Not quite like coming home at all.
I didn't say that, though. Niko would put it in a more diplomatic fashion than I ever could. I was right "We've not met our mother's clan," he said from behind.
Goodfellow seemed surprised. "Didn't you try to track them down?"
"We were a little preoccupied," Niko replied dryly, "what with the Auphe situation and fleeing for our lives."
That was two—count them—two blatant lies from my brother. Of course we'd tried to trace them. Sophia had been murdered, I'd been kidnapped, and we were being hounded day and night. We knew that we needed all the help we could get. We'd searched for Sophia's tribe, and we'd found them. Her relatives, her family… what should've been ours.
They had spit on me. Literally. Forking the evil eye with thrusts of their hands, they'd hissed in fear and hatred, and spit. As homecomings go, it doesn't get much more festive than that. How did they know what I was? It seemed while Sophia might have left them, they hadn't left her… not completely. They'd kept tabs on her. She was Gypsy. She might not have cared about that, but they did. They probably would've contacted Niko once he was old enough to understand, but then I came along. Sophia's own knew what she'd done. They knew of the bargain and saw the result born. They'd written her off then, her and anyone with her. And when I'd shown up with my pale, pale skin, they'd known exactly what I was, and Niko was tarred with the same brush. They didn't spit on him, he was an abomination by association only, but they turned away from him. He was invisible to them. Nonexistent. Dead.
That was the beginning and end of our family reunion.
Goodfellow didn't question the lies, although there was a good chance he recognized them for what they were. Niko didn't lie often, but he did it exceptionally well. That didn't stop me from suspecting that the puck still knew. He'd had tens of thousands of years' experience in the field. "Preoccupied, yes, I can see that. And family? Who needs it? Take the Borgia family for example. When I was staying with them for an extended holiday…"
I tuned out as beside me, Flay grunted and reached into the pocket of his shorts to pull out a baseball hat. He smacked it on his head, walked faster, and muttered, "Talk. Always talk, talk. Make ears hurt." It was nice to know that the Goodfellow charm transcended the chasm between species.
By the time we crossed the field Niko had smoothly pulled ahead of us. It didn't take any discussion to know that it would be best if the token human among us did the talking at first. Robin and I might look human, but you never knew when someone was going to have a quirky ability to sniff you out. With Flay… hell, even your average human living in blinders was going to do a double take. And Gypsies weren't average in any way, shape, or form. They'd know a wolf when they saw one. We'd thought about leaving Flay in the RV with Promise, but decided at the last minute it might not hurt to flex our muscle. Gypsies weren't known for their cooperative ways, not unless there was something in it for them. They had a lot in common with Goodfellow in that. Whether wearing a thousand-dollar suit or a five-dollar wife beater, businessmen were all the same. If you wanted them to play, you had to pay.
And the one in said wife beater looked like a helluva negotiator.
His skin was dusky, a shade darker than Niko's. Wavy black hair was paired with a thick, drooping mustache and impenetrable dark eyes. Impressive muscles bulged as he folded his arms over his chest. As he eyed us with suspicious disfavor, the old woman whispered in his ear. Two other men flanked them, each casually swinging a baseball bat.
"What do you want here?" the obvious leader demanded harshly when we stopped about ten feet away. "We're not running a boarding kennel." The slow sneer was flashed at Flay. Flay yawned, unimpressed, yet showing some rather impressive teeth. He'd heard it all before, most of it from me.
Niko ignored the posturing. "We're in search of something. To buy."
That perked the Rom's ears up although he refused to show it. Looking Niko up and down, he curled his lip. "Vayash, eh?"
He was right. Our mother had been of the Vayash clan. That in and of itself wouldn't have been too amazing of a guess; the Vayash were the only clan to spawn blonds. How he knew Niko was of Gypsy stock was another matter.
"Yes," Niko confirmed. "Our mother was Vayash."
There were worlds of meaning behind that statement. We were Gypsy, but we'd not been raised Gypsy. The man nodded and frowned. "That hair, those eyes, that nose. Vayash." His eyes traveled past Niko to take me in. It couldn't be more clear that Flay wasn't Rom, and neither was Goodfellow with his coloring. "You." He shook his head. "The Vayash, always polluting themselves with the Gadje." Gadje… outsiders, non-Gypsy. "We thought they'd finally seen the error of that particular way."
It was a free pass if ever we'd been given one. They didn't know I was Auphe. Sure, I was half-Vayash at best. Polluted, second-class, not true Rom, but it was a definite step up from abomination. It was also a helluva lucky break and Niko didn't waste any time in taking advantage of it.
"Our acquaintance"—he indicated Goodfellow with a jut of his chin—"has a good deal of money. Perhaps you can help him spend it… if you have what we're seeking."
Robin's groan was nearly inaudible, but considering his money-grubbing ways, that was the equivalent of a ringing endorsement. Four sets of dark eyes focused on him, brightening with a look I'd seen more than once in Goodfellow's own. Baseball bats hung at rest and white teeth flashed expansively under a thick black mustache. "We have many, many things. Surely one will be what you seek. I am Branje." He swept an arm toward an RV to the right. "We'll sit, we'll talk, we'll drink. We'll take very good care of our new friends." Bullshit, every word of it. We knew it, and Branje most likely knew that we knew it, but it was the game, and the game had to be played.
Although not by me. Flay didn't seem much interested in the dark and gloomy interior either. Instead he wrinkled his nose, shook his head adamantly, and sat his furry ass on the ground. I kept him company under the broiling sun, leaning against the hot metal. Drinking and conniving, watching the highest levels of tricksters, the Rom and a Puck, going mano a mano, none of it much interested me. I'd sooner sweat and bake.
"Smell weird."
The clack of the door closing above our heads had been several minutes ago, and I'd been sitting with eyes shut as I listened to the sound of a million enraged bugs. At least it seemed like a million. Swatting yet another mosquito on my forearm, I asked incuriously, "What smells weird?"
"You."
I opened my eyes and slanted a glance at Flay's moist face. I'd have thought the panting would mean he wouldn't have to sweat, but it seemed Snowball had gotten the worst of both worlds there. "Yeah, yeah, I smell like Auphe. Monster. Stinky. The subject's been covered."
Eyes rolled in annoyance under the brim of the baseball cap. "No. Smell weird. Not just Auphe stink. More. Human weird."
"So you're saying, now I'm stinky and I smell weird?" I summed up as I wiped the sweat from my face. "Great. My self-esteem says thanks for playing."
The T-shirt-covered shoulders shrugged. "Tell what I smell."
At any other time that would've been funny. The casual toss off by a tourist-gear-wearing wolf. I almost wished I could appreciate it, but if I did, there would be other things waiting to push in… things I would appreciate a lot less. I closed my eyes again. "Promise likes calla lilies. Her apartment is always full of them, all colors."