Maxim blinked. “Ah. I need to find some information about a man. There isn’t a lot to go on. I have an old photo and a first name.”

  “And what do you need to find out?” Morrow queried.

  “I need to know more about the man. He was married with twins—a daughter and a son. They know little as he died and the wife remarried.” Maxim didn’t know what else to tell the man.

  “That’s not a lot of information. But what is it you’re wanting to know?”

  “Is there family, and if so, whatever you can tell me about them.” He rubbed a finger over his brow. “The daughter… She’s…” He wouldn’t tell this man about the danger, and he scrubbed his hand through his hair, running the list of options, because sharing that felt incredibly wrong. “She wants to know.”

  The silence on the line stretched out. Just as Maxim was about to enquire if the man was still there, he heard a sigh. “I’m going to be seeing Simon tomorrow. Meet me at his house, say three in the afternoon? Bring what you have.”

  Maxim nodded. “I’ll be there, but wait, I have a photo on my phone of the man. I can send that through now if it suits.”

  “Wait until I see you, then I’ll get a copy.”

  The connection broke and Maxim stared at the phone, wondering what he’d done and how Pip would react if she knew he’d contacted someone to ask before she’d agreed. But there weren’t any answers, so after long moments of silence, he sighed and put down the phone. He’d opened Pandora’s box. Now he would learn what was inside.

  He looked through the window and noted the light on the porch next door turned on, and a car drove up. Peter then Pip wandered down the steps and collected boxes from the car as he watched. Peter took two boxes, and Pip one, but it was clear there was more to carry, and without thought, Maxim rose and headed out the door to assist.

  Pip and Peter were just returning when Maxim reached the car. Simon and Niamh appeared surprised at Peter’s greeting of, ”Hey, it’s Maxim. Thanks for coming out to help.”

  Maxim nodded, but it was the surprise on Pippa’s face that grabbed him.

  “We weren’t expecting help,” she said.

  “I wasn’t long home and looked out when I heard the car. You need help, I’m here.” He shrugged and avoided Niamh’s keen gaze.

  Simon thrust a box at Pippa. “Here are the videos Niamh organised for you.” To Peter, he handed over another two boxes. “The router, paper, and some practice workbooks for both of you. We also added some other stationary items like notepads, pens, calculators, and rulers.”

  “What’s a router?” Pippa queried, staring down at the clearly heavy bag her brother held.

  “It’s the box that carries the internet signal to your computer and connects you to the internet,” Maxim explained.

  Pippa blushed as she muttered, “Oh.”

  “Oh, well, how will we get these working?” Peter asked.

  Maxim groaned. “You have much to learn. I will help you.”

  Niamh cleared her throat, and he glanced in her direction, noting the way she’d raised one eyebrow in question. He discerned what she wanted to know but ignored it anyway, because he wasn’t quite ready yet to answer questions about why he was going above and beyond with helping Peter. And Pippa.

  “Well, Niamh, we best get along. Your brothers are waiting for us.” Simon turned to Maxim. “They’re tackling the art of the BBQ for the first time, and we’re the guinea pigs.”

  Maxim remembered Niamh’s two brothers from the wild search for Niamh. Niamh and Simon had welcomed the young men after they’d been banished from her clan in Ireland for asking questions that they weren’t supposed to ask, if he remembered correctly.

  “Then you should leave and enjoy your evening,” Maxim said, and Niamh frowned then sighed. Simon and Niamh climbed into the car, and Maxim, Peter, and Pippa watched as the car drove away.

  “Well, we should get these inside and set up,” Pippa said. “You should stay for dinner. I have a casserole cooking, but I think I made too much.”

  Maxim considered the offer for a second or two then nodded. “That would be nice. Thank you, I will.”

  What would be nicer would be to talk to her privately. To enjoy her nearness, not that it meant anything, he warned himself. After all, he enjoyed Niamh’s friendship too. Of course, Niamh didn’t make him feel as if he should protect her, find out more so he could offer her protection…

  Maxim followed them both inside, and now that he’d agreed he had misgivings. After all, he’d not wanted to get involved or close, yet it seemed somehow Pippa was weaving a web around him.

