Tulip didn’t see her goddaughter enough. Between travelling, her criminal activities, and her business, it just didn’t come together enough. Now that they didn’t keep in touch, letters, emails, or calls, at odd schedules and hours, but they still happened. It had been months since she had spoken to her properly though, and over a year since they had gotten to sit down, far too long, and under such unfortunate circumstances to boot. Whether it was Russia or stateside though, Tulip always went above and beyond to treat her.
It was, perhaps, an unspoken apology. One the girls had learned to interpret at an early age. Aunt Tulip wasn’t around when they were sick, and they might go a year without seeing her (and with unreliable communications) but when she did come back it was with extravagant gifts that made their father tut and sigh. The ones she mailed for their birthdays were even more grand, a further apology. But Tulip had few connections that weren’t about business, her and the other party using each other in some way, and while Nick may have started out that way, he had a way of worming his way into the mushy part of hardened hearts. Even hers. And the girls, how was she supposed to not become attached to them?
The fact that they only knew her as Tulip helped. Easier to box up that connection when she wore another face and spoke with a different voice. Otherwise they could get hurt, and it would be harder to be hardened, prickly Briar if she wanted to peer at pictures that Nick had mailed her alter ego.
But that was going to change. She had settled in Summerview, and not as Tulip. Oksana needed to come home, but she knew better than most how difficult that talk was going to be. Offering the incentive of her home for the girl to stay in would help, surely, somewhere she could be close to Nick without being in the home she had shared with Kitty. Tulip — Briar — would give anything to relive her mother’s last days again. To know that they were coming, and savor them more. While that opportunity was lost to her, she could help Nick in giving it to his only remaining daughter. The waiter brought her the wine menu while she waited for Oksana to arrive, trying to formulate some sort of battle plan to convince her to come to some sort of truce with her father. Without any sort of deception to it. Not just because she didn’t want to do that to the girl who she genuinely adored, but also because she had foolishly taught the clever thing too many of her tricks.
Atlantic City wasn’t exactly Florence. Or Moscow. Or, hell, Berlin with a hangover. But it was closer to home--to Summerview then Oksana had been in years and that lent a certain livewire frisson to the situation. Oksana could recognize the ache of nerves for what it was; the added sting of guilty she ignored with veteran aplomb.
Primed to fight her own nervousness, Oksana walked into the restaurant dressed in fighting form: neck-to-toe McQueen, impeccable from the eyelash lace collar to neat skirt folds to the stiletto tips of her glossed leather boots. Her makeup was precise enough to qualify as CGI. The ever present bands of pale metal gleamed on either hand. She didn’t, Oksana assured herself, look anything like she had at nineteen.
It’d be great if she could damn stop feeling it.
Seeing her god-aunt was a mixed blessing on that account. Tulip had been, well, not exactly a fixture of childhood; there was nothing “fixed” about the woman. But she was a beloved memory nonetheless. She’d been the cancelling of curfews, the buyer of the first beer (and the recommender of the first hangover cure), the craziest birthday gift, the granter of ice cream breakfasts. She’d been universally cool in a way that only a properly odd adult could be to a properly ridiculous pair of nine year olds.
And then, after, she’d been someone who understood the anger.
“Hello, tetushka.” Oksana ducked to brush a dry kiss along Tulip’s currently-familiar cheek. “What’s the good word around the world?”
She hooked the waiter’s eye sitting down and held up three fingers, thumb out. “Glenlivet if you’ve got it, straight.” On second thought... “Bring the bottle. Leave the bottle.”
The smile Tulip gave her in greeting was warm and genuine, a contrast to expensive jewelry and the sort of posture that could only come with being continually scolded and whacked with a ruler or worse. When one used their appearance as a weapon to both entice and maim all at once, everything was with a purpose and controlled, had to be.
Especially when you were crafted instead of born.
She inspected Oksana with a close eye, like a well loved borrowed book being returned, ensuring she was well and not hiding anything obvious that would merit her wrath on anyone unsuspecting. Tulip may have a respect and even admiration for Oksana, something that was well earned over time, but a part of her would always see her as the girl child a bit too eager for stories of stolen paintings and crown jewels. “You look beautiful, mi amorzinho.” And she meant it to. Oksana was beautiful in anything, though she truly shined in the fine things, a taste they shared. Though Tulip recognized a shield when she saw one, especially in someone she knew so well. Considering the circumstances the girl couldn’t be faulted. Whatever it took to cope, she generally supported. “The usual sort of chaos, the best kind.”
