Page 5

“Not even a little bit,” I said. Old people deserved respect. Old and demented grigoris deserved fear. No wonder Madame had been such a successful headmistress, if she could read students’ thoughts.

It took me a good five minutes to calm down.

I had had other terrible times—the day everyone in my gun crew had been killed but me, the day the train I was on had been derailed and attacked—but I hadn’t realized that day in Mexico had been the worst.

I knew it now.

As my breathing evened out, my head came back completely to this day, this garden. Soon after that, I was able to smile, or at least look pleasant. I think.

We resumed our stroll so more of Felicia’s prospective suitors could take a good look. And there were a few she wanted to have a gander at herself. She’d pored over the pictures and biographies, like any girl would. Both the photographs and the life stories were probably over-flattering.

A dark-haired young man was bold enough to approach us directly. “Do I have the honor of addressing Senorita Dominguez?” He bowed gracefully. He wasn’t tall, he wasn’t broad, but he was young and easy on the eyes. From his accent and clothes, he was from somewhere in Latin America.

Felicia had definitely noticed the easy-on-the-eyes part. “You do,” she said. I gave her marks for sounding calm.

“I am your very distant kinsman, Mateo Medina Dominguez.”

Felicia’s smile vanished as quick as a wink, and her hands flew up.

I’d already unlatched my handbag. My hand had plunged in to grip my Colt. Eli and Felix were at the ready, too.

“I beg your pardon. I do not know what I have said that was offensive.” Mateo, who appeared to be no fool, stood absolutely still.

“I didn’t know I had more family,” Felicia said. I was proud of how matter-of-fact she seemed. “What is our connection?”

“My great-grandmother was half sister to your great-grandfather. They shared a father but had different mothers.”

So this Mateo was only a second cousin, right? I’d never had to keep track of extended family connections. My own family was so small.

“Why the long name?” Felix muttered in my ear.

“Mexican last names start with the father’s, then add the mother’s,” I whispered back. “In Mexico, my sister’s Felicia Karkarova Dominguez. Mateo’s dad is a Medina.”

“Where does your family live?” Felicia sounded relaxed, which I thought was premature.

“We moved north in the last thirty years. The Medinas are now centered in Baja Mexico.”

“I’ve heard it’s very beautiful,” Felicia said.

Mateo beamed. His body lost its tension. “We think so. We live on the beach. We have a row of houses all belonging to family or family connections. Quite safe.”

“You live with your parents?”

“That’s our custom until we marry.” And his smile this time was brilliant.

Felicia decided Mateo was at least satisfactory. “Mateo, this is my brother-in-law, Prince Savarov.” She indicated my husband. “And my sister, his wife, Lizbeth Savarova. This is my tutor, Felix Drozhdov.”

Mateo bowed to each of us in turn. “May I walk with you?” he asked Felicia. “I would not want to hold you from your exercise.”

“Of course,” Felicia said. She took a little step forward. So we all did. It was like a little train. Eli was our cattle guard. Felicia was our engine. Right now, Felix and I were the caboose.

Felicia and Mateo resorted to Spanish before too long.

I was able to follow their conversation, more or less.

I kept my ears open so I’d know if their back-and-forth hit on some unsuitable topic.

Felix, who spoke English and Russian, glanced at me uneasily from time to time. I nodded, to tell him all was well.

The kids’ exchange was light as air and almost as empty: the weather, the upcoming social events of the week, Mateo’s journey to San Diego with his uncle. “I am eighteen,” Mateo said.

“I believe I am sixteen now.” Felicia did not explain. Mateo’s only response was a widening of the eyes.

After a moment, Mateo said, “I can tell my mother’s name is… distressing to you. It’s true you have severed connections with your mother’s family?”

Felicia laughed. I smothered a smile.

Mateo was very interested in this reaction.

“I severed them permanently,” Felicia said. “Aunt Isabella is the only one left, because she helped me when I needed it, as much as she could. The others did not. I don’t like it when people try to kidnap me and force me into a marriage.”

“Understandable,” Mateo said. “Especially to the Ruiz heir.”

I gave him credit for that, too.

Glancing from side to side, I observed other young men drawing near, after seeing Mateo received in a friendly way.

They began to walk parallel to us at a polite distance, waiting for their turn to charm Felicia.

Mateo was aware, of course. Though the young man smiled in an impish way, he had the courtesy to excuse himself with the flowery wish that we would be able to meet him and his uncle during this week for lunch, perhaps?

Felicia glanced at me with a question on her face.

“If you will tell me his name and your hotel, I will send a note to let you know if we can accept,” I told him.

Mateo passed me a card with the information already on it, while he told with his eyes that I was lovely, though perhaps not quite as lovely as my sister (quite true).

Mateo was the first rock in an avalanche of suitors.

Felicia met a young man from Panama, two cousins from Hungary who were in their twenties, a boy her own age from Kiev, an older suitor from Spain who had to be at least thirty, and a very strange man from Romania who made my skin crawl (Felicia’s too, I could tell).

Throughout all this socializing and vigilance, we had the chance to look at many beautiful scenes in the garden.

The streams, in particular, were very restful.

I come from a place of little water, and the water we have isn’t pretty.