  They’d just stepped inside when the house phone trilled three times then stopped just as Pippa reached for it. She blinked.

  Maxim frowned. “Who was…?” Then he inwardly cursed himself as a creepy stalker. He had no right to ask.

  “I don’t know. I mean, no one except Simon and Niamh has this number,” she said.

  “It was probably them,” answered Peter with an absent smile as he settled in to open one of the computer boxes. “Hey, come on and let’s get these set up.”

  An uneasiness yawed in Maxim’s belly. Simon and Niamh had just left, and he knew that if something had been needed, they’d likely ring the cell phones. “Humour me. Let me ring Niamh.”

  Pippa bit her lip as she looked at him, and he saw the hint of fear deep in her eyes. She nodded.

  Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he stabbed at the keys and waited for Niamh to answer.

  “What’s wrong?” Niamh answered the call.

  “Did you just ring Pippa and Peter?” he said by way of answering as his gaze settled back on Pippa.

  “No. Why? Who rang?” Her voice took on a harsher tone than he remembered Niamh ever using.

  “We don’t know. It was the house phone. Would you have given that number to anyone?” he demanded.

  “No. It’s those who need to know only. We issued them both cell phones. Simon? Pippa and Peter’s house number was called. Can you see if anyone…?” There were a few seconds of silence, then she said, “Simon said no one in the pack would call that number. He’s going to alert the lycans, but he asked if you can stay close by?”

  Maxim growled in his throat. Was this the threat they were all watching for? Was this Roger letting them know he’d found Pippa and Peter? Only time would tell. Heightened anxiety locked his muscles, but he had no intention of raising this with Pippa and scaring her. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I will. Thanks, Niamh.”

  She rang off with “Okay, let me know if you need anything, alright?”

  Maxim sighed. “Niamh said the number isn’t used. It’s probably just someone trying to ring an old number.”

  His lie didn’t fool Pippa. “Don’t tell me lies, Maxim. That’s not what she said. I read it in your eyes. Is it Roger?”

  Now, he shrugged, aware that hiding the truth would only inflame the situation. “I don’t know.” In his brain, he made a rapid assessment of the situation, the threats and how to counter them. “The lycans will increase their patrols, but for now I’d feel more comfortable if you two moved over to my house. So I can keep an eye out for both of you.”

  Chapter Eight

  Pippa tossed and turned, the silence of the house at odds with the noise in her head, going round and round as she considered what had happened.

  “The lycans will increase their patrols, but for now I’d feel more comfortable if you two moved over to my house. So I can keep an eye out for both of you.” Maxim’s demand had crashed down on her, leaving her wondering why life was unfair.

  She’d refused his offer—on behalf of both herself and her brother—but right now, she wondered if that had been wise. This man, who she was admittedly attracted to, even if she didn’t want it, wanted to protect her. Just like Peter. Frustration welled deep inside.

  Roger. Once again, her life wasn’t her own, and it was Roger at the heart of it. Oh, they couldn’t say categorically it was Roger, but deep in her gut she just knew.

  Tears of rage burned her eyes. Why? Why was the world so damned unkind? What was it about her? She pushed up from the bed, needing to work off the mad growing inside her. Knowing that the pressure building would soon need an outlet. But what?

  Pippa scooped up her wrap and stalked to the kitchen. It was early in the morning, nearing one o’clock, and she hadn’t been able to sleep, no matter that she’d willed the grip of Morpheus. Her gaze settled on the oven, and before she knew it, she’d reached for flour and yeast, mixing bowls, and plastic wrap.

  The oven light glowed once she’d set the unit to preheat and settled into the routine. Measuring, mixing, then setting aside to rise.

