> In the News Today: For the second time in as many days, The Christian Movement for World Peace clashed violently with The Muslim Movement for Better Understanding.
Jason pulled his shorts up and plopped down on the edge of his bed. His “plop” bounced his rolled-up socks into the air and down on to the floor, where they rolled out of reach. Sighing, he stood and reached down to pick them up.
"Your Mom's in a good mood."
Surprise at the unexpected voice almost made him jump clear across the room. He spun and found Stephanie standing in his bedroom doorway.
He stuttered. "H-hi."
"Your Mom’s in the bathroom, and I got tired of waiting for you. Can I come in?"
Jason nodded. How long had she stood in his doorway? He plopped down again, this time holding his socks.
Stephanie prowled around his room, peeking into his closet and even into his open dresser drawer. Instead of sneakers, she wore flip-flops, and her lavender nails sported tiny green polka dots. "You're lucky,” she said. "I got stuck in the smallest bedroom."
"This room has drawbacks."
"Like what?"
"The master bedroom is right across the hall.” He shrugged to indicate the open doorway. "Last night must have been special, or something, ‘cause Mom got kind of loud."
Stephanie chuckled. "I know how it is. Sometimes my parents do it in the living room."
"What?" Jason realized his parents must have done the same. Where would it be safe to sit?
"Maybe that’s why your mom’s so happy this morning?”
Still holding his socks, Jason considered how often his mother began the day in a cheerful mood. They must do it all the time!
Stephanie stopped her examination and glanced at Jason. “You didn’t text me this morning.” Her glance wasn’t exactly an accusation, but it was close.
That brought him back to reality. He’d intended to send a text after breakfast, but between the failure of his usual trick to fall asleep, and then later with his parents carrying on, he’d overslept. “I couldn’t fall asleep.”
“Next time send me a text. If my father isn’t home, I’ll stay up and keep you company.”
“‘Kay. Hey, you know what else I forgot? I forgot to say how nice you look.” He must have said the right thing because Stephanie’s smile lit the room.
Nodding towards his closet, she asked, "Are you going to wear a shirt today?"
"Um yeah." He already had his favorite Slayer T-shirt laid out.
Nodding, she reached into his closet and removed a short-sleeved button-down shirt. "Here, wear this."
"But..." he considered the situation, then stood and donned the shirt.
"And don't wear those ratty old tennis shoes." Stephanie wasn’t finished with her Jason makeover project. She reached back into his closet and tossed him a pair of leather boat shoes. "Wear these."
"But..." she’d already turned back to his dresser, closed the top drawer, and opened the next one down. What he called a dresser was really a chest of drawers, five drawers in total, from his sock drawer at the top, to the deeper shirt drawer at the bottom. If Stephanie continued looking through each drawer, and if she continued to bend at the waist, he didn’t need college math to calculate where her skirt might end up at. He sat, keeping those angles in mind, and slowly pulled his shoes on.
Downstairs, Mom washed breakfast dishes while singing along to her top-40, golden-oldies radio station. The singing cut off as they entered the room. "Good morning, sleepyhead. And there you are, Stephanie. I’d wondered where you went.” Then Mom noticed his shirt and shoes. “Whoa!" she said. "You did not pick out your clothes."
"I did it for him," Stephanie beamed.
"Great job, Steph. It’s nice to see a handsome Jason instead of scruffy. Now, I'm making waffles, would you like one or two?"
Stephanie tried to refuse but settled for, “Just one waffle, please.”
Mom didn’t bother asking Jason. She already had one on his plate while a second steamed in the iron. That waffle went to Stephanie, and mom made his second.
Instead of maple syrup, Stephanie fished the wedge of lemon from her iced tea and squeezed it over her waffle. Mid-squeeze, she caught Jason watching and gave him a sheepish grin. Showing his solidarity, he forked the lemon from his glass and passed it over.
Mom joined them after making her own waffle. Perhaps, because Stephanie didn't use syrup, Mom ate hers plain. She didn’t know about the lemon trick.
