“The magic that washes down, is it potent?”
“Very.”
“Like a small flare?”
“Yes.” Kamen nodded several times. “Just like that.”
I looked at Evdokia. “Can this magic be harnessed by a coven and focused on one person?”
“Possibly,” Evdokia said.
Grigorii snorted. “That much magic, your witches would break. And your focus would overload. You’d need an anchor for it, an object, to take the brunt of it, then draw power from it.”
The duck-bunny-kitten stopped its rolling and hissed at Grigorii.
“Was she asking you?” Evdokia raised her chin.
“I’m just saying. There is a proper way to do things.”
“Mind your own business.”
Vasiliy gazed at me. “Why do you need the power?”
“Blood magic.”
The table went so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“What for?” Vasiliy asked softly.
“To purge Lyc-V from a little girl.”
Grigorii pointed a long finger at me. “That is an unnatural thing.”
“Some would say wolves with wings and wooden staves that bite you are unnatural things,” I said.
“Some would say that sacrificing a man and turning his innards into ants are unnatural also.” If you live in a glass house, don’t fire any shotguns.
“We will do this for you,” Evdokia said. “My coven will do it. I’ll bind them to silence. Nobody will talk about it.”
Aha. “What’s the price?”
“You will sign a writ of kinship. A document that acknowledges your mother and her ancestry. It will be kept sealed, so do not worry. We just want a paper. In case things do not go as expected.”
What was the catch? There had to be a catch in there somewhere.
Grigorii came to life like a shark sensing a drop of blood in the water. “Why? What is so special about her?”
Evdokia slapped the table. “I’ve told you to mind your own business, old goat! This has nothing to do with you. Go kill something and revel in its blood.”
Grigorii’s eyes bulged out of his head. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head!”
Evdokia leaned forward. “Or what?”
“Or I will teach you some manners, woman!”
The tattooed witch behind Evdokia glared in outrage. “Dad! You will not speak to Mother this way!”
“I will speak to her in whatever way I please!”
The witch in the robe heaved a sigh. “Oy. Papa, really, there is no need.”
I backed away from the table in case somebody started throwing things. Andrea backpedaled right behind me. Curran stayed, his chin resting on his hands clenched into a double fist, probably trying to decide if he should get in the middle of this.
“Yes, go right ahead.” Evdokia pointed at Grigorii. “Live up to your reputation. Civil like a rabid badger.”
The duck-bunny hissed and growled. Grigorii’s raven cawed, beating its wings. Grendel lost it and broke down in a cacophony of excited barks.
Vasiliy put his hand over his eyes.
Grigorii slipped into Russian. “Crazy old hag!”
“A hag?” Evdokia rolled up her sleeves. “Let me show you how haggish I can be.”
“Roman!” The tattooed witch pointed at the younger volhv. “Do something! You’re the oldest.”
Roman startled. “They’ve been at this since before we were born. Don’t bring me into this.”
So that was how he knew I would be at Evdokia’s. His mommy told him. Of course. They even looked alike. I should’ve seen it before. Was there anyone in here who wasn’t related?
The tattooed witch turned to Vasiliy. “Uncle?”
Nope. They were all one big happy family.
“You be quiet, child!” Vasiliy snapped. “Adults are talking.”
“Uncle, I’m twenty-six!”
“That’s the problem with bringing children into the magic,” Vasiliy said. “The lot of you get a taste of power and grow up mouthy.”
Grigorii spared a single glance in his brother’s direction. If looks were daggers, that one would’ve sliced straight through the volhv’s heart. “Here it comes. ‘My oldest son . . .’”
“Is a doctor,” Evdokia finished in a singsong voice. “And my daughter is an attorney.”
Vasiliy raised his chin. “Jealousy is bad for you. Poisons the heart.”
“Aha!” Evdokia slapped the table. “How about your youngest, the musician? How is he doing?”
“Yes, what is Vyacheslav doing lately?” Grigorii asked. “Didn’t I see him with a black eye yesterday?
Did he whistle a tree onto himself?”
Oh boy.
Curran opened his mouth. Next to him Jim shook his head. His expression looked suspiciously like fear.
“He is young,” Vasiliy said.
“He is spoiled rotten,” Evdokia barked. “He spends all his time trying to kill my cat. One child is a doctor, the other is an attorney, the third is a serial killer in training.”
Vasiliy stared at her, shocked.
“We’re taking a short recess!” Curran roared and took off. We staged a strategic advance to the entrance of the steak house, right past Barabas, bent over double and making high-pitched strangled noises.
Outside, Curran exhaled and turned to me. “Did you know they were crazy?”
“I didn’t even know they were married.”
“They aren’t,” Roman said next to me. Somehow he’d gotten outside. “They love each other, they just can’t live together. When I was younger, it was always drama: they are together, they are apart, they are seeing other people.” He shrugged. “Mom never could stand all the blood, and Dad has no patience for the witchery. We’re lucky the magic isn’t up. At the last New Year’s they set the house on fire. There was alcohol involved. Did you bring my staff?”
I looked around for the boy wonder. “Derek?”
Derek popped up by my side and thrust a stick with a trash bag on top of it at the volhv. Roman ripped the black plastic off. “What’s with the bag?”
Derek bared his teeth. “It tried to bite me.”