The Master (8 page)

“I thought so, too. It's why I chose them,” Zee said with a certain satisfaction, retrieving her hand, which he had continued to grasp.

She'd chosen them? Nick shook his head again. His hearing must still be affected.

“What are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Did you get stranded, too?” Nick asked. Except for the fire, he would have thought the cabin abandoned. There was certainly no sign of skis or any vehicle outside that he could see from the cabin's small windows. Perhaps this trio had broken down up the road. Then a belated, appalling thought occurred to him. “Or do you actually live here?”

“No. Like you, the weather drove us indoors and this was the nearest shelter,” Zee said at last, her soft, slightly accented voice sounding like a lullabye. Not everything she said made sense, but he still liked listening to her.

“Oh. I see.” Nick looked around the room and decided that first appearances hadn't deceived him. The place wasn't really lived in; it had just been swept clean and made homey by the small fire in the hearth and the smell of some exotic tea brewing in an old, dented pan. “Where were you headed?”

Zee hesitated, and Nick realized that he was asking some very personal questions. It wouldn't be at all surprising if she refused to answer. Who was he except some stranger? He might even be a rapist or stalker—even a serial killer. He was lucky that she had even opened the door to him.

“Perhaps you were going to see family for Christmas?” Nick suggested, trying not to appear oafish and overly inquisitive—and above all, he tried to appear non-threatening. The last thing he wanted was to scare Zee or the children. “I'm headed home for the holidays myself. I have a sister in California.”

One of the children came out from behind the angel's full skirt. It was a little girl who looked about four. She stared up at him.

“Christmas? Like at the mall? We went to see, but we had to leave early.” The child's accent was much more pronounced than Zee's. The little boy joined his sister. He was perhaps five. The children's twin black stares under their thatches of pale blond hair were disconcerting.

“They don't know very much about Christmas,” Zee explained. “They have not been out in the world a great deal. And we do not celebrate Christmas at home. I had thought that maybe this year we could, but . . .” Zee trailed off and gave a helpless shrug. She smiled down at the children. “
Next
year we'll have Christmas.”

“Where are you from?” Nick asked, trying to imagine anyplace that didn't at least talk of Christmas.

“We are . . .” She hunted for a word, then said carefully, with watchful eyes, “lutin. We most recently lived near Reno.”

“I'm sorry. My ears are still ringing. Did you say you were Lithuanian?”

Lithuanian? The idea amused Zee.

“No, lutin.” She gave the name of her hive in the goblin tongue, and as the man named Nick failed to react to her pronouncement, she began to relax. She added, mostly to herself, “It is true then. Hu— most people here do not know of us by this name.”

“Never heard of it. I suppose it just proves that Americans are terrible with geography,” Nick admitted. Then, apparently unable to stop himself: “Are you perhaps one of the Middle European gypsy clans?”

“Our ancestors were European,” Zee agreed. “But come and sit down while we talk. I think that revealing lightning has affected you. It came very close. Most people would be . . . more affected.”

She was glad to have an excuse to touch his arm again.

“Revealing lightning?” he asked.

“We're running away,” Hansel said suddenly, distracting Nick from his awkward question. “Luz doesn't like us. He says we look like dirty huma—”

“Hush!” Zee said, and then added a warning to the children in their native tongue. She looked nervously at Nick, wondering if he had caught the boy's slip.

She didn't know how he could not know about lutins, but if he didn't, she didn't want to be the one to tell him. Their two races rarely got along. He might look at her with disgust if he knew, or even leave in spite of the storm. And for some reason, she didn't want that to happen.

This time Nick could at least make out for himself the fact that Zee wasn't speaking English. It was a funny language she spoke, not one he was familiar with, and it involved a lot of sibilants.

“Are you running away?” he asked gently, his tact apparently still knocked out of him by the lightning. “Has someone threatened you? Do you need help?”

Zee turned her dark eyes upon him.

“Perhaps we are running. In a sense. Only, we are running
to
something. Our mother's new . . .” Again, Zee hunted for a word. “Our mother's husband does not like us because we look too . . . too much like our father. And after that incident at the mall, I thought it best to take the children away with me immediately. My home didn't seem safe anymore.”

“The mall?' Nick asked. But his mind was busy thinking of other things. This family had a distinctive appearance. Their skin was a dark olive color, but their hair was the softest blond. The contrast was stunning and—Nick thought—extremely beautiful. He couldn't imagine anyone wanting to send these children away because of their appearance, or for any other reason. They were the most charming creatures he'd ever seen.

“There was a suspicious person at the mall. I thought he was . . . interested . . . in the children. I took them away. But since he seemed to know me, I thought he might have followed us.”

Nick nodded absently.

“Your mother's new husband must be an idiot,” he said. Then, realizing that he'd spoken aloud, Nick flushed and added hastily, “Well, don't worry about it. I have some nice things from the mall in the car. No reason we can't have a pleasant Christmas Eve right here.”

“But what's Christmas?” the little girl asked again. “We didn't get to see it in town because of the bad man. Does it taste good?” she asked hopefully. “I'm so hungry.”

Slightly disconcerted, Nick said, “I'll try to explain about Christmas after I get some things out of the car. Can I have my coat back, please?”

Zee turned and looked out the small window.

“The hail stopped. I think it's safe now. I'll help you, but we should go quickly.”

“There's no need for you to get cold, too,” Nick assured her. “It'll just take me a couple of trips to unload things.”

“I won't be cold,” Zee answered, picking up a cape made of some sort of supple green leather stitched together out of many pelts. She said something to the children, who both giggled and also went to put on similar, though smaller, cloaks. With their hoods pulled down, the three looked a bit like a family of Tyrolean dwarves.