  Wiping the bench led her to another task, paring apples and slicing before sitting them in a pot of sugared water on the stove. The tasks soothed her, and she went about her business, preparing the dough for a pie crust, then once again cleaning up, before reaching for the yeasty dough which had now risen.

  Punching it down, she considered the options. Stay with Maxim and have the lycans ensure her safety but remain hidden from the world. She could say to hell with it and strike out on her own, but that was dangerous. Roger would likely find her, and she’d pay the price.

  Was there another option? One where she set the ground rules? Setting the bread dough to rise once more, she tackled the mess and grabbed the pie crust from the oven and began spooning in the apples, lightly seasoned with cinnamon, and began rolling the top for the pie.

  Peter’s light flicked on, and he wandered into the kitchen, pyjamas covered with a terry robe, and she heard the slopping of his footwear. “What’s up?” he asked, bleary-eyed, and she shook her head, wondering how he could float through life so blithely unaware of his surroundings.

  “I’m nervous. Maxim asked us to stay with him, but I turned down his offer, and now I’m maybe regretting that.”

  “He asked us, and you didn’t think to talk to me?” Peter eyed her with his red-rimmed eyes.

  She sighed, “No. Anyway, I think the call was from Roger.” Sugarcoating the words wouldn’t help anyone.

  Peter stared. “What?”

  “That call tonight? The one that hung up? I think it was Roger. I think he’s found us but is looking for a way to unsettle us. I don’t think he can get to us here, so he’s trying to get us to run.” She bit her lip, washing the top of the pie with some milk and sprinkling on sugar before sliding it into the oven.

  “Huh,” her brother grunted. “If he can’t get to us here, we’re safe.”

  Pippa wasn’t so sure though. Because nothing had stopped him before, and she seriously doubted the lycans would be successful if, and when, he chose to pounce. By the same token, where else could they go? And at some point, they’d have to leave. They couldn’t remain indefinitely in this village.

  “We can’t stay here forever, Peter. At some point, we’re going to want to stretch our wings. You might need to leave the area for work. We have to think sensibly.”

  “We worry when the time comes,” he said, settling in beside her to take a biscuit she’d baked earlier in the day and crunching into it. “For now, we’re okay.”

  Tension knotted in her belly. “I don’t want to stay here forever, Peter.”

  “There’s no rush,” he muttered around the food in his mouth.

  She pushed away from the counter, where she’d waited. “I need to know that something’s being done.”

  He glanced at her, surprise wreathing his face. “What?”

  “I want freedom. I need it.” She breathed in shallow snatches, the urgency of her words surprising him. “I can’t and won’t live in a fishbowl. I was always in view with Roger and Mother. Now here, we have watchers and…” She threw up her hands as frustration bubbled over. “I want to be able to leave and know I’m safe.”

  “And?”

  One inhalation followed another as she sought to control herself. “I don’t know. Maxim suggested we stay with him. But⁠—”

  “You want to stay, but you’re afraid? Your feelings are mixed.” Peter nodded. “I’m not as blind as you think I am, Pip. You gotta do what feels right. Trust your instincts.” For a moment she caught a glimpse of a man in her mind—older, wiser. Was it a shade of their father?

  Her mother growled, the sound wild, while the man held onto her. He looked like Peter, but she knew it wasn’t him. “Don’t come near. Hide my children. Find safety. Go!” Blood stained his shirt and collar, the deep red pulsing. “Remember always, I love you.” His grip failed…

  “Pippa? Phillipa!” Her brother was shaking her, and she slumped on the floor.

  “What happened?” Her voice was weak, tremulous.

  “You had a vision, Pip. It… You scared me.” Peter shook as he held her close.

  She took his arms, gripped them tight. “I saw… I think I saw our father. It was the night he died, and the night Roger took the three of us.” She tried to shake away the memory, but it remained lodged in her brain.

  “What happened?” Peter asked, but she shook her head again.

  “I can’t. Not tonight. Let me finish, and then I’ll rest. I’ll tell you more in the morning.” She turned away, returning to her baking, knowing she needed the routine and certainty for now.

