrong?"

"Not wrong, no, of course not. I wish we could, but we need to stay home, kind of a family thing—"

"No, no, I understand. I'm not part of the family, and she is, and that's that. I really am fine with it, Ivan. I don't pretend I understand what happened—maybe that's part of why I want to spend a little time with the two of you."

"She doesn't really speak much English yet," said Ivan.

"You can translate. What if we do it the day before? The third. Ivan, don't turn me away empty-handed."

No way were he and Katerina going to leave the safety of Mother's protected house. And yet it seemed churlish to turn down this overture of reconciliation. "The third, all right, but why don't you come over here? I know Mother and Father would like to see you again."

A moment's hesitation on the other end of the phone. "But you have to let me bring the food," she finally said.

"Mother won't hear of it," said Ivan.

"Then who's inviting whom? It's my picnic, Ivan. Even if we have it in your back yard."

Why did he have such a creepy feeling about this? I should tell her no, Ivan thought. This is wrong, this is a mistake. It's dangerous.

But he couldn't think why it was dangerous. And he had wronged her. He owed her a debt of guilt. If she wanted to mend fences, how could he let some vague, unnameable fear stand between them now?

Truth to tell, there was another reason he didn't want to have this picnic: In the weeks since returning to America, since seeing her at the airport, Ivan had come to realize that he didn't really miss Ruthie. That in fact he probably had never loved her. Now that he could compare his feelings toward Ruthie with his feelings toward Katerina, he knew there was no comparison. He hadn't been ready for marriage at all. It would have been a struggle to make it work with Ruthie. They would have bored each other so quickly.

And if he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit she had bored him already, before he left for Kiev. He was glad to leave her behind, he realized that now. He didn't miss her. He had never really loved her.

And that made him feel so guilty that it overrode any other consideration. "Your food, my house, noon. This is sweet of you, Ruthie."

"Don't patronize me, Ivan. I'm still not sure that I don't want to put the potato salad over your head. And maybe rub it in a little."

The breath of honesty came as a relief to him. "Whatever you think is right," said Ivan. "I won't protest that I don't deserve it. But not Katerina, please. She didn't know about you when she said yes to me."

"Oh. Well, you really are a two-faced son-of-a-bitch," said Ruthie cheerfully.

"There it is," said Ivan. "But at least I saved you from being married to one."

Ruthie laughed lightly. "I'll come by at noon on the third."

"We'll be here with bells on," said Ivan. Only after they hung up did he feel a twinge of embarrassment at his own phoniness. Be there with bells on? What B movie from the thirties did he get that line from? There wasn't an honest moment in that whole conversation, except when she talked about shampooing him with potato salad.

I don't want her here. There'll be a scene. Someone will cry. Someone will swear. No one will enjoy the food. If I had any spine at all, I'd have said no.

But what's done is done.

Yes, Esther was afraid for her son, for her new daughter-in-law, for the whole family. Yes, she worried about how her husband feared and hated the magic that had intruded into his life, and how he resented her for having known it all along. The power and malice she had sensed in Baba Yaga, that was the most terrifying of all. And yet all these fears did not diminish her joy, for this was the moment she had lived for. All those years ago, learning from Baba Tila, she had thought these charms and potions, spells and curses were to protect her family from the KGB or from some future pogrom. But now she saw that her whole life had been directed toward this moment, when she could protect the future queen and king of Taina from the most dangerous witch in history. And, more than her own pride, she was joyful because she saw her son growing into his manhood now. He, too, had been directed in his life—all that running, jumping, hurling of shot and discus and javelin, it seemed so foolish to Piotr and to Esther both; yet because of it he was able to get past the Bear and kiss the sleeping beauty. He and his father had learned to be as fluent in Old Church Slavonic as any two people alive, which proved to be vital for Vanya.

But who was doing all this directing? Was it a god? More to the point, was it God? And if the latter, was he helping them because they were Jews? Or helping Taina because it was a Christian kingdom? Or simply shaping the world to be able to put an end to Baba Yaga's great evil?

Or was there a fate greater than all gods, that could not bear a truly great malice, and had to bend reality, including a backward passage through time, until that malice could be put to rest?

There were no answers to such questions, of course. And in truth, Esther was not interested in them past the asking. Enough for her that whatever had chosen her and her son, they had so far been up to the challenge. It had worried her, watching Vanya grow up, that while he sometimes worried her and did not always choose wisely—look at Ruthie—he was nevertheless good, in some hidden place in his heart where the deepest choices are made. Any rule of life that he truly believed in, he obeyed; any course of action that he thought was right, he pursued. Resentfully, sometimes, but he did his duty.

Perhaps that's how the great ones are chosen, she thought. No outward sign of genius. Vanya was clever enough in school, an apt scholar, a good athlete. But no one would have picked him as the one to stand against a terrible enemy. No one would have expected him to be a hero.

Even now, Esther could see that neither Vanya nor Katerina expected him to be the one to stand against the witch. He was going to help train the knights and villagers with new weapons, but it was Katerina who was princess, Katerina who was bound around with the enchantments her aunts had created for her. And they might be right. It might be Katerina who faced the witch and beat her, perhaps in battle, perhaps simply by surviving and having babies. Endurance, after all, was a kind of victory; a kind of heroism, too.

