shaking out her wet hair, Ian strolling at her side hands in pockets. They’ll be gone tomorrow or the next day, Jordan thought with a sudden wrench in her stomach. How much a part of her life they had all become, not just in banding together against Anneliese, but before: tea, jokes, reminiscences, the tender thread of Ruth’s music. A brief, perfect friendship. And now, of course, they would be moving on. Another hunt, another chase. Looking at Tony, his black eyes fixed on Anneliese again. Another girl.
And I’ll be here, Jordan thought, and the thoughts that had been submerged under the struggle of what to do about Anneliese broke free. No New York, no apartment, no interviews to see if she could sell her Boston at Work. At least not yet. Ruth would need her. The scandal was going to break, everyone was going to know what her mother had been. Everything would fall on Jordan now: the neighbors, the bills, the shop, the house, Ruth . . .
At least when Dad died I had Anneliese, Jordan found herself thinking, and that thought was so macabre, so terrible, so true. How long was it going to be before she stopped instinctively reaching for the quiet bulwark that had been Anneliese, always taking care of her in the background?
Now it’s just you. Twenty-two years old, with a business and a house and an eight-year-old child. Looking down at the Leica, Jordan wondered how much time she’d have for it in the immediate future.
“Next question,” Nina said, coming up to the dock, and paused to spit blood into the lake. “Tvoyu mat, one little nick in the cheek, it won’t stop.”
“Apparently I missed a vampire,” Ian observed, looking at his wife’s scarlet mouth. “What’s your question, comrade?”
“I fly Olive home. Now we have two more people, so too many.” Nodding at the car. “Who drives, who flies?”
“Drive,” said Ian and Tony in unison. “With Anneliese,” Tony added. “I’ll take the shotgun and keep it on her the entire way.”
“Fly,” said Jordan. “Ruth can squeeze in with me.” She’d be afraid, but better that than subject Ruth to ride in the same backseat as Anneliese.
“Good.” Nina showed her teeth, still faintly red, in a grin. “Is a long time since I fly with a sestra.” For Nina it was simple too, Jordan thought: she’d caught the woman who tried to kill her; now was the time to rejoice.
“Just don’t . . . turn Olive off midair this time,” Jordan added. “If you don’t mind.”
“No fun,” Nina grumbled, and Jordan found herself smiling. A weak smile, but a smile.
She didn’t think the days ahead would bring too many of those.
BEFORE ANNELIESE DEPARTED the next day for the passenger liner that would take her back to Europe, she spoke only once. She said nothing to Nina, sitting ceaseless and wakeful outside her locked door. She said nothing to Tony when he brought her meals on a tray. She did not even see Ian, who had taken over the typewriter in a fever of inspiration and begun hammering out the first article he’d written in years.
But when Jordan came into the bedroom with an armload of Anneliese’s clothes for the voyage, watched from the doorway by Nina, Anneliese looked up from where she’d been sitting on the edge of the bed. Jordan stopped, clutching the pile of underclothes and dresses, pulse thumping.
“May I say good-bye to Ruth?” Anneliese asked.
“No,” said Jordan.
Anneliese nodded. She stood, graceful again, hands clasped composedly before her, though she’d never look as composed as she used to—not when the first motion of her eyes was always a quick darting glance to find Nina. She flinched away from the gleam of Nina’s teeth, looked back to Jordan. “When I am put on trial—” She stopped, the cords of her throat showing, and a trace of her old German accent crept back. “When I am put on trial, will you be there?”
“Yes,” Jordan heard herself say. Why? But—“Yes,” she repeated.
“Thank you.” Anneliese reached out as if to touch Jordan’s hand. Jordan stepped back. Anneliese gave a small sigh, took the armful of clothes, dressed herself in Jordan’s and Nina’s view to be sure she did not try to hide anything among the layers. Was escorted downstairs and out of the house, unbound yet enclosed by the triple gauntlet of Tony, Ian, and Nina. People were watching, across the street. Whispering. What on earth could be happening at the McBride house? Keep an eye