Jason wound the car down the streets of Rakima toward the center of the city. He passed the Aleem Center, its pristine brick façade gilded by late afternoon sunlight. Seeing it still sent a shiver through Jason. Although he had gotten off easy compared to Roderick and Tasha...
Connie sat beside him, oblivious to the shadows of the past. Good. He never wanted her to experience the horrors he had—as much as he wanted her at his side, he didn't want her to risk getting into danger of the kind he'd experienced. She had no idea of the pain he'd gone through—and he never wanted her to know. He needed her to stay ignorant of that sort of agony. He'd protect her with his life—and more than that. He'd experience any pain that existed in order to keep her from it.
Stefan, Luna's brother, had also asked to come along, and the two sat in the back, both looking out the window.
"Take the next left," said Stefan, leaning forward.
Jason nodded and turned the car down a narrow cobblestone street lined with old brick buildings. They had elegant moldings on the window sills and doorways, but some were crumbling, and some had broken windows
A group of little children ran in front of the car and Jason had to pull the car to a stop so they could get by.
"Just a couple blocks more," said Stefan, swiping black curls back from his eyes.
Jason pulled up in front of one of the apartment buildings, identical to the others except for some graffiti scrawled across the front. It was in Muldavian, so Jason couldn't read it, but it was in garish green and had a skull emblazoned beside it. A young woman was trying to clean it off with soapy water, but so far only blurring it slightly.
"I'll go in first," said Stefan. "Aunt Jael doesn't know you. She's been known to shoot at people she thinks are trespassers. Especially after…the incident."
He slid out of the car. Jason followed. He quickly went to the other side of the car and took Connie's hand as soon as she climbed out. "You okay?" he asked. "This isn't the best neighborhood. I can take you back."
"No—we're here already. Besides, Stefan knows them. It should be okay." She looked up at the building rather apprehensively, but with a determined set to her jaw.
"Anything seems off, we're getting out of here." His pistol weighed heavily in his pocket. If anything threatened her, he'd use it without hesitation. And he'd defend the prince and Stefan if need be, too.
But she was right—this was Roma territory. They were among friends. Just because they were poor and there was graffiti didn't mean that it was crime-ridden….
He walked up the stairway following Stefan, James and Connie at his side. James didn't look frightened—more like excited. Roderick had implied he'd never let his son go out without a bodyguard—if it were with anyone other than Jason. Jason didn't think he deserved such trust, but he'd try to be worthy of it.
A couple old men stood at the base of the stairway, smoking. Jason nodded at them; they stared at him, their eyes flickering from him to his companions. Then they gave him a wary nod in return.
Stefan led the way up the stairs, climbing with determination and grim energy. In trying to match Stefan's ruthless pace, Jason's breath came in hard gasps as they reached the twelfth floor.
"Wait—" said Jason, stopping for Connie's sake, if nothing else. But his breathlessness betrayed him as not the man he used to be.
"It's just the next floor up," said Stefan, looking at him a bit curiously, as if mystified why the stairs would be any kind of obstacle.
"Okay." He looked at Connie apologetically. She smiled, a little disheveled and out of breath herself. A strand of hair draped fetchingly across her cheek, accentuating its delicate shape….
They climbed to the next floor, where a fluorescent light flickered over a worn, olive-green carpet. Then they walked down a hallway that smelled as if smoke had baked into the ancient, peeling green wallpaper. Paneled wood doors with peeling gold numbers: 1415….1416….
"Here it is," said Stefan, and knocked below the number 1417.
No answer. Not a sound except muffled shouts from a few doors down.
"Jae, it's me, Stefan. Your nephew."
The door swung open, creaking on its hinges. A large woman appeared in a dimly lit room. "Why didn't you say so? Oh—who are these—" She gasped. "The prince! Your highness!" She plunged to her knees, bowing.
"Ma'am—" said the prince. "Please don't bow to me."
"It's probably best if we don't make a scene," said Jason. It wouldn't do to draw much attention to James. "May we come inside?"
"Y-yes, of course," said Jae, hefting herself to her feet. James leaped forward and grasped her arm, helping her inside. Stefan shut the door swiftly and silently
Inside, the TV chattered quietly, glowing into a living room with old but comfortable furniture. A sizzling sound came from the kitchen, and the smell of cooking meat and spices wafted into the living room. A young woman called, "Everything okay, Mama?"