And that would be good enough for Esther, too. Let them live. Let them love each other. Let them have babies that grow to adulthood, not just one but many of them. Even if they live in another time, another world, where I never see them, where I'm only a story to them, a name without a face, so be it, if my son and his bride can live. That is joy—joy in the midst of grief, perhaps, and loneliness, but joy and triumph all the same.

Katerina came to her in the night. She was restless—worrying about seeing Ruthie again, she said. But that wasn't all, Esther knew. And sure enough, Katerina soon led her down to the shelf in the garage where she had put the basin in which the still water had shown her Vanya's face.

"A black bowl?" asked Katerina.

"It showed me Vanya when he was with you," said Esther.

"I've heard of it, but never seen it."

"You can only look at one you love deeply," said Esther. "It isn't always satisfying."

"There's more to it than that," said Katerina. "If it's large enough, a black pool, you can see a place and then leap into the water and go there. I think that's how the Widow followed us."

"Then let me say that all my dear old Baba Tila taught me was to look."

"Let's look, then," said Katerina. "My father. Who knows how many days or months have passed for him? Time does not flow the same there as it does here."

So they got out the basin and filled it, set it out in the yard, leveled it, and waited together on this hot still summer evening for it to become truly still. To do it, they had to charm away the mosquitoes, but Katerina was deft at it, making the hand motions with a style and confidence that Esther had never thought of, having been taught by an old woman with shaking hands. At last, well after midnight, the water was still.

"May I see what you see?" asked Esther. It was a presumption, but Katerina smiled and nodded.

Silently they approached the basin, standing on opposite sides of it, their clothing tucked back behind them so that no bit of cloth, no thread, not even a strand of hair could fall onto the water. Katerina lowered her face over the water first, scarcely breathing; Esther then leaned over, remaining always higher than Katerina and therefore farther from the water, so it would be Katerina's will that controlled the vision.

It took only moments, and the face of a middle-aged man appeared. No doubt King Matfei, asleep, looking peaceful. But then, to Esther's surprise, Katerina made some unfamiliar movements with her hands above the water, and the vision zoomed back to show the whole scene around her father. He was lying on a bed, yes, and he was asleep; but he was also bound hand and foot, and two knights stood guard in the room.

Katerina made the vision zoom in so that it showed only her father's face. Then, placing her hand near her mouth to stop the breath of speech from stirring the waters, Katerina said his name softly. Once. Twice. A third time.

His eyes opened.

"Do not speak," said Katerina. "Do not wake the guards. Look upward to tell me yes. Look downward to tell me no. Are you a prisoner, as it seems?"

His eyes rolled upward.

"Soldiers of the Widow?"

A downward look. No.

"Another enemy?"

No.

"Our own people?"

Hesitation. Then a yes.

"Oh, Father. Dimitri? Because Ivan and I fled?"

Yes.

"She has done it, Father, you know that. Dimitri was a true man—he must have been deceived."

No response at all.

"You're right, it doesn't matter why. A man can't be deceived unless he wants to believe the lie. But Father, we are coming home. Soon. We've learned things. I've seen marvels—but now is not the time. Be content that we will return, and Dimitri will be taken out of his place and you will be restored to the throne."

No.

"No? Why not?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I know, you can't tell me why. But you are the king. You must be king."

No. No.

"Then who, Father? Dimitri?"

No.

"Ivan?"

Yes.

"Ivan isn't ready."

Yes.

"Neither am I, to rule through him."

Yes. No. Yes. Her statement had been ambiguous, and so he couldn't answer clearly.

"You think I am ready?"

Yes. There it was.

"When we come back we'll discuss it. After you're free. But you are our war leader."

No. No. No. And a tear came to one eye.

"You can't lead us in war?"

No. Yes. No. Again, the question could not be answered as she asked it. If he agreed, should he say, Yes, your statement is true, or No, I can't lead in war?

"Have you been injured, Father?"

Yes.

"A physical injury?"

Yes.

"He hurt you?"

Yes.

"I'll kill him," said Katerina simply.

Yes.

"Your arms? Your legs?"

No. And no.

"How can I know your injury?"

He opened his mouth.

It took a moment to realize what they were not seeing. He had no tongue.

Katerina gasped, stepped back, began to sob quietly into her hands. Esther also backed away from the basin and carefully walked around it, then enfolded her daughter-in-law in her arms. "She couldn't kill him, she couldn't even get Dimitri to kill him," whispered Katerina. "But she made it impossible for him to lead in battle. She made it impossible for him to be king."

"It wasn't a wound," said Esther. "Did you see that? It was Molchaniye. Stillness. She gave the traitor—Dimitri, yes?—she gave him the potion to carry the spell inside your father's body. The most powerful I've seen, to shrink the tongue like that. But it must be maintained by the power of the witch who invokes it."

"Is this comfort to me?" asked Katerina. "The Widow will never release him from it."

"No, she won't. As long as she lives."

"She will long be alive after my father and I have rotted away in our graves. She's already more than a hundred years old, and her magic has the power to give her many centuries more."

"But in my time she has long been dead," said Esther. "No one knows how, but she was destroyed or she weakened and died, one or the other, but there was no trace of her until she followed you here."