“Stephanie,” Mom asked, “do you ever miss not going to school? It must be difficult not having friends.”
“I don’t know how to miss something I’ve never had.” Her eyes flicked to Jason for a moment before turning back to his mother. “Although Jason is a good friend.”
Jason hung his head and groaned. “Oh, no. It’s the kiss of death!”
“What are you going on about?” asked Mom.
“Stephanie friend-zoned me,” he mock-wailed.
Rubbing her head, Stephanie asked, “What’s wrong with being friends?”
Mom spoke up, “Pay no attention to Charlie Brown here. If he's friend-zoned, it's his own fault.”
“What’s friend-zoned, and who’s Charlie Brown?” Stephanie glared at Jason.
Jason rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Mom, that’s an ancient reference, even for you.” He turned to Stephanie, “Charlie Brown is an old cartoon character.”
“Who carried a torch for ‘The little red-headed girl.’” Added Mom with significant glances for her son and his guest.
Jason felt his face grow hot. Across the table, Stephanie’s cheeks were also red.
Perhaps satisfied with the awkward situation she’d created, Mom stood, plate in hand. “I’ll leave you two alone and eat my breakfast on the deck.
Several quiet minutes passed before Jason spoke, “I’ve never thought to put lemon on waffles.”
“It’s something Mom and I do. You probably wouldn’t like it.”
“Speaking of like, I like how your impossible eye color gave away your secret.”
“Oh?” Stephanie sat back with her arms crossed. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I’m not supposed to know this—Mom and Dad think it’ll screw with my ‘Emotional Development’—but I was gene engineered too. I got a ‘Certified Genius Gene’ package, and you got those beautiful eyes.”
Those beautiful eyes studied him, and Jason began to fret. “Did I, uh, screw up?”
Stephanie grimaced. “I guess this is one of those relationship building moments,” she took a deep breath and began counting on her fingers. “First, you didn’t screw up. Second, don’t worry about offending me. I’m a big girl. Third,” Stephanie stopped and shook her head. “Third is complicated. And it’s about your father. Where does he get off hating genies after having you gene-edited? Fourth, well, I inherited my eye color from my mother.”
“You know my dad’s a lawyer, right? The law is a big deal to him. He’s like a walking, talking legal textbook. Genies are illegal, and that’s probably why he thinks the way he does. Gene editing is small stuff, and it’s legal, and that makes it okay. I bet if Dad ever met a genie for real, he’ll be super nice. Dad sees himself as a protector of victims. He only does criminal defense to make sure his clients get a fair trial.”
“Fair enough,” she said.
“As for me,” Jason reached across the table and tapped the back of her hand. “As for me, you have to tell me right away if I do or say something you don’t like. No holding stuff back, ’kay?”
Smiling, Stephanie scooted her chair back to the table, then reached across and speared a bite of his waffle. “Don’t worry,” she said, “I still like you.” She chewed the butter and maple-syrup-soaked bite with interest. “Maple syrup,” she decreed, “is much better than I expected. So, boyfriend, what’s friend-zoning?”
“It’s when a boy likes a girl, but the girl only wants to be friends. Once a guy’s in the zone, it’s all over.”
“I don’t see why people can’t be both.”
“Some can. Like my parents. They have each other’s back like you wouldn’t believe.” He reached over and snatched a bite of her waffle. It was tangy and lemony, not at all bad. “That’s what I want for us.”
“Well, my parents don’t have a great relationship. You’ll have to help me figure my part out.”
“Your dad—” Jason caught the sudden heat in Stephanie’s eyes. “Sorry! Your father, he doesn’t hit your mom, does he?”
“No, he’s not that kind of terrible.”
“Oh, I’m missing something then.”
“You’re lucky, trust me.”
Thunder crashed outside, and Mom ran inside with her plate. “It’s pouring!” She focused on Jason and Stephanie, “Do you two understand each other better now?”
“I thou—” Jason started.
“We do.” Stephanie finished.