"Yes— better than okay! Come see who it is!"
A silhouette appeared in the doorway, a slender young woman in a knee-length floral dress, her dark hair pinned back. Her mouth dropped open. "Your Highness!" She lowered herself to her knees, but the prince rushed over and helped her to her feet.
"He doesn't want anyone to bow to him," explained Jae.
"We're family," said James. "We've never met, but you're related to Stefan, and he's like my brother, so…."
"Yeah, we're the city branch, always been kinda removed from the rest of you, but that doesn't mean we don't think of you as family. We been independent, not wanting to take advantage of our relationship and all. Apologies if we seemed a bit standoffish."
"No—that's okay. But you wouldn't be taking advantage."
"Ah, well, there's a lot of us. And we're a proud people. Don't want no handouts. We make our own way; that's the way we want it. We do fine, don't we, Lia?" She looked at her daughter.
Lia nodded.
"But that doesn't mean we won't be hospitable when you visit. Please—have a seat." She gestured to the couch and chairs.
Jason sat in the couch, and Connie settled in beside him. James sat down next to Jason, while Stefan sat down in one of the chairs.
"Would you like anything? I've got tea—and we were just about to sit down to supper. Got enough for all, if you like.
Stefan's eyes lit up. "We'll stay." He looked at Jason. "If that's all right with you."
"Sure." Jason felt more at ease now; there was no danger here, and he hadn't sensed any on his journey up. The shouts behind closed doors were a little disturbing, but he doubted they were a threat.
"I'll just go get the tea started." Jae bustled into the kitchen, and there were sounds of cupboards opening, clanks of china.
"Stefan," said Lia, "I was so sorry to hear about Luna." She tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "If there's anything I can do…."
"That's kind of why we're here," said Stefan. "That—and what happened two weeks ago…."
"It's terrible," said Lia. "So many being taken—those girls, our cousins—and now Luna…. I can't bear to think…." Her voice strayed and she wiped her face. Light from the kitchen spilled onto her cheek, and for the first time Jason caught a jagged scar across her cheekbone. His stomach flipped over.
"Are you safe?" asked the prince. "I mean—you and your mom? Has anyone…."
"Mama's got her gun, and she makes me carry one when I go outside. I don't like guns—they creep me out—but I… don't want to risk…anything." She dropped her eyes, staring at the floor for a moment. "Excuse me. I better get back to the stew before it burns." She turned and headed into the kitchen. Her mother came back in and sat down in the orange chair opposite the couch.
"I can't say I'm sorry enough about your sister, Stefan," said Jael. "If there's anything I can do to help…."
"Just keep an eye out. Like you did the other night."
Jason leaned forward. "Can you tell me more about it? About what you saw?"
"I was out visiting a friend and I took a shortcut back through the alley a few blocks away. It was dark—I wanted to get home. Didn't want any trouble, but I had my gun, just in case. Up ahead, I saw a van parked in the alley. Two men came up carrying a bundle. An old carpet, I thought, or some laundry. Then the bundle started to move. A muffled scream. I ran toward the men, whipping my gun out, but they shoved the girl in the back before I could get there, and the car squealed off.
"Now, I only got a glimpse, but I could swear I saw a bunch of girls inside. Our girls. Chained up to the inside of the van, their eyes so scared. I tried to get an aim on the tires, but it was too late." She shook her head, her face full of regret and anguish.
"I'm sorry," said Jason, not knowing what else to say, his heart aching for the stolen girls.
"Next day I heard an outcry all along our street—girls taken, in the night." She lifted her arm. "I wish I'd been able to stop them. I should've taken a shot—even if I wasn't sure I'd get it. Not like it wasn't night, not like I would hit anything not worth hitting." Anger flashed through her eyes.
"Could you tell anything about the suspects?"
"They were dressed in black, like shadows. Their van was—not black, but a dark gray. I can't say anything for sure, but I'd bet they're professionals. Taking girls for—" She shook her head. "I pray for them every day with all my heart. If nothing else, that God takes them before…." She closed her eyes. A tear streaked down her cheek.