"I refuse to believe in false hopes," said Katerina. "Even if you came back with us, no one could stand against her and break her power."

"She can be killed," said Esther.

"How?"

"I don't know how. But Baba Tila said that no protection is perfect. There's always a way through."

Katerina raised her head and looked Esther in the eye. "Then there's a way through the protections on this house, yes?"

"Of course. I don't know what it is, but that's why I'm so vigilant."

Katerina pulled away from her, returned to her father.

"Ivan's mother is a witch," she said. "A good one. Not as strong as the Widow, but strong enough to withstand her here."

Matfei looked alarmed.

"Yes, she's here. That's why her armies haven't followed up on Taina's weakness, with you imprisoned and silenced as you are. Father, be patient. I will come back. You will be freed. And we will get this curse taken from you."

He closed his eyes.

"That's right, Father. Sleep. And pay no attention to what I will whisper now to the men who guard you."

He opened his eyes only long enough to wink at her. Then he closed them again.

She zoomed the vision back. Now the guards were visible.

"Shame on you," she whispered. "Shame on you."

Both men at once grew alert.

"Did you hear that?" one of them murmured.

"Hear what?" the other one lied.

"Dimitri made you do it," she said. "Dimitri is in the service of the Vile Widow. She comes to him by night and tells him what to do. She gave him the spell that keeps King Matfei silent. He is the servant of the enemy. But you are the servants of Christ."

Both men crossed themselves.

"I am Katerina, and I will return. I will have my husband, Ivan, with me, and he will teach you the wizardry of his strange and powerful land. All those who stand with Dimitri will be destroyed. All those who stand with me will live, and we will free our land from the shadow of the Widow. You have heard me. As loyal men, true Christians and sons of God, you will keep faith with the oath you made to my father. Prepare the others as well. Let no man move against Dimitri before I come, but let no man stand beside him when I do."

"Yes, Princess," they murmured. "I promise, Katerina."

"And let no further harm come to my father. Mercy will be remembered."

At once one of the men moved to Matfei's side and unfastened the bands that held his wrists together. The other quickly set to work on his ankles.

"Now I see you are true friends of the king, and true Christians. I watch you sometimes, from afar; Jesus watches you always, from inside your heart." She took a deep breath. "Look up, into the air above you, and see the face of her whom you will follow."

At once Esther stepped back, uncertain of what Katerina was going to do. She had never heard of such a thing.

Katerina spat into her hands, rubbed her hands together, then smeared the saliva on her face, rubbing, rubbing. Then, before it could dry, she lowered her face to the water and gently pressed through the surface tension. Esther leaned in, looked over her shoulder. The water shimmered, but the vision held long enough for Esther to see how the soldiers looked up and saw the face of their princess.

Then Katerina lifted her dripping face from the basin. The water spilled and sloshed. There was no more vision in it. Katerina raised her skirts to her face, wiped away the water and the spit. And then wept again into her skirts.

"It's a monstrous enemy you're fighting," said Esther, putting an arm around her daughter-in-law's trembling back. "But you're luckier than she is, for she has to face you, and I have never seen anyone so fierce."

Katerina only wept louder, and buried her face in her mother-in-law's shoulder.

Ivan stood in the front yard, waiting for Ruthie to arrive. The twelve-year-old boy across the street was fumbling with the string on a new kite. Not the most mechanically gifted of children, Ivan concluded. But there was a good breeze this morning, so it wouldn't be as oppressively hot out in the back yard as it had been yesterday. The forecast was thunderstorms late in the afternoon, and then clear again—hot and muggy, in fact—for the Fourth. Today, though, there was a breeze, and that called for a kite.

Katerina has never seen a kite, Ivan realized. They were a Chinese invention and they didn't come to Europe until... well, until later. Before Benjamin Franklin, but after Baba Yaga. So much for my future as a historian.

The boy across the street—what was his name? Terrel Sprewel. Never Terry, just Terrel, even though the name Terrel was clearly invented as a back-formation to allow the nickname Terry without saddling the kid with a really geeky name like Terence. Though you might as well tape a kick-me sign on your baby as to give him a name that was not only weird but rhymed.

Terrel used to try to follow Ivan, back when Ivan was in middle school and he ran through the neighborhood instead of around the lake. Back when it was still faintly ridiculous in the neighbors' eyes that a Jewish kid should be jogging. Terrel was a toddler then, and Ivan had to stop and make him go back. What's he doing in the front yard without a parent watching him, anyway? Once he had to take Terrel to the front door, the kid was so persistent, and his mom acted as if Ivan had somehow committed a crime by suggesting that she ought to prevent the child from following Ivan on his five-mile run. Maybe she thought I should take him along. Maybe she wished. That would be sad, to grow up with a mother who kind of hoped you'd run away.

Maybe you'd end up all by yourself, trying to get a string tied onto a kite so it has some hope of flying.

Ivan's impulse was to cross the street and lend a hand, show the kid how it was done.

Then he remembered—it wasn't safe for him to cross the street by himself. Who's the toddler now?

