have anything to do with her. They probably thought he didn’t deserve her. That she wouldn’t be safe with him…or he wouldn’t be safe with her. Even though he’d already killed for her.
In fact, he realized with sad surprise, this was the first time in a long time that all four Volanis siblings were in the same place at the same time. Damon didn’t want to believe that it was all his fault, the way things had begun to split and separate. Kennick was married now, Cristov practically engaged, Mina had her own girlfriends and life. It wasn’t Damon’s job to organize monthly family reunions.
Then again, Damon was supposed to be the rock. The strongest link in the chain. The stable one.
He hadn’t been fulfilling that role.
But the fight in Miami would change all that.
One thing at a time, he thought, trying not to let his mind get ahead of him. Focus on Miami. Focus on finishing what needs to be finished, before you think about starting anything new.
He thought he’d be fine, as long as he didn’t see her before he left. But he wanted to see her. He wanted to see her so badly it hurt…
Damon pushed these thoughts to the side as his aunt Ana approached, having said goodbye to Baba Surry, with whom she was close. Ana pecked his cheek and wrapped her arm in his.
“She was a strong woman, my mother will be happy to see her again,” Ana said solemnly.
Damon’s own grandmother had died a year ago, just after his father had passed.
“ Sar'shan ,Ana,” Damon said, using a traditional family greeting. Her eyes, the trademark Volanis green, flashed up at him, her long, drawn face illuminated by the candles.
“We’ve had too many funerals recently,” she said. She’d buried her own husband eight months ago. Something about the way she said it had Damon stiffening in her loose hold.
“One funeral is too many,” he said, slightly guarded. She studied him, patted his arm, sighed.
“That is true, palesko . I’ve been watching you, Damon. You’re troubled. Don’t be afraid to put your troubles down before they put you down,” she said. Though she called him palesko, nephew, Ana had stepped in to act as mother to the Volanis brood when their mother left. She knew Damon as intimately as anyone could.
“Yes, Ana,” Damon said, nodding obediently. She sighed again, reached up to pat him on his cheek.
“ Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata ,” she said, shaking her head. “One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness”: she meant that his worries weren’t his alone, that his suffering was an infection.
She gave him one last look before moving on to embrace the rest of her brood. Damon watched her lean up to kiss Cristov’s cheek. Ana babied Cristov, was deferential to Kennick, and treated Damon as an equal. Her son, Pieter, was proving to be a little hellion, though, admittedly, a frustratingly forgivable one. Still, Damon knew that the kumpania was anxiously awaiting one of the brothers to produce a son; no one could see little Pieter taking Kennick’s place as rom baro when the time came.
Outside, a bonfire crackled, though the sun was high and the day was warm. Another tradition. Damon reflected on why they kept doing the same things, over and over again, when so many other things had changed over the years. The highly-assimilated gypsies scoffed at the idea of not telling a gaje your forename, an old Romani superstition, yet they still gave coins to the deceased for use in some nebulous afterlife.
Tradition gives you solace, peace, connection, he thought. Tradition gives you a home.
And yet, more and more, Damon had found himself feeling homeless on his own soil.
3
T ricia looked over her desk at the library. Pencil holder, framed photo, knick-knacks gathered over the course of months. Papers she was done with. Papers someone else would need when they came. A computer, now wiped clean of her log-in information and e-mails and files. She didn’t take
In fact, he realized with sad surprise, this was the first time in a long time that all four Volanis siblings were in the same place at the same time. Damon didn’t want to believe that it was all his fault, the way things had begun to split and separate. Kennick was married now, Cristov practically engaged, Mina had her own girlfriends and life. It wasn’t Damon’s job to organize monthly family reunions.
Then again, Damon was supposed to be the rock. The strongest link in the chain. The stable one.
He hadn’t been fulfilling that role.
But the fight in Miami would change all that.
One thing at a time, he thought, trying not to let his mind get ahead of him. Focus on Miami. Focus on finishing what needs to be finished, before you think about starting anything new.
He thought he’d be fine, as long as he didn’t see her before he left. But he wanted to see her. He wanted to see her so badly it hurt…
Damon pushed these thoughts to the side as his aunt Ana approached, having said goodbye to Baba Surry, with whom she was close. Ana pecked his cheek and wrapped her arm in his.
“She was a strong woman, my mother will be happy to see her again,” Ana said solemnly.
Damon’s own grandmother had died a year ago, just after his father had passed.
“ Sar'shan ,Ana,” Damon said, using a traditional family greeting. Her eyes, the trademark Volanis green, flashed up at him, her long, drawn face illuminated by the candles.
“We’ve had too many funerals recently,” she said. She’d buried her own husband eight months ago. Something about the way she said it had Damon stiffening in her loose hold.
“One funeral is too many,” he said, slightly guarded. She studied him, patted his arm, sighed.
“That is true, palesko . I’ve been watching you, Damon. You’re troubled. Don’t be afraid to put your troubles down before they put you down,” she said. Though she called him palesko, nephew, Ana had stepped in to act as mother to the Volanis brood when their mother left. She knew Damon as intimately as anyone could.
“Yes, Ana,” Damon said, nodding obediently. She sighed again, reached up to pat him on his cheek.
“ Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata ,” she said, shaking her head. “One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness”: she meant that his worries weren’t his alone, that his suffering was an infection.
She gave him one last look before moving on to embrace the rest of her brood. Damon watched her lean up to kiss Cristov’s cheek. Ana babied Cristov, was deferential to Kennick, and treated Damon as an equal. Her son, Pieter, was proving to be a little hellion, though, admittedly, a frustratingly forgivable one. Still, Damon knew that the kumpania was anxiously awaiting one of the brothers to produce a son; no one could see little Pieter taking Kennick’s place as rom baro when the time came.
Outside, a bonfire crackled, though the sun was high and the day was warm. Another tradition. Damon reflected on why they kept doing the same things, over and over again, when so many other things had changed over the years. The highly-assimilated gypsies scoffed at the idea of not telling a gaje your forename, an old Romani superstition, yet they still gave coins to the deceased for use in some nebulous afterlife.
Tradition gives you solace, peace, connection, he thought. Tradition gives you a home.
And yet, more and more, Damon had found himself feeling homeless on his own soil.
3
T ricia looked over her desk at the library. Pencil holder, framed photo, knick-knacks gathered over the course of months. Papers she was done with. Papers someone else would need when they came. A computer, now wiped clean of her log-in information and e-mails and files. She didn’t take
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