“Good,” declared Mom. “I’m glad I helped.”
The late morning surprise shower looked to become an all-day soaker. Stephanie called her mom for permission to stay and hang out with Jason. Before she hung up, his mom ran to the living room to pick up the extension.
“Hi, this is Shirley Thomas, Jason’s mother. Sorry to butt in, but since our kids are officially an item, I thought we should get to know each other.”
Knowing how his mother loved to talk, Jason thought this was a good time to get his new girlfriend alone. He mimed hanging up the phone, and she got it right away. In a rush, Stephanie said, “Mom, I’m going to hang out with Jason. Bye,” and hung up.
Taking a chance, Jason held out his hand. As if it were the most normal thing in the world, Stephanie took it. Sometime soon, he’d have to ask how she managed to have warm hands all the time. Girlfriend in tow, Jason headed for the semi-secluded family room. Once down the steps and out of Mom’s sight, Jason steered Stephanie towards the couch. Because girlfriend, minus parents, added to couch, equals fun. Stephanie, however, decided to be the opposite, rather than the adjacent and turned an acute angle towards The Wall.
The wall held an assortment of digital picture frames and a few, vintage photographs. The digital frames cycled through Mom and Dad’s trove of images.
“Do you know all these people?” asked Stephanie. A note of incredulity was in her voice.
Stepping up behind her, Jason rested his hands on her waist. Yep, she was warm there too. “No, not all of them. Some of the pictures go back generations.” He pointed at one. “This is one of the oldest.”
Stephanie peered at the long-obsolete, flat image, then remarked in surprise, “He looks just like you!”
“That’s my great-grandfather. I’m told he led an interesting life.”
Stephanie leaned back; her shoulders pressed against him. “Oh?” she asked and glanced over her shoulder, “what happened to him?”
“Girlfriends happened. Lots and lots of girlfriends He couldn’t choose one ’cause he loved them all equally.”
“You’re making that up,” she said.
“Nope! It’s one of the family’s oldest legends.”
Stephanie spun to face him and pulled his head down until their foreheads touched. “You better not take after him,” she scolded.
He slipped his hands under the hem of her shirt. Just far enough, to touch the bare skin at her waist. “Why would I spend time with another girl when I can spend it all with you?” Their closeness threatened to overwhelm his senses.
Her hands covered his, but she didn’t redirect him. At least not yet. “Mom says all men get bored sooner or later.”
“Sweetheart, I’m not saying your mom’s wrong, but—”
Behind them, Jason’s mother called down the stairs. “I’m done talking to your mother, Stephanie. She said you can stay until supper.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
“Thank you, Mrs. Thomas,” Stephanie replied, then turned her considerable attention back to Jason. “What do you want to do?” she asked.
He still needed to ask about her “warm for a girl” skin temperature. But right now, her presence commanded one hundred percent of his attention. Almost of their own accord, his thumbs—still riding on the flair of her hips—hooked inside the waistband of her skirt. Both thumb tips encountered something lacy and soft.
Stephanie squirmed out of his grasp and waggled a finger. She asked, “Why don’t we play that racing game again?”
Disappointed, but unsure if he needed to apologize, Jason reached for the controllers and booted the console. “Sure,” he said, glancing back at her. “Same deal as before?”
Stephanie paused her resumed examination of the Thomas family pictures. “You mean your trick bet?”
“Trick? Yeah, but I really wanted to kiss you.”
“All you had to do was ask.” Stephanie returned and kissed his cheek, then snatched a controller from his hand. “It’s not like I’m mean or anything.”
With the footrest back against the couch, they kicked off their shoes and got busy.
It was during the first race that Stephanie discovered the power-ups. Coming out of the first turn, both teens battled for position. Intent on gaining the inside, she drove straight through an item box. The box flashed out of existence, and her character, the auburn-haired princess, zoomed down the track, a banana in her hand.
Befuddled, Stephanie asked, “Why am I waving a banana?”
“I’m no psychiatrist, but you might be trying to tell me something.”