The string was tied. It wasn't in exactly the right place, but it would probably do. Terrel carried the kite to the end of the block before he started his run. Ivan wondered why he would do that. Why not start running from his own front yard? The answer was obvious, though. Terrel wanted to get the kite flying just as he reached his yard, so he could stand there in front of the windows with the kite in the air where his parents could look out and see him. Maybe they were better parents than Ivan thought. Maybe they would be looking. But he thought not. They never watched. Terrel was always alone. No applause. And yet it still mattered to the kid. He was still hungry to have his mom or dad tell him he did OK, or even watch him without a word, just to have their eyes see that he could get a kite up into the air.

Ivan practically willed it up. Run faster, he thought. Let out more string as you go. Let it catch. Rise up! Faster now! Good, it's working. It's caught! Let the string bleed out now, a little more.

He wasn't doing it. He was keeping the kite on too short a tether. It was going to fall.

"Let out more string!" Ivan called.

Terrel didn't even look over. He just obeyed. The string spun out; the kite staggered a moment, but the breeze caught it, carried it up. Terrel stood there, letting out a little more. A little more. Only when the kite was definitely up there, quite high, did Terrel look over at Ivan and grin.

It wasn't his parents he wanted to have watch him. It was me.

"Good job!" cried Ivan. "First try."

Terrel held up the string in his hand, offering Ivan the control of the kite. Ivan waved it back. "You're the kite-flyer, Terrel. It's all yours!" Then Ivan pointedly turned to look up into the sky, watching the kite, so Terrel wouldn't try to insist.

I can't go to your side of the street, Terrel, or the witch will get me.

The gusty wind was making the kite dance. Ivan wondered what it would be like, to be up there himself, in a hang glider, for instance, and catch one of those downdrafts. Drop like a stone for fifty feet, then recover and soar again.

Hang glider. That's something they could build in Taina, definitely. It wouldn't be paper, but Matfei had some silk, it had been part of his wife's dowry. Light dry wood for the frame—if Ivan learned enough about the aerodynamics of it, surely he could build at least one. That might be useful, to get someone inside Baba Yaga's fortress.

Someone alone and unarmed—how useful would that be? Because there was no way that someone carrying a heavy sword and buckler would be able to fly in a hang glider.

Oh, well. Never mind.

The front door opened. Terrel's mother came out onto the porch with a woman from up the street. For a moment Ivan thought, with some relief, that his assessment was wrong, that Terrel had indeed earned some applause for getting the kite into the air. But the women ignored the boy, continuing an animated conversation.

A small hairy dog charged out of the front door, dodged between the women on the porch, and ran straight for Terrel. With his eyes on the kite, stepping forward and backward as he kept the kite line taut, Terrel was completely unaware of the dog until it was bashing into his legs, tripping him up. Terrel lost his balance for a moment, and in the effort to keep from falling, he stepped on the dog. Not too hard, but enough to send the dog yipping and yelping toward Terrel's mom.

Now she noticed him. "What are you doing! Are you trying to kill him? You think a kite is more important than a living creature? You make me sick sometimes, Terrel, the way you step on everybody and everything around you!"

It was an astonishing display of temper. The neighbor lady was as appalled by it as Ivan was. But Terrel took it all in stride; he assumed a submissive pose, looking at the ground, no longer watching the kite. Apparently he knew—probably had learned it very young—that this was the only pose that turned away wrath. Ivan noticed, however, that behind his back he kept a firm grip on the kite string and was surreptitiously trying to keep it taut.

Terrel's mother was holding the dog now, speaking comfortingly to it, but with snide barbs at Terrel. "Did the mean boy kick you and step on you?" And then she turned her full attention back to her son. "Let go of that kite right now. You heard me! Let it go this instant! You will learn that living creatures are more important than toys." She poured so much scorn into the last word that Ivan wanted to smack her.

He knew he should keep his mouth shut, but it really was unbearable. He spoke in a loud voice, so he could be heard across the street. "Mrs. Sprewel, I was watching the whole thing, and Terrel could not have avoided what happened. The dog tripped him up before he even knew it was there."

Mrs. Sprewel glared at him like a bug in the frosting. "Thank you for your observation," she said. "I'm sure that makes poor Edwin feel much better." It took a moment for him to realize that Edwin was the dog.

Ivan tried to soften the whole thing by turning it away from the issue of dog-stomping. "Terrel did a great job of getting the kite up there on his first try—a gusty day like this, it wasn't easy."

"Excuse me, but I don't recall inviting you into this conversation," said Mrs. Sprewel. Behind her, the neighbor woman rolled her eyes.

Ruthie's car pulled up in front of the house.

Momentarily ignoring Ruthie's arrival, Ivan smiled and waved cheerily at Mrs. Sprewel. "You're quite right, Mrs. Sprewel. But I did wonder why your dog wasn't penned up or on a leash, as the law in Tantalus requires."

"He's on our property!" Mrs. Sprewel said, outraged but now on the defensive, which was all Ivan had hoped for.

"The dog wasn't on your property when it tripped your son and nearly killed him," said Ivan. "You really should watch that dog. It's a menace!" Then, with a wave but without another glance, he turned to Ruthie and greeted her with a smile as she got out of the car. Ruthie, unaware of the contretemps with the neighbors, gave him a friendly hug and a sisterly peck on the cheek.

Only after she pulled away from him and headed for the back of the car did he realize how deftly she had manipulated the greeting. Old habit had made him hold her just a little too tightly and a little too long. And perhaps she broke away a little more quickly than would have been normal, even for a perfunctory social greeting. He could almost hear the thought in her head: Take that, lover boy.

