“There’s more doubt than life right now, banshee.”
He wasn’t wrong. The ciphered word in Father’s entry, FXPXE, I decoded to “Blaga.”
Madame Blaga. I relayed this to Huck, then said, “Father mentioned that this Lake Snagov is an hour north of Bucharest. If I had to guess why she’s on Father’s list—widow, hermit, twins—I’d say he must have thought that this woman actually had a bone ring in her possession; she just wasn’t willing to show it to him.”
Maybe it was another forgery. Maybe it was the real ring.
And maybe, justmaybe, Father was there right now, and in a couple of hours all of this would be over. I could tell him about Sarkany and the wolf dog and how we ran across a roof to escape goons who were after us... and after I told him everything, I’d punch him in the stomach for abandoning us.
“Well, you know what they say,” Huck said as he peeked out the balcony, scanning the street. “Hope for the best; prepare for a raving hermit lady to chase us off her land. Let’s find out if Andrei can locate the address of one Madame Blaga in Snagov. And figure out how we’re getting out there with our limited funds.”
It didn’t take long for both of those things to get solved. Andrei was able to get an address and a taxi, and because he generously refused payment for our last night in the hotel, we had enough money to pay said taxi, which pulled around to a hidden side entrance in an alley to pick us up—just in case we were being followed by the robed men.
After explaining to the driver where we needed to go, Andrei shook our hands and waved goodbye. “You will tell the Fox I said hello when you find him?”
“I’ll have him send you a check for the broken lock on the roof-access door,” I called back as the cab began pulling away.
He gave me a thumbs-up sign, and then we were on our way.
I was a little sorry to say goodbye to Bucharest as I watched the city roll past my window and turn into farmland and rivers. A petrol station. A roadside memorial cross. A man walking two horned water buffalo on the side of the road. And then there was little more than the road itself, the occasional humble home, and great swathes of wooded land. Everywhere I looked, trees were bursting with gold and red leaves. It was idyllic, but that also meant there were fewer places to hide if someone was following us.
But no one was. In fact, I hadn’t seen a car in miles. It was quiet out here. Very rural. Bandit-free. I realized I should probably have been more worried about the taxi driver getting lost than anyone attacking us. After a few wrong turns, the taxi finally found the right dirt lane leading into the right woods, and it wasn’t long before we found what we were looking for.
Across from a wooden hill at the bend of a river sat a large cottage. Its stone facade was covered in folk paintings. Bands of flowers and murals that looked as if they were straight out of a fairy tale: ravens, bears, wolves wearing clothes, a flying horse. It wasn’t exactly enchanting, and maybe even verged on foreboding.
“This is the right address?” Huck said to the driver, who gestured loosely toward the cottage in confirmation. “Is it just me, or do you feel like Hansel and Gretel?”
“Whatever you do, don’t get inside any ovens,” I told him.
A striking middle-aged woman emerged from a wooden door, a long cigarillo clamped between two fingers. She limped across a front porch in a billowing white dress cinched at the waist by an embroidered black-and-red apron; a red kerchief was tied over silver-streaked hair.
The hermit.
And no sign of my father. Well, here’s to hoping I had better luck with this woman than he had.
In Romanian, I quickly begged the driver to wait for us, just for a moment. And when he agreed, I exited the taxi with Huck and cautiously approached the woman.
“Good morning. We’re looking for Madame Blaga,” I said in Romanian, shielding my eyes with my hand to look up at her on the cottage porch.
The woman blew out a long plume of fragrant smoke and responded in richly accented English. “You have found her. But few ask for me with that name anymore. Most call me Mama Lovena.”
Memories from the traders’ bonfire rose like smoke inside my head. Valentin’s story of a witch who lived in a cottage in the woods...
A creaky breath gusted from my mouth.
Huck sounded as if he were choking and tried to pass it off as a cough.
“You’ve heard of me, I can see.” One corner of her mouth curled. “It’s probably all true.”
“Jaysus,” Huck mumbled, tugging discreetly on my coat sleeve. “I knew ‘herbalist’ didn’t sound right. She’s a witch, banshee. We need to leave.”
I laughed, nervous, hoping she hadn’t heard that comment. And I wasn’t going anywhere. Was it every day that one gets to meet a witch in a forest? I thought not. “I’m Theodora Fox,” I called out. “And this is Huck Gallagher. We’re sorry to show up on your doorstep unannounced.”
“Many do.” She beckoned us with her cigarillo to come closer and looked us over critically, gaze stopping on my silver coin pendant. “But few bearing the name of a Byzantine empress. Interesting souvenir you have there.”
I touched the coin, surprised. “You know about her?”
“I know about a lot of things,” the woman said through squinting eyes. “Just what do you seek from me, little empress?”