This earned Jason a snort of laughter and an elbow straight into his ribs. “Oof!”
She said, “I better not catch you waving a banana around. It might get peeled.”
“Ouch,” the thought made him wince. “Okay, that banana,” he nodded towards the display, “is a weapon. If you throw it and if it hits me, I’ll spin out.”
Of course, she needed a demonstration. They spent the next several races trying the different power-ups and goofing off. It was a lot more fun than a serious, competitive race.
Near the end of the second race, a weapon with potential spawned ahead. New for this version of the game, tow chains offered the ability to slow another racer and then to sling-shot ahead. It required a keen sense of timing to gain the maximum effect.
Tow Chain in hand, he timed his approach. They drifted through the same turn; he held his drift longer for the additional boost. Jason lined up and activated the device. A grappling hook shot out, binding his kart to Stephanie’s. Jason let off the controls and allowed her kart to tow his along. Any number of backward-firing weapons would knock him loose, but she didn’t have one. Her cart slowed to a crawl.
The fires of competition burned hot, and Stephanie growled in frustration. “You rat! You dirty rat. Get that thing off my…my…” And there, for lack of a word, her voice stalled.
“Your butt?” He prodded a little more. “Your tail? Sweetheart, you have such a pretty one.” He squeezed her knee, then slid his hand up several inches. The warmth of her skin seemed to welcome his touch. If anything, the temperature increased as his fingers traveled north. Then he noticed her stillness and…If glares could burn, she’d have set him on fire.
“What,” he asked, “is your knee off limits?”
“No,” she replied, “but you’ve gotten awful pushy. I liked you better before.”
He yanked his hand away. This hadn’t gone like he wanted. “S-sorry.”
“Jason,” Stephanie turned to face him. “You want us to have a physical relationship, and I’m not opposed to that. But, let me set the pace, please.”
Maybe it was his certified genius genes, but instead of feeling butthurt, he considered her side. She hadn't grown up with a group of boisterous friends. She didn’t go to public school and watch students grinding on or groping each other. His schoolmates engaged in R-rated public displays of affection. Treating Stephanie like a classmate probably wouldn’t work.
“What should I do,” he asked.
“Take it slow. Remember I’ve never had a boyfriend before. My Mom thinks your kind should come with instruction manuals and pre-paid return labels.”
“Ha, everyone knows girls are worse. An instruction manual for girls would take ten volumes.”
“Rule number one, boyfriend, don’t insult your girlfriend.”
“Hey,” Jason shifted closer. Close enough to catch a hint of her crazy perfume. “Look, I understand. We have a lot to learn about each other.” Heart pounding, Jason whispered, “We’ll make our rules as we go.” He leaned forward, and Stephanie met him halfway.
***
“Mrs. Thomas?” Alfred’s voice, at a far lower volume level than usual, came from a nearby speaker.
“Yes, Alfred?”
“The activities you asked me to watch for have commenced.”
“Oh, what are they doing?”
“I can play the audio or the full video if you wish.”
“Heavens no, I’d feel like a voyeur. Are they doing anything beyond kissing?”
“No, ma’am. They’ve already stopped and have decided to watch a movie. Oh, one moment, Master Jason and Miss Stephanie are now holding hands.”
“That’s sweet. Alfred, in the future they have a five-minute kissing allowance. Anything past that time requires an interruption.”
“Understood.”
***
After supper, they spent the evening outside. Still learning about each other, Stephanie asked about a normal school day. He did his best to describe one, skipping over the more lurid activities some couples indulged in. Stephanie detailed her and her mother’s exercise routines. When talk moved to their future, he had definite ideas, she, not so much.
“No college?” he asked. Ever since President Ocasio-Cortez set college tuition to a fair, flat rate, everyone went to college. You could earn as useless a degree as you wished, but you weren’t in debt for life afterward.
“Not for me. I never considered it until you asked.”
“You have plenty of time to change your mind and take the tests. Maybe we can go to college together?”
