Simply nodded.
“What does he want with me? My soul? Is that what he’s after?”
Another nod.
“But why?” Anna asked. “Who is he?”
“He’s Roma,” the old woman said. “Blood.”
“What do you mean he’s blood?”
Antonija Zala smiled again, patiently, the folds of fat in her chins jiggling with the effort.
“He’s family, my dear. He’s your brother.”
Anna said nothing.
Feeling as if her legs might give out, she found a chair nearby and sat.
Her brain felt numb.
“Let me tell you a story,” the old woman said. She shifted on the bed, grunting with the effort. “It’s the story of two children, conjoined twins, you might say. But it isn’t a body they share. No organs. No limbs. But something far more vital than any human shell could ever be.”
“A soul,” Anna said. “They share a soul.”
Antonija Zala smiled again. “That’s right, my dear. They were born many years ago, to a family of Rom. Our family. The Zala family. The Zala clan had traveled for many a decade, then finally found their way back home to Slavonia, to a city called Osijek.
“When one of the wives, my great-grandmother Natasa, became pregnant by her husband, Nikolai, there was much joy in the family. But at the moment of birth, those present knew something was seriously wrong.
“There were two children in Natasa’s womb. One, the girl, was quite beautiful. Pristine, in fact. They named her Chavi.
“But the boy, he did not fare as well during the birth. He was small, sickly, with a deformed face and body. He was, they thought, possessed by demons, and those who saw him that morning did not expect him to live.
“He was taken into the forest and left to the elements, his father weeping as he laid the boy under a tree. And when Nikolai returned to camp, he found that little Chavi was crying as well, tears that had not stopped since her brother was taken from her side.
“She cried through the night, her little face red with anguish. But the deed was done. The boy had been given to the angels.
“Or so they thought.”
The old woman paused, shifting again on the daybed.
“When Nikolai returned the next day to the spot where he had left his son, he was surprised to discover that the boy was still alive. The temperature during the night had dropped below freezing, and Nikolai knew it could not be possible, yet there he was, crying angrily, just as Chavi had cried. And he knew that the boy had been warmed by Chavi’s tears.
“Not knowing what else to do, Nikoli picked him up and carried him back to camp. At first the family celebrated. It was a miracle, given to them by God. But then the whispers started. Perhaps God did not have a hand in the boy’s survival after all. Perhaps it was the Devil. The demons that possessed him.
“But all Nikolai and Natasa knew was that their little beauty, their Chavi, was no longer crying.
“As the years passed, the twins became inseparable. It was said that they not only shared blood, but were two parts of the same wheel. The boy, Mikola, had trouble walking, but he would follow Chavi wherever she went. And while Chavi was doted on by members of the family and their friends, Mikola was often ignored, unless there was a chore to be done. A task to be completed.
“The Zala family had always been a powerful clan. Tales of their magic were known throughout the region, some true, some exaggerations of the truth. And as she grew into a lovely young woman, Chavi discovered that she had powers far greater than anyone else in the family.
“You must understand that it takes most Roma women many years to develop their supernatural skills. Some, like my Tatjana here, never develop them at all.
“But Chavi was different. Special. By the time she was seventeen, she was a full-fledged chovihani, a witch, respected and loved by all those around her.
“But Mikola was also special. It was unusual for a Roma male to develop any supernatural powers, but because he shared Chavi’s soul, he also shared many of her skills. But rather than use those skills for good, as Chavi did, Mikola was drawn to the dark side, and his days of tolerating insults were over.
“When several gadje children pelted him with eggs one day, he felled them all with a curse. When a carnival barker caught him trying to sneak into one of his sideshows, and threatened to flog him, Mikola rendered him mute, and the man was later found to have swallowed his own tongue.
“But the ultimate insult came from Chavi herself. When a young gadje photographer began traveling with the Zala family, Chavi found herself falling in love with the man and spoke of running away with him.
“This was not only against Roma law, it did not sit well with Mikola. Chavi belonged to no one but him. She was, after all, his twin sister, the second half of the wheel. How could she think to abandon him? To leave him behind?
“In an angry rage, Mikola put a curse on the photographer, who soon collapsed and died.
“Heartbroken and distraught, Chavi confronted Mikola, but his rage continued to burn, all the years of pain and frustration coming to the surface. Chavi had betrayed him. She was no longer his sister, but a thief. The girl who had threatened to take away forever what was rightfully his. The part of his soul she had already stolen at birth.
“And in a frenzy, Mikola grabbed a knife and stabbed Chavi, over and over again, then left her in the forest, under the very tree his own father had left him on the night of his birth.
“Mikola had expected her half of his soul to migrate to him, to bring him strength, to cure his deformities, but with her dying breath, Chavi pointed a bloodied finger to the center of his chest and said a single word:
“Mine.”
The old woman lowered her head as if weakened by the telling of the story.
Anna stared at her, waiting for more, but nothing came. It looked as if she had fallen asleep.
Then she stirred. “This is, of course, a story that was told to me as a young child. There have been embellishments over the years, but the essence of what I’ve said is true.”
“But you haven’t told me all of it,” Anna said. “Where does it go from there?”
“I think you know.”
“Mikola went looking for Chavi and found her in the next life, taking what he felt was rightfully his.”
The old woman nodded. “He was convinced that the last word she spoke was a final curse. If he didn’t take his soul from her, she’d surely take it from him.”
“But how did he know where to find her?”
The old woman tapped her nose. “He relied on his instincts. With every new life, our souls naturally seek out those we have known in our previous lives. If he couldn’t find her directly, he would search for those who had been close to her. Like a lover. Or a friend.”
“The photographer,” Anna said. “O’Keefe.”
“Among others.”
Anna turned, looking at Pope. Then she thought of Susan and it all made a kind of twisted sense to her.
He’s always watching, Susan had said.
Could Mikola have been watching them? And what about the Worthingtons? Did he watch them, too? Had their lives somehow intersected with the Fairweathers, causing him to zero in on Kimberly, thinking she might be the one?
It was like some cosmic game of hide-and-seek, and Mikola sometimes got it wrong. Perhaps the eyes of those chosen were close, so close that he had to take a chance, only to discover that he’d made a mistake.
I’ve made many mistakes, he’d told her.
How many people, she wondered, had he killed? How many innocents? All of it on Chavi’s shoulders. Her shoulders.
“I don’t understand,” Anna said. “If he wants my soul so badly, why didn’t he just take it from me the first time and get it the hell over with?”
“Chavi’s curse,” the old woman told her. “Because of her refusal to let it go, he could take only a piece at a time. One new spoke for every successful kill. He started with eight, but he needed eight more to complete the wheel.”