A single, carefully sculpted eyebrow raised at the drink order even as she handed the wine selection back to the waiter, “It is one of those days, I’ll have a martini please, with extra olives.” Once he was gone her gaze turned back to Oksana, shiny manicured nails drawing designs in the condensation from the water glass, “I’m pleased you could make it, I hope all of this ugliness didn’t interrupt anything important.” Not that it could really be delayed until a more convenient hour, it was what it was, but she well knew the pains of a carefully crafted plan being pushed to the backburner.
"Nothing on the docket that couldn't be postponed a while," Oksana said. "There's a bit of metalwork coming up but it's a pure vanity project. Somebody's overpriced memento in the making. I did finish something interesting last week: a giochi d’acqua garden."
It'd been a absorbing, funny piece of work. More than a little backbreaking, yes, but satisfying in a way that would last long past the Enchantment itself. She liked to think that she'd succeeded in making it moderately witty, too. After all if you couldn't maintain a sense of humor about landscaping, what was the point?
Admittedly there had been a spot of trouble when one of the owner's bloody pet swans wandered into the work area that was definitely funny - in hindsight. But Tulip already had enough material to blackmail Oksana into old age and the next five reincarnations besides. She didn’t need “chased by a homicidal Dutch swan” added to her arsenal.
Speaking of ammo, though: time to bite the bullet...Oksana neatly laced her hands atop the unopened menu and looked at would-be godmother.
"You didn't suggest dinner half across the country to check my homework, tetushka," she said. "And since September is still a long way off, I'm assuming you're not here to help shop for a black dress. Likewise I still can't cross the bridge without feeling like someone's shaving my eyeballs, so there’s no parental pardon in your pocket either. That leaves - what? Negotiating? Rap battles? I can’t imagine you’re here to host peace talks.”
But there was always something on the docket with her, wasn’t it? And Tulip appreciated, no, respected that about her. The need to stay busy, to improve. The garden was different though, had her head tilting, attention grabbed by a new shiny thing as it ever was, “Really? Do you have pictures?” Wondering how in the world Oksana had spun that sort of thing with her unique touch.
Ah, and here they were. For all her skill with words and measuring people, she hadn’t been sure where to start or what, exactly, her pitch was going to be. Different for her, who usually planned ten steps ahead when she had enough notice (and it didn’t take much) but it was what it was. Luckily, Oksana decided to just plunge in the deep end.
“Negotiating sounds like you two are business partners who had a falling out.” The off handed correction would have suited her correcting Oksana’s pronunciation in French more than describing something as serious as a long standing chasm between her and her father. Or something as old and powerful as her family legacy. “But yes, I suppose, something like that. September is not so far away. Not really.”
Soft, precise fingers unwound the cloth napkin that was wrapped around the silverware on the table and started the process of folding it into a rose, “I had an idea, if you would hear me out with an open mind.”
Oksana was thumbing open her phone even before Tulip asked. The garden had been good work – even the old man himself would've approved. If he'd ever cared to accept the radical idea that doing Enchantments for obscene piles for cash wasn't akin to selling kittens into sexual slavery.
She slid the unlocked phone towards her godmother with a flicker of hesitation, a gesture of trust if there ever was one.
"Frankly, if Dad showed even half the reasonability of a business partner we probably wouldn't have to exchange Christmas cards like we were passing through the TSA," Oksana said acidly. "I've been shot by a business partner before and we still managed to reach an arrangement. He blocked off an island just to keep me out of the zip code. Is that even legal by Summerview's bylaws?"
The little spurt of temper was warming, better than a shot of whiskey. (And where the hell was that waiter already?) It helped brace against the chill of September – mostly.
Watching Tulip make origami out the table setting made Oksana's own fingers twitch. She resolutely locked every digit into place.
"I'm listening."
The hesitation was met with surprise, and a bit of approval too. Strange for an adult to be pleased about passing on her paranoia, maybe, but she was also pleased to be let in a little all the same. Even Briar had allies, not really any friends though. Oksana wasn’t that far gone though, hopefully. The pictures were swiped through, careful not to go too far lest she see something she wasn’t supposed to, though she imagined that the girl had everything in nice neat folders, organized even on her phone. The craftsmanship, detail, and how she managed to put professional but individual twists on this latest project got the proper impressed expressions, “Well done. I see your range of skill and detail continues to improve as well.”