“I’d really like that, Jay.” Sometime that afternoon, he’d earned a nickname. It helped stabilize their relationship and satisfied an emotional requirement he didn’t know existed. Stephanie even admitted how much she liked it when he called her sweetheart. Maybe she had the same needs as he? Girls, while being mysterious, nice to touch, and smelling so good, probably wanted the same things as boys. He didn’t even mind that she wanted him to take it slow. Just sitting here holding her hand and rubbing knees made everything perfect. The only thing he’d like different would be if Alfred stopped with his weather forecasts.
Every time they got something going, Alfred popped up with some message about warm fronts and high pressures and extended range whatever’s. No one outside of northern Pennsylvania cared about the storms on Lake Erie.
It got to be a joke, but Stephanie didn’t seem to mind, so he didn’t either, much.
As they stepped up onto Stephanie’s back porch, her grip on his hand tightened. “I need to tell you something,” she said.
“Let me guess. You want me to tuck you in.”
“What?” then she giggled. “No way, Mom wouldn’t hurt me, but you’d be fair game. No, this is serious, Jay.” She frowned and took a breath. “My father can’t know we’re seeing each other.”
“Why not?” He’d heard stories about overprotective fathers.
Stephanie sighed. “Because I'm not allowed to have a boyfriend. Not until I'm a little older. Then everything changes."
"What does that mean?"
Stephanie sighed again and looked away. "It's one of his rules, and it's complicated."
"You're confusing."
"I'm sorry. Just remember, if he finds out, I won’t be allowed to see you again. Any time my father’s home, I’ll have to stay inside. Don’t ever come over if he’s home."
“I don’t think I like your dad.”
“As long as we like each other, nothing else matters.” Stephanie turned back to face him. “We have a few more minutes, and I want a really good goodnight kiss.” In the dim light from her kitchen windows, he thought her eyes shone especially bright.
***
This isn’t spying, and I don’t feel guilty…or anything else…not one bit. Natalie watched the video feed from the back porch. Stephanie and “that boy” saying their goodnights. Uneasy thoughts accompanied the slight burn inside her chest. No one had ever wooed her.
She’d grown up on the outskirts of Kyiv, Ukraine, in the household of her original owner, Pavlo Mogilevich. An important man, Pavlo spent little time with family and, until she grew older, even less time with her. His wife, Maryska, mothered her children but spared little time for the girl she thought was her husband’s bastard. When Natali went to her for support, she’d receive a lecture and rejection. Maryska bandaged cuts and scrapes, provided food and clothing, but she did not love little Natali.
Most of Pavlo and Maryska’s children treated her like a guest who’d long overstayed her welcome. Although their oldest boy, Kyrylo, spent most of his time studying.
Once a year, on her birthday, Mariska, escorted Natali into Pavlo’s presence. He’d inquire about her health and ask odd questions. The man seemed most concerned about her temperament. He’d ask Natali if she experienced extended periods of anger or if she’d menstruated. After she’d satisfied his curiosity, Pavlo would dismiss her for another year. She’d been six months past her thirteenth birthday, friendless and confused, the day Pavlo’s oldest son showed an interest in her.
Natali took her meals with the servants. Not that they had any time for her. After lunch and before the afternoon’s chore assignment, she crept off to her safe spot behind the garage. Two old trees grew there, and she’d found a private space between them and the back wall of the garage. On the rare times, Mariska called for her, it took only a moment to dash around the garage, thus keeping her sanctuary hidden.
“So, this is where you hide.” The voice startled Natali. She glanced up to see Kyrylo. Nearly seventeen years old, he looked a lot like his father.
“What do you want, Kyrylo?” Bozhe moi, he must have followed her.
Grunting with effort, the older boy shimmied between the trees and dropped into a squat across from her. With his left hand, he flourished a large round object. “I brought you a hreypfrut.
One of Mariska’s imported white grapefruit! Natali tried to taste one once. The bitter-tart-sweet scent made her mouth water. Then the assistant cook swatted her away from the prep counter.
