Yvgenie

THE GHOST BOY

Eveshka had a dreadful impression of danger. She ran across the yard and headlong down the slope to the ferry dock, toward the river. Past the gray, weathered boat she ran, then down the overgrown shoreline, fending her way through reeds and a thin screen of young birches.

Her daughter Ilyana was standing there, wrapped in mist. Two lovers, one mortal, one—a ghost.

“Ilyana!” Eveshka threw up an arm to ward off the white owl that flew at her. It whisked away, shredding on the winds.

“Mother!” Ilyana gasped, while the ghost, the very familiar ghost, turned to face her with a familiar lift of the chin.

Young. Oh, yes, he would be that with Ilyana. She remembered him that way in her father’s time.

“Get out of here!” she cried. “You’ve no right here. You’ve no claim on my daughter, Kavi Chernevog!”