“They paid upfront,” Oksana said. “That sort of initiative is incredibly motivating. As are verified banker’s checks.”
A quiet laugh echoed across the table as she slid the phone back to her, “I imagine so.” Tulip preferred cash, items or favors personally, but her eccentricities were older than Oksana was. Her hands continued their work, unhurried, “A certain hunger and detachment is needed for work like yours or mine. Your father has always been all heart.” It wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, just not really suitable to the lives that Oksana and Tulip were drawn to.
Her eyes flitted upwards, words halted as the waiter returned with their drinks — along with Oksana’s bottle, good lord —”We’ll have the bruschetta, please give us some time on the rest.” That was one of the good parts about expensive places, their table was isolated, and they could take all the time they wanted without the staff sighing.
The flower was coming into its shape, slowed down by her need for it to be just right, but that was her way, wasn’t it? “Return to the Island with me. I think I can convince your father to let go of some of his requirements if you move back properly, at least for a spell. You can stay in the house I own as the pub owner, close but not too close to the family estate.” It wasn’t a plea, because she just didn’t have that in her, but merely a proposal, “Besides. I’d rather like to live in the same city as you. Could use a face I can trust.” Especially with Julius in town, though they hadn’t crossed paths yet. On purpose.
“By requirements are we referring to the notion of mine accepting house arrest without the drudgery of a trial or has he livened up the offer now?” Oksana asked. She picked up the bottle and poured a shot. Well. More of a cannonball, really. “A bit of cleansing flogging before brunch, a refreshing ten hour vigil on weekends.”
She took a swallow of whiskey, mouth tightening at the taste. “His heart isn’t the problem, Tulip, and you damn well know it. He wants penance and I won’t pay it. I can’t believe you - why are you suddenly arguing on his behalf? You do realize the man is so offended by how I live, what I do, who I am that he’s willing to destroy the entire St. Pier legacy to avoid the chance, the mere chance, of me doing something he might disapprove after he’s - whatever. Fuck it.” Oksana refilled her glass and emptied it just as quickly. “I’m not going back into that goddamn aquarium so that he can pretend the last thirteen years were me being away at summer camp.”
“Besides,” she added, “he’s probably bluffing anyway.”
“Yes, that is a bit extreme of him, isn’t it?” Her tone, along with the twitch of her lips as she resisted the impulse to scowl outright showed she had some rather more scathing thoughts than extreme but she was trying to not add fuel to the fire. “I’m fairly confident we can expand house arrest to island arrest, or at least let you stay at my house.” One eyebrow raised again, “Especially once you open your mouth.” Because Oksana was anything but full of self restraint when it came to her opinions, clearly. Sunny, ha, more like Mouthy.
A sip of her martini, two fingers carefully sliding the olives off of the toothpick so they dropped into the drink, “I’m arguing for both of you, Oksana. No situation is ideal, but you find ways to benefit from them. You know that.” Her eyes dropped to the glass as she listened to the younger woman, well, not quite rant but it was close, “He’s never going to get over that. My mother did not either. But you’re hard-headed, you won’t change but you’ll still get to see him for his last few months.” Her hands expanded, single silver bracelet gleaming with the motion as if to say what’s the problem?
“Of course he’s partially bluffing, he could never be as cruel as he thinks he should be for what you did.” Nick had earned his reputation, and she knew better than most how much he missed his Sunny, and how much he blamed himself. However, he had his principles, and thought he needed to stand by them.
“Effectively deporting his sole surviving child at nineteen was ‘a bit extreme’” Oksana said. She almost reached for the bottle again before resolutely picking up the menu instead. “Destroying the cache is the threat of an old fool. Duck breast with red pears sounds good, don’t you think?”
She raised a hand to the waiter, something a little threatening in the gesture. Oksana’s manners often grew edges when she was unsettled. She could feel it happening but couldn’t stop for love or money. God only knew how bad it’d get in Summerview.
Which is why she wasn’t going.
Obviously.
