Page 72 of One For my Enemy

“All the time?” Yaga asked. “Is there a veil in the room with us now?”

Katya glanced around, shaking her head. “No. It isn’t always there,” she added solemnly. “Only sometimes.”

“But when it is?” Yaga prompted.

“I call them out,” Katya said, her gaze flicking to her sister.

“And I speak with them,” Irina confirmed. “They tell me stories or ask me for favors.”

For the first time, Yaga stiffened in apprehension. “And do you grant them their favors?”

“No,” Katya said, and added hastily, “Masha says not to.”

“Masha knows about this?” Yaga asked, surprised. She hadn’t known her eldest kept any secrets from her. At the time, Marya was only eight years old; still with the rest of her life to keep many more. “She didn’t tell me.”

“She promised us she wouldn’t,” Irina said simply, which was answer enough. Honor, loyalty, fidelity, these were the hallmarks of an Antonova witch as they had been taught, and always, Marya was the best of them.

“Show me how it works, then,” Yaga beckoned. “The next time Katya sees the veil, both of you fetch me, and only me. And Masha, if you wish,” she amended quickly, as the twins exchanged another glance. “But no one else. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mama,” the twins agreed.

Within a week, Marya came running into Yaga’s bedroom, her cheeks flushed with spots of concern. “It’s happening,” she said simply, and took her mother’s hand, pulling her into the twins’ bedroom.

Nothing looked out of the ordinary at first. Katya and Irina stood together in the center of the room, Katya’s hand guiding her sister’s upwards as if to stroke the ray of sunlight coming in through the window of their bedroom. Irina, meanwhile, was murmuring something very quietly; translating, Yaga realized, so that Katya could hear.

“It’s a man,” Katya said aloud, squinting at something neither Yaga nor Marya could see. “He’s very—upset.” She looked up at her mother. “He’s angry. Someone took his toys.”

It hadn’t made much sense until they’d seen the newspaper the next morning, Marya’s small brow furrowed with curiosity as she slid the headline to her mother, out of sight from her father. ‘QUEENS BREAK-IN RESULTS IN HOMICIDE,’ the article said, and Yaga had shown the picture of the victim to Katya, who nodded slowly.

“That’s the angry man,” she confirmed, and Yaga pulled both twins close to her, arms securely enfolding her daughters who could speak to the dead.

“Everyone will always ask you for something,” she told them, “and ghosts are no exception. They are only people, same as living ones, who want only what they want. They do not hold more secrets or carry more wisdom simply because they have passed beyond this realm. But you must remember that their lives are ended, and though they will be drawn to you, you must take care of yourselves first. You must not let any spirits drain you of your own life; do not trade what is yours for what was theirs. Do you understand?”

They nodded.

“Why can’t Masha see them?” Irina asked her. “Masha’s the oldest—”

“Because Masha was born to live Masha’s life,” Yaga cut in firmly, “and you were each born to live yours. Some days this will be a blessing. Some days it will be a curse. But every day you are my daughters,” she promised them, “and you are each other’s sisters, and these will be the truths that will always come first.”

It was a conversation they would not have to have again for many years. Occasionally Katya would excuse herself, nudging her sister, and Yaga would not ask why or where they were going. From time to time, Irina would request an unusual path home in order to speak to a stranger, murmuring something in their ear that would blossom to peace in their features. When Katya married Anthony, a social worker from the Bronx, she only said one thing to seal her mother’s blessing: “He knows, and he doesn’t mind it.” For many years, the little they’d all shared had been more than enough.

Yaga never questioned her second-daughters about their gift, nor had she ever asked them to use their abilities. She never told a soul; not even her other children. In fact, she’d thought little at all about it until the night she watched Ivan carry her eldest daughter’s body away from Koschei’s warehouse.

That night, for the first time in many years, she thought at length about the gifts of her twins, and her first instinct was to summon her second-born daughters back to their mother’s house. It did not surprise Baba Yaga, though, that her daughters had already seen fit to come to her.

“Have you seen the veil?” Yaga asked Katya, who nodded as she crept into her mother’s bedroom, pale cheeks streaked with tears.

“Yes, Mama,” Katya said in a low voice, and stepped aside, revealing Irina just behind her. Yaga had never understood if the bond between her daughters was magical or biological, but it didn’t surprise her that one twin’s need might have summoned the other.

“You’ve spoken to her already, Irka?” Yaga asked Irina, who nodded gravely.

“She’s calling for you, Mama,” Irina whispered. “I think she’s trapped.”

“I’ll fix it,” Yaga promised them, “but I’ll need your help. I warned you once it was unnatural to commune with the dead,” she reminded them quietly. “If that is the counsel you wish to abide by now, I understand. With Masha gone, you are the eldest now. You are my heirs. You have earned your right to what is hers by virtue of succession alone—even if you were not already worthy,” she added, “though I know you both are. If you wish to leave your sister in the realms of the dead, I will understand.”

The twins looked at each other for a moment, saying nothing; communing as twins do.

“There’s a reason we were born in Masha’s shadow, Mama,” Katya said slowly. “Because what we do, we can’t do in the light.”

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