He also noticed that she was wearing a wig. How odd. Had she gone Hasidic all of a sudden? Not likely. No doubt just having a bad hair day.

Ruthie opened the trunk. Ivan stepped into the road just long enough to get the picnic hamper out, then carried it around the house into the back yard. Behind him, the dog barked. But Mrs. Sprewel wasn't yelling at Terrel anymore, and the kite was still up.

Ruth saw the wasp land on Ivan's back as he bent over the trunk to pick up the hamper. She didn't say anything to Ivan. Instead she silently invoked the wasp: Sting the bastard! Thinks he can hold me like old times, thinks he still has the right to pull me close enough to mash my breasts up against his chest and hold me there—well, that's a right I give to those who deserve it.

The wasp didn't sting him. But it didn't fly away, either. As Ruth followed him around the house, she could see the wasp crawling along his shirt. Plenty of time. Besides, if the wasp didn't sting him, she had the brownies. Plenty of itch and sting in those, if she chose to serve them to him. Not all the brownies, of course. Just two of them on which she placed the itching powder from the gypsy's bag, then put icing over them. She probably wouldn't serve those to Ivan and his bride. She had much greater hopes for the one big piece of chicken breast that she injected with the thin clear fluid from the gypsy's jar. Let Ivan eat that while Katerina was in the house on some made-up little errand and see whether he wanted to be married to the shiksa after that.

I can't believe I'm even taking these things seriously, thought Ruth. This is magic, witchcraft, superstition.

But why shouldn't it work? Witchcraft was simply an alternate way of viewing the universe, every bit as valid as science. Folkways were often wiser and more in harmony with the earth than the hard-edged metallic thinking of the engineers. Ivan used to laugh at her when she said things like that, and once he asked her if she believed that principle applied to recipes and directions. "Don't you expect directions to have a one-to-one correspondence with the highway system?" But that was just patriarchal thinking. Anything women said or thought had to be put down by men. She hadn't realized that Ivan was such a patriarchalist until after he betrayed her, but love is blind.

"Can I ask you one question?" she said as she followed him around the side of the house.

"Sure," said Ivan.

"Did you marry her as Ivan Smetski or Itzak Shlomo?"

"What?"

"Was it a Christian wedding or a Jewish one?"

He didn't answer. Which meant it was a Christian wedding. He betrayed everybody, from God to all the Jews who died in the Holocaust, and right on down to Ruth. And he didn't care. Because he was in love.

Well, what happens if you fall back in love with me? Do you switch religions again? How many times does this make? What are you, God's little tennis match, back and forth, back and forth? Double fault this time, Itzak.

"Why do you care?" asked Ivan.

For a moment she wondered what he was asking about. Then she realized he was finally answering her question from before. "Every time a Jew dies, all other Jews should mourn," she said.

He stopped abruptly and turned around. Standing there holding the heavy picnic hamper, he looked her in the eye and said, "If this is a sample of what this picnic's about, let's get this stuff back in your trunk and you can go on home."

"No, I'm—I'm sorry, Ivan, no, I'm not going to snipe at you. I was just remembering what my grandmother always said."

"My parents don't think I'm dead because I married her."

"I'm sure they don't," said Ruth. "Nor do I. I'm here, aren't I?"

"Why are you here?"

"For lunch," said Ruth. "And to try to make sense of my own life. I suddenly find myself at loose ends. I not only lost a fiancé, I also lost a very close friend. I'd like to see if I can have the friend back."

"Not like before," said Ivan. "I'm part of something else now."

"I know, Ivan. But what if she likes me, too? Then maybe I can be friends with the two of you."

He regarded her for a moment.

What, you think you have polygraph eyes? You can tell if I'm lying just by looking at me?

"You're a class act, Ruth," said Ivan.

"Also, the lunch is good. But simple. I was going to get really fancy, but I didn't dare serve caviar to a Russian."

He laughed, turned around, and continued around the outside of the house.

Katerina had no idea what to make of Ivan's exaggerated sense of courtesy. Yes, he had broken his betrothal to this woman, but that was all the more reason to avoid her. Ivan insisted that there was nothing to fear except, perhaps, an emotional scene, and they could avoid that just by being generous and natural and patient in their conversation.

Katerina had much more specific fears, mostly involving poisons in the food and drink. To her, it was an immediate danger sign that Ruthie had insisted on providing all the food herself. She found it incomprehensible that Ivan thought this was a laughable idea. Had they never heard of poison here?

Esther had reassured her. "All our food comes from outside the house," Esther explained, "so I have many charms and spells against it here. And not just poisons, but against potions and powders and whatnot. Vigilance is always good, but I don't think you'll take any harm from what you can eat. Or at least you won't be able to eat what would do you harm."

She showed Katerina what charms she used, and at Katerina's insistence provided Ivan and Katerina with additional charms that they wore around their necks—not that either of them told Ivan what his charm was for. "There's a general spell to protect you by sensing if someone at the table knows that some of the food is poisoned," Esther explained, "and there are charms that should make it impossible to eat anything that is not what it's supposed to be. But I'm no match for the knowledge of the Wicked Widow, so keep your own watch."