“I haven’t done anything I feel like apologizing for. Now or then,” Oksana added. “He wants to bury his legacy so bad, he can print my name on a wanted poster whenever the the mood takes him. I’m not volunteering to be the villain in St. Nick’s morality play, Tulip.”
Well, it was hard to argue with her on that, made her wish that she had convinced the girl to go with poisoning instead all those years ago. “Yes well. You could have hid things better, but that was then and this is now.” Oksana was right, damn her, Tulip was fond of Nick like a distant uncle who she found a bit batty, but her and Sunny had more like minded perspectives. Always had.
“Si, I’ll give you a bite of my Moroccan Salmon for a bit of yours.” She watched the water hustle over, her own ruby lips curling in amusement. For all her icey eyes and cocky smirks, little Sunny was still in there somewhere, wearing her heart on her sleeve.
Tulip sighed as they Oksana ordered before placing her own — balsamic glazed brussels sprouts with onions and hazelnuts, yum — and sipped her Martini as she decided on tactics that remained. “Alright. I may have pitched an idea to your father that he is willing to accede to if you will meet with him. You live in Summerview for three years and you’ll get the keys. What say you to that?” Tulip had been hoping to get Oksana to come back to Summerview an hear that directly from her father or at least call him, but if this is the way it must be pitched then so be it. The girl held grudges like, well, like the Russian winter, didn’t she, and Tulip didn’t fancy the thought of the loathing towards her father being transferred to her once he was gone.
Tulip’s offer - and it had to be Tulip’s thinking behind the deal, Dad hadn’t budged an inch in years - gave Oksana pause. Three years wasn’t delightful, but it was manageable. At least, it could be. With some mental preparation and a little flexibility.
...Okay, a lot of flexibility. Chert voz’mi, she was going to have to rearrange most, if not all, of her long term orders and put a cap on on-site projects. She’d have to rent out her apartment. Store her car. Board up her Florence workshop. Resume drinking American coffee.
She’d have to come home.
“I can’t - “
I can’t come home to watch my father die.
“I can’t wholly agree to anything until I see the details. On paper,” Oksana clearing her throat with a sip of water. Her tone was pure platinum: bright and sleek, all business. “Three years residence, no sneak clauses above serving as Bridge crew or some rubbish. And I want the house.”
It felt like progress, even if it came with a flash of emotion across Oksana’s face that she looked frankly uncomfortable with. Not for the first time, Tulip wondered how she would have turned out had Kitty not died. With her sister to balance out her inborn edge, and without the sharp edge of grief that would never really fade.
“I’ll get all the concessions out of your father I can, and you know how I am with contracts.” Her goddaughter, wayward niece, whatever may not know all of Tulip’s details. But she knew that she dealt with the magical races fairly often, and in place of the don’t get pregnant lecture Oksana and Sunny both had gotten ones about Deals, how much power words held especially when dealing with old ones — vampires, Fae, and anyone else Tulip had encountered.
Honestly, between Mircea, Jayati, and Tulip they might’ve made the girl too aware too early.
Tulip took a deep breath, “When my mother was alive, photography was not yet common. I have no pictures. No recordings. Just 145 year old memories, and even then, I hated that house so much I don’t have enough of those. Take from that what you will.” Tulip didn’t often speak of her family, but if she did then it was of her mother. The only family she missed, though she tried not to linger on that fact.
Their food arrived before Oksana could reply. They spend a few minutes observing the niceties of fork and plate. The duck meat was pleasant pink in the center and the pear wedges were a careful touch, their mild sweetness sautéed in savory fat with shallots, garlic, and tarragon.
Oksana allowed another two analyzing bites before speaking. “You’re usually more subtle than this. Are you finally losing patience with us, tetushka?”
“He’s very good, you know,” Oksana said as if continuing a different conversation. “Dad. He clings to that island like a barnacle, but he is very, very good. I’ve met plenty of Enchanters at this point and worked with, and against, half as many. Few of them could produce work to surpass his.” One finely manicured nail tapped the edge of her glass. “Makes you wonder about the Summerview terroir, what it puts in the blood for the families that linger long enough..”
“The point being,” Oksana continued in a milder, warmer tone, “is that if Dad wants to hide the cache from me, he can. Not easily, maybe, but successfully. It’d cost him, though. He’d have to divert his attention from Summerview, have a little less to pour out into the Barrier. Leave a little less in reserve for when he’s gone.”