A faint whiff of the fruit tickled her nostrils. She wanted it, but she didn’t trust this boy. “Why?” Her eyes darted to his, searching for a reason.
“I want us to be friends, Natali.” His cajoling tone did nothing to allay her concerns. Kyrylo rotated his hand to show the perfection of his gift.
“Why?” Often the target of the younger siblings’ gibes, she’d never been a part of the family. Kyrylo had remained aloof, never involving himself, until now.
The tips of Kyrylo’s fingers pushed into the rind, and he expertly peeled the fruit. “Because I am a boy, and you are a lovely girl. Naturally, we are attracted to each other.” He separated a wedge and handed it to her.
Because he might take the fruit away, Natali snatched it from his hand and bit into the wedge. Flavor exploded in her mouth. It was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted. The older boy fed her a second wedge and a third. His eyes sparkled while she gobbled each piece. After the third slice, while she licked her fingers, he leaned forward and surprised her with a kiss.
The kiss wasn’t so bad. Especially with the taste of grapefruit still fresh in Natali’s mouth. A bite of grapefruit, then another kiss. It seemed a fair deal.
All too soon, the grapefruit ran out. Kyrylo pressed his case, demanding kisses. Without something to trade, his attentions lacked anything to interest her. One day, he offered her a small bar of American dark chocolate. She liked this even more than the grapefruit. Kyrylo sensed her interest and bartered for more than simple kisses.
Muffled words issued from the speaker and Natalie snapped back to the present. On the small video display, Natalie watched Jason gaze at Stephanie as if he were the one irrevocably smitten by brain chemistry. Then again, perhaps he was, at least as much as humanly possible.
“When you do that,” the boy said, “I think my brain’s gonna melt.”
“Do what?” Stephanie asked with a chuckle. “I don’t want your brain to melt.”
“You just did it again. That lip-biting thing.”
“Poor Jason,” Stephanie soothed, “your brain’s probably half puddled by now. Here, I’ll give you another kiss and make you all better.”
It made Natalie proud to watch her daughter exert control over the human. This was how it should always be! If events fell into place, someday after the boy became a man, he would provide a singular service, and Stephanie would be free. The boy, well, the boy didn’t matter otherwise.
The kiss went on a lot longer than the last. Near the end, Stephanie sagged, and faster than Natalie expected, Romeo caught her up.
“Are you okay?” His raw concern was sickeningly apparent.
Stephanie gasped, “I think my brain's melting too.” Instead of taking a break, the pair leaned against the railing and resumed necking.
Disappointed, Natalie shook her head. So much for Stephanie as a cold-blooded, femme fatale. The girl was just as befuddled with the boy as he with her. Still, if looked at from a human perspective, the kids were cute together. Natalie ignored the resurgent heat in her chest. She was happy for her daughter, dammit!
In between fervent kisses, the boy spoke. “I knew you were the girl for me from the moment I first saw you.”
Stephanie accepted those kisses and returned a few of her own. “I sort of liked you too. Even though all you did was stare at my boobs.”
“Well, that’s your fault.”
“My fault?” The infra-red filter allowed Natalie to see her daughter’s eyes narrow.
“Yeah, a girl as hot as you should carry a warning sign.”
Well, that was as weird a compliment as Natalie had ever heard. Still, it was cute in an earnest teenaged boy fashion.
It didn’t displease Stephanie either because she smiled and asked, “What kind of sign?”
Jason grinned. Uh, oh, Romeo had something clever in mind. “So, Dad had one case, a guy got squished on a job, and there was a sign on this huge hydraulic press. The sign said, “WARNING, CRUSH HAZARD. That’d be the perfect sign for you.” He smiled, obviously proud.
“What!” Stephanie hissed. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
Jason’s, “I’m so clever” smile morphed into wide-eyed horror. “No!” he said, “I didn’t mean that!” The not-so-smart boy recognized his peril and tried to retreat. Stephanie, however, kept his hands trapped. He stammered, “I meant because I’m crushing on you really bad right now.”