With those protections and warnings, Katerina felt barely reassured enough to go ahead with the picnic. And she had to admit to herself that part of the reason she dreaded the event was because, after all, this was the woman that Ivan had chosen for himself without an angry bear looming over him.

Ruthie was gracious enough—no sniping remarks, or at least nothing that made Ivan hesitate in his translation. But it was obvious that Ruthie loved the fact that the conversation was in English, and that much of it moved so rapidly that Ivan could only translate the gist of what was said, and then only after the fact. Katerina was being systematically excluded. But that was to be expected. As long as Katerina didn't let it get her angry enough to leave, she was fine.

Ruthie set out the chicken on their plates and then handed several jars to Ivan to open. Katerina reached for one—her grip was as good as Ivan's, or better, as they both knew—but Ruthie babbled something in English to Ivan, who turned to Katerina and, with only the faintest hint of a smile to let her know that he was aware of how Ruthie was manipulating them, he translated: "She forgot the salt. She wants you to go get it from the kitchen."

Esther felt it as a chill creeping up her back. She shuddered. Something had just come into her protected realm. But not a person. She wasn't sure what it could be.

She looked out the window into the back yard, where Vanya was having his incomprehensible picnic with Ruthie and Katerina. It reminded her of those old pictures of Roosevelt, Churchill, and Stalin. Except none of them was wearing such an obvious wig as Ruthie. What kind of fashion statement was she trying to make? Or was it just a terrible haircut or dye job that she had to cover up for a few weeks?

Esther watched them setting up the picnic—laying out a couple of blankets on the grass, setting out plates and glasses, pulling food out of the hamper Ruthie had brought.

Things Ruthie brought. There were charms to protect from the food, but was it possible she carried some living thing with her? What if Baba Yaga found out about Ruthie? If she did, she would try to use her.

What Esther sensed was an intruder. Smaller than a human being, but with some fragment of human spirit within it. An observer. An agent.

A familiar.

How? She had charms and spells enough to keep any familiar from gaining entry by itself. It would have to be carried in, close to the body of a human being who had trusted access. But it would also have to be a creature of high enough function to be useful to the witch who controlled it. A flea or louse would hardly be useful, however appropriate such a creature would be as Baba Yaga's familiar.

She could not ignore this. She had to find the familiar and eliminate the threat. She rinsed her hands at the sink.

The back door opened. Katerina came inside.

Esther looked at her in shock. "You left them alone together?"

"She 'forgot' the salt," said Katerina. "Which suggests that she has a love potion."

Esther rolled her eyes. "She couldn't get him into bed with her before he married you, so now she wants to do it with a potion."

"They... never?" asked Katerina.

"He's a strange boy," said Esther. "I thought you knew."

By now Katerina had the salt. "Well, time for a little seasoning."

"Watch for a familiar," said Esther.

Katerina turned, looking much more serious now. "What kind?"

"Small," said Esther. "Brought in by someone who is not an enemy."

Ivan raised his eyebrows at Ruthie. "Well, she's gone now. What did you want to say?"

Ruthie looked flustered. "Ivan, I could have said whatever secrets I might have over the phone. I'm sorry you're so suspicious. I simply forgot the salt."

"Sorry," said Ivan. "Here are the jars, all duly opened."

Father came over from the shed, where he had been putting away the lawn mower and hedge trimmer. "How are you doing? Where's Katerina?"

"She's inside getting the salt," said Ivan. "And we're having fun. I'm glad Ruthie invited us to do this."

Piotr smiled cheerfully at them and headed for the house.

"Ivan, would you taste the chicken and tell me if it's all right?" asked Ruthie. "I made them myself from my mother's recipe, and they don't look exactly the same as hers."

"They look the same to me," said Ivan. "Which means it should be great." Ruthie's mother was locally famous for her chicken, and not just among the Jews. Ivan reached down and picked up the large piece of chicken breast that she had put on his plate.

It slipped out of his fingers before he could get it to his mouth.

"I'm glad that didn't happen with the pickle jar," said Ivan, picking the chicken up from the blanket. "Maybe tiny blanket fibers will be just the thing to make it taste Kentucky-fried."

Piotr came in from the back yard just as Katerina and Esther reached the door. Katerina ducked outside with the salt in hand. Piotr and Esther paused a moment at the threshold.

"Nobody's killed anybody yet," said Piotr, joking.

"That's what I'm going outside to change," said Esther, only partly joking.

"Don't do any killing that the police will ask about later," said Piotr, not joking at all now.

"Nothing that talks."

As Esther came through the door onto the patio in back, Katerina was standing a few yards away from Vanya and Ruthie, watching. It was a sight to see: Ivan picking up a chicken breast and then fumbling it, dropping it on his lap, on the blanket, on the grass. He got up, his face red with embarrassment, to pick it up off the lawn, apologizing to Ruthie as he did.

To Esther it was obvious, as it would be to Katerina, that there was something wrong with the chicken and the charms were working. So much for Ruthie's benign intent.

Then Esther heard a dog barking. No, yipping. It was coming around the side of the house. Could this be the familiar she was looking for?