  Peter waited a while then retreated back to the bedroom.

  Maxim scowled at the computer. The email he’d received brought him little joy.

  Dear Sir,

  We acknowledge your application for Recognition of Prior Learning. We have received your data from the University of Oblast, and there is an issue that has arisen. Please contact us…

  What issue could there be? He’d finished all the requirements for his course. Perhaps there had been some kind of hiccup in finalising the last clinical training unit. Or maybe, somehow, Mischa’s father had managed to get in someone’s ear. Maxim shook his head. There was no way; after all, he was a simple farmer, without connection, as he’d always told Maxim.

  He looked at the number and scratched his head. The clinic opened eight today, and it was barely nine. Did he have time to call and sort it out? Did he even want to? But without conscious thought he’d already picked up the phone and entered the number and the calling signal echoed down the line.

  “Good morning, this is Vanessa Felitz. How may I assist you?”

  He gave his name.

  “Ah, Mr Orlov. We’ve received your transcript, however, it says that your final clinic trials are incomplete. Now, what we are unsure of is the name of the final unit and its completion. The transcript is difficult to translate, and as far as we can discern, it’s Care of the Alternate Species? Uh, is that right?”

  His hand squeezed the phone. “Yes. It is a unit caring for paranormal injuries—vampires, witches, and so on. It’s the advanced, in-clinic care, following on from the phys… physiou…” He grunted, squeezed his eyes, and considered the word he needed, forming it first without sound. “Physiological treatment of injuries sustained by paranormal creatures. The transcript will name it ‘physiological injuries to alternate species.’” He stumbled over the words; his grasp of English was proficient, as Pippa had said, but there were some things that he struggled with still.

  “Oh yes. So it is. Ah, we’ve made some enquiries, but no university in this country has an equivalent course. Particularly not with paranormals. In fact, the units you’ve completed, more than already qualify you for graduation, as your subject list is more than the usual number of subjects to complete. But you’d need someone to take you on for a clinical assessment.”

  “Is that not just a case of contacting a training hospital willing to test my skills?” he enquired.

  “Well, normally, yes. But you see, the care of paranormals is not something our teaching hospitals have embraced to date. What I would suggest is to contact a hospital or advanced care centre and seek their assistance to see if they would take you on to complete your final practical placement. We’re more than happy to forward the translated copy of your transcript to them and let them assess it and you.”

  He bared his teeth in frustration. Surely this was the task of the federal assessment office? “Where would I find a list of possible teaching hospitals or centres I can make application to?”

  She rattled off a website address, and he noted it down.

  Pippa bit her nail and waited on the verandah. Maxim usually arrived home around half past five, and she waited, irritated with herself that she knew this. Her foot tapped on the boards of the verandah as she scanned the roads again.

  Peter had disappeared down the road, saying he wanted to look at what was locally planted. “I still can’t believe that nothing has been planted in this yard. It would add to the appeal from the curb as well as encourage positive mental health benefits.” Even now, considering his words, she had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the way he’d delivered his reasoning behind his sojourn.

  A van came into view, and she watched it glide past Maxim’s before stopping at her gate.

  A man got out, carrying a box he’d retrieved from the rear of the vehicle. “I have a delivery,” he called out.

  Pippa squinted. “For who?”

  “A Phillipa? Is that you?”

  Inside, something tightened. No one called her that except Mother and Roger. The membranes in her mouth dried, and it was like she couldn’t breathe.

  “Are you Phillipa?” he repeated, sounding annoyed she hadn’t answered immediately.

  “Yes,” she croaked. “What is it?”

  “Don’t know,” he said. “It’s only my job to deliver what is sent. Here.” He thrust the small box at her.

  She took it, feeling frozen and disconnected from the event unfolding. The man left, she noted dimly as she stood there, holding the package like it was toxic waste. Time passed as she stared down at it, terror flowing through her veins. I don’t want to open it. I don’t want to know what’s inside.