The different colors and shapes of the trees, the careful arrangement of the rocks and plants…

I could have looked forever. I promised myself I’d come back when I wasn’t having to watch out for Felicia.

Just when we had agreed to start for the car, a very fair young man, about eighteen, approached sort of shyly.

He was wearing a beautiful suit. His only companion, a man of perhaps twenty-five, was more modestly dressed.

The younger man stepped into Felicia’s path, brought his heels together, and bowed.

“I beg your pardon, beautiful ladies, gentlemen. Have I the honor of addressing Fraulein Karkarova-Dominguez?”

Yet another variation on my sister’s name.

“You do.” Felicia inclined her head just as formally.

“I am Ahren Hirsch, son of Mordecai and Rachel. I am from Germany, but I am not one of the followers of the new leader,” the boy said. “I am here without my family because they are working to move our assets out of the country and into a place we might be safe during the upcoming war.”

I didn’t think Felicia had been keeping up with the news out of Europe. I’d only seen the headlines, hadn’t read the stories. I figured I had enough trouble right here.

“I see,” Felicia said, with concern. Maybe I’d been wrong.

Felicia took a deep breath and kept her eyes directly on the boy. “Who is your companion?”

“I beg your pardon,” the younger man said again. “This is my cousin, Hans Goldschmidt.”

Felicia looked directly at Hans Goldschmidt and addressed him. “Mr. Goldschmidt, you live here in San Diego?”

There was some significance in the way Felicia spoke, the way she was standing.

I looked hard at the man. He was dressed plainly in a gray suit, white shirt, and modest tie.

His hair and mustache were a medium brown, but his eyes were mahogany, the only striking thing about him.

Average height, average weight, average build.

Hans said, “I have lived in this country for the past few years. My family is much reduced. Recently.” He lowered his eyes, which had met my sister’s.

Felicia stared at him. Hans Goldschmidt’s eyes stared at his toes. No one else said anything. Hans looked up. His eyes met Felicia’s. He looked like a starving man eyeing a juicy steak.

“Mr. Hirsch, Mr. Goldschmidt, you are sure a war will come?” I said. Somebody had to say something. “I’m Lizbeth Savarov, Felicia’s sister.”

“Please call me Ahren. Yes, I am sure war is coming,” Ahren said.

There was anger in his voice, even though his expression didn’t change.

“Already, things are difficult for any Jew, even Jews who are not devout. And my parents believe we will not be the end of the killing. People besides Jews will be swept up in this net. Anyone Hitler deems not desirable. My parents are moving our family out of Germany, where we have lived for two hundred years, as we speak.”

“And you, Mr. Goldschmidt?”

“It is too late for my parents,” he said simply.

We were all silent for a moment.

“We are sorry to hear this,” my husband said. “I hope we will see you at all the festivities of the week. Do you foresee returning to Europe?”

“I will meet my parents, wherever they are.” I gave Ahren high marks for sounding resolute about this. Hans did not say anything.

“How long will you be in San Diego?” Eli said.

“For this week, unless we hear from my parents sooner than I expect. I will go to them when I get a telegram. After all, I am young enough to have another ball season after this one. Surely, within a few days, I will receive a telegraph from my father. If we don’t hear anything…

” Ahren shrugged, and his eyes closed for just a moment. “We hope to hear,” he said simply.

Felicia looked again at Cousin Hans. “And you, Mr. Goldschmidt? Will you remain here?”

Eli and I exchanged a look. Felicia’s tone was odd. What the hell was going on?

Since we were all distracted, that was when the attack came.

Felix was standing right by my sister. He made a sound I’d never heard before, something between a growl and a gasp of pain. There was an arrow in his arm. Even in the shock of the moment, I knew it was not like any arrow I’d ever seen.

Magic, I’d expected. Guns, I was always ready for.

Never prepared for an archery attack in San Diego.

I shoved my sister to the ground and stood over her, my gun out and ready, my back to Eli’s, who had his hands up. Felix crouched awkwardly across Felicia’s back.

“Let me up!” Felicia yelled.

“No! We talked about this.” This week, my sister was my cargo, the item I was hired to protect. I was a gunnie. This was my profession.

To my surprise, Ahren and Hans had arrayed themselves around Felicia as well. High marks to them.

Everyone else within sight had scattered.

Just when I wondered if the one arrow was all we would get, another passed between Eli and me and pulled his hat off as it went by.

“Above us,” Eli said calmly.

I’d realized this already. We were at the bottom of one of the sculpted hillsides. There were boulders up there. Five archers could be aiming at us. We wouldn’t know until we got hit.

An arrow hit the ground right by my foot. “Not hit,” I called.

The next arrow bounced off something. And the next.

What the hell?

“Who is doing this? Giving us a shield?” I glanced down at Felicia to see if it was her. She shook her head violently and tried to heave Felix off her. “Don’t even think about getting up,” I said, and my tone made it clear I meant business.

There were no more arrows for two minutes.

“It’s over,” Felix said. He had blood running down his arm. He held it to the side so it would drip on the ground rather than Felicia. He rose to stand with some difficulty.

“Give it a little more time,” I said. I’d been caught once. Not again.

We did.

After five long minutes with no movement or action from the hillside above us, we agreed we could stand down.