Wickedly Magical (Baba Yaga, #0.5)(13)
“There are children?” Miss Volkova said. “How lovely. I do so enjoy children. Might it be possible to take a tour of the house and perhaps meet a few of the people? Something tells me I’d love it here.”
Jonathan suppressed a feeling of gleeful triumph and stood up, putting his hand out to help the old woman rise from her chair. Somehow the curved end of her cane got hooked on the chain of his necklace, and pulled the medallion out to dangle in front of his chest. Before he could tuck it away, a wrinkled hand had wrapped itself around the flat metal disk.
“How curious,” Miss Volkova said, peering at it over her bifocals. “Goodness, this looks almost as old as I am.” She gave a cackling chuckle. “Is it some kind of heirloom?”
Jonathan couldn’t figure out how to get her to let go without risking breaking one of her fragile-looking fingers. “Uh, no, it’s uh, just a lucky piece, I guess you could say.”
“Hmmm,” she muttered, leaning in so close he could smell her rose-scented perfume. “I wonder what language that writing is in. Do you know?”
To his relief, she finally released it, and he tucked it hurriedly back against his skin.
“I don’t, no,” he said, wiping away a tiny bead of sweat. He hated having anyone else touch his prize. “I’ve always assumed it was just some kind of decoration.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go for that tour now?”
“Indeed. Let us see what there is to see.”
***
Jonathan showed Miss Volkova around the large house, carefully pointing out one of the empty bedrooms that was more luxurious than most, saved for special guests he wanted to impress. Eventually they ended up outside, where the backyard was split between a sizable garden (why buy vegetables when you could have your own people grow them for you) and a play area for the children. There were half a dozen small figures cavorting around the jungle gym and a sandbox, with two more seated rather glumly on a set of swings.
“Oh my goodness,” the old woman said. “Are all these children yours?” Her rheumy eyes went wide.
Jonathan chuckled, ruffling one child’s hair as they went by. “They are now. Their mothers live here, and none of their biological fathers show much interest in visiting. Sadly, I can’t have children of my own—a bad case of chicken pox late in my teens—but I love all these children as if they were mine, so it all works out for the best.” The medallion warmed even more, adding a familiar scorching sensation to his already scarred flesh. “The only thing they’re missing is a grandmother to bake them cookies.”
Miss Volkova gave him a brief scornful glance. “I’m afraid I don’t bake, Mr. Bellingwood.”
“Ah, oh, of course not,” he said, backtracking quickly. Obviously, the old lady wasn’t going to be much help around the place. But if she was as rich—and alone—as she looked, he’d willingly put up with that for the short amount of time she had left. And when her time ran out, who was she going to leave her money to, some tiny yipping dog? Or her new loving family, headed by one Jonathan Bellingwood.
“Those two children don’t look very happy,” she said, and marched over towards the swing sets at an alarmingly fast clip, cane and all. Jonathan tried to head her off, but somehow, even half-running to keep up, she got there first.
The two little girls, one three and the other five he thought, sat on the swings without moving, their chubby little fists holding on to the chains as they talked quietly to each other. The smaller one had been crying, Jonathan saw. He sighed. The medallion didn’t work as well on children, for some reason. It was as if their little brains were changing too fast to hold on to the commands he gave them. Most of the kids adjusted eventually, but these two had only been here for six months, and seemed more resistant than most. Of course, it didn’t help that their mother had a tendency to forget they were even here. She was so lovely, he kept her quite busy with other things.
“Hello children,” Miss Volkova said, sounding for all the world like a Russian Mary Poppins, with her faint hint of an accent. “Dear me, what seems to be the problem here?”
The smaller girl wiped one grimy hand under her nose and Jonathan winced. Kids were great and all that, but they were so messy.
“I miss my daddy,” she whispered. “I want to go home.”
Jonathan cleared his throat and smiled through gritted teeth. The last thing he needed was these brats ruining his carefully created image of blissful family life just when he’s clinched the deal. The old lady was clearly ready to sign on the dotted line. “Now, now, sweetie, you know this is your home, and you love it here. Look, here comes your mommy.” He turned and glared at Grace where she was sitting on a nearby bench until she put down her paperback and came over to wipe Elena’s tears away with a crumpled tissue.
Placing one hand firmly over the medallion, he knelt down in front of the two girls. “You don’t really want to be anyplace other than here, do you? Come on, I know you think this is the best house in the whole world. Better than Disneyland, even.”
Elena blinked rapidly. “Better than Disneyland,” she repeated.
“It’s great,” Katya agreed, smiling at her sister. “Can we go play with the other kids, mommy?”
“Of course you can,” Grace said, shooing them off and sliding one arm around Jonathan’s waist possessively. “That will give me more time to spend with Jonathan.” She gave a suggestive little wiggle before letting him go. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Jonathan?”