“Dad could hide the family trove well enough to stimmy me away for a decade or two,” Oksana said. “But he’d have to do it at the price of leaving Summerview less prepared. Do you think he’d able to do that? After a lifetime of service?”
Oksana smiled and it was - pretty. Sweet.
“I don’t think he could, Tulip. Nobody builds a deathclock expecting its forecast to hold up beyond a few months. And Dad’s not enough of a paranoid bastard to have started shrouding the vault prior to finding out his diagnosis. At best he could’ve only put in, what, two months of work into it? And that’s while doing the utmost to shore up the Barrier in preparation for his, “Oksana’s mouth momentarily tightened, “retirement.”
“He’s good,” she repeated. “But he hasn’t the time to do his best.”
Certainly not enough to withstand three years of attention. Because Oksana, her father’s daughter, was very good as well. Very, very good.
And she didn’t have to waste energy being civic-minded about it.
The Salmon was excellent, grilled with just the right amount of char, not too fishy tasting, and it contrasted nicely with the balsamic glazed brussel sprouts. She tilted the plate towards Oksana as she sipped at her drink, offering her a bite like she usually did as she listened, considering her response carefully.
“It’s not that I am losing patience. I’m unused to problems I cannot solve by clever, deceptive words and stealing. I have no desire to do that with you anymore than necessary.” Because in the beginning she had deceived them, or it could be seen that way. But then the years stretched on, the fondness and regular visits increased and she sat down and explained what she could do — why she did it — and that the fact that she cared wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t all the detail, but it kicked open the door for trust that had managed to stay open.
It helped that the St. Piers were used to people with history and secrets, seeing as a 480 year old vampire was a family friend. Tulip was not the strangest monster to get attached to their family.
She nodded, “He is. I’ve been curious about that myself. It was picked for a Sanctuary City for a reason, surely. To foster the continuation of families like yours, maybe.” Her lips were cleaned with a napkin, avoiding any smearing of her ruby lipstick on account of not wearing any before raising an eyebrow at Oksana, “Or perhaps it’s because he has no proper hobbies, just stubbornness.”
For a moment it looked like she was done with her food, tapping on her glass slowly with one finger while the other hand tugged on her sparkling stud earring. Her eyes lingered on the windows instead of Oksana for a long moment as she listened, “I agree with you. As much as I hate to look at your father like I would a mark holding a cache of valuables I want. Especially because I don’t do that on the island as Maeve.” It started out as a don’t shit where you sleep policy but evolved into something else once she actually started giving a damn about the people there.
A deep sigh before she took another bite, enjoying the flavors as they burst onto her tongue, though she did squeeze the lemon wedge across the fish just to see, “If you want to return after he’s dead,” Because Oksana could try and dance around it if she wanted to, but Tulip wasn’t, and the girl was at an age that she didn’t need to be coddled or protected from facing something she didn’t want to, “And try and get to it, that’s your prerogative, I’ll even help you. Or at least bring wine and watch.” All dry amusement and a challenge in her eyes, because she couldn’t resist throwing out a gauntlet even now.
“Or, you could return with those three years in writing, and not have to tear that cache that is rightfully yours out of the ground with bloody fingers. Up to you. I think he’s more on edge than he lets on, and will try and spread himself too thin in the coming months but,” A shrug, “I imagine a deathclock will do that to someone.” Hopefully she would never know.
Oksana stabbed a flake of Tulip’s salmon, nipping it off her own fork neat as a cat. She rinsed her tongue with the last of the whiskey, before setting the glass down and looking at the other woman.
“Three years residency, but no caveats regarding serving as Bridge crew,” she said. “He can pick whatever witnesses he wants for the contract signing. But.” Oksana held up one finger. “I don’t want to see a word, not a word, indicating that I cannot look for the vault in the meantime. You can ensure that, tetushka. Dad hates paperwork, he’ll offload the writing on you the second you offer.” A second finger went up. “We each sign at our own times, no ceremony. He can FedEx it to me, if he wants.” Third finger. “I’m not going to the bloody funeral.”
The last was said with firm, frosted resolution.
“That’s the deal. No substitutions.” Oksana lowed her hand and refilled her whiskey glass. “Now - how are we feeling about dessert?”