Sorrow cut Jason's heart. And then a flash of anger. How dare these men kidnap and hurt little girls—all for sick pleasure? Not only that—but exploiting twisted desires for their own personal gain. Exploiting the pain of these innocent little girls. And of Ben, the boy he was trying to find.
It might already be too late.
"Could you tell me anything else about them? Height, hair color—?"
"Well, I'm glad I can say this, 'cause it's not always true—to our shame—but they weren't some of us. They were outsiders. As far as I could tell, Muldavians—about six feet, slim, medium brown hair, probably—though I couldn't tell for sure since it was dark. Muscular—more than normal. I could tell because their clothes were close-fitting."
Jason nodded. That fit—with what he was pursuing. Not just small-timers, but professionals who did this like a business. Treating children like commodities. That was what Yavesh was. Unfortunately, there wasn't much to go on. "Did they have any distinguishing marks of any kind?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Come to think of it, one of them had a bandage on his hand. His left—no my left. His right. Could've been blood on it…not sure. I think it was the little girl they just caught that did it. She was a fighter." Her eyes snapped, then took on a faraway look, and she was silent for a moment. Then she said, "That's about all I can say. It was so fast. Oh—there's one more thing. Two things, really. The license plate. I gave it to the police—they didn't do anything. I just got part of it but…. It's Y-J-K 7 or Y-I-K-2. Something like that. And there was a scape along the back of the van. Like it got hit. Cops told me they ran the info through, didn't find anything, but… It's what I know." She shrugged. "Not sure if they were telling the truth, to be honest. The king tells them to be good to us, but they don't always…. Can't really blame them. It's how it's always been, for us. The king is the exception—not the rule. And he can't force everyone to treat us fair.
"They should do it anyway!" said James. "We've got rules—cops can't just—dismiss you like that. I'll tell my father."
She looked at James. "Well—good thing you're here then. Maybe we can get things done now."
"We were at the police station earlier today," said Jason. "I'll run those plates again, look for any accident reports with a gray van."
Jae pressed her hand to her heart. "That would be wonderful. Thank you. I'm sorry—didn't get your name."
"I'm Jason. This is Connie, my wife."
"Hi," said Connie.
""It's great to meet you both. You are American?"
Jason nodded.
She squinted, leaning forward. "Come to think of it, you bear a passing resemblance to the king. You aren't the American, are you?"
"The American?"
"The one who saved Roderick."
It's actually my father who did more saving...He wished he could deny it, but he guessed he was, in general, what she was talking about. "I suppose I am."
"Boy—this is a night. If I were a bit more superstitious, I'd say it was a sign. That things were turning around." She twisted in her chair. "Hey—Lia. We've got another celebrity with us."
"Just a minute, Ma. I'm getting the tea."
"Oh—let me help you with that." Jae hefted herself to her feet and hurried into the kitchen.
Connie reached for Jason's hand and he clasped her hand in his. It was warm and delicate and just her touch sent a thrill through him. "You didn't know you were marrying a celebrity, did you?" he spoke softly.
"No, but I knew there was something special about you." She kissed his cheek.
Lia and Jae came back, each carrying cups of tea. They set them down on the lampstand and the coffee table.
Connie picked up the one closest to her. It was decorated with flowers, filigreed with gold. She turned it in her hands, careful not to upset the tea. "This is beautiful!"
Jae beamed. "They've been handed down for—well, since my grandma. When we first settled here at the turn of the century."
"Wow. I'll try to be careful." She looked at the cup a bit apprehensively. Steam roiled off the cup. She set it down slowly.
Next, their hosts brought out steaming bowls of stew that smelled heavenly. Jason had just had a bite to eat at the police station and realized he was starving. There was also a chunk of bread and orange slices.
Jae asked James to lead them in the blessing, and James complied, a bit nervously but with the strong clear voice of a future king. It made Jason a little wistful to think that James would most likely never rise to the throne. Democracy was better—though not in practice always better than a benevolent monarch (which were few and far between).
Jason tasted some of the stew. It had a hearty flavor, spices he couldn't quite define, but harmonized perfectly together. "This is amazing," he said.
"Thank you," said Lia.