It took a few seconds, but Stephanie visibly relaxed. “Oh, you mean like, liking someone a lot?”
Jason nodded as if his future happiness depended on it.
If Stephanie didn’t buy his explanation, Natalie would have to intervene. She laid a finger against the outdoor speaker switch.
“Are you really crushing on me?”
“Yeah, big-time,” he sighed.
“Good,” Stephanie grinned, “’cause I’m crushing on you right back.”
His eyes flashed with some new deviltry. “Good, just don’t squish me, ’kay?” This time he’d already taken a step back. Stephanie shouted. “You rat!” Romeo turned and fled into the darkness with Stephanie in hot pursuit. Chuckling despite herself, Natalie stepped away from the panel. She’d have enough time to make a pot of tea.
Fifteen minutes later, the back door cycled. Without turning, Natalie spoke, “You’re ten minutes late, little miss.” Then she turned and nearly gasped in surprise. Stephanie looked as though she’d gone ten rounds with Jason. Grass stained her knees and the tips of her sneakers. Her ponytail had mostly come out of the scrunchie. From a certain point of view, it didn’t look good. “What did you and Romeo get up too out there?”
“He’s a rat. He tricked me into wrestling with him, and then he won.”
“And by the grass stains,” Natalie made a point of staring at her daughter’s knees and toes, “I can guess what he won.”
“What?” Steph bent and gaped at the stains. When she straightened, her face was bright red. “It’s not what you think, Mom, no! He, ah, he made me sit on top of him when I gave him his victory kiss.”
“Mm, hmm,” Natalie made it sound as noncommittal as possible. “I’ll make us some tea, and we can practice the maskuvannya.”
Natalie waited until Stephanie nodded. “Other than the wrestling match, how was your day with Jason?”
A huge smile lit Stephanie’s face. “It was wonderful, he…” Stephanie’s face fell when she realized her error. The maskuvannya, Ukrainian, for disguise, was the word for how they hid their true selves. While Natalie had a lot of practice, Stephanie had little, and it showed.
Pitching her voice to mock, Natalie said, “You’ve just killed Jason. Are you proud of yourself?” Stephanie went white, and Natalie ground the point home. “Because of your mistake, Yevgeny will slip into their home and murder the entire family. It will be your fault.”
Crouching, Stephanie spun in place, searching for her father. The girl’s form was good. It would take a prepared and well-trained human male to defeat her. This, of course, begged the question as to how a simple boy might defeat Stephanie.
Fortunately for them all, Gene Timms, once known as Yevgeny Timofeyev, remained on the American’s west coast, wallowing in drugs and fat American whores.
Natalie took a breath and turned back to the stove and the serenity of her tea-making ritual. “No, lisichka,” little fox. “My owner is not here. If he were, your slip would have doomed us both.”
“That wasn’t a fair test, Mother.” Teacups and saucers rattled as Stephanie assisted with the tea. “If Yevgeny caught me with Jason, our maskuvannya would not have helped.
Natalie preheated the ceramic teapot. “You are still too easily tricked. How do you expect to survive with your mind intact? Perhaps it is your wish to become a full marionetka? Remember, it took nearly two decades for my mind to recover.”
“I didn’t expect to grow feelings for Jason. Those feelings make it difficult to concentrate.”
“Ha, feelings. You think you are in love?”
“No, not love, whatever that is, but something else. Being in his company makes me giddy.”
The snort of laughter burst through Natalie’s iron control. She knew all too well the pleasures that accompanied a man’s presence.
“Ha,” Stephanie crowed. “This time, Mother, it is you making the error. I know what feelings you’re talking about. True, I experience those. But there is more.” Stephanie paused in thought. “I wish you could know the more for yourself.”
Mom smiled. “Perhaps we will trade places tomorrow? Then Jason can wrestle me to the ground and steal all my kisses.”
Stephanie stopped pouring their tea. “That, mother, will not be necessary.”