Nick opened his mouth to protest the children being brought out into the storm, but with an effort managed to squelch his words of warning. It was an occupational hazard, looking out for the world, but it made him sound like an officious busybody. It wasn't his place to decide what was best for these kids. He rather wished it was, though. Maybe it was simply professional concern, but he felt strangely protective of this small band of gypsies who'd crossed his path.

The voice in Nick's head remained blessedly silent, but catching its reflection in the window saw that the ghost was watching and was pleased with what had happened. This made Nick wary, but his caution was fading fast. He couldn't see any danger here.

As was to be expected with his luck that evening, Nick slipped on the icy path and fell into a bank of snow peppered with lumps of hail. The children assumed it was a game and promptly leapt on him with joyful cries. Nick grunted as they landed on him, grateful both that they landed above his belt and that he was lying upon a surface that had some give. The kids felt more like sandbags than any children he had ever encountered; they were solid through and through.

Zee scolded and pulled them off, but it looked to Nick like her eyes were dancing at the sight of him in the snow. Struggling for a little dignity, Nick rolled to his feet and tried to brush himself off. Zee and the children helped, the children with a bit too much enthusiasm. They would probably be excellent with a piñata.

Nick fetched his duffel bag and the eggnog supplies. He almost grabbed the basket on the backseat but had a sudden inspiration. The children couldn't stay awake much longer. Maybe after they went to bed, he would do a small Santa thing and put out some presents for them. Hansel was probably a little too young for a radio-controlled car, and it was possible that Gretel wouldn't be able to dress that miniature teddy without some help, but still! It would mean gifts for them on Christmas morning. Probably he could find some socks—or even use his own—and put some of that white chocolate and apricots in them.

Suddenly feeling a bit enthused about being stranded on Christmas Eve, Nick slammed the trunk of the car and started cautiously for the cabin.

“Nick, you take the children inside,” Zee said. “I will go gather more firewood.”

“Wait, I'll help,” he said.

“No.” Zee's voice was sharp and a little worried. “I know where the wood is, but it is some distance away. It would be hard for the children to keep up, and I do not want them to be alone.”

Nick stopped just outside the cabin door and turned to look at Zee over his box of supplies. He wanted to argue with her, but a swift dart of her eyes at the children and then at the dark forest convinced him this wasn't the moment. She didn't want the children in the woods, and she didn't want them left alone: He could understand that. No responsible adult would leave children alone near an open fire. But he really didn't like the idea of Zee going into the forest on her own when clearly there was something out there that worried her. Especially as she didn't seem to have a flashlight or a weapon.

Then a reasonable explanation occurred to him. It wasn't hunting season, but that didn't stop deer poachers from hunting. Maybe there was a particular messy deer carcass nearby that she didn't want the kids to see.

“I could go instead,” he suggested gently. “Just tell me where.”

“I know where the wood is,” she said again, shaking her head. The firelight that shone through the window made her tresses gleam. “You wouldn't find it in the dark.”

“At least wait while I get a flashlight from the car.”

“It is all right, the sky has cleared.” She gestured upward with an open palm. And, oddly enough, she was correct. The storm had departed with disconcerting swiftness. The sky was bright with stars. “The moon is brilliant enough to light the way.”

“All right,” Nick finally agreed, as he realized that his feet were going numb and his entire body was shivering from the damp. “But hurry back. If you aren't here in ten minutes, I'm coming looking for you.”

“I won't be that long,” Zee promised, touching his hand and giving him a grateful smile.

Though he was cold, Nick watched her until she disappeared into the forest. She looked like a sprite disappearing into an enchanted wood, and for one wild moment he wondered if she were leaving him with the children and never coming back.

“Is
that
Christmas?” Gretel asked, sniffing at the cooler in his arms. “It smells good.”

Nick blinked back his weird fantasy and looked down.

“It's a bit of Christmas,” he said. “Let's get inside. After I change, I'll show you how to make eggnog—
virgin
eggnog,” he added hastily.

 

Zee returned with her heavy load of wood a short time later; she'd had to go farther than expected to find enough to keep them warm until morning. While she was glad to see that the children were enjoying themselves with their unexpected guest, she was rather surprised to step inside and find them whirling like dervishes, quite literally bouncing off the walls. They had been subdued and quiet since their encounter with that—that
thing
—at the mall who was pretending to be Santa Claus.

Nick turned to her as she came through the door, rushing over to help her with the wood. He had managed to change his shirt, but his pants were still wet and he looked a little harried.

“Their eggnog wasn't spiked—I swear,” he said. “I don't know why they're acting this way.”

“Don't worry. It isn't alcohol that does it,” Zee said.

“Then what? The sugar?”

Zee walked over to the table and sniffed at one of the mugs. “No, it is what you call . . . nutmeg.”

“Nutmeg?” he repeated.

“Nutmeg.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I've never heard of this type of allergic reaction before,” he said, watching the children literally bumping off the walls and furniture, and giggling ferociously when they collided with one another. “Will the hyperactivity get worse?”

Zee looked at the half-empty cups.

“Not much. And they will sleep well after.”

“Nicholas Anthony!” Gretel called from under the rickety table that filled the middle of the room. “Can we have some more Christmas?”

“Not right now,” Nick answered, laying the wood a safe distance from the fireplace. “And it's called eggnog. Why don't you come out from under there and I'll tell you some things about Christmas?”

“Okay.” Gretel called something to her brother in their native tongue, and then both children giggled. But they obediently came to join Nick by the fireplace, though Hansel couldn't resist doing one more somersault on the way.

“What else is Christmas?” Hansel asked, throwing himself on the blanket with an audible thump.

Zee could see that sitting on the blanket in his wet pants was uncomfortable for Nick, but he did it anyway, patting the rough wool coverlet encouragingly until Gretel joined him and her brother.

“Well, Christmas is the season of love.”