"You made this?"
She nodded, looking a little abashed at the praise.
"She's a better cook than me," said Jae.
"I really like cooking. I'm so glad you like it."
"You're the best cook there is," said Stefan. "You make food like—like symphonies." He swiftly swept his fingers together in an emphatic motion. "It's too bad that—" He stopped, his face froze. Then he looked down, chewing absently, like he'd said something wrong.
Lia reached out toward him. "It's okay, Stefan. It's… been two years. You don't have to walk on eggshells around me."
Stefan clenched his fist. "If I ever catch the gadje that did that to you—" He gestured toward her face. "It makes me want to go down there right now and—" He shook with anger.
"I wanted revenge too. But… I don't want it anymore. All there is for me is to…. Do the thing that's not quite as hard as forgiveness. Step outside—try again." She smiled sadly, her eyes shining.
"Did someone—hurt you?" asked James.
Lia nodded, and gently touched her right cheek, near the scar, as if it were a foreign thing. "I was hired—to be a cook, two years ago. My first day. I was so excited…. And so happy that it all went well. Everyone seemed to like my food." She stopped, her eyes haunted. "When I went out the back door after work, before I could get on my bike, three men attacked me. said they didn't want Gypsies poisoning their food. They shoved me up against a wall and—" She closed her eyes, a furrow of pain cutting through her brow. "A bright flash of fire. Here." She pressed her palm softly to her cheek. "And here." She cradled her elbow. Then touched her side. Her knee. "Cut me. Then they left me. I thank God for that. I was lying there, bleeding in the street…. A kind woman picked me up, took me to the hospital…. It's been a long road. I didn't go outside for a year after the attack. I still…. Well, it's hard. I didn't even cook. But I've helped Mama by being here. And…. someday—I'll be back. Give my gift to the world." She smiled, her eyes shining. "I just need to give myself a push…. It's a harsh world out there. But there are good things in it too. Theymake it worth it."
""That's true," said Jason. He glanced at Connie, who gave him a smile through her tears. "I've felt pain, too—and I know what a struggle forgiveness is. And… the long road home." He brushed his face, near his own scar, and held out his hand so the light from the kitchen spilled onto it, highlighting the mangled scar in the center of his palm. To let her know she was not alone.
She looked at him, understanding in her eyes, at his unspoken gesture of empathy. Then he drew his hand back and cradled it, as if it were a broken thing—which it was. Never quite the same again after—he shuddered—the nail had driven its way through his flesh…. He'd forgiven, but some scars were so deep they became a part of you. Changed you. For better, for worse—or both.
They finished their meal and headed out the door. Jason thanked them profusely for the wonderful meal, all the more so because of the pain that Lia had overcome to give it to them.
They were halfway down the hall when Lia ran out of the door, the limp in her stride evident for the first time.
"Wait!"
Jason stopped, his hand in Connie's. "Is everything okay?"
She nodded. "I just have something else to tell you. I volunteer at a women's shelter a few times a month. A couple of them…were trafficked. They might have some information about Yavesh."
"They could give us the lead we need."
"It might be hard getting the info out of them. They're scared—they don't want to drag up the horrors of their past. But if it helps keep others from the same fate—I hope they have the courage." She paused. "I know firsthand what courage it takes to—face what you're most afraid of. So do you, I think."
"I've tried…. It's not easy."
"But it's important—to become your true self. To beat away the dark. I didn't come to that on my own—therapy helped. After holing myself up for so long—then forcing myself to step out—I discovered that… to fully recover, you have to share your gift with the world. No matter how scared it makes you. I know it—all I have to do is do it." She smiled ruefully.
Jason touched her arm gently. "You're doing great."
Her smile spread. "Thank you." She pressed a piece of paper into his hand. "Here's the shelter's number."
"Thanks."
"I hope you find them."
"I will. If it's the last thing I do." Jason was surprised at his vehemence, but he meant it. A promise. How could he do anything else? Faced with this kind-hearted, courageous girl—and all the pain that was spreading with the disease of Yavesh.
But what that promise entailed, he wasn't entirely sure….
It was growing dark, but before leaving the city, he gave the license numbers to the police, and made sure they followed up on it. Then, he drove back to the palace.