It was the annoying hairball that Mrs. Sprewel doted on. Normally it didn't wander around loose, and Esther's suspicions were fully aroused. She moved to intervene, but she wasn't quick enough. The dog took a flying leap at Vanya. Esther screamed—but the sound was barely out of her mouth when the dog, instead of going for Vanya's jugular, snatched the chicken breast out of his hands and took off with it around the corner of the house.

It wasn't Baba Yaga that had brought the dog, it was the charm. Vanya was so insistent on eating the damn chicken that the charm had been forced to draw someone or something else to take the chicken away from him. So much for Ruthie's love potion, if that's what it was.

And from Ruthie's face, it was indeed a cataclysmic failure. But she controlled herself, and managed a smile. "I guess that means the chicken is good enough to eat," said Ruthie.

"I'll bet that piece was particularly fine," said Esther.

Ruthie smiled at her, but there was rage barely concealed behind the grin. "I suppose I did save the best for Ivan," she said. "But it turned out to be the dog's piece."

Vanya was, of course, oblivious to this barely disguised jab, but Esther heard it, and she knew that Ruthie had a great deal of malice in her. She has been influenced by Baba Yaga, thought Esther. Ruthie had faults, but malice wasn't one of them. Still, people surprise you.

Katerina murmured to Esther in proto-Slavonic, "That dog is going to be mounting every cat and squirrel in the neighborhood."

The dog had not come alone. Terrel Sprewel was standing there holding a kite in his hands. "Sorry about the dog," he said. "I guess he followed me over here and smelled the chicken."

"No problem," said Vanya. "Dogs are dogs. Next time you step on him, though, make it count."

Terrel laughed—it must be some in-joke, Esther thought, since she had no idea what Vanya was talking about.

Ruthie's hands were stroking the lid of a Tupperware tray. Whatever was in there, Esther was reasonably sure, was Ruthie's backup plan. Cookies or brownies laced with laxative?

Terrel was battling on, embarrassed. "I just wondered if, you know, after the picnic or whatever, you wanted to take a turn with the kite."

"Good idea," said Vanya. "My wife, Katerina, I don't know if she's ever flown a kite." He turned to her and asked in proto-Slavonic.

But Katerina wasn't looking at the kite at all. "The dog," she said.

Ruthie opened the Tupperware container. Brownies.

Vanya looked where Katerina was looking. So did Terrel. Vanya was halfway there before Esther saw. The dog was lying by the fence, its legs trembling, its back as tightly bent as a bow.

Vanya picked up the dog. In his arms it shuddered and died.

Terrel approached Vanya in awe. "What was in that chicken?" he asked.

Everyone turned to look at Ruthie. She was standing now, looking in horror at the dog. "It can't be the chicken," she said.

And Esther believed her. Ruthie had been acting as if the chicken had a love potion in it. If she had known it was lethal, Esther doubted she would have sent Katerina away.

"Oh, Ivan," said Ruthie. "You were that close to eating it. You have to believe me, I didn't know."

"I believe you," said Vanya. But he turned away from her, and toward Katerina, taking her hand. It had the effect of closing a door in Ruthie's face.

In proto-Slavonic, Katerina said to Vanya, "I can't wait to eat the rest of the meal."

But Esther was watching Ruthie, who had dumped the Tupperware tray of brownies onto the lawn and was grinding them into the grass with her feet. She saw Esther looking at her. Tears were streaming down her face. "If I were any damn good as a cook maybe he would have married me," said Ruthie. "But I never thought this shit would really hurt anybody."

"It's all those additives," said Esther dryly.

Ruthie gathered up the rest of the food and put it back in the hamper. "I'm going home," said Ruthie. "I'm sorry about the dog. I—I'm sorry about everything."

"Bye, Ruthie," said Vanya. "Thanks for lunch."

In halting English, Katerina echoed him. "Bye, Rut'ie."

Clutching her hamper to her, Ruthie staggered around the side of the house. Somehow her wig had become askew on her head. It suited the moment.

Esther walked over to where Ruthie had ground the brownies into the lawn. The brownies themselves might be biodegradable, but Esther wondered what the poison would do to the grass. Not to mention the insects that lived in the lawn.

Well, she'd find out soon enough. A wasp landed on the mess of brownies and was crawling all over it. In fact, it looked for all the world as though it were deliberately smearing it on its abdomen.

On its stinger.

The wasp rose into the air and headed straight toward Vanya.

"The wasp!" shouted Esther, realizing at once that she had found Baba Yaga's familiar.

Vanya turned around just as the wasp reached him. It was going for his throat. Whatever the poison was, apparently Baba Yaga knew it was potent enough that just the little bit carried on the wasp's stinger would be enough. And there was no way Esther could get there in time to stop it. The question then was how quickly the poison would act. The dog had died in only a couple of minutes.

Piotr's voice came from right beside her. She hadn't heard him come back out. "Vanya, close your eyes!" A stream of liquid spurted fifteen feet from Piotr's hand, catching the wasp as it reached Vanya's neck. Vanya was splashed with the stuff and there was definitely some of it in his eyes, but all Esther cared about at the moment was the wasp. It crawled feebly for a second on the neck of Vanya's T-shirt. Then it dropped dead into the grass without stinging him.

"Got the little bastard," said Piotr. He was holding a can of Raid Wasp & Hornet Killer.

"My eyes!" shouted Vanya.

