Rob Thurman - Chimera

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Michael peered over my shoulder at the cards in my hand as I prepared to discard two. “Statistically speaking your chances of making that combination aren’t too high.” He had gone from knowing nothing about the game of poker to knowing more than enough to criticize my playing. And he wasn’t shy with his opinions.

“I’m sure,” I groused, tossing the cards down on the table. Lev and I had joined Michael in the entertainment room to expose him to the finer art of gambling. Surrounded by overstuffed couches, jewel-toned rugs, and more electronics than a NASA mission control room, I was being thoroughly humiliated in front of my brother who seemed to be enjoying every second. He had even torn himself away from the giant flat-screen television to take in the spectacle.

Moments after I was dealt my new cards, plump arms were sweeping away my chips. “You should’ve listened to your friend, Stefan,” he chortled. “He’s a nose for this you’ve never quite had.”

A hand hesitantly laid itself on my shoulder as Michael did an about-face from disparaging to stubbornly supportive. “He’s not that bad. He only needs a little work on the theory.”

“Psh. He’s terrible.” Lev stacked the chips and dealt again, this time dealing Michael in. “But he’s my godson all the same, and I’m happy to see your loyalty to him.” He winked and gave him a generous share of what had once been my chips. “You’re a good friend, little Michael. Probably better than he deserves. Let me tell you what this one got up to when he was your age. It will curl that blond hair of yours.”

“It will?” Michael picked up his cards but kept his eyes riveted on Uncle Lev. “Was he bad?” He spared me a quick, bright glance, tongue firmly in cheek.

“Ah, so bad. So very, very bad.” And he was off. Assuming Michael was as young as he appeared to be, he mostly told of the scrapes I’d gotten into at ages thirteen and fourteen. That was the time period before my brother had disappeared. Following that, I hadn’t gotten into much trouble; the will simply wasn’t there. Before then . . . there were no holds barred. I had detention so often that I had a permanent reservation for the desk by the window. It was all in good fun, I thought, but the custodian who had to chase the five chickens out of the gym hadn’t agreed; neither had the biology and chemistry teachers whose labs had to be decontaminated by biohazard units. Then there had been the hiding in an empty locker while the varsity cheerleaders changed. That had made me and Angelo, my best friend, cocks of the walk for the entire seventh grade. It was all typically harmless kid stuff. Anatoly had laughed it all off the few times a teacher had ever been able to pin him down on the phone. He would’ve done the same if I’d been caught loan sharking during recess.

“Where did you get the chickens?” Michael asked with interest.

“None of your business.” I watched with gloom as the last of my chips disappeared.

“What did the cheerleaders look—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” I warned him. Throwing in the towel, I watched as the two of them battled it out on the gaming field of honor. It wasn’t long before Lev realized Michael could hold his own in fair combat. It was an opportunity for the old man to impishly begin a lesson in cheating. First he showed off his simple overhand shuffle, a finger break, then a false cut. Following that, he used a double undercut to move the ace of spades back to the top of the deck. I’d seen it all before, but it didn’t stop me from whistling in appreciation.

“You haven’t lost your touch, Uncle Lev.”

Michael was watching it all with a quiet and, if I wasn’t mistaken, mildly larcenous fascination. “You could make a lot of money this way, couldn’t you?”

“Sure,” I drawled. “If you didn’t mind being beaten to a pulp when you got caught.”

“If you were clever enough, you wouldn’t get caught.” He held out a hand for the cards. “Sir, could you show me that last one again?”

That’s all I needed, Michael trying to score us pocket change at every gas and lunch stop, all in the spirit of an interesting experiment. Hoping to distract him, I rose, stretched, and checked my watch. Nearly four and a half hours had passed since breakfast. “When’s lunch, Uncle Lev? We really do have to get going soon.”

“Spoilsport,” he grumped. “I’ll go check on the cook. She’s been temperamental lately. I should never have traykhate her. It wasn’t worth a late lunch.”

As he trundled out the door, Michael said curiously, “I don’t recall that word being covered in my language class.”

“And it’s not going to be covered here either, Junior. So don’t hold your breath.”

He ran through the cards in a fairly decent imitation of Lev’s last move. “Why do you do that?” he asked matter-of-factly.

“Do what?”

His eyes narrowed at me from behind smoky glass as he shuffled silently.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I’m a little overprotective,” I admitted grudgingly. “I think I’m entitled.” But much more than that, I was obligated.

He continued to manipulate the cards without speaking, his fingers growing swifter with each pass. Finally, he said, “It wasn’t your fault, Stefan.”

I felt my mouth go dry. “What?” This was not a road I wanted to travel.

“Your brother’s being taken. It wasn’t your fault. From the way you described, it was planned, right? The beach was mostly inaccessible; he had a getaway car available. It was planned,” he repeated. “If it hadn’t been then, it would’ve been some other time. Some other place. You’re trying to make up for something you didn’t do.” To someone who’s not your brother was the unsaid tag on that statement.

“Misha.” I shook my head and tried for a smile, only to fall short. “Now just isn’t the time, but . . . thanks.” I didn’t think it would ever be the time for that discussion if I could avoid it, but I realized what the effort said about Michael. He had been locked away in a place of rigid authority and people who could’ve passed as robots for all the emotion they showed. That he could still reach out to someone was extraordinary, and I wasn’t about to slam a door in his face.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment and began to meander about the room, still putting the cards through their paces. From the bookshelves to the stereo system to the massive collection of DVDs, it all received a thorough examination. “I like this place. Is your house like this?”

I snorted. “You wish, kid.” Actually, I didn’t have a place to live anymore. Going back to the condo at any time in the foreseeable future wasn’t an option. I’d suspected that before I left, even without the added complication of Konstantin’s death. I’d taken everything important to me, which hadn’t been much. The majority of my money was for finding my brother. Material things hadn’t meant much, except as unnecessary expenses. But Michael hadn’t been allowed ownership of anything in the Institute. Of course the bright and shiny things in life were going to fascinate him. “But don’t worry. Whenever we settle in one spot, you can fill up your room with anything your greedy little heart desires.”

“Anything?” He moved to the window that faced the back of the property and looked over his shoulder at me with impudent challenge. “Honestly?”

“Anything that doesn’t come from an adult bookstore,” I amended.

He turned to look out the window, but I heard the indistinct mutter of “Issues, issues.” As he tilted his head, his attention was caught by something other than giving me a hard time. “There are fountains and a maze. It looks . . . nice . . . with all the snow. Peaceful.”