Piotr was already reading the directions on the can. In Old Church Slavonic he called out, "Wash his eyes with water, and keep on washing them!"

Esther turned on the hose as Piotr got the business end pointed at Vanya's eyes. Not too strong, just enough to bathe the eyes, not sandblast them. Katerina fussed over him, helpless because she didn't understand the magic that Piotr had sprayed from the can.

Terrel looked at them in awe. "Man, you guys are really quick with wasps." He picked up dead Edwin, whose little corpse had fallen when Vanya grabbed at his eyes. "I better get home with the dog," he said.

"No!" said Vanya.

"Wait a minute, Terrel," said Esther, in her heavily accented English.

In proto-Slavonic, Vanya explained. "If he takes the dog home dead, they're going to find the poison and then we have to explain how Ruthie was trying to kill me and got the dog by mistake. I don't think we want to testify at Ruthie's trial."

Esther moved immediately to examine the corpse Terrel was holding. She closed her eyes, passed her hands over the animal, and then stroked its belly while inhaling deeply. Sniffing.

In Ukrainian she said, "She didn't use any kind of detectable poison. It was a spell carried on a potion. There'll be nothing that a chemist would recognize."

"How did you do that?" asked Katerina. "How did you test it without tasting it?"

Esther was ready to explain, but then Terrel, increasingly frustrated with all the unintelligible language, interrupted. "I got to get home with this."

Vanya answered him in English. "You've got to know—it wasn't poison that got him. Nothing that any vet is going to find if there's an autopsy."

"They do autopsies on dogs? Cool."

"They do when people think the dog must have been poisoned. But I'm telling you that there won't be any poison to find. So why mention anything beyond finding the dog dead?"

Terrel's face was impassive as he answered. "You mean I don't get to tell Mom how he twitched his little legs while he was croaking?"

"You shouldn't take the dog back, anyway, Terrel," said Vanya. Water was still trickling into his open eyes, carrying away the Raid. "Let me do it. Or my father. We'll just say we found it dead in our yard. You shouldn't be involved."

"No way," said Terrel. "I get to hand little Edwin to her." He sounded very firm about it. A little frantic, even.

"Whatever," said Vanya. "It's your life."

"No," said Piotr. "It's his life, but he is not going to take the dog to his mother. Give it to me." He handed the hose to Esther, to continue bathing Vanya's eyes. He strode to Terrel and took the dog out of his arms. "Esther and I have watched what you endure, ever since your family moved into the neighborhood. Because your mother loves the dog more than you, you think you want the revenge of giving her the dead body. But what you really want is for your mother to love you. Therefore she must not have the memory of this dog's body in your outstretched arms. Do you understand me? You must be a mile from here, flying your kite, when she gets this dog that we found dead in our yard."

Terrel thought about this for a moment. "Whatever," he said.

"So you should go now," said Piotr.

But Terrel wasn't done. "What about the kite, Ivan? You want to take it up?"

"Later. Tomorrow. You going to be in town for the Fourth?"

"You kidding? We never go anywhere."

"Tomorrow, then. You get it up and bring it over here, we can fly it from our yard."

"If he's not blind," added Piotr.

Terrel seemed excited. "Any chance of that?"

"Don't get too thrilled about the idea," said Vanya dryly. "Blind people are only interesting for the first ten minutes."

"He's joking," said Esther.

"So was I," said Terrel. "I better go now. And, uh... thanks." He took the kite and trotted out of the yard.

When he was gone, they were silent for a few moments, until Piotr set down the dog's corpse. Then he sighed. "Well, that's one less yipping pest."

"That dog died for me," said Vanya. "Speak no ill of him."

"He was talking about Terrel," said Esther. "And it wasn't a nice thing to say."

"Maybe I was talking about Ruthie," said Piotr.

"Oh," said Esther.

"I think my eyes are OK now," said Vanya. "Hose down those brownies. Dilute them into the lawn."

"It's going to be a bad day for the earthworms," said Piotr.

"Was it the Bitch Widow who put her up to it?" Vanya asked in proto-Slavonic.

"I think she lied to Ruthie about what the potions would do. The chicken was obviously supposed to be a love potion."

"What about the wasp?" asked Vanya.

"The Widow's familiar," said Esther.

"So is she dead now?"

"The wasp is. But the Widow is still ruining perfectly good air by breathing it."

Piotr brandished the can. "Your magic may be good for some things, but it was Johnson and I who stopped the wasp."

Esther hugged him. "Even though you don't understand all that we do, Piotr, you stood beside us when it counted."

"I feel like I just won a joust," said Piotr.

"Good lance work," said Ivan.

"I can't believe she found a way in," said Katerina.

"There's always a way in," said Esther. "Always."

"I hope so," said Vanya. "Because somehow we've got to return the favor and get past her defenses."

"You'll do it, too," said Esther. "But the picnic strategy is out."

They laughed. Nervously.

Baba Yaga

That afternoon in Tantalus the fire department was called out seven times, and not one of the fires was a false alarm. No one died, but five houses, a gas station, and a barn were lost. Every one of the fires was obviously arson, even without the presence of detectable accelerants, because they started in such impossible places. But no one saw anything suspicious before or after the fires, and after this one night of rage, the arsonist